Gospel Story Finder

The first snow of the season squeaked under Billy’s feet as he hurried up the street. He had looked forward to seeing snow ever since he left his home in Arizona to come and live with the Todds and go to school.
Billy tried to walk faster, but he didn’t want to risk slipping and crushing the objects in the bag he carried. I shouldn’t have taken so long in choosing the gifts, he thought.
Billy had worked hard doing yardwork around the neighborhood and had earned enough money to buy Christmas presents for each member of his family back home on the reservation.
He could picture his family on Christmas morning opening the gifts he had sent them. Everyone would be sitting around the table in the small front room at home or perhaps in the hogan next door where Grandmother still chose to live.
Billy tried to imagine how it might be, everyone together—everyone but him.
He ducked his head to stop the tears that tried to come at the thought of being so far away. If only he might go home for a few days, even for a few hours. He wanted to see the red rock cliffs, his dog Rabbit, and hear again the bleating of the sheep and goats.
Billy swung the door open and was greeted by the delicious smell of food cooking.
“I hope I’m not late for dinner,” he apologized. “I took too long trying to choose my gifts.”
“No, Billy, you’re just in time. Scoot and wash your hands,” Mrs. Todd told him.
Billy scooted. He liked the sound of that word she used. Scoot. It brought to his mind swift-moving lizards among the rocks and grass at home.
Dinnertime was always a happy occasion at the Todds with talk and laughter. Even tiny Andrea, who was just learning to say words, entered into the conversations.
Billy glanced up when he heard his name. Mrs. Todd was saying, “Tonight we’ll help Billy get his package ready to mail to his family.”
“Thanks a lot,” Billy said.
After dinner he dumped out onto the table the contents of a large shopping bag. “For Grandmother,” he said, taking out a bright scarf. “It will warm her head when she rides the many miles to town in my father’s truck.”
“For my father,” Billy explained, placing a large key ring with a fob of bright squares and triangles held together in a rectangular shape. “Now he can easily find his key,” he added, smiling.
“For my mother I have chosen this,” Billy said, his eyes sparkling with pride as he opened a small box. He saw Mrs. Todd’s quick smile of approval when bright lights danced back from the shining stones in the form of a flying bird.
For his sister, Anna, there was a pretty doll with long black hair. For John Thomas he had chosen a tiny pickup truck, much like Father’s only shining with newness. And little Rebecca would surely like the bright wind-up turtle that walked across the table with an awkward gait.
Mrs. Todd brought colorful paper and ribbons. Billy hesitated only a moment before inviting the twins to help him wrap his gifts. So pleasant a task was made even better by sharing it with others.
When the last gift was wrapped, Billy’s heart raced as he looked at the pile of bright packages. Then Mrs. Todd placed a large box on the table. Billy said laughingly, “There’s almost enough room for me to go along in that big box.”
“We want to put a few things in the box, too, from our family to yours,” Mrs. Todd explained, leaving the room. She was back in a moment carrying a tray piled high with cookies. There were Christmas trees and bells, fat Santas, and snowmen, all decorated with icing and tiny candies. Billy was pleased when he saw that some of the cookies were decorated like Navajo boys and girls. A sudden feeling of homesickness swept over him, so sharp that he could hardly breathe. He lowered his head, but Mrs. Todd had seen.
“Billy, what is it?” She put an arm around him. “I thought you’d like the cookies.”
“Oh, I do! The little ones will enjoy them so much, but I’d like to keep one boy and one girl cookie.”
“Of course, you may. There are more in the kitchen,” she said with understanding. “You’re bound to miss your home and family especially at Christmastime.”
Billy nodded in agreement. “A moment ago,” he said, “I was wishing that I could see each one’s face again.”
Billy would have turned away, but the kindness in Mrs. Todd’s eyes held him. “For a few moments, I would let my eyes search the bright rock mesas in the north and the desert to the south. I would smell the sweetness of the sagebrush and juniper, warm in the sunshine. I would race like the wind with my dog beside me.”
Billy’s shoulders slumped. “But I know that it cannot be. The distance is too great.” Billy forced his shoulders straight. “I am grateful,” he said, “for many things. What you do for me and for my people. I shall find joy in sharing with you this time of Christmas.”
Mrs. Todd gave Billy a loving hug and after that he did find pleasure in the days ahead preparing for Christmas. He spent as many happy hours choosing gifts for each of the Todds as he had done for his natural family.
When he was alone in his room at night Billy thought of his family and home.
A letter from his father said that everyone was happy and well and that they missed him. Grandmother sent a small picture of a lamb she had drawn. Mother wrote that the package had arrived and that they could hardly wait for Christmas to open it.
Billy’s first thought on Christmas morning was of his family. Have they opened my package yet? he wondered. Do the little ones like the cookies? Has mother pinned the bird ornament to her blouse? Do her eyes really close a little when she smiles?
“Billy!” David called in a loud whisper, “Come and see what’s under the tree.”
Never had Billy seen a happier sight than the Todd family around the Christmas tree. To Billy it seemed as though there was a mountain of bright packages. He didn’t want to tear off such pretty paper from his packages, but David kept reminding him to hurry.
There were pajamas and two shirts, a pair of trousers the color of sagebrush. There was a book about the presidents of the United States and games to share with David and Debra.
“And here is one more package for you, Billy,” Mrs. Todd said as she placed a box in his hands. “Just take your time opening it while the rest of us clear away this clutter of papers.”
Billy carried the box to a chair and slowly removed the paper. Several envelopes lay at the top. He opened the first—and his heart seemed to stop for a few seconds.
His mother’s face smiled up at him. He had remembered right. A smile did close her eyes a little.
He couldn’t hide his excitement as he opened one envelope after another, showing the faces of Father, Grandmother, and one of the whole family together. There was even a picture of Rabbit watching over the sheep and goats on the hillside. Several pictures of the mesas and one of the desert brought back more memories of home.
Billy noticed other packages in the bottom of the box. He laughed when he opened a box containing sprigs of sage, pinon, and juniper. They tickled his nose with the smell of home. Another box held bits of red and yellow and brown and purple rocks that came from the mesa. There was even a bottle containing layers of colored sand.
Billy looked up at Mrs. Todd wonderingly. “How did you get these?”
She laughed. “Since you couldn’t go home, we decided to bring a bit of home to you,” she said. “A friend of ours has a son living in Arizona near the reservation. He took his camera to your parents’ home and they helped him gather the other things for you.”
“It is good,” Billy sighed, “this time of Christmas that brings such kindness. I’ll still miss being with my family, but I can be happy where there is love such as I feel here.”

Farid says the biggest blessing he’s received since joining the Church is the knowledge that families can be together forever. A year after Farid joined the Church, his grandpa passed away. “I loved him so much,” Farid says. “He was one of my biggest examples. I felt really uncertain about where he would go in the next life.”
One of his friends at church talked with him about the plan of salvation and how he could do the temple work for his grandpa. Farid started working on his family history, and he went to the temple and was baptized for his grandpa.
“I have faith that when I die and pass through the veil, he will be waiting for me,” says Farid. “The Lord’s work doesn’t end in this life. I know now if my grandparents or parents pass away, we have the chance to see each other again in the life to come. We will be an eternal family.”
“I have faith that when I die and pass through the veil, he will be waiting for me.”

Fifteen years ago I stood for the first time at the pulpit in the Tabernacle as a newly sustained Seventy. I was 48 years old. I had thick, dark brown hair. I thought I understood what it meant to feel inadequate. At the end of my five-minute remarks, my shirt was dripping with perspiration. The whole thing was something of an ordeal. However, today, in retrospect, it seems a comparatively pleasant experience.

Masha’s mother, Ludmila, works long hours Monday through Saturday in a shop downtown. She recently got this new job so she doesn’t have to work on Sundays. Ever since her baptism three years ago, she has been Relief Society president. Masha is learning a lot from her about service.

“When we find out somebody needs help,” says Sister Zemskova, “all the sisters in the branch help as much as they can.” One young mother whose husband has to work on Sundays found it difficult to get her two baby girls to church on her own. On many Sunday mornings, Masha and her mother help her get the children ready and to church. Masha plays with the babies at times so their mother can rest.

When President Kimball first came here as a member of the Twelve, he was asked to sit for a portrait. (Those of us who know him well know how those hours of sitting still must have bothered him.) To keep him from daydreaming, the painter one day asked an abrupt question:
“Brother Kimball, have you ever been to heaven?”
His answer seemed to be a shock, as he said without hesitation, “Why, yes … certainly. I had a glimpse of heaven just before coming to your studio.”
He then told of an experience in the temple where he had performed a marriage:
“As the subdued congratulations were extended, a happy father … offered his hand and said, ‘Brother Kimball, my wife and I are common people and have never been successful, but we are immensely proud of our family. … This is the last of our eight children to come into this holy house for temple marriage. They, with their companions, are here to participate in the marriage of this, the youngest.’ …
“I looked at his calloused hands, his rough exterior, and thought to myself, ‘Here is a real son of God fulfilling his destiny’” (Ensign, Dec. 1971, p. 36; also in Conference Report, Oct. 1971, pp. 152–53).

One such experience occurred late one evening during a busy holiday season. I was hurriedly searching for a scripture to strengthen my sacrament meeting talk the following Sunday. My mind was crowded with concerns about arriving relatives, unfinished holiday preparations, and the chaotic state of my house. I wondered why I had ever said yes to the bishop at such a hectic time. After a long, fruitless search, at last I came upon the eleventh chapter of 1 Nephi, which details Nephi’s remarkable vision of the Savior’s birth and earthly mission. Somehow the full impact of this vision had escaped me in earlier readings, but tonight the meaning of those words struck me forcefully. Nephi wrote joyfully:
“And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father! Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?
“And I answered him, saying: Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.
“And he spake unto me, saying: Yea, and the most joyous to the soul.” (1 Ne. 11:21–23; italics added.)
The words seemed like a newly discovered treasure. For the first time, the meaning of Lehi’s white-fruited tree was entirely clear. The fruit which tasted so exquisitely sweet represented the irresistibly sweet love of God. I had found the theme for my talk—and the strength to get through the next demanding days, as well. Pressures could mount and cash registers jingle; no matter. My heart had once again been warmed and strengthened by God’s love.
Yet the most lasting impact of that frantic late-evening search was the awakening of a precious memory: my own personal discovery of God’s love.

While my husband and I were eating lunch at a local sandwich shop, a man walked in looking disheveled, lost, and confused. When he walked toward our table, I was surprised he didn’t ask for money. He only asked for directions to Flagstaff, Arizona. My husband and I gave him directions. He thanked us and left.
After lunch we started for home. Soon I saw the man walking toward a gas station. I had a strong impression to help him and asked my husband to pull into the gas station. I found the man and introduced myself. He had sad and tired eyes. His face seemed etched with deep lines from a hard life.
I asked how he planned to get to Flagstaff. He said he was going to walk. I knew that would be impossible since Flagstaff was more than 120 miles (193 km) away. I gave him some money and told him he could go to a nearby fast food restaurant to get some food and that I would return to take him to the bus depot and buy him a ticket to Flagstaff.
I returned to the truck and told my husband what had happened. Because of his health issues, I called a friend and asked her to go back with me. She agreed. We gathered some supplies, food, and water. Then we drove to the restaurant and picked the man up.
As we headed to the bus depot, this poor man began repeating, “I want to go home.” I asked if Flagstaff was his home. It wasn’t, but his daughter, whom he hadn’t spoken to for several years, lived there. He explained that he had been released from prison two weeks earlier. He and another released prisoner had been dropped off at the bus depot and each given a ticket. The other prisoner had stolen his ticket and what little money he had. He had been wandering the streets since. Nobody would help him.
“I want to go home,” he said again.
We arrived at the bus depot. I purchased his ticket and gave him some money and the supplies we had gathered. He thanked us and sat down. As we drove away, this man’s words repeated in my mind: “I want to go home.”

Eighteen-year-old Randy Jasper has turned a hobby into a profitable business. Randy has always had an interest in working with wood and building things. In his wood shop class in high school he learned how to make furniture. With the help of a friend he made a bedroom set and other wooden furniture and sold them to a furniture dealer. Randy says, “It’s important to do something in high school instead of just sliding by. My wood shop class helped me to develop skills so that now I can work as a carpenter before going on a mission. After my mission I plan to return and work as a carpenter while attending school.”

A few weeks ago at a fast and testimony meeting at our ward, I watched a little boy on the back row mustering up courage to bear his testimony. He made three or four false starts and then sat down. Finally it was his turn. He squared his little shoulders, walked bravely up the aisle to the stand, took the two steps up to the level of the pulpit, stepped over and put his hands on the pulpit, gazed into the congregation, smiled—and then turned around, went back off those two steps and down the same aisle to his mother and father. I looked at you tonight in this vast Conference Center and thought of those listening in and could appreciate more fully the actions of that little boy.

One of the most beautiful stories in our heritage, an experience of President Heber J. Grant’s, bears witness that a testimony about the right relationship between life, death, and the spirit world can comfort us in times of sorrow, help us understand God’s purposes, and teach us the true nature of our existence. President Grant writes:
“I have been blessed with only two sons. One of them died at five years of age and the other at seven. My last son died of a hip disease. I had built great hopes that he would live to spread the Gospel at home and abroad and be an honor to me. About an hour before he died I had a dream that his mother, who was dead, came for him, and that she brought with her a messenger, and she told his messenger to take the boy while I was asleep; and in the dream I thought I awoke and I seized my son and fought for him and finally succeeded in getting him away from the messenger who had come to take him, and in so doing I dreamed that I stumbled and fell upon him.
“I dreamed that I fell upon his sore hip, and the terrible cries and anguish of the child drove me nearly wild. I could not stand it and I jumped up and ran out of the house so as not to hear his distress. I dreamed that after running out of the house I met Brother Joseph E. Taylor and told him of these things.
“He said: ‘Heber, do you know what I would do if my wife came for one of her children—I would not struggle to keep that child; I would not oppose her taking that child away. If a mother who had been faithful had passed beyond the veil, she would know of the suffering and the anguish her child may have to suffer; she would know whether that child might go through life as a cripple and whether it would be better or wiser for that child to be relieved from the torture of life; and when you stop to think, Brother Grant, that the mother of that boy went down into the shadow of death to give him life, she is the one who ought to have the right to take him or keep him.’
“I said, ‘I believe you are right, Brother Taylor, and if she comes again, she shall have the boy without any protest on my part.’
“After coming to that conclusion, I was waked by my brother, B. F. Grant, who was staying that night with us, helping to watch over the sick boy. He called me into the room and told me that my child was dying. I went in the front room and sat down. There was a vacant chair between me and my wife who is now living, and I felt the presence of that boy’s deceased mother, sitting in that chair. I did not tell anybody what I felt, but I turned to my living wife and said: ‘Do you feel anything strange?’ She said: ‘Yes, I feel assured that Heber’s mother is sitting between us, waiting to take him away.’
“Now, I am naturally, I believe, a sympathetic man. I was raised as an only child, with all the affection that a mother could lavish upon a boy. I believe that I am naturally affectionate and sympathetic and that I shed tears for my friends—tears of joy for their success and tears of sorrow for their misfortunes. But I sat by the deathbed of my little boy and saw him die, without shedding a tear. My living wife, my brother, and I, upon that occasion experienced a sweet, peaceful, and heavenly influence in my home, as great as I have ever experienced in my life.” (Improvement Era, June 1940, pp. 330,383.)

I witnessed such an act of service one Sunday as I attended the sacrament meeting of a small branch which consisted of patients in a nursing home. Most of the members were elderly and somewhat incapacitated. During the meeting, a sister called out aloud, “I’m cold! I’m cold!” Without a moment’s hesitation, one of the priests at the sacrament table arose and walked over to this sister, removed his own suit coat, placed it around her shoulders, and then returned to his duties at the sacrament table.

After the meeting, this young man came to me and apologized for blessing the sacrament without his suit coat. Quietly I said to him that he was never more appropriately dressed than he was that day when a dear widow was uncomfortably cold and he provided the warmth she needed by placing his jacket around her shoulders. A simple act of kindness? Yes, but much more: a genuine love and concern for others.

As a very young elder, I went to the old Primary Children’s Hospital on North Temple Street to provide blessings for the sick children. Upon entering, we noted the Christmas tree with its bright and friendly lights and saw carefully wrapped packages beneath its outstretched limbs. We went through the corridors where tiny boys and girls—some with casts upon arms, some with casts upon legs, others with ailments that perhaps could not be cured so readily—each one with a smile upon his face.
I walked toward the bedside of one small boy. He said, “What is your name?” I told him.
He inquired, “Will you give me a blessing?” The blessing was provided, and as we turned to leave his bedside, he said “Thank you very much.”
We walked a few steps and then I heard his call, “Brother Monson.” I turned. He said, “Merry Christmas to you.” And a great smile flashed across his countenance.
That boy had the Christmas spirit.

Seppo paced restlessly up and down the small pier. One by one the lights in the old farmhouse winked out, and then a lantern bobbed along the path to the boat landing. It was early, this Saturday morning in December, and dark. Winter with its long nights would soon come to Finland.
Father, Mother, little sister Eila, and Seppo climbed into their boat and cast off. They were on their way to the market square by the harbor in Helsinki to sell their wares.
“What a load we have this morning,” said Mother above the sound of the chugging motor. “Potatoes, bunches of birch leaves, and cranberries that Eila and Seppo picked yesterday!”
“And Mother’s great bundle of weaving,” said Father as he guided the large motorboat over the dark waters and through the clusters of little islands toward Helsinki. “One more rug and one more tablecloth, and there would have been no room for Eila and Seppo!”
“Oh, but we had to come today,” insisted Seppo. “This is the day I buy my new skis.”
When the Gulf of Finland froze each winter, Seppo would ski over the ice to school on the mainland. Every February he entered the ski-day race. However, his skis had been broken, so all summer and through the fall Seppo had worked for neighboring farmers to earn the money to buy new skis in Helsinki. This year he felt sure that he would win the race.
“And this is the day I buy my special candle for Independence Day,” said Eila, who had saved all the money she had earned by gathering birch leaves for Father to sell. December sixth is Independence Day in Finland and candles glow in every window to mark this special day. Eila’s heart was set on having the most beautiful candle she could find in Stockmann’s Department Store.
Father steered the boat into the south harbor, past the piers for the large ships and ferryboats, and into their own spot by the harbor’s edge. When Father hopped out and began to tie up the boat, some men were already putting up the stalls and orange canopies in the marketplace. The dome of the big white cathedral gleamed through the early morning mist.
“Seppo, will you please carry this roll of rugs to my stall?” asked Mother. “You will have time before the stores open to help me set up.”
Seppo, his arms clasping the bulky bundle, waited for Eila to climb out of the boat and onto the stone steps at the harbor’s edge. The boat was bobbing up and down, for a brisk wind was making the water choppy. Eila moved slowly, holding her purse in one hand.
“Hurry up, Eila, these rugs are heavy!” Seppo said crossly.
Eila turned her head to answer, and almost lost her balance. She grabbed the edge of the boat to steady herself, and her purse flew out of her hand into the water.
“My money!” wailed Eila, as Father snatched an oar from the boat and poked it down through the water to see if he could rescue the purse.
“I’m afraid it’s gone,” he said finally. “I’m sorry, little girl.” Gently he helped Eila out of the boat and Seppo followed with the bundle of weaving. Seppo, Eila, and Mother trudged along in silence to the stall, while Father stayed in the boat with the cranberries, birch leaves, and potatoes.
Mother quickly arranged the rag rugs, tablecloths, and mats. She put on her special gloves that left her fingertips bare for handling small coins. Mrs. Salonen, who sold birchbark baskets in the stall next to Mother’s, also wore gloves this chilly morning.
After Seppo had brought his mother and Mrs. Salonen hot possu (doughnuts) from a nearby stall, he cleared his throat and said, “I think I’ll go now and buy my skis. Want to come along, Eila?”
Eila shook her head. “I can’t go now. Mrs. Salonen is paying me one mark to help her,” she said, sighing. “Then I can buy a tiny candle, and wait till next year for a special one. A year isn’t so long,” she added, trying to smile, but Seppo knew she was near tears.
He turned and walked rapidly out of the market square, hardly noticing the people he passed, who were bundled up in their fur hats and heavy coats. Instead, he kept seeing Eila’s horrified face as her carefully saved money sank out of sight. An uncomfortable thought began to nag Seppo: If I hadn’t tried to hurry Eila out of the boat …
In the store the clerk greeted him. “Aha, you are in luck. The skis that you have been admiring all fall are still here!”
Seppo touched the skis and looked at them for a long time. Their bright blue enameled surface gleamed in the electric light. He knew that Finland’s best skiers used skis exactly like these when they won their races.
Reaching into his pocket for his wallet, Seppo seemed to hear Eila saying, “A year isn’t so long.”
“Just a moment,” Seppo said as the clerk started to remove the championship skis from the rack. “I think … I think,” he said, pointing to a cheaper pair of hickory skis just like the ones he had broken, “I’ll take these other skis instead.”
Anyway, reasoned Seppo as he rushed back to the marketplace, if I’m going to win the race, it’s more important to use the right wax and to keep practicing than to worry about the kind of skis I have.
After he had carefully stored his new skis in Father’s boat, Seppo went to Mrs. Salonen’s stall. A sad-faced Eila was still stacking baskets.
“Could you spare Eila to go with me for a little while?” he asked the older woman. “We have an important errand to do at Stockmann’s.”
Mrs. Salonen nodded her assent.
“Stockmann’s, Seppo?” Eila asked as she hurried to catch up with her brother.
“Yes, come on,” Seppo encouraged, “before someone else buys your special candle!”
And this time Eila, her eyes shining, needed no urging.

My heart swelled with happiness and pride. Then, as if in a dream, my mind went back eight years to the time when the doctor told us that our newborn son, David, could not live. I had felt I was losing the fulfillment of my greatest desire, even before I had a chance to hold him in my arms. I rebelled against the cruelty of the situation. Not even my husband could soften my suffering.
Then I found a source of hope. I realized I could ask help from someone even more powerful than the doctors. I knew that God, who had sent us this child, could help us.
I began spending hours in prayer. Gradually, the impression came to me that our family’s lives were going to change. Two and a half months later, the doctors let us take David home, even though his condition was still serious. As Jose and I continued to pray, our feeling of imminent change grew stronger.
Two weeks after we took him home, David again required hospitalization, and the doctors began trying to prepare us for his death. At this low point, we finally experienced the change we were anticipating. Jose had mentioned our problems to one of his colleagues, who said that two young missionaries he knew claimed to have authority from God to give blessings that could heal people if they had faith.
“If what they say is true, tell them to come to our home. We need them,” my husband replied.
Several days later, the missionaries came to our home and began giving us the discussions. Within several weeks’ time, Jose and I had each received a testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the restored gospel, and we were baptized.
I will never forget placing our infant son in the hands of the brethren who anointed him with oil and gave him his first blessing. From the moment of that blessing, I felt certain that our son was under divine protection and that nothing would further threaten his life.
Several days after that blessing, I took David to the hospital for a checkup. When the pediatrician examined David’s X-rays, I knew by his amazed expression that my son had been healed.
“It’s unbelievable. His lungs are intact. There isn’t even a trace of disease … a veritable miracle,” the doctor exclaimed.
“Yes, a true miracle,” I murmured, blinking the tears from my eyes. From that time, David grew normally. His testimony grew, too, strengthened by his knowing the circumstances of his birth.

It’s not unusual for Young Men and Young Women to paint a house as part of a ward service project, but the teachers quorum and Mia Maid class from the Boise 19th Ward, Boise Idaho North Stake, did it as part of a community-wide “Paint the Town Day.” They combined with 154 other teams made up of 4,200 volunteers to paint houses all over the community, with materials donated by local merchants. When they were through, they all met in a local park for a community party.
They had such a good time, in fact, that the rest of the youth from the ward decided to do a painting project the very next Saturday.
This one involved being ferried across a reservoir to camp, then painting the log picnic shelters and tables the next day. “This is a pretty place, and I like being part of keeping it nice,” said Melissa West, surveying her ward’s work. The event resulted in some sore muscles and sunburned noses, but everyone agreed they were worth the friendship and sense of service they came away with.

The young people from the Lacey First Ward remember the roots of their area at least once a year when they gather enough wild food from the seashores and hillsides around Lacey to have a first class “wild” banquet.
To prepare for this year’s dinner, they dug clams at nearby Potlatch State Park and collected enough butter clams, horse clams, and cockles to make clam chowder and still have fresh-steamed butter clams. While some of the young people were digging clams at low tide, others waded out with small landing nets and caught crabs. Still others put out small crab pots. Each crab was carefully examined to make sure it was a male and was of legal keeping size—more than six inches across its shell. The young people went to a member’s farm and picked several pails of wild blackberries. Another member in the ward donated some salmon, and the dinner was well on its way to becoming a reality. Much of the preparation was done before the day of the banquet when corn and other garden produce appeared out of members’ gardens and blackberry pies made almost unbearably good smells in several kitchens.
All of the young people and many of their parents met at the lovely Tolmie State Park where they enjoyed canoeing and volleyball and general beach-combing before they feasted on the fruits of their foraging.

“Doesn’t she have any brothers or sisters?”
“Oh, I have heard her mention an older brother and two younger sisters. But they’re all back in Switzerland. You see Miss Zwindli joined the Mormon church when she was about 14, and consequently her parents disowned her, so she came over alone to America. An uncle from Boston paid her way and met her when she arrived in New York. But for some reason or other he tried to dissuade her from continuing in her church. Said he’d even pay for a college education in music and vocal lessons, which was what she had always wanted, but she refused, so he disowned her, too.”
“How did she manage all alone?” Michelle found herself wishing that she had been there to befriend that little girl who had been so brave and yet probably so frightened.
“She said she took whatever work was available at the time—housework or factory work. It took her a whole year to scrape together enough money to ride the train from Boston to Salt Lake—course that was back in 1920.
“After she got there, it was like a dream come true, being with people who believed as she did. From what she’s told me, it seems like she had a good life there—working, teaching in her church, singing in choirs.”
“Why didn’t she ever marry? She looks like she was once a very beautiful lady.”
“Oh, she had opportunities, but she never found the one she wanted to marry. That didn’t stop her, though. She kept right on working and serving.”
“Why is she here now?”
“She came to Boston a few months ago hoping she could locate some of her cousins. Seems they’ve all moved away. Then she got sick. Her doctor brought her in after he discovered she had stomach cancer. She’s been here now for a month, but the doctor didn’t expect her to last more than a few weeks. She was so resigned and accepting that it just about broke my heart. She never complains but instead is always going around in her wheelchair seeing if there is anything she can do for anyone else. She hardly has strength to do anything for herself.
“But for the last week she’s been unable to get out of bed. I’m glad you made an effort to come talk to her. She’ll appreciate the thought.”

He wept when I shared with him a letter I received from a child’s father. The letter began: “This past April, my wife and I were watching the Sunday afternoon session of conference. Our three-year-old son, Christopher, was standing on a chair at the kitchen counter playing with Play-Doh, listening to conference on the radio. As we entered the kitchen at the end of President Benson’s comments to the children, Christopher reported excitedly, ‘That man on the radio said that even when we make mistakes, our Heavenly Father still loves us.’ That simple statement has left a lasting and meaningful impression on our young son. I can still ask him today what President Benson said and receive the same enthusiastic reply. It is a comfort to him to know that he has a kind and loving Father in Heaven.”

For a weekly activity, our ward Young Women leaders arranged a visit to a local nursing home. We would sing Christmas carols, share smiles, and return to the church for hot cocoa and cookies.
I really didn’t want to enter the discomfort of those hospital-like rooms, with their antiseptic smells, sparse decor, and feeling of sadness. I confess I was more interested in the cocoa and camaraderie of my friends than singing to the elderly.
We arrived and walked past a small strand of Christmas lights to the rooms. As we sang several beloved carols, some residents had tears in their eyes, some tried to sing along, and some seemed indifferent. All thanked us as we left their rooms, but I didn’t feel the joy that often accompanies service. I felt sad, wondering how many people visited the nursing home only at Christmastime.
“We’re going to Brother Tingey’s room now,” one of our leaders said. “He has Alzheimer’s disease, so he doesn’t remember much. You know that Sister Tingey passed away a while ago.”
A pang of remorse pricked my heart. I had forgotten all about the Tingeys. Brother Tingey and his sweet wife had been the white-haired angels of our congregation. I remembered their smiling faces, Sister Tingey’s gentle touch, and Brother Tingey’s friendly greetings. I hadn’t noticed when they stopped attending church. I hadn’t even remembered that Sister Tingey had passed away.
We entered Brother Tingey’s room and gathered in a semicircle around his wheelchair. Our singing filled the room, but he sat still, his head drooping. After two songs, one of our leaders suggested that we sing “I Am a Child of God.”1
As we began, Brother Tingey suddenly lifted his head, opened his eyes, and looked at us. He smiled and in a feeble voice said, “I know that song.”
Tears began to run from his eyes onto his cheeks. By the time we finished singing, we were all weeping. Then we hugged Brother Tingey and said goodbye.
Through the simplicity of a song and the imperfect voices of a group of teenage girls, Brother Tingey was reminded that he was still a child of God and that God had not forgotten him. Since that visit, neither have I.

Zina’s father, William Huntington, a well-to-do farmer, was not happy with the church that the family attended, so he decided to study the Bible and join the church that had the same organization as the one Christ organized during His mortal ministry. William discovered, however, that none of the churches had the same organization as the early Church; there were no prophets, apostles, or demonstrations of spiritual gifts.
Soon after William had heard a rumor about a prophet who had found a “new and golden Bible,” two missionaries, Hyrum Smith, Joseph Smith’s brother, and David Whitmer, one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon, came to the Huntington home. When Zina returned there from school, she saw the “new Bible” lying on the windowsill. Immediately the Spirit whispered to her that the book was the word of God. She picked it up and clasped it to her, saying, “This is the truth, truth, truth!”
Zina, her parents, sister, and all but one brother were baptized and moved to Kirtland, Ohio, to join the Saints there.