Gospel Story Finder

by James Wright
While attending Brigham Young University, I had a dream that grandpa had died and I had not recorded his life story on tape. I couldn’t sit still until I had arranged to go to San Francisco and record all those stories he had told my brothers and sisters.
Ever since we were kids, I remember visiting grandpa on the weekends and listening to the stories he would tell about life in the old days and about all our relatives whom we had never met.
It was the last week of April that I finally made it to see grandpa. I remember the day well. It was then, for the first time, that I started to take grandpa’s stories seriously.
He started out by saying that he was born in Lockport, Illinois, and that his father and grandfather were both from Lockport. Great-great-grandfather was a volunteer in the Civil War. I was fascinated by the stories and was glad they were finally being preserved.
I walked away from grandpa’s apartment that day feeling I had met the real Edward Lewis Wright. He had worked hard, lived hard, and played hard. He had managed to support a wife and raise six children while working in the steel mills. As I drove back to Provo to begin a new semester at BYU, I had plenty of time to think about my interview with grandpa. Having worked as a sound engineer, I decided I would process the tape. That is, I would run it through the compressor and the equalizer to take out all the background noises. I thought I would then make copies of the interview and send one to each member of the family.
It was while I was equalizing the tape that the idea for the song came. It didn’t take long before I was doodling with my pen, playing with words and phrases, slowly putting the ideas into a poem. I wrote the words first, and then the melody came. The song was titled, “Like a Man.”
I remember playing the song to grandpa. I put his voice at the beginning and then the music faded in as his voice faded out. When dad heard it, he proclaimed it the family song, and it has remained such. I made copies of the song for most of the relatives, and everybody got a good taste of their own history.
I am now working on a whole series of songs about my family and its history. I guess the reason I wrote the song is to give, in some small way, a fitting tribute to my grandfather. I love him and am grateful he has shared his life with me. I hope I have managed to preserve his story for my future children and grandchildren.

In 1978, following the priesthood revelation, I was called by President James E. Faust, then president of the Church’s International Mission, to accompany Elder Ted Cannon on a fact-finding mission through West Africa. Although numerous groups of people in Ghana and Nigeria expressed interest in the Church at the time, total membership was less than one hundred. West African membership today totals more than 70,000, and stakes exist throughout the region.

May I illustrate with two examples.

Four weeks prior to Elder Cannon’s and my trip to West Africa in July 1978, fifty letters were sent to members and nonmembers in the various countries apprising them of our visit and asking them to meet us at the airport upon arrival. During a four-week period we visited eight cities in four countries. With the exception of one city, no one received a letter in time to meet us. Toward the end of the trip, we arrived in Calabar, Nigeria, on a Friday afternoon, needing the services of a previously identified member to help us find approximately fifteen congregations in the southeastern part of the country. Each congregation had adopted the name of our Church, and the leaders had written asking for information and missionaries.

The member, Ime Eduok, was not at the airport or at the hotel. Brother Cannon and I checked in and went to our room not knowing where or how to find Brother Eduok in a city of one million. The next two days were a critical part of the trip, and Brother Eduok was the only one who could help us. We knelt in prayer and asked the Lord to guide us to him. We returned to the lobby and asked the desk clerk if she knew Mr. Eduok. She did not. Within a few minutes a large number of Nigerians had gathered around us discussing our plight but lacking the information needed. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see a large man standing next to me who said: “Did I hear you say Ime Eduok? He is my employee. I just entered the hotel to buy a newspaper on my way home from work. Ime will be leaving the firm in fifteen minutes. I do not know where he lives. If he leaves the office before you arrive, it is unlikely that you will find him before Monday.” The man hurriedly put us in a taxi and gave the driver directions. We arrived at the business just as Ime Eduok was locking the door. Brother Eduok guided us to each congregation during the Saturday and Sunday that followed. Many people in those congregations are now members of the Church, and information gleaned from them formed an important part of the report given to the First Presidency upon our return.

A few years ago, I learned to index during a large indexing activity organized at the Les Abymes meetinghouse, led in part by Sabrina Bastien. It didn’t particularly captivate me as I found the documents difficult to read. Another time, I participated in an indexing activity on a Sunday with young people who had been called to serve as temple and family history consultants. I then began trying to do it alone at home, calling Sister Bastien for help when problems arose, and reading explanations on FamilySearch. I started indexing every Sunday afternoon. It became a way for me to help my family with their genealogy, as we are all part of our Heavenly Father’s family. If I find it easy to locate my close family, it’s because others have done work for me.
So, it’s my turn to return the favor. I noticed that by asking for help from our Heavenly Father, I could read certain writing more easily. This allowed me to have patience. During the first major COVID-19 lockdown, I indexed every day. And then every Sunday. I am happy to be able to help, through indexing, in bringing families together on both sides of the veil.
I used to index, but I stopped. This challenge encouraged me to resume service. [I found that] as soon as I engage in indexing, the Lord helps me stay calm, and patient, and I see difficult-to-decipher names light up. I feel joy in doing this service and want to do it over and over again. Thank you for the encouragement. Some of you (consultants) have the gift of motivating others to go further and contribute to this work. I am blessed and grateful to have you as brothers and sisters in Christ.

The ice glowed with a cold bluish hue around the edges of the rink, but in the middle, it was white where the cutting edges of skates had scarred the smooth surface. Huddled to one side of the rink was a group of toddlers, rocking unsteadily on the narrow blades as they clung to their mothers. It was the first time most of them had ever seen a skating rink, and it would be their first experience with ice skating.
One little girl with straight blonde hair was anxious to get started. Her mother helped her onto the ice. She tried a few running steps, but the skates slid out from under her. She went down hard, falling back and hitting her head with a resounding crack on the ice. The cry was one of sincere pain. Holly Cook, the toddler, wanted to end her skating career then and there.
“On my fourth birthday, Mom took me down to the ice rink which had just opened and signed me up for a group lesson. When I hit my head, I didn’t want to go back on the ice after that.”
But she did. Holly’s mother wiped away the tears, comforted her, then helped her again stand on the ice.
As a four-year-old, Holly Cook did try again, and since that time trying again has become a part of her daily life. She has spent hours and hours perfecting the intricate moves that make figure skating look deceptively simple when she’s on the ice. For 11 years she has honed her talent, skill, and grace, until now at age 15 she is one of the best—one of the 10 best women figure skaters in the United States and in the world. Competing in her first senior Nationals, Holly came in tenth. In her first international competition in Yugoslavia, she placed eighth. Just a few months ago in an international skating competition known as the Coupes des Alpes, she took first.
Get out the scrapbooks with the clippings and photographs of Holly’s skating career, and the picture of her after the first competition will tell you all you need to know about why she has been successful. There she is at six-and-a-half, standing in third place holding her little ribbon, with her eyes glued on the trophy in the first-place winner’s hands. The look in her eye is everything. It is a look of pure resolve, a look that says next time the trophy will be hers.
Holly’s mother, Marge, noticed the look also. “That’s when I realized her determination. The girl who placed above her had an axel in her routine. Holly didn’t do that yet. She came home and went right to work learning it. I realized then that she had something special. She would fall and fall but keep on trying.”
Her teacher and coach, Chris Sherard also noticed the determination and talent of young Holly. “She was all business even as a six-year-old. She knew what she was supposed to do. She didn’t agonize over every performance. On the outside, she’s different than on the inside. Outside she’s a nice kid and tries not to hurt feelings. When she skates, her inner self comes out, and she becomes aggressive and strong. She wants to compete. I think the combination is nice.”
Holly is approaching a critical period in her skating. She is entering senior high school and needs to either make a commitment to skating or relax and become involved more in school. “Everybody decides in about ninth grade,” Holly explains, “if they really want to skate or not. You have to decide whether to be involved in all the high school activities or to stick with skating. I’ve been skating well and working hard. Now I want to stick with it.”
It isn’t always easy to stay with a schedule when it includes five or six hours a day on the ice. A typical day goes something like this. Holly wakes up at 4:30 in the morning and gets ready for school. She heads for the skating rink and skates from 5:30 to 7:30. Then it’s off to school by 8:00. She’s in school until 2:00 since she’s allowed to skip her seventh period class. Then it’s back to the rink for more practice from 2:00 until 5:00. At 6:00 it’s dinner and homework, a short time to relax, then to bed.
Holly has learned how to deal with the ups and downs of skating. “There is always a point when you want to just quit. If you stick with it, things turn out for the better. I know when I have really bad days, when I just want to throw in the towel and say bag it, that everybody has bad days. You have to just realize that it happens. I have to think, ‘I’ll stick with it.’”
And Holly has a pretty clear view of how things should be in big competitions. “There are a lot of big heads. I don’t want to get like that. I want to stay laid back and skate for the fun of it. A lot of skaters skate because others want them to, but I just don’t want to do that.” Her parents agree. Holly is the youngest of six children, and they want her to skate as long as it is making her happy.
For Holly, doing well in her skating routines has brought a lot of satisfaction. “At the last Nationals, I had the best long program I have ever, ever skated. When I got off the ice, the crowd was great. I love the crowd. It was fun to hear them clapping for me. I had tears in my eyes. I was happy with myself.”
But not all competitions go smoothly. “There are some competitions where I do well and others when I do bad. Sometimes you just don’t feel like skating. Other times you’re just rarin’ to go. And those competitions are the ones you pull off.”
When asked to analyze her own style of skating, Holly is quick to point out her strengths and weaknesses. “I like powerful skating. I like the fast portions of my routines. I’ve been told I skate like a boy,” Holly says with some chagrin. “My favorite move is a cantilever. It’s fun to do. Girls don’t do that move in their routines. But right now I’m working on my maturity. That’s how I present myself, keeping the body up, standing up straight and working with my arms. Then I’m going to work on the consistency of my jumps.”
As a Mia Maid in the Bountiful Utah 53rd Ward, Holly has had the support of her Young Women leaders and the other young people in the ward. Susan Larson, the Young Women president and formerly Holly’s teacher, says, “Holly is just so genuine and friendly. She’s lots of fun to have around and fits in easily. There is no envy from the young people. They are all just so proud of her. Everyone is excited about her successes. And we’re touched when she bears her testimony about how she prays and feels that the Lord is with her.”
Holly has found that religious faith has given her something to talk about with skaters of other religions. And she finds the opportunity to bear her testimony. “I was talking to a Catholic skater one time when we got onto the subject of religion,” said Holly. “We were just talking and comparing what he thinks is true and what I think is true. It’s good to learn more about other religions and other people.”
Back to the scrapbooks. There’s a picture of Holly during her first time at Nationals. At 14, she was still competing in the junior division. Just like the picture when she was six, she’s standing on the riser in third place. But this time, her eyes are straight ahead. There is no sidelong glance at the first-place trophy. The smile is bright, and the look is still determined. She obviously knows she has done as well as she could and better than nearly everyone expected.
“My biggest goal,” said Holly, “is to skate my best at competitions, to show myself that I can do it. And if I do skate my best, then it will take me somewhere. Everybody wants to go to the Olympics. I don’t want to think about it because it puts too much pressure on people. When I push myself too much, that’s when I don’t do as well.”
One person who would have loved to watch this young woman develop her skill on the ice is Holly’s grandfather. He knew the lure of speed and grace on the slippery surface. He himself was a speed skater, and he taught his little girl, Holly’s mother, to skate. But he did not live to see his granddaughter follow in his blade marks.
Still Holly is influenced by him and the stories of him her mother has told her. “I hope that he has seen me skate. I think of him even though I didn’t know him. I think of how he used to skate, then my mom skated, and now I skate. And I wonder if my children and grandchildren will skate too. Sometimes I skate remembering my grandfather, and that encourages me.”
And the scrapbooks continue to be filled with clippings of triumphs on the ice and photographs of a young girl with a look of assurance that she is pursuing her talents and doing the best she can. But somewhere, lingering around the eyes, is the look that was once on the face of a six-year-old, a look of pure determination.

Dean has had encouragement along the way. “You know, I had a favorite teacher in high school who was also my bishop. He said to me, ‘Listen, Dean. Now is the time for you to paint. I know you’d like to go out and play basketball or baseball and you’d like to be with the rest of your friends; but I’ll promise you that if you will do the art that you feel strongly about now, someday you’ll be able to play while your friends work.’ And you know, this has really come true. Now when I want to go somewhere I go—Alaska, New York, or down south. I’ll never have to worry about a job, I guess. My paintings are selling and I can say in them what I have to say. This is my form of communication. This is me, and if people like my art, they like me. I guess I have the best life in this world, because my fun is my work and my work is fun.”

Armed with hoes, shovels, saws, and wheelbarrows, 90 Aaronic Priesthood holders and Young Women of the Salt Lake Monument Park 15th Ward descended on the Brighton Branch chapel in the Wasatch Mountains for an ecology-in-action service project—a general beautification of the natural grounds surrounding the mountain chapel.
For the past five summers the Brighton Branch has presented Celebration, a depiction of the ten-year anniversary in Brighton of the Saints’ arrival in the Salt Lake Valley. A concrete memorial commemorating the event and an amphitheater with natural timber seating makes this annual summer pageant a meaningful reminder of the arrival of the pioneers in the Valley. The service project was intended to help make the outdoor setting more beautiful for the pageant and for the church members who attend services in the chapel during the summer. The young people volunteered to landscape the grounds around the chapel, which nestles at the foot of several ski lifts rising thousands of feet up the Wasatch Mountains.
The youths spread four truckloads of topsoil, planted 90 shrubs and trees, moved large boulders, cut down dead trees and sawed them into logs, and erected volleyball standards.
The priests and Laurels enthusiastically cut down several dead trees for firewood and cleared an area for additional seating in the amphitheater. The cry of “Timber” rang through the forest, and all hands watched from a safe distance as the massive dead trees fell to the ground. They were then sawed into log sections and split. Teachers dug holes for volleyball standards and poured concrete. The Mia Maids assisted them in digging holes and planting 90 shrubs and trees.
The Beehives and deacons spread and leveled four loads of topsoil. They also moved firewood and stacked it for use in the fireplaces.
Following an outdoor chili supper prepared by the quorum and class presidencies on the new concrete pageant stage, the youths enjoyed several square dances. As darkness fell, the group was invited inside the Brighton chapel where the theme presentation, prepared by the young people themselves, was presented. A testimony meeting was held during which many expressed their appreciation for an opportunity to help others while having such a great time in beautiful surroundings. Several commented that they would bring their own families here in years to come to show them the trees they had planted.

I was a teenager when the missionaries brought the gospel into my home. I remember listening to their message and thinking that the Father and the Son appearing to 14-year-old Joseph Smith and an angel leading Joseph to golden plates sounded too good to be true. The missionaries also said that there was a living prophet on the earth. That also sounded too good to be true. But I noticed positive changes in our home as the missionaries taught our family. Soon I joined the Church.
Changes in my own life, however, didn’t come immediately just because I was baptized. I began attending church on Sundays, but other than that, I still did the same things I was doing before. It wasn’t until I was 17 years old that I made a promise to the Lord that I would read at least 10 pages of the Book of Mormon every day.
One of the first things I read was that the Book of Mormon was “written to the Lamanites,” and I was taught that the Lamanites “are among the ancestors of the American Indians” (Book of Mormon, Title Page and Introduction).
I am proud of my name and of my heritage. Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me. I was eager to continue reading.
I never missed a day. As I read, I marked in red all the great truths everyone needs to know. Then I marked in yellow the promises the prophets made to the descendants of the Lamanites. As I did so, their words seemed to fly off the page!
After reading the last page, I got on my knees and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was true, if Joseph Smith was a prophet, and if the Church had a living prophet. As I prayed, I felt the Spirit powerfully witness to me the truth of these things.
“Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me.”

One day Dad woke us up very early. Mom had had a bad night, and she was very, very ill. She wanted to talk to us because she knew that it was almost time for her to go back to live with Heavenly Father.
When we went into her bedroom, she reached out and touched each of us and told us how much she loved us. “Now, here’s a little testimony for you,” she said. “Even though I’ll be leaving you very soon, it’s part of Heavenly Father’s plan.”
We all wept. It didn’t seem as if there could ever be enough time to tell Mom how much we loved her.
“Sweetheart,” she said to Dad, “would you bring me the special book I have been keeping, please?”
Dad handed her a pretty journal.
“This journal is filled with lots of little things for you to remember when I’m not here to talk to you anymore. It’s full of little testimonies for you. I want you to remember how much I love the Savior. I want you to love Him that much, too, so that we can always be together.”
We opened the beautiful book. The pages were filled with memories, in Mom’s handwriting, of the joy of the days gone by. We read things like, “I saw some tiny kittens at Aunt Sis’s house. They knew their mother immediately, without even being able to see. We can learn to know the Savior like that, if we have faith.” “The garden seeds are sprouting. After the long, cold winter, it’s good to see them coming up again. It reminds me of the Resurrection, and the promise of new life.”
We closed the book before we had time to look at all the pages. Mom was closing her eyes, but she had a smile on her face. “Whenever you feel lonely for me, I want you to read this book.” She opened her eyes. “I want you to remember that the Savior loves you very much. When you pray, you will feel safe and calm and you will know that I love you still.”

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us to pray for our enemies. Our Church leaders today have often counseled us to do the same when we harbor ill feelings. While growing up, I used to think this was an old cliché used because no one could think up a better answer. There came a time in my life, though, when the only thing I could do was pray for those I so despised. I learned the wisdom in that counsel from an experience with prayer and forgiveness that changed my life.
It started when I entered the Young Women program in our small ward. I had always had fairly healthy self-esteem, mostly a result of accomplishing my goals. Involved in many activities, I always tried to do the best I could in each area. I was excited about being in Young Women, and I began trying to develop a relationship with the four girls I would be in constant association with. My excitement soon turned to bitterness as these four girls became one of the biggest trials in my life.
Being jealous of my accomplishments, they started doing anything they could to bring me down. At first it was just cutting remarks behind my back. Then they would band together and make fun of me in Sunday School. One day in Young Women class I sat next to one of the girls, and she stood up and moved across the room. Whenever I suggested an activity or was in charge, they failed to show up or carry through with their responsibilities.
I tried hard to uphold my standards, and was sometimes recognized for doing so. This did not improve my social standing with them. Everyone’s favorite section of the school newspaper was the song dedications. One week I was horrified to read that these girls had dedicated “Goody Two Shoes” to me. I felt this was an attempt to embarrass me in front of the whole school.
A person can endure this sort of treatment for a few months, or even a couple of years, but it went on for four years at an age when it is very important to feel a sense of belonging. I felt I was a failure because I had no friends. It was a terribly lonely time.
When I was 16, our family moved. I thought all my problems would be solved, but they were just beginning. In a new environment, I felt like a social worm. With little confidence left, I believed no one could ever like me. I hated the girls back in my hometown for making me feel this way. How could I “start over” with my past haunting me?
Feeling horribly alone, unloved, and bitter, I questioned what I should do. There was that old cliché, “Pray for your enemies.”
Pray for the girls who have destroyed my self-esteem, my social life, and hope? Be real, I thought.
But I felt the Spirit nudging me to pray.
I knew I had to forgive if I was ever going to progress and regain my confidence. I knelt and said my usual prayer. Then I stopped. I couldn’t pray for them. I just couldn’t. I stayed on my knees for about a half hour weeping. Praying for strength, I then said, “Dear Father, please bless Kathy, Ann, Sherri, and Julie.” That’s all I said. I didn’t feel any different, and it was the hardest prayer I had ever offered. The next night I said the same thing.
After a few months of praying every night for them, an amazing thing started to happen. The words came more easily, and I started feeling better about myself. Soon I prayed specific things for each girl: “Bless Ann to do well in her dance lessons. Bless Julie to get along with her parents. Bless Kathy to have the courage to stand up for the right, and bless Sherri with the strength to accomplish her goals.”
After an entire year of praying, the thing that I thought impossible happened. I loved them, and the bitterness and bad memories were erased. We have now become good friends.
It has been three years since that move and prayer, yet I still take time out in my prayers to remember them. The night I decided to pray and forgive them was probably the most important decision I ever made. You see, I could have spent my whole life being angry and hurt. In the end, I would have only destroyed myself.
Through those prayers I was able to improve my self-esteem. I learned faith, the power of prayer, and the truthfulness of the scriptures. I have been blessed with many friends who love me. I have not carried around a guilty, heavy conscience. It has become a habit for me to fall to my knees and pray for anyone who offends me. I have learned the sweetness of forgiveness.

Allow me to share this afternoon with you one of the most precious things to me—the story of how I myself was found.
Just before I turned 15, I was invited by my uncle Manuel Bustos to spend some time with him and his family here in the United States. This would be a great opportunity for me to learn some English. My uncle had converted to the Church many years before, and he had a great missionary spirit. That is probably why my mother, without my knowing, spoke with him and said she would agree to the invitation on one condition: that he did not try to convince me to become a member of his Church. We were Catholics, and we had been for generations, and there was no reason to change. My uncle was in complete agreement and kept his word to the point that he didn’t want to answer even simple questions about the Church.
Of course, what my uncle and his sweet wife, Marjorie, could not avoid was being who they were.
I was assigned a room that contained a large library of books. I could see that in this library there were roughly 200 copies of the Book of Mormon in different languages, 20 of them in Spanish.
One day, out of curiosity, I took down a copy of the Book of Mormon in Spanish.
It was one of those copies with a sky-blue soft cover, with the figure of the angel Moroni on the front. When I opened it, on the first page there was written the following promise: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
And then it added: “And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
It is difficult to explain the impact that these scriptures had on my mind and heart. To be honest, I was not looking for “the truth.” I was just a teenager, happy with his life, enjoying this new culture.
Nevertheless, with that promise in mind, I secretly began reading the book. As I read more, I understood that if I really wanted to get anything from this, I had better start to pray. And we all know what happens when you decide not only to read but also to pray about the Book of Mormon. Well, that is just what happened to me. It was something so special and so unique—yes, just the same as what has happened to millions of others around the world. I came to know by the power of the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true.
I then went to my uncle to explain to him what had happened and that I was ready to be baptized. My uncle could not contain his astonishment. He got into his car, drove to the airport, and returned back with my plane ticket to fly back home, with a note addressed to my mother that simply stated, “I had nothing to do with this!”
In a way he was right. I had been found directly by the power of the Book of Mormon.

“Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.” I had seen this little sign a million times and never thought anything of it. It was only one of many strategically placed thoughts and quotes that dotted the walls of our home. This one happened to be in the best location of all—right above the kitchen table.
When friends came over, we naturally congregated in the kitchen. Dates, late night movies, and quick lunches almost all involved the kitchen. Mom knew this and planned her attack accordingly. Years later I realized what a direct hit Mom had scored.
I was blessed with a lot of friends who are also members of the Church. We went to church and school together, and most of us went on missions at about the same time. However, there was one who was not exactly like the rest of us. His parents were divorced, and he was shuffled between their homes and the homes of friends. As a result, I think he always felt a little isolated and alone. He wore his hair long and always had at least one earring. Regardless, we loved him, and he was one of us.
During high school we witnessed him change; it was great. A short time after his 19th birthday he submitted his mission papers and received a call. A couple of months later we really understood the significance of this event.
The realization came on a cold, crisp Sunday in January. My friends and I had gathered to hear this young man speak in sacrament meeting. I had been invited to perform a musical number, so I sat on the stand. As I gazed over the crowd, I saw all of our friends, as well as my family; it was a wonderful sight. As my friend ventured to the pulpit, his eyes were a little red.
His talk opened with a question: “Do any of you know why I am here? Well, it is really very simple. I am here because of the many meals eaten at a friend’s table, a table with a sign above it that reads, ‘Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.’ I want my friends to know that without their influence and love I wouldn’t be here today.”
As I looked down into the crowd, I saw my mother with teary eyes and a smile.
From that day on, I have also thought about the effects my friends have had on my life. I don’t know if I would have served a mission without their example. I don’t know what kind of a person I would be today if it hadn’t been for the strength and love I received from such wonderful people. For that, I will be forever grateful, both to them and to my Heavenly Father.
I know that no one has forgotten the message shared from that pulpit. I also know that that sign, to this day, still hangs above our kitchen table.

The story of the doughnut and how it got its hole is legendary. One version suggests that it was Hanson Gregory, a well-known sea captain, who suggested the idea to his mother one day in 1847 when she was frying dough cakes in a small New England town.
Hanson noticed that the centers of her cakes always seemed doughy and undercooked, so he suggested that she cut out their middles before she started to fry them. She laughed at the childlike suggestion but tried it out anyway. The very first result was so excellent—the whole doughnut ring being uniformly cooked and of a light, spongy texture—that she never went back to the old way. Her method soon became famous and was copied widely until it spread throughout the United States and, eventually, to other lands.

When Tom Holdman, whom I mentioned previously, was working on the San Antonio Texas Temple, he wanted to use agate stone in the stained glass windows. Agate looks like a rough rock on the outside, but it can have a vibrant, translucent appearance inside that lets light shine through, highlighting its beautiful, banded layers.

When Tom visited the temple site and mentioned his intention, the missionary overseeing the construction emotionally led Tom to a trailer full of rough stones. He explained that while digging the foundation, they had encountered essentially a cave full of rocks. Without quite knowing why, the construction missionary followed a prompting and instructed the crew to pull out and save all the stones from the cave before proceeding with the dig. This action resulted in significant teasing from the crew—because who saves a pile of rock? But now, standing in front of the trailer next to Tom, the missionary knew why he was led to do so. These stones, with their beautiful agate interiors, were carefully preserved in the earth, ready to come forth when God needed their vibrant quality to shine forth from His holy temple.

Later, Tom came across Isaiah’s prophecy about temples in 3 Nephi 22:12: “And I will make thy windows of agates” (also Isaiah 54:12). Today, Tom tries to include a piece of this prophesied agate in every temple he works on.

In 1962, having returned home from presiding over the Canadian Mission of the Church, I received a telephone call from Elder Marion G. Romney. He advised me that the First Presidency had named me as a member of the Adult Correlation Committee of the Church, which committee had the specific assignment to work on the preparation of a new concept—even home teaching. Thus began a most interesting and rewarding experience for me. Each phase of our work, when completed, was reviewed by the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve. In the spring of 1963, our work was done and a number of us were called to serve on a new committee—the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee—and assigned to go among the stakes of the Church, teaching and encouraging its implementation.

President David O. McKay met with all of the General Authorities of the Church and with the representatives of the committee. He counseled those assembled: “Home teaching is one of our most urgent and most rewarding opportunities to nurture and inspire, to counsel and direct our Father’s children. … It is a divine service, a divine call. It is our duty as Home Teachers to carry the divine spirit into every home and heart.”

My father was brought into the Church when he was courting my mother. He was ordained an elder and was active for a short period before he fell away from the Church.
He had no formal contact with the Church for about 50 years. He had moved many times. And then, when he was 82, living alone in southern California and failing in health, two men knocked on his door on a Sunday morning. They said, “We’re here to take you to priesthood meeting.”
He was so grateful that somebody would take the effort to befriend him. Those men took my father to church—something his three active sons never could accomplish, except on special occasions. They were good examples of how priesthood quorum members should seek out those in need. My family will be forever grateful to the men of that quorum.Elder Dale E. Miller of the Seventy.

The Young Men, Young Women, and youth leaders of the Rigby Second Ward, Rigby East Idaho Stake, managed to read the entire Book of Mormon in 45 minutes during an activity night!
Well, they did divide it up a bit. Each one took the responsibility for reading several chapters. Everyone took a colored leaf with a reading assignment on it, and on the back they wrote what they had learned from it. The leaves were then put together to make a tree representing the one in Lehi’s dream.
Comments included things like “God will show you miracles after you show him your faith” and “I learned the righteous are blessed and helped by the Lord.”

I recently had a mote in my eye. I would not have thought of it that way, but it truly was a mote. A tiny, almost invisible sliver stuck under my eyelid. It wasn't painful, but it was uncomfortable, like an eyelash stuck in my eye, except it wouldn't flush out. My wife couldn't see it. I couldn't see it. It bothered me most when I tried to sleep at night. It would keep me up, just scratching and irritating me. I wondered how it would be if I had to go the rest of my life with this irritation in my eye. Finally, after about a week, I called an optometrist to see if he could help me. It was a Saturday, and they were closing in a few minutes. I hurried to get to his office before he closed for the weekend. I didn't wait. The doctor everted my eyelid (which means he flipped my eyelid inside out), examined my eye, and found a couple of tiny slivers. He seemed unsure whether they were really even the cause of the problem because they were so small. He applied a numbing agent and then plucked the slivers from my eye. I felt instant relief. I was so grateful that I could close my eye without discomfort. It made me wish I had gone to see the doctor a week earlier, when I first discovered the problem.

Then there was Picoco Primary School, where 1,300 children were being taught from just three classrooms.
“The story of these children and just three classrooms is a touching one,” said Gilberto Albano Chiburee, the director of the school.
Originally, the school’s three classrooms accommodated its 200 students. “But over a short space of time, our community flourished in numbers,” said Chiburee.
The number of students kept increasing. The primary school was strained to evenly distribute students into three sessions, the first group in the morning, the second group in the afternoon, and the third group of students in the evening.
When the number of students passed the 500 mark, Chiburee and his faculty of teachers knew that they had to do something different. They approached nonprofit organisations, government and corporations to ask for assistance, but to no avail.
So Chiburee and his staff started planting trees.
“We used these trees as makeshift classrooms because we did not have any other option. We had sought the help of various companies, nonprofit organizations, and the government but to no avail,” Chiburee said.
This predicament only made matters worse when the number of students enrolling in the school kept climbing. The first and second graders were prioritized to learn in classrooms, while third up to seventh graders learned under trees.
“It broke my heart to have children arrive as early as 6 AM only to sit on the hard and uncomfortable ground until noon. Some of the children started experiencing back problems,” an emotional Chiburee said.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, along with No Poor Among Us, then heard about the school and arranged to construct five new classrooms.
The news about the construction of five new classrooms was received with great excitement, many thanks, and tears from teachers, students, and locals. Chiburee expressed how thankful he was that no student of the school would be sent home as a result of rain or the wind.
The project was expected to be completed by the end of June this year. An additional 900 students will be accommodated.

Fifteen-year-old Jennifer Openshaw then, now 30-year-old Jennifer Bowden, thought about where she wanted to be in 15 years when the time capsule was buried.

“I was hoping I’d be married and be a mom,” she says.

Check. Her husband sends her a smile from a nearby table as her children, Samuel and Emma, giggle on the Jeppsons’ swing set.

“I also knew I wanted an education,” she continues.

Double check. Jennifer has a master’s degree in dietetics from Utah State University.

What has stayed the same is her strong testimony of the gospel. She pauses thoughtfully to consider where the last 15 years have taken her. “If my younger self could see me, I think she’d be pleased,” she says.

One year the young women in my ward participated in an interesting experiment related to dressing modestly. Here’s an account of one young woman who learned about this gospel principle and applied it to her life.
Anna Larsen* was excited that her turn to shop for clothes had finally come. Sister Jensen, her Laurel adviser, had taken each girl in the class shopping to learn a modesty lesson. Anna wasn’t sure what to expect.
When they arrived at the store, Sister Jensen asked Anna to pick out three outfits. As they walked to the dressing room, Sister Jensen said, “After you’ve put on an outfit, come out. Be prepared to have your eyes opened.”
Intrigued by her leader’s directions, Anna put on the sleeveless button-down shirt and hip-hugging skirt. When she walked out, Sister Jensen motioned her to the mirrors. “Now we’re going to play a game.”
“I doubt the clerks would be happy with me playing in their clothes before I’ve bought them,” Anna said.
Sister Jensen laughed and shook her head. “We’re going to play ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes.’”
Anna looked skeptical.
“I’m serious,” Sister Jensen said. “Let’s start with your head.”
Anna put her hands on her head and saw her shirt pull up, baring her skin. “Oops,” she gasped, tugging it back down.
Sister Jensen put Anna’s hands back up. “That’s part of the game. You see how much your shirt lifts up? Now try shoulders,” Sister Jensen said.
When Anna dropped her hands to her shoulders she noticed even more showing inside the armholes. She also saw the shirt straining at the buttons.
“Now bend over and touch your knees and toes,” Sister Jensen advised.
Between her shirt and skirt was a two-inch gap. “Wow,” Anna said.
“I know,” Sister Jensen said. “Now, go try on the next outfit.”
After repeating the game twice more, Anna’s mood dimmed. None of her outfits had completely passed the “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” test.
“Don’t worry,” Sister Jensen said. “There’s hope. You just have to know how to put things together.” For the next hour Sister Jensen showed Anna how to layer different clothes to make them modest and stylish. She then challenged Anna to look through her closet and see if any changes needed to be made.
Later that night Anna looked at the mess on her bed. It had been overwhelming trying everything on to see what was modest or immodest. With a sigh she picked up one particular pile and carried it to her mom.
“Mom, I was wondering if I could donate these clothes.”
“Sure, honey. Why?” her mom replied.
Anna smiled. “Have you ever played ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes’?”