Gospel Story Finder

“Minicraft 34 ready,” Maris said into the communication system in her space helmet as she prepared to be launched.
Just before her minicraft slid into the launching chute, Maris looked out of a small porthole. Around the edge of the launching pad she could see the huge banners rippling in the wind—GALACTIC JUNIOR DIVISION SPACE RACE. And beyond some high barriers a crowd of people watched. Maris knew her family was there among them.
Through the communications system she could hear the loudspeaker announcing her turn. “Contestant number 34, Maris Parker, representing Earth,” it blared.
She waved to her family. “Next time you see me,” she whispered even though they couldn’t hear her, “I’ll be someone you can really be proud of.”
If everything goes right and I win the race, I’ll soon be wearing the Space Princess crown! Maris thought to herself happily.
Her little spaceship took the launch smoothly and was soon orbiting the asteroid that was hosting the race. Ahead of her she saw numbers 32 and 33. All the other minicrafts were already out of sight, but that was all right. The race was being judged on accuracy as well as on speed.
Suddenly she saw number 32 wobble as it completed its first maneuver at checkpoint 1. Piloting number 32 was Rel, the quiet, silver-eyed girl from the asteroid Pallas.
Maris wished she could talk to Rel and tell her to make a small adjustment in her controls. But Maris knew that if anyone communicated after launching she lost points. That was the rule.
Rel finished the first maneuver awkwardly and shot off toward checkpoint 2. Minicraft number 33 moved into the first maneuver. Narda, the girl from the fifth moon of Jupiter, was the pilot. Narda was good, and she was as determined as Maris to win the race. She would be hard to beat.
Narda finished the maneuver perfectly and went on. It was Maris’s turn. She felt the minicraft respond instantly to her touch, and she knew she passed the first test.
The second checkpoint was harder and the third worse. Maris knew that she performed them well, but ahead of her she saw that Narda did them just as well. She wondered how Rel, who was out of sight now, had done.
At the third checkpoint Maris lost a little time because she had to repeat a turn around a drifting space buoy. I’ll have to pick up a little speed somewhere or Narda will win, she decided.
Maris sighed. It seemed as though she had always come in second or third or fourth in everything she did. But I don’t have to come in second; I can still win, she thought with renewed determination. So Maris speeded up her minicraft. She was right behind Narda now. And Narda made a mistake! She was supposed to make a figure eight at checkpoint 6, but she did a simple oval and had to repeat the maneuver. Maris did it correctly and was now ahead.
Her hopes were high as she headed for checkpoint 7. Just three more checkpoints and she could return to base. If I can just keep doing everything perfectly, I’ll be wearing the Space Princess crown within an hour, she mused.
Narda was nowhere in sight behind her as Maris approached checkpoint 8, the most difficult part of the course. At this checkpoint the girls had to orbit a wandering asteroid that flip-flopped through space, making sure their ships didn’t get caught in the asteroid’s weak gravity field.
Maris was halfway through her maneuver when she saw another minicraft ahead of her. She was ready to pass the spacecraft when she realized it was in trouble. For some reason its speed was cut down to the danger point.
Losing precious seconds, Maris guided her own spacecraft close enough to see the number on the faltering minicraft. It was number 32, Rel, the girl from Pallas.
“Rel!” Maris shouted into the communication mouthpiece, “what’s the matter?” Maris knew she was losing points for breaking the communications rule, but what else could she do?
“Oh, Maris! Thank goodness you’re close by.” Rel’s voice was charged with relief. “I’m having a fuel injection problem and it’s slowed me down, so I can’t get away from the asteroid’s gravity pull. Maris, I’m so scared. I may be forced to land.”
Land! Crash was a more accurate word if Rel had to go down on that asteroid. Its surface was an ugly array of jagged peaks and narrow valleys.
“Rel,” Maris said as calmly as she could, “you must stay up. And you can if you make your calculations so that you meet the least possible resistance.”
“But I can’t.” Rel’s voice was shaking now. “I’m not a very good pilot. I can’t do all that figuring.”
“Yes you can.” Maris made her own voice sound firm. “You are an excellent pilot or you wouldn’t be representing your asteroid in this race. Now, look at your charts and instruments.”
There was silence for a moment, then Rel spoke again. “I’ve tried to radio for help, but we’re in a dead space behind the asteroid. I can’t get through to the base. Will you send a rescue ship for me as soon as you get there?”
Yes, Maris thought. I could do that. I could go on and win the race, and then send help back. The Space Princess crown was still within her reach. She wanted so badly to continue, but she couldn’t. Not yet anyway.
“I’ll stay here with you for a while,” she told Rel. “I’ll contact someone else to send the rescue ship.”
Just then Narda’s minicraft came into view. “Narda,” Maris called over her radio, “you don’t have to answer and lose points. But please radio for the rescue ship as soon as you can make contact with the base.” Quickly she explained the problem.
Narda gave no sign that she heard. She just went on toward the next checkpoint.
For the first time Maris felt panic, for herself as well as for Rel. What if Narda doesn’t say anything and something happens so that Rel and I both crash on the asteroid? she worried. We might never be found!
Rel’s minicraft was slowly losing power and was drifting badly. Maris had no time to think about herself. She had all she could do to keep Rel calm and help her do the necessary figuring to keep from crashing. She tried not to let her fear show as she gave Rel instructions. Rel was calmer now and followed directions instantly. She was even thinking for herself.
The two spacecrafts were very close to the asteroid. Maris was studying it, trying to find a smooth place big enough to land if necessary, when she saw another minicraft approaching.
Number 33! Narda had come back.
“Narda,” Maris exclaimed. “I thought you would be wearing the Space Princess crown by now.”
Narda rolled her ship in greeting. “I thought about it. But crowns give me headaches. Besides, you’re so far off course now that if I didn’t hang around up here where the radio waves can get through, the rescue ship would never find you.”
Before Maris could say another word, Narda sent her minicraft out into space where it hung like a beacon, guiding the rescue ship to the stricken Rel.
Hours later, after the rescue ship had arrived and gathered Rel’s minicraft into its magnetic embrace, they all landed safely at the base. The competition was over—Melona from the planet Mercury had been crowned Space Princess.
Maris, Narda, and Rel hugged each other on the landing pad while their families cheered. But Rel’s silver eyes were troubled. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I made both of you lose your chances for the crown.”
Narda shrugged and said, “Don’t worry. There’ll be other races.”
Maris squeezed Rel’s hand. “I thought the crown mattered most, but it doesn’t seem so important now,” she said warmly.

Tony landed the balloon near a busy expressway one afternoon and got out so that a friend who was learning to fly could solo. The pilot was no sooner aloft than he decided it was time to land. Being inexperienced, he pulled the rip panel too soon and came streaming down into the corner of someone’s backyard, draping the canopy over telephone wires. The “someone” turned out to be the local stake president whose neighbors all came over to take pictures and admire the pilot and the just-arrived young men of the chase crew. The president’s wife made lemonade for the pilot, crew, neighbors, Tony—who had enlisted the help of a stranger on the expressway—and the power company linemen who had turned up in a basket truck to get the envelope off the wires. One of the guests came up to the balloonists and said, “Thanks. This is the first time the neighborhood has been together in weeks.”

Permit one other little story in this connection. A man was putting up a sign in a window: “Puppies for Sale.” Before he had driven the last nail there was a small boy standing at his side. That kind of sign seems to attract small boys. The youngster wanted to know how much the puppies were going to cost. The man told him that they were very good dogs and that he did not expect to let any of them go for less than thirty-five to fifty dollars. There was a look of disappointment and then a question, “I got $2.37. Could I look at them?” The man whistled and called, “Lady.” Out of the kennel and down the runway came Lady, followed by four or five little balls of fur and one lagging considerably behind. The boy spotted the lagger and, pointing, asked, “What’s wrong with him?” The reply was that the veterinarian had said that there was no hip socket in the right hip and that the dog would always be lame. The boy’s immediate rejoinder was “That’s the one I want to buy. I’ll give you $2.37 and 50¢ a month until I get him paid for.” The man smiled and shook his head. “That’s not the dog you want. That dog will never be able to run, jump, and play with you.” The boy very matter-of-factly pulled up his little trouser leg and revealed a brace running down both sides of his badly twisted leg and under the foot, with a leather cap coupled over the knee. “I don’t run so well myself,” he said, “and he’ll need somebody that understands.”

In that regard, Leo Tolstoy wrote once of a priest who was criticized by one of his congregants for not living as resolutely as he should, the critic concluding that the principles the erring preacher taught must therefore also be erroneous.
In response to that criticism, the priest says: “Look at my life now and compare it to my former life. You will see that I am trying to live out the truth I proclaim.” Unable to live up to the high ideals he taught, the priest admits he has failed. But he cries:
“Attack me, [if you wish,] I do this myself, but [don’t] attack … the path I follow. … If I know the way home [but] am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way simply because I am staggering from side to side?
“… Do not gleefully shout, ‘Look at him! … There he is crawling into a bog!’ No, do not gloat, but give … your help [to anyone trying to walk the road back to God.]”13

When I was growing up, my parents never took my siblings and me to church. We were not a religious family. For me, Sunday was just a day off from school when we could play. I thought my life was complete. It wasn’t until a friend showed me what I was missing that I realized how empty my life had been.
When I was 11 or 12, my mother was baptized into the Church. She would often ask me if I wanted to go to church with her, and I always said no. When we moved to Texas the summer before my junior year in high school, I still didn’t go to church with her.
At the beginning of the school year I had no friends. After a few weeks, I became friends with Brad. He was in some of my classes. We would talk in class but never did anything outside of school.
One day my mom took me and my four siblings to church with her. I went, hoping to leave as soon as possible. When we sat down, I looked up and saw Brad preparing to bless the sacrament. Brad saw me as well.
The next day at school, Brad came to me and said, “I didn’t know you were a Latter-day Saint.”
I replied, “I’m not.”
Pretty soon Brad was taking me to Mutual, youth conference, and I was even coming to church every Sunday.
Having never read the Bible, I didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. Brad gave me a Book of Mormon, and I started to read it. From that time, there was a visible change in my life for the better. I knew what I was reading was true. The Holy Ghost bore witness of it. It was through the Book of Mormon that I came to know Jesus Christ and all He has done for me. I changed the way I acted. I started living the way the Bible and Book of Mormon told me I should live.
One day Brad finally asked me, “Donny, what do we have to do to get you baptized?” I had never thought about it before, but it felt like the right thing to do. On June 26, 2000, Brad baptized me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Three months later, I baptized my older brother, Dan. We are both currently serving missions.
Looking back at how I felt about religion before, I have gained so much. Now I know my Savior Jesus Christ. I have the scriptures to guide me. And I have the gift of the Holy Ghost, who bears witness of the truth.

Because of who gave me the counsel and its foundation in sound doctrine, I believe it applies to you in your current situation. It came from my grandfather, Harold B. Lee, who was at the time serving as a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church.

I was in my third year at BYU and was struggling with the decision about what to be when I grew up. I was also looking for an eternal companion. I took my patriarchal blessing with me for a visit with grandfather and asked him to read it and then counsel with me about choosing a career. I hoped that somehow the patriarch's inspired blessing would trigger my grandfather to give me a list of career possibilities appropriate for me.

Grandfather read my patriarchal blessing and then looked up at me and said, "Well, that's a wonderful blessing, Alan. I'm impressed that you worry too much about the future." My heart sank. I was indeed worried about the future and the way we were starting out didn't give me much hope for getting straight answers to my questions.

He said, "Let me tell you briefly about my life and then give you the only counsel that I think makes sense given the way life unfolded for me and for others I have observed." He grew up in Clifton, Idaho. It's a little town in southern Idaho. Does anyone here know where Clifton is? It's on the border with Utah near Preston, Idaho, which most of you probably haven't heard of either. He said we always prayed for the "pillars of the Church," by which we meant the Brethren. "I could no more have imagined myself becoming one of them," he said, "than I could think of men landing on the moon, which seemed impossible in those days as well."

"When I came home from a mission," he continued, "farmers in our area, including my father, were really struggling economically and I decided I wanted to learn to do something other than farming to help out. I went to the University of Utah and found that I didn't have enough money to go to school and eat more than one meal a day." So he found some part-time work and then began to work full-time teaching at a local school, enrolling in extension courses and summer school to progress in his studies. When he graduated, his wife thought he could do better outside of education and he got a job selling encyclopedias and other materials throughout the intermountain western U.S. Then the commissioner of streets and public improvements in Salt Lake City died halfway through his two-year term and grandfather was appointed to fill out his term. He then ran for and was elected to his own two-year term.

During this same period of time he was called as stake president of the Pioneer Stake. The Great Depression occurred about the same time and of his 7,300 stake members, over 4,800 were either partially or wholly dependent on outside agencies for their livelihood. A majority of the high councilors and bishops in the stake were unemployed. They "dusted off the revelations," as he put it, and tried to take care of the members of the stake by helping them to band together and help each other.

In 1936 the First Presidency called grandfather to head up the "Church Security" program which soon became the Church Welfare Plan Program. In 1941 he was called as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve and when I spoke with him in 1971 he was serving in the First Presidency of the Church.

"Alan," he asked me, "do you think I could have planned my career?" He said that if had known what he was headed for he might have been like Jonah and run from these assignments. He went on: "The only counsel that makes sense for me to give is this: Don't live your life worrying about the future. You only have today. You can't do anything about yesterday either except repent or feel good. So here is my counsel about finding a career: Get up each day and recapture your testimony. That is, do the things that bring the spirit into your life: repent, study the scriptures, and pray for guidance. As you feel the enlightenment of the Spirit, consider what you can do that day to follow the impressions you get. Have faith; the Lord will guide you step by step, 'line upon line, here a little and there a little.'"

As a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I have, right from the start of my conversion, always been greatly impressed with the importance and emphasis given to the ongoing process of teaching, training, instructing, educating, enlightening, and edifying all of our Heavenly Father’s children in His kingdom.

Maybe these strong sympathetic feelings can be explained through the fact that my native country, Holland, was from 1940 until 1945 occupied by Nazi Germany. When I finished my high school education in July 1942, it so happened that at that time a new rule was established that someone could from then on only register for classes in the Dutch universities if willing to sign a so-called “declaration of loyalty” to the occupying German forces.

This rule was initiated to oppress the ever-growing underground student activities against the Germans in Holland as part of the struggle for world peace by the Allied forces. Needless to say, the majority of Dutch students simply refused to sign such a humiliating political document and stayed away from the campuses, whether freshmen or graduate students.

In everyday life there remained only two alternatives for all young men between 18 and 30 years of age: to leave home, change names, use a faked I.D. card, and go “underground” somewhere in the country or to run the very real risk to be arrested anywhere at any moment and to be deported to Germany for slave labor in the war industry with the hundreds of thousands already there from other European nations.

How lucky I was that I managed to stay in Holland from November 1942 until V.E. Day—which is the Victory in Europe Day of the Allied forces—in May 1945 because I was able to obtain false identification papers! Most of my time during those years was used studying foreign languages through self-study and in small peer groups living under similar circumstances in the same location.

The reason that I mention these facts to you who are assembled here today as students is mainly to make you aware of your blessing to be able to receive a higher education in this great land of freedom and your personal fortune to be able to attend a university that is founded, supported, and guided by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As my junior year in high school was about to come to a close, going on a mission was not one of my great desires. I had been associating with the wrong kind of friends and had done some things that were not right.
My parents had always encouraged me to go on a mission, but I felt that my friends and the things I was doing were more important. This feeling kept me from planning on a mission. The thought which continually ran through my mind was, “There is no way the Lord would want someone like me as his representative.” This thought only discouraged me more.
On May 17th, my life changed. I was at a party with a club from our high school at a nearby boat dock. I had arrived early so I could help set up tables and unload the grills and food. About 20 minutes later, people started to come and began playing volleyball and throwing Frisbees. After a while the food was ready. The weather was starting to turn bad, and the wind was blowing fairly hard. While I was eating, some guys playing volleyball hit the ball into the river. Someone yelled at me to go get it. Why they shouted my name, I don’t know. Foolishly I hurried from the table, ran as fast as I could, and jumped into the river, clothes and all.
The wind was causing waves which pushed the ball further and further away from me, and I kept going after it. The water was getting cold, and my strength started to give out. Before long the ball was out of reach, and I couldn’t swim any longer. I started yelling for help as loud as I could, but if anyone had jumped in from the dock to save me, they could never have reached me in time.
Gradually, things became blurry, and I couldn’t hear. I felt myself sinking, and as soon as my head was underwater, I felt someone grasp my hand. I was lifted into a boat. I had no idea where the boat came from. I had not seen it previously, but it was there when I needed it. I was taken to the dock, where I became oriented again after about 10 minutes.
Two days later, I received a call from the owner of the boat. He said he was at his house trying to get his boat ready for a trip when he felt he should take it out for a test drive even though the wind was blowing and the river was rough. Why did he go? I hadn’t realized it at the time, but it was to save a future missionary.
My close call made me think. If I was saved from drowning in that river, there had to be some purpose in store for me. That thought stayed in my mind. Then one day as I sat gazing over the river that nearly claimed my life, it occurred to me—a mission! I wonder if I am supposed to fulfill a mission.
I soon received my patriarchal blessing, which said that I had been spared for a special mission. That confirmed the answer to my question.
I served in the Ohio Columbus Mission. I had never before had such a peaceful feeling about doing something right in my life. Yes, the Lord did want me as one of his representatives.
I realized you don’t have to wait for an experience such as the one I had to decide whether to go on a mission. Decide ahead of time and do everything in your power to be prepared when the time comes.
Missionary work is a great work. It is an experience we all should share.

Kailey, ever the optimist, has been learning braille, a language that allows her to read by feeling raised dots with her fingertips. “Braille is going to be part of my life,” she says. “So I decided to start learning now. That way, I’ll have a head start.”
But to communicate in Braille, Kailey needed expensive equipment, including a special computer.
Though many people in the community—such as those at her father’s work as well as in the ward—would have gladly paid for the equipment, Kailey decided she could raise money for the equipment herself by recycling aluminum cans. The problem: it would take a lot of cans. When the ward deacons quorum president, Carter N., learned about her goal and dilemma, he came to the rescue and brought others with him.
“My uncle had a metal shed,” Carter says. “He said I could tear it down, recycle the metal, and make some money to help Kailey, so I did that with his help. But I kept thinking about her idea to recycle cans. ‘Couldn’t we collect enough cans to help pay for her equipment?’”
The next Sunday at bishopric youth committee (BYC) meeting, Carter shared his feelings and presented a plan. “The youth and the leaders talked it through,” Carter says, “and we all said, ‘We can do it’” to help Kailey collect cans. “We’ve been gathering cans ever since.”
Gathering may be an understatement.
“The BYC took the idea and ran with it,” says Mark D. Holmes, Kailey and Carter’s bishop. “The youth made plans, put up posters, and did all the work. The rest of the ward joined in too. Pretty soon people who weren’t members of the Church saw us out gathering cans and were eager to get involved.” Many businesses invited the youth to put up posters and set out boxes labeled “Kans for Kailey.”
Although the original goal was just to recycle as much as possible, during the next few months, more than 14,000 aluminum cans were collected by the youth, the ward, and the community. “The bishop let us store them in his shop building,” Carter explains. “We completely filled that, plus a couple of horse trailers.” After the cans were crushed to save space, they still filled a storage shed that’s 12 feet wide, 12 feet deep, and 8 feet tall.
“At first I didn’t think we could get that many cans,” says Michael P., 13. “But when people remembered they were doing it for Kailey, they all seemed to have more desire to help.”
“We were doing for her something she couldn’t do entirely for herself,” says Kinsley K., 12. “In a small way, we were following the example of the Savior.”
The money collected from the recycling provided more than enough money to purchase the Braille equipment. “I really like the equipment,” Kailey says. “I use it a lot.”
What’s more, the youth, the ward, and the community all gained a vision of what they could do when they worked together.

Seven-year-old Joseph was only sick for two weeks, but the terrible fever eventually led to four operations. The worst complication was an infection in the bone between the knee and ankle on Joseph’s left leg. The skin there swelled tight, and for over two weeks Joseph suffered terrible pain in his leg. Twelve-year-old Hyrum showed great love for his little brother. He sat beside Joseph almost day and night, pressing the swollen leg in his hands, trying to help Joseph endure the pain.

Twice the doctor attempted to drain the infection and reduce the swelling, but it didn’t work. Finally he told Joseph’s parents that the leg ought to be removed before the infection spread to the rest of Joseph’s body. But Lucy Mack Smith, Joseph’s mother, insisted that they try again to save the leg.

Dr. Nathan Smith, who knew more about this disease than any other doctor in the United States at that time, was one of the doctors who treated Joseph. He agreed to try one more time to cut out only the infection. Before he began to operate, he wanted to bind Joseph to the bed, and to give him some brandy to dull his senses. Joseph refused both helps. “No,” he claimed. “I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; … I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms.”* He also wanted his mother to leave the room so that she wouldn’t have to see him suffer. The surgery was extremely painful. When Dr. Smith broke off the diseased part of the bone, Joseph screamed.

When the surgery was finally over, Joseph was sent to visit his Uncle Jesse Smith at a seaside town, Salem, Massachusetts, to help him recover. But though both his life and leg were spared, for three years he walked with crutches, and for the rest of his life—especially when he was tired—he walked with a slight limp.

It was Christmastime, and I was 17 years old. My parents had divorced, and I had many stresses that I was trying to deal with. Each day it seemed harder to deal with the simple tasks of everyday life. At this time, when hope seemed lost, I found myself at the seminary building. I explained my frustrations to my Father in Heaven on my knees in an empty classroom.
As I spoke to my Heavenly Father in tears, I felt impressed to thank Him for the beauty of the day and even for the struggles I was facing. I also talked with a caring seminary teacher and asked for a priesthood blessing from my bishop. I began to study the scriptures more thoroughly and read other good literature by our modern-day prophets.
Finally, as I was putting up a humble, two-foot-tall Christmas tree in my room, I placed on top of it a shining silver star that my mother had given me. As I placed it there, I looked and saw a Mormonad poster with a picture of the Savior that simply said, “Now There Is Hope.” I looked from the star and then back to the painting of the Savior. It suddenly made sense to me. Because of what happened on that first Christmas, because of my Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, there was now hope.
I began thinking of all the gifts Heavenly Father had given me, and joy began to fill my heart. I was grateful and began thanking Him for my trials. I began to view my struggles as gifts given to me to strengthen me, and I thanked Heavenly Father for trusting me enough to give me these trials to overcome.
As I listened to the song “Joy to the World,” I let my mind dwell upon the line “Let earth receive her King!” (Hymns, no. 201).
I finally started to understand and receive in my heart the gift of Jesus Christ, the Savior, who paid the ultimate price. This is the gift I received that Christmas.

When I was ten or eleven years old, my twin brother and I went on a hike up the mountain just north of Y Mountain. Together, with a few friends, we woke up early and climbed straight up the face and then scampered across the top to the peak overlooking Rock Canyon.
On our way back down we ran into a small rattlesnake. Being the excitable kids we were, we surrounded the poor creature and wouldn’t let it escape. We became so bold as to pick it up by the tail as it would try to slither away. We’d hold it for a second or two and then drop it when our nerves gave in. The potentially deadly consequence of our actions didn’t deter us from our foolishness.
When we got home, my mother asked me if everything went okay on the hike. I mumbled something about a rattlesnake. She then related to me that at about the same time we would have been fooling around with the snake, she had received a strong impression that we were in danger. She had knelt and prayed for us. I was astonished. How did she know we were in trouble? This is my earliest recollection of what has become many experiences in which my mother received specific inspiration from the Holy Ghost in the very moment she needed it.

Isaac bounced up and down in his seat. He looked out the car window. They were going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. They were going to see something else special too.
“When will we see the new temple?” Isaac asked Mom.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
Isaac smiled.
Finally Isaac and his family got to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
The next morning, Isaac got dressed in his Sunday clothes. It felt funny to wear his tie in the middle of the week. Isaac ate breakfast with his family. Then they drove to the temple open house. They were going to see inside the new temple before it was dedicated.
“I see the temple!” Isaac said. He pointed to the white building with the angel Moroni on top.
There was a Church building next to the temple. Isaac and his family went there first. They watched a video. Someone helped put white covers over their shoes.
Finally it was time to go inside the temple! Isaac walked through the temple doors. His heart felt happy.
Isaac saw lots of paintings on the walls. Some paintings showed people praying. Some paintings showed beautiful plants and animals.
Then Isaac saw a painting he liked best of all. It was a painting of Jesus! Jesus was standing with His arms stretched out.
“It looks like Jesus is opening His arms to me,” Isaac whispered to Dad.
“Jesus always has His arms open for you,” Dad whispered back. “He loves each of us.”
Isaac had a good feeling in his heart. He imagined walking next to Jesus in the temple. He imagined Jesus giving him a hug.
Jesus loves Isaac. And Isaac loves Jesus too!

Sue Baker, whose home is in La Crescenta, California, is just one of more than 60 BYU students who participate in the Adopt-a-Grandparent program (AAG) sponsored by the Student Community Services office. Coordinating their efforts through a central bureau, the students work with Provo rest homes and private individuals in an effort to battle loneliness in the lives of elderly area residents.

“I felt good about the program when I first heard about it,” said Jan Henrie of Idaho Falls. “One of the greatest things about it is that you bring joy into their lives by visiting with them. But the joy that comes back to you is much more than you would get by doing something for yourself. It helps you see what a great thing service really is, not just for the person you do something for, but for yourself as well.”

The elderly participants are as excited about the once-a-week (minimum) visits as the students are. “For several years, the Y has sent somebody down here who has the time to help me make my deliveries,” said Fred Davis, an “adopted grandfather” who sells shoes. “The other day, Mike (Mike Allred, who’s working with Fred this year) took me over to deliver some in Springville. We sold a couple of pairs, and I got the chance to talk to him. He doesn’t mind helping me. I’m blind in one eye, and I like to have him describe what we’re passing.”

On the days they know visitors are coming, rest home residents sometimes get so eager they line up out in the halls, according to Sheryl Sanders of Boise, Idaho, AAG’s assistant director. “If it hadn’t been for the program,” Helen Strong, one elderly sister, emphasizes, “life would have meant nothing to me. Now, I have a friend. I feel good about having her come.”

Julie Melville, of San Jose, California, directs the Adopt-a-Grandparent service. She explains that students who wish to participate must be willing to donate at least an hour each week for six months to visit their special friend. A screening committee interviews applicants to orient them to the program and explain the commitment necessary to do a good job. Glen Hale, from Murray, Utah, the orientation and training director for the staff, meets with each new volunteer and discusses likes, needs, and tips for getting along with his elderly friend. Then the visits begin, along with a weekly progress report to a supervisor, who can offer help or refer problems to qualified authorities.

“They matched me with Albina Felker,” Jan said. “As I’ve come to visit her every week, I’ve also become acquainted with her roommate, Wanda Roper. Albina is always cheerful, tells me stories about her life, and gives me good advice. She’s 94 but active. She walks outside every day. She tells me about how she’s never smoked or drunk, how she’s done things to keep herself healthy. She also loves to talk about her family.” When Sister Felker isn’t in, Jan will spend a few minutes with Sister Roper. “I’ve worked with young people all my life, and I still enjoy it,” Sister Roper said.

“Some of the people we visit have so much to say, but no one to say it to,” Sue added. “I know it means a lot to my special friend just to be able to talk. I’ve got a great relationship with my grandparents back home, and leaving them was hard. Having someone up here who more or less is ‘family’ means a lot to me. But when I first met my friend I felt I had something to overcome. I talked with her for about 90 minutes, and a couple of days later came back. She couldn’t remember who I was. The next week I went back, and she still didn’t remember me. I finally started calling her every day and talking to her. I wouldn’t tell her who it was; I’d make her guess. Then she started saying, ‘Oh, I’ve been looking forward to your call all day.’

“About three weeks ago she said, ‘Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can call you sometime?’ It was when she actually phoned me that I got excited. She called the other night. My roommate said, ‘I think it’s your grandmother.’ I got on the phone and said, ‘Grandma?’ She said, ‘Yes, it’s me. I’ve got something exciting to share with you,’ and told me that a group of children had just come by with a basket of fruit and a card. That meant a lot to me. I feel like I’ve overcome the problem of her not knowing who I am.” Sue obviously won her heart. She’s the same elderly lady mentioned at the beginning of this story, the one who asked Sue to help her wrap a present and then gave the present to Sue.

Many of the students said they became involved with Adopt-a-Grandparent in about the same way Sharon Pritchett of Atlanta, Georgia, did. “Julie had been praying about finding people who wanted to get involved, and I had been feeling lonely and praying for ways to get to know new people,” Sharon said. The two met on their way to a religion class they had together, and after class Julie invited Sharon to a staff meeting the same day. Soon Sharon was publicity chairman for AAG.

The volunteers also said they felt their leaders had been inspired in matching them with particular elderly participants. “The Lord guides us a lot in what we do,” Julie said. “You wouldn’t believe the backgrounds of these people,” another supervisor added. “One man used to catch broncs by the tail and then train them. Another was born in Czechoslovakia and was a concert pianist. Now he’s paralyzed in one hand, but he still plays. His name is Rudy.” The supervisor also said it’s a goal of the program to place volunteers and participants with similar interests together. One fellow watches football games each Saturday with the gentlemen from a rest home. A young lady is learning how to crochet. Others work on sewing, knitting, and lapidary (making jewelry from rocks) projects with their elderly friends.

Kathleen Koch, of Carbondale, Illinois, often discusses genealogy with Alberta Campbell, her special friend. They spent one day together watching a general conference session, eating lunch, and visiting with Sister Campbell’s friends in other rooms of the convalescent center.

“My friend has been to college. Even more important, she doesn’t want to be treated like a baby,” Karen Critchfield of Los Altos, California, said. “We were both nervous to start with, but now we confide in one another.”

Besides visiting their elderly friends, the students meet on their own at least once a month for a fireside and often have social gatherings. Wendy Ius of Trail, British Columbia, said fireside speakers are usually experts in social work, psychology, or human relations. The meetings help group members feel like a team, sharpen their skill in dealing with others, and provide a time for sharing ideas and experiences. A periodically published newsletter also helps to unite the group.

From time to time special activities are held at the rest home, especially on holidays. “We had a home evening a little while ago,” Karen said, “at which she (Sister Strong) bore her testimony. It was really uplifting. We had my entire home evening group out here, and she spoke about relying on the Lord.”

Linda Barr, of Brunswick, Georgia, said AAG “makes you more concerned because you find out how lonely some people are, what little joy they have, how they feel they’re not worth anything. You want to make them feel better. And it makes you feel better to think you’re important to them.”

“Just because they’re old doesn’t mean they’re not people. They’re up-to-date, not living in the ’20s. The person inside will be the same, now or later on,” Julie said.

And Sharon Wendell, of Bountiful, Utah, added, “They have lots to offer, unless people forget them.” Colette Johnson, of Boise, Idaho, commented, “It’s hard to know if I’ve changed because of the program. It was so great to start out with, how could it get any better?”

Perhaps one of the most poignant stories, however, was related by Peggy Buchanan, of Waynesboro, Virginia, as she described her first visit to the rest home: “I went to visit Edna. She was in bed and kind of sick. I had a picture of a lily mounted on matboard, with a poem on the back. I was going to read the poem and give her the picture. She didn’t respond much, so I decided to talk to her instead. I asked her if she liked flowers. She said yes and started talking a bit. She is a great lady, and she brought out something in me. I told her about my grandmother’s flowers, and she listened while I shared parts of my life with her, which was very rewarding. Then she fell asleep, and I left. Outside the door, a woman in a wheelchair asked me to pick up her blanket and tuck it in. She cuddled up and snuggled back in her chair and was happy. I got to see about five ladies that day and helped them all. As I was leaving, I went down the back hall and asked if I could visit anybody else. I started to go, when someone called out to me and said to please come in. She reached her hand out and said, ‘Please don’t leave. We love you.’”

Peggy said, “I love you, too,” and spent several more minutes chatting with the woman. As she left, Peggy knew “that lady was happy, and that it meant a lot to her to have people visit.” She also knew that despite the pressures of school, dating, and work, she had found friends and would find time to come back often.

I came of age in the Sixties. Most commentaries about that decade say it was a turbulent time. It certainly was for me. The war in Vietnam and the compulsory draft were tearing apart the nation. I had been accepted to a small prestigious liberal arts college and after two years I was not happy. I decided to try something quite different so I applied to BYU Provo. As a junior I soon learned that I was required to take a Book of Mormon religion class with the incoming freshman class.

Having grown up in a part member family not attending seminary, and barely going to church, I had never even read the first chapter of the Book of Mormon. I remember when the first test was coming up for the class. I was standing with some other students and said “Well I guess I’ll have to read the Book of Mormon this weekend.” I can still recall the quizzical look one girl gave me. Obviously she knew that my stated goal would be a little bit more of an event than I thought it would be. This was not some ordinary piece of college literature such as a Shakespeare play or a classic novel.

Well it turned out to be, by no exaggeration, a truly life changing experience. As I read this sacred work I remember thinking this is no ordinary book, this is different. Then as many of you can also witness, a very unique feeling of goodness came over me and I knew of a surety that this was the word of God.

Luckily I was alone in the apartment because I started wandering around talking out loud to myself, and then the real life changing experience happened. I said to myself, “Well if this is true, what do I need to do?” And the clear answer came: something that I had truly never even thought about. The answer was that I should go on a mission. And so I did. I spent two wonderful spirit filled years teaching and learning from the Saints in the Philippines.

This experience truly changed my life.

I was reminded of this several years ago at Christmastime when one of our daughters had returned recently from her mission. My wife and I had purchased a gift for her—one that she was excited to receive. On Christmas Eve I suddenly realized that I didn’t remember where I had hidden the gift. (Remember, I’m the guy who beat a cherry tree with a baseball bat.) I racked my brain. I searched in all my favorite hiding places. I simply could not find the gift. I felt sick. Minutes went by, stretching into an hour or more. Nothing came to my mind. I decided to pray: “Father in Heaven, I need your help. I have a gift for my daughter but I can’t find it. She is a choice daughter, and I don’t want to disappoint her. Please help me find the gift.” Immediately, I knew where to look. I found the gift. I testify that He knows us. He loves us. We can go to Him in prayer, even in the small and simple things.

The Evans family was finally moving out of the house on our homestead farm in New Mexico.
“I wish they’d hurry and leave so we can move in,” Ed said as we watched from the barn roof. No one but Papa had seen the inside of the house.
“I wonder if they’ll leave anything,” Caroline said.
“Probably not.”
“The Caldwells found all sorts of good things left in their house,” I put in.
“Like what?”
“A table and some fruit jars.”
“And a pretty good harness in the barn.”
“Don’t forget the stove. They left a good stove,” I added.
“The oven has to be propped up,” Caroline reminded us.
“It’s still good.”
By the time the Evanses had finished loading their belongings onto the wagon and started out the gate, it didn’t seem likely that anything could be left. We slid down the smooth board and ran to look inside. The house was completely empty except for one thing.
“A high chair!” Caroline exclaimed. “Look at that. Georgie can have a high chair.”
“But we don’t even have a table,” I complained.
“Papa will make us one,” she said. “Let’s go ask him.”
After we moved our things from the dugout, Ed said, “Now I get to sleep in the barn.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Nothing doing,” Mama warned. “The barn’s for animals, not children.”
“Papa promised,” Ed told her.
“It’s all right, hon,” Papa told Mama. “The loft’s clean and warm and close enough so that we could hear them call if they needed us.”
“Well, it is pretty crowded in here,” Mama relented a little. “Just one room for the seven of us.”
“Please, mama,” Ed coaxed.
“Please,” I echoed.
“I guess it won’t hurt to try it,” she conceded, and we started out the door.
Frank grabbed my legs and shouted, “I wanna sleep with Dora! I wanna sleep with Dora!”
“Let him come, Mama. I’ll take care of him.” She knew I would too.
“Watch him, then, so he doesn’t fall down the ladder,” she cautioned.
“I don’t fall down ladders.” Frank said indignantly. “I climb down.”
So the three of us moved into the barn.
Papa began to make some furniture, first a table and then a long bench. Georgie would use his high chair. He built a stretched-out sofa, too, and Mama sewed cushions for it. In the barn Papa was working on some chairs with woven seats.
Every day Papa put a bucket down the well, hoping to bring up water, but the best he could get was damp sand on the bottom of the bucket.
“Don’t try the well till I get there,” Ed called down from the loft to Papa, when he heard the door shut after milking.
“Me, too,” I yelled and scrambled down the ladder.
One day the bucket made a splash when it went down. “There’s water,” Papa announced and pulled quickly on the rope to bring up a dripping pailful.
“Water!” Ed shouted.
“Water!” I echoed.
It was a race to the house to tell Mama, and she was so excited she said, “Let’s celebrate. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”
“Hurry then,” Papa said. “We have to get the pipe and sucker rods in.”
“What are sucker rods?” Ed wanted to know.
“They’re wooden poles to suck the water out of the ground.”
“Where do you put them?” I asked.
“First, we put a big pipe down to the bottom of the well. Then we put the sucker rods, one at a time, inside the pipe and push them as far as they’ll go into the sand.”
“What if they aren’t long enough?” Ed asked.
“We’ll fasten another one onto the first. They’re made so they can be screwed together.”
“Then will the water come up?”
“Yes, as soon as we build a windmill to run the pump.”
“What if it pumps water all over and makes a mud hole?”
“It won’t. We’ll have it fixed so we can turn if off.”
“What if the wind doesn’t blow when we want water?”
“We’ll have a storage tank. The pump will fill it up when the wind’s blowing, and we’ll use the water when we need it. I saw a galvanized tank in the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I’d better send off for one right away.”
“Pancakes are ready,” Mama announced, and we sat up to the table to eat them.
“Anyone want to go with me to look for a Christmas tree?” Papa said one day in December.
“I do!” Ed shouted.
“Me, too,” I declared.
Caroline had just spread out her paper dolls to play with while the little boys were having their naps, and she didn’t want to pick them up just yet, so she shook her head.
“Where can you find a Christmas tree?” Mama asked. “I haven’t seen any pine trees growing around here.”
“Don’t know,” Papa said. “Maybe we’ll have to use a cactus.”
“A cactus Christmas tree?” Ed sounded disappointed.
“Why not!” Papa said. “Think how pretty it would be with paper chains and popcorn strings.”
“I guess so,” Ed conceded.
“I’ll pop the corn while you’re gone,” Mama offered. “We’ll string it when you get back.”
We tramped around in the warm sunshine, trying to imagine it was winter and that Christmas was nearly here. Although we learned to expect some snow every year, it wasn’t really very much when compared with what we had in Utah. This year December seemed more like March.
We could find nothing on our property that would do, so we started down the road to the sand hills. This definitely was not Christmas tree country. We decided there was no use hunting for a green tree and began to search for something else.
“Look at this,” Ed said, pulling a spiky round bush from next to the fence where it had tumbled in the wind.
“Not bad,” Papa said. “Not bad at all.”
I found another like it but not so squatty. “Look!” I exclaimed.
“That’s even better,” Papa said.
Once we began to look, we found a whole little forest of tumbleweeds along the fence line and finally selected one that was nearly cone shaped. Papa carried it on his shoulder, and we sang “Silent Night” as we walked home in the desert twilight.
The “tree” was suspended from the ceiling in the corner, where Frank and Georgie could see but not touch. We draped it with popcorn strings and chains made from the bright Christmas paper our purchases were wrapped in at Younger’s General Store.
We didn’t receive many gifts that first Christmas in New Mexico. Our stockings contained an apple, an orange, a handful of nuts, and a peppermint stick.
Each of us had one package, and inside was a napkin ring carved by Papa. Tucked inside the ring was a paper Mama had decorated with pretty writing and flowers painted around the edge. It read: “Coupon for part interest in a place of our own. To be redeemed for a deed in seven years.”
It was the best gift of all—the gift of hope. I put mine in the box where I kept my precious things. (To be continued.)

Benson, where are you? It’s time for bed.
I don’t want to go to bed.
Why not?
Because there is a ghost in my room.
There is not a ghost in your room.
Are you sure?
I promise.
Dad, what is the Holy Ghost?
That’s a good question.
The Holy Ghost is a member of the Godhead. His job is to help us feel what Heavenly Father wants us to know and do.
Is He scary?
No, the Holy Ghost isn’t scary at all. We don’t see the Holy Ghost, but we feel Him near. He helps us feel happy.
All right, now close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep. I love you.
I love you too. And I think I feel the Holy Ghost.

We have been blessed beyond measure to live and work here in this very special place for the past 33 years. It was April 1983 when President Elliott Cameron, then the president of BYUH, came to my office in Beaver, Utah, and asked me to come to Hawaii to help establish a full service Health Center on campus. I had lived here as a young missionary in the summer of 1969. I had been called to serve in the Southern Far East mission and to serve in Taiwan. The language training program had just been instituted by the church, and the Asian and Pacific Language Training Mission was here in Hale 6.
During the years after my mission, as we made our way through pharmacy school, then medical school and further residency training, we had always thought that we would return to our hometown in Southern Utah to live the rest of our lives. However, we often felt that something was missing and that we needed to look beyond our original plans. It was a difficult decision to leave our home, family, and successful practice, and move out here to Laie. As many of you know, it is always difficult to be far away from family and familiar things and venture into “unknown” situations. We are facing many of the same emotions now, as we prepare to leave our home here and move on to the next chapter of our lives.
As we look back on the years we have spent here, we have become more aware of how short life is and how fast the time goes. We have been reminded many times of the thoughts expressed by Nephi, as he talked about the Lord preparing a way to accomplish the things that He commands us to do 1 and how the spirit will lead us along, even though we may not know “beforehand, the things which we should do.” 2
As we have tried to follow promptings and respond appropriately, we have been blessed with many wonderful opportunities to witness the hand of the Lord working in our lives and the lives of those we have associated with.

In June 1972, Sister Nelson and I decided to take our family on a rafting trip down the Colorado River. We thought that it would be fun to be together for a week, and we were told that the water level was low, so we believed that it would be safe. We had no idea how dangerous the trip would turn out to be!
Our youngest child was only four months old then, so we left him with relatives and went with our nine daughters and one son-in-law. On the second day of the trip, as we started to go over what were called the Horn Creek rapids, we suddenly saw a drop ahead that seemed to be the depth of a several-story building. These precious people in my family were about to drop down a waterfall in a small rubber raft, and I was frightened! By instinct I let go of the rope in the raft and protectively put one arm round my wife and the other around our youngest daughter, Marjorie, who was not quite seven years old.
I was sitting in the back of the raft, and as we hit the rapids, I was thrown into the air. I landed in the water, and each time I tried to reach the surface, I found myself trapped underneath the raft. I was tossed about by the water like an egg in an eggbeater, and I had no air and nearly drowned. My family couldn’t see me, but I could hear them shouting, “Daddy! Daddy! Where’s Daddy?”
I finally came to the surface, and my family was able to drag me, exhausted, out of the water. They were relieved to see me—and I was certainly glad to see them!
The next several days we went over rapids that were much more calm. Then, toward the end of the trip, we approached rapids that were much more difficult than any we had previously gone through.
We decided to have a family council, so we stopped the raft by the side of the river. We knew we had to have a plan if we were going to live through this experience. I was so worried about the safety of my family that if there had been a way to end the trip right then, I would have done it. But there was no other way to get to our destination or to return to where we started. I said to my family, “The only way we can make it through these rapids is to understand that the raft will make it through no matter what, because it will float. So if we hold on to the rope on the raft with all our strength, we will make it through the rapids. Even if the raft flips over, we will make it.”
I turned to my littlest daughter. “Marjorie,” I told her, “you will need to hold on to your daddy. Get behind me and put your arms around me and hold on tight!”
We went through the terrifying experience of going down those steep, rough rapids where, as we later learned, people had lost their lives in the past—and we made it.