Gospel Story Finder

Lindy, Charleston, hustle, Latin, and swing. If you guessed those were all dances, give yourself a big pat on the back. But can you guess what those dances have to do with strengthening families and friendships?
“We wanted to recognize the family and have the youth find the job of modern-day families, and we wanted to do it through dance,” says Bruce Bassett, a youth leader. Doctrine and Covenants 136:28 states, “If thou art merry, praise the Lord with singing, with music, with dancing, and with a prayer of praise and thanksgiving.” Five stakes in Washington took that scripture and ran with it—it actually danced with it.
The Bothell, Snohomish, Everett, Lynnwood, and Mount Vernon Stakes spent two years planning their dance festival in Marysville, and one and a half of those years working on it intensely. It was the first dance festival in that area in more than 20 years. “It teaches us how much effort and responsibility it takes to put on one of these festivals,” says Morgan Thatcher, 16, of the Everett Stake. “And also how much fun it can be.”
For the last five months of those two years, the youth learned all the dance moves they would need to pull off this spectacular event. Hours and hours of practice and some great choreography, not to mention raw talent, meant the final product was a big hit.
But the show wasn’t all dancing. Those who weren’t inclined to dance were able to perform in other ways. There were lights to run, sound checks to do, and banners to carry. There was also a play which brought all the dances together into a performance with a story line.
Picture it. A family reunion, complete with Grandma, uncles and aunts, and all the cousins you can handle. And memories. Lots of memories. The actors in the family reunion played their parts on a stage in the middle of a large gymnasium. One by one, the family members tell stories of dancing with their first love, or about cheerleading tryouts, or they read from their great-grandpa’s journal. The stories were then brought to life by hundreds of youth, doing dances ranging from a square dance to hip-hop, depending on the story. The family’s South African neighbor even stops by to tell one of his stories about dancing.
Early on the morning of the big performance, the youth are rushing around frantically trying to find lost hats and canes, or even the whereabouts of their stakes. But the chaos dies down as soon as the nearly 1,000 young people gather in perfect rows in the gym to say an opening prayer and begin practice. It is their first time practicing as a complete group. Previously, the stake groups had practiced on their own. A lot of organization and teamwork made it possible to integrate all the stakes and their dances. The youth practice all morning, but instead of being tired, by early afternoon they are excited to give the day’s first performance.
By 1:00 P.M., everyone is costumed and waiting in the wings for their cues. The stage for the opening number is set when the family reunion begins. “Celebration,” a 1984 song, is the first dance number, and all the stakes participate. Hula-hoops fly, streamers wave, and each stake performs its unique number while coordinating with the other stakes.
Prompted by the memories and stories of the on-stage family, the youth keep dancing. A hat and cane number, a Latin dance, and a classic disco hustle. Then it was on to a pioneer square dance.
The youth are reliving the legacy of the early Saints. Since pioneer days, the Saints have praised the Lord with dance. Brigham Young said, “If you want to dance … do it, and exercise your bodies, and let your minds rest,” and, “If you wish to dance, dance; and you are just as much prepared for a prayer meeting after dancing as ever you were, if you are Saints” (in Journal of Discourses, 6:149, 148).
The last song, which was also part of the opening number, has a prayerful quality. The score is an original, written by Ann Bailey, the event’s music director. The song title, “A Time to Dance,” is taken from Ecclesiastes 3:4. The spirit filling the gymnasium was one of praise and worship, thanks to the dedicated youth of Washington, who were congratulated with a standing ovation and many tear-filled eyes. The youth performed the whole show again a few hours later to another packed gymnasium.
Although the dance festival turned out to be a big success, it seemed like a gamble at first to many of the youth who opted not to have youth conferences so they could participate in the festival. The practices were long and hard, and most of the youth had never done any of the dances before.
The festival also required a lot of stretching, physically and socially. Besides the exertion of dancing for hours, many had to dance with partners they’d never met before. It was difficult at first, says Erin Bingham, 15, of Mount Vernon, “but it’s just neat seeing a lot of Mormons together.” Most of the youth said the closeness to their families and to other young people they have met was more rewarding than they could have imagined.
Shaler Mortensen’s whole family was involved in the dance festival, doing everything from making costumes to actually dancing. “It wasn’t like youth conference,” he says, “but to compare the two is like apples and oranges. This is a lot more work.”
But all their hard work paid off. Not only did the youth get to enjoy the company of many other Latter-day Saints they might not have met otherwise, but they also learned skills they can put into practice. “Stake dances are going to be a lot of fun now,” says Erin. One of the stakes has already requested Latin music at the next stake dance.
Another blessing of bringing Latter-day Saint youth together is the fellowshipping and missionary work that happens when they are together. “It’s a chance to show nonmembers that we aren’t weird people and we can have fun,” says Richard Horne, 17, of the Bothell Stake.
Of the five friends the youth brought with them to dance in the festival, two have joined the Church, and two are taking the missionary discussions. “They like the fellowshipping, and they know the Church is true,” Erin says.
Keoni Barney, 16, is a recent Church convert in the Mount Vernon Stake. “All the kids were just so nice,” he says. He found out about the Church when he moved in with his aunt and uncle and started dancing with the youth at their practices. He says his friends’ examples helped him gain a testimony. “I’ve never seen so much energy out of a group of youth in my entire life,” Keoni laughs. He says he can’t keep up with them, but maybe it’s the over-sized collar on his disco outfit that’s holding him back, he jokes. “I love having the opportunity to be in the dance festival.”
Like Keoni, Jimmy Fisher and Sharon Kwan also investigated the Church because of their friends’ examples. Jimmy decided he was going to be baptized before he decided to participate in the dance festival, and Sharon, an exchange student from Hong Kong, took the missionary discussions and was baptized shortly after the festival.
Underlying the costumes, ultra-cool dance moves, and camaraderie is a special spirit. Everyone felt it—Sharon included. She says she found out “it’s possible to praise the Lord through dance.”
Alison Herron, a choreography director from the Everett Stake, says, “I never would have stuck with it if not for the many sweet moments when the Spirit bore witness to me that we were doing something wonderful.”
The youth felt something special that day—and not just on that day, but through the entire process—and that they will never forget. It wasn’t just about the dancing. It was about dancing with a purpose. It was glorifying the family and praising the Lord.

“Since childhood it has been very easy for me to believe in the reality of the visions of the Prophet Joseph Smith,” said President David O. McKay to a Tabernacle audience six months after he became president of the Church in 1951. Then, vividly recalling a childhood experience on the family farm in Huntsville, Utah, he continued:
“When [I was] a very young child in the home of my youth, I was afraid [one] night … Father was away with the herd or on some mission, … [and] I could not sleep … I imagined I heard noises around the house. Mother was away in another room. Thomas E. [his younger brother] by my side was sleeping soundly … I became terribly fearful, and I decided that I would do as my parents had taught me to do—pray. I thought I could not pray without getting out of bed and kneeling, and that was a terrible test.
“But I finally did bring myself to get out of bed and kneel and pray to God to protect Mother and the family. And a voice as clearly to me as mine is to you said, ‘Don’t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you.’ Where it came from, what it was, I am not saying. You may judge. To me it was a direct answer, and there came an assurance that I should never be hurt in bed at night.”

As the date of our divorce hearing drew near, my husband sent me a 16-page letter evaluating our marriage. Despite priesthood counsel to the contrary, I began to believe my husband’s assertions that the problems in our marriage were my fault—that I was even the cause of his infidelity.
Torn with doubts, I turned to the scriptures. There I found hope and understanding in the Savior’s words. I reflected on how His words had already blessed and lifted me. I wrote in my journal: “The tides of self-pity, self-reproach, and self-destruction rage against my shore. And at my shore the Savior is ever there, building—shoring up—protecting against the onslaught—telling me I have value—telling me to believe in myself. His is the voice I prefer to hear, the voice I must heed.”
I was blessed with opportunities to rebuild belief in myself. Priesthood counsel and blessings offered me divine comfort. Through the Savior’s great love, strength and courage returned.

We were supposed to be filled with joy, but our hearts were heavy and our arms were empty. Debra Caelia Carter arrived on her due date, April 26, 2010, but she was stillborn.
As we walked into our home, I carried the tiny pink blanket we had used to hold and cuddle Debra at the hospital. When I sat on the couch, overcome with emotion, our two-year-old son approached the empty blanket and whispered, “Hello, baby sister. I love you.”
Tears streamed down my face, and I turned away. As I did so, I saw the words of a poster from the Friend magazine hanging on the wall: “Our Heavenly Father is only a prayer away, and the Holy Ghost is within whispering distance.”1
I began to pour out my heart to God in silent, fervent prayer. As I did so, I felt the Holy Ghost whisper, “Read your Book of Mormon again.” I had just finished reading it, but the feeling was distinct and the impression clear.
Arising early the following morning, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I used pencils and markers to highlight every passage about faith, prayer, hope, Jesus Christ’s attributes, preaching the gospel, and hearkening to the Lord’s voice. I knew that I must do what Nephi, Enos, Moroni, and other Book of Mormon prophets had done when they suffered trials. And I must do it with the same love for the Savior that filled their lives during difficult times.
During these daily, personal scripture study hours, I felt the Lord’s arms encircling me in His love, and I felt the power of His atoning sacrifice for all. The Spirit spoke to me, a peace covered me, and answers came to my fervent prayers. Pondering the words I read gave me strength as I grieved.
One day the Spirit filled me with joy as I read these words:
“I love little children with a perfect love; and they are all alike and partakers of salvation. …
“Little children … are all alive in [God] because of his mercy. …
“For behold that all little children are alive in Christ” (Moroni 8:17, 19, 22; emphasis added).
I felt as if I could see my daughter alive in Christ—smiling and happy and encircled in His arms. From that moment on I felt the power to endure, and I felt a new hope ignite in my soul for my family. I knew that if we would hold fast to the Atonement, the scriptures, the words of the living prophets, and each other through our temple covenants, we would be reunited as a family eternally.
I love the Book of Mormon, which clearly testifies of Jesus Christ, what He did and does for us, and what we must do to be like Him. The Book of Mormon brings light to my life and fills up my heart with hope in Christ.

I recently learned a valuable lesson about seeing deeply from a young woman named Rozlyn.

The story was shared with me by my friend who was devastated when her husband of 20 years moved out. With her children splitting time between parents, the prospect of attending church alone seemed daunting. She recounts:

“In a church where the family is of paramount importance, sitting solo can be painful. That first Sunday I walked in praying no one would speak to me. I was barely holding it together, and tears were on the brink. I sat in my typical spot, hoping no one would notice how empty the bench seemed.

“A young woman in our ward turned and looked at me. I pretended to smile. She smiled back. I could see the concern in her face. I silently pleaded that she wouldn’t come to talk to me—I had nothing positive to say and knew I would cry. I looked back down at my lap and avoided eye contact.

“During the next hour, I noticed her looking back at me occasionally. As soon as the meeting ended, she made a beeline for me. ‘Hi, Rozlyn,’ I whispered. She wrapped me in her arms and said, ‘Sister Smith, I can tell today is a bad day for you. I’m so sorry. I love you.’ As predicted, the tears came as she hugged me again. But as I walked away, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this after all.’

“That sweet 16-year-old young woman, less than half my age, found me every Sunday for the rest of that year to give me a hug and ask, ‘How are you?’ It made such a difference in how I felt about coming to church. The truth is I started to rely on those hugs. Someone noticed me. Someone knew I was there. Someone cared.”

It must have been the feeling of rhythm and strength in my stride that comforted me as I ran along the beach of Puget Sound. Troy, my big retriever, caught my sense of abandon and bounded first ahead, then back, stopping to investigate a shell or seaweed along his way. Out of breath now, I threw a stick out into the swells past the breaking waves and stopped to watch Troy leap after it. I threw the stick again and again as I continued down the beach. Each time Troy would find it in the waves and bring it to me with an expectant look. Finally the sun made work of the game, and I flopped down on the sand.
“Stay away from me,” I warned as the big dog shook salt water all over me. I grabbed his wet head and held it tightly. “You’re still my friend, old boy, even if I don’t spend much time with you anymore either,” I said half to him and half to myself. I needed to sort things out. My interview with Bishop Jenkins the day before had turned my recent vague uneasiness into a knot in my stomach.
“I feel like being able to dance is a gift from God, a talent I must express. I can’t explain it, but I cannot ignore it,” I told the bishop. “I really do want to come to church, but my practices for Young Entertainers are all day Sunday.”
“And you felt that a chance to tour and perform all summer was worth the price of your church meetings,” Bishop Jenkins guessed.
“Yes, I was so sure it was right,” I answered, “and that my dancing is more important. I love the energy on stage. I feel special and important. But, bishop, I feel confused.”
I sat back and tried to organize my fragmented thoughts. “I am compromising so much for my dancing. I feel engulfed in it. I’m too busy for old friends and my family. My new friends in the group think my faith is narrow-minded and naive. Their dancing is their religion. I don’t know what to do. To be a Young Entertainer is a dream come true. Do we dream our dreams and then let them go before they can be realized?”
Bishop Jenkins paused thoughtfully. “Let me share an idea from a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer,” he finally said.
“‘There are many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall’” (Ensign, Aug. 1976, p. 61).
Thinking about it now, he didn’t really answer my question, but certainly the part about the person climbing the ladder applied to me.
“Heavenly Father, am I climbing the wrong wall?” I asked silently. “Is that why my life is so out of balance?”
Stirring from my introspection, I looked around for Troy but saw no sign of him. I stood up and searched up and down the beach. Still no dog. Shading my eyes from the glare on the water I thought I saw Troy’s head bob, then disappear under the water. Yes, there it was again. I dashed down to the chilling waves and dove in. The cold water took my breath away, but my concern was for my obviously drowning dog.
As I neared him, he was so exhausted his head barely broke the surface as he struggled. “What is holding onto him?” I swam almost to him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Troy’s jaws were tightly clenched on a bulb of seaweed! It was evidently still attached to the rocks below the water. He was paddling back and forth trying to free it and bring it to shore. I grabbed his jaws and forced him off the bulb. I half dragged him to shore and we both plopped down totally spent, gasping for breath.
My thoughts were tumbling. Why would Troy hold on to that seaweed until he nearly drowned? Why didn’t he let go and swim to shore if he was in danger?
Suddenly I stopped. How like my own struggle. My dog was working so hard to get something, he didn’t realize the danger he was in. My situation began to appear much clearer. I had been so caught up with my dancing that I hadn’t realized that I was in danger of losing the other things that mattered in my life.
With this revelation came a new agony—what to do. Could I put my ladder against the right wall, keep balance in my life, and still participate in the dance group, or did I need to “let go” and swim for safety now. Mentally tallying the list of compromises I needed to make for the dance group, I determined that my answer was to let it go. A sense of peace and comfort helped soothe the wrenching feeling in my heart and helped me to realize that it was the right decision.
“I can still dream my dreams,” I told Troy, “and perform and prepare so that my climb up the ladder will be on the right wall. Come on, Troy, let’s go home.”

“I was reading the newspaper when one of my young grandsons snuggled up to me,” said Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “As I read, I was delighted to hear his sweet voice chattering on in the background. Imagine my surprise when, a few moments later, he pushed himself between me and the paper. Taking my face in his hands and pressing his nose up to mine, he asked, ‘Grandpa! Are you in there?’

“… Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too. …

“We must plan and take advantage of teaching moments. …

“… The more I live, the more I recognize that the teaching moments in my youth, especially those provided by my parents, have shaped my life and made me who I am.”4

In November 1956, Ricardo García entered the waters of baptism in Chile, becoming the first member of the Church in my country. Just one day before he died, he declared before his family and friends, “Many years ago, missionaries invited me to be happy along with my family. I am a happy man. Tell everyone in Chile the gospel is happiness.”
After having been nourished with the gospel of Jesus Christ, Ricardo dedicated his entire life to serving God and his neighbor with love. His example of discipleship has blessed generations, including me. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “a man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”

The Poole England Stake had the opportunity to host an event during National Interfaith Week in November 2023.
Stake members have been building a friendship with a Dorset-based charity named Unity in Vision, by hosting English Connect classes with refugees, and having international lunches monthly at Bournemouth chapel. Since the event was celebrating the charity’s chairperson, Rita El Gazi, it was the ideal venue.
Unity in Vision first launched through a female migrant group in Bournemouth in 2020. Now a social enterprise, and in partnership with Westbourne Rotary Club, the group helped feed people during the COVID-19 pandemic. One of their current projects is training people seeking asylum or refuge to prepare and serve meals, orchestrated through the vehicle of the international lunches, and named Unity International Catering.
Five days into a weeklong visit to Sudan in April 2023 to visit her ailing father, Rita found herself suddenly caught up in the armed conflict. The evening’s speakers revealed the depth of their friendship with Rita, heralded her achievements and reflected on her strength and faith. They also shared how their own faith gave them hope and guidance as they tried to do what they could, despite the distance, to get Rita and her family back to the UK. Rita showed photos and footage of her experiences, discussing the journey that she and a small group of family took to safety, and the miracles that they encountered along the way.
The mayor of Bournemouth, Councillor Anne Filer, ended the evening. Each of the three Abrahamic religions was represented at the event alongside multiple other friends. The Unity International Catering Project afterwards provided the refreshments.

Ellie pulled the zipper up to her chin and shoved her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. Her worn tennis shoes scuffed along the sidewalk. The Saturday morning was dull and overcast. The cold rain had stopped, but everything was wet; her bike had a flat tire, and none of her friends could play, anyway. I hate days like this! She thought as she angrily kicked a rock.
She didn’t lift her head when Mr. Coriman’s front door slammed. “Hey, you, missy! Come here!” Mr. Coriman’s booming voice made her jump. She froze right there on the sidewalk in front of his house.
Mr. Coriman was a crotchety old neighbor who lived four doors down from her house. Ellie and her friends called him “the crank.” Once Marty had dared Alex to ring his doorbell and run away, but Mr. Coriman had caught them. He had stood on his porch, shaking his cane at them, and had shouted at them to stay off his property. Now he was hollering at her!
“Me?” she asked nervously. “I haven’t done anything!”
“I didn’t say you had! Just come here!”
She wanted to run home; instead her feet walked unwillingly up the worn path to his front porch, where he stood staring down at her.
“Do you know why you’re bored? ’Cause you can’t be loud!”
Ellie looked up at him in surprise. This wasn’t what she had expected. Mr. Coriman’s face was scrunched up and angry. She watched his bristly eyebrows shoot up as he opened his watery eyes wide and tottered toward her, buttoning his heavy sweater against the chilly air as he came.
“All day long you and your friends scream up and down this street with your sleds or on your bicycles, and now that you don’t have anyone around to be loud with, you can’t think of anything to do!”
He leaned so far forward that Ellie wondered if he would tumble down the front porch steps. He spoke more quietly now, and the corners of his mouth lifted in what might have been a smile. It was hard to tell—she had never seen him smile before. “That’s a shame. There’s a lot to see and hear if you’re quiet and listen for a minute.”
He turned away from her and scraped a battered old lawn chair across the porch to the top of the steps. As he slowly settled himself into it, Mr. Coriman pointed to the steps. “Sit down for a bit.”
She really didn’t want to stay here with this crabby old man, but since she didn’t have anything else to do, she sat down on the creaky, weathered step. She glanced up warily at Mr. Coriman, but he wasn’t looking at her now. He was squinting and looking into the distance.
“Look at how many birds there are today in my maple tree over there.” He poked her with his finger and pointed towards the far corner of his yard. The maple tree was huge and spreading, with thorny branches from nearby bushes growing around the trunk. Beneath the tree, she noticed that the grass was long and scraggly.
“I bet you can’t name all the kinds of birds in it!” Mr. Coriman leaned toward her, and she saw with surprise that he really was smiling. He challenged her again. “What do you see?”
“I don’t know—I can’t see that far away. And I don’t know their names, anyway,” Ellie admitted.
Mr. Coriman chuckled, “I can’t see them very well, either. But I listen to them singing. You get to know each bird when you listen to its song.”
They both sat quietly and listened for a moment. There were so many birds singing that it seemed impossible to listen for just one bird’s song. This is stupid! Ellie thought. She shifted impatiently on the cold step and turned toward the old man.
He put his finger to his lips, then whispered, “Just listen. You have to wait and be patient.” He looked into the sky above the tree and closed his eyes. “And maybe close your eyes.”
Ellie scrunched her eyelids closed and sat still for longer than she ever had before. At first the birdsongs all blended, but as she listened, they became separate sounds that split and overlapped. She tried to catch up with them, and for a few seconds, Ellie did hear just one song. Her eyes flew open. “I did! I heard a song! It was a ‘tweet tweet tweety tweety tweet.’”
“That was Mr. Meadowlark. Now we know he’s here this morning. Look on a middle branch.”
Hopping to the end of the branch as if to help Ellie see him better, the little brown meadowlark sang again, and she heard his song above all the others.
Ellie moved to the other side of the post and sat closer to Mr. Coriman’s chair. “What others are there?”
“Oh, no,” Mr. Coriman said, his eyes twinkling, “I’m not going to tell you. You have to hear them for yourself.”
Ellie concentrated and looked at the tree. Soon she ventured, “I hear ‘cheep cheep cheep.’”
“That’s Mr. Sparrow—but he’s not in the tree. He’s up on the power lines with his friends.”
Way up high, Ellie saw two tiny birds perched on the power line that stretched across the gray sky to Mr. Coriman’s house.
He leaned toward Ellie and cupped his ear. “Hear that other one?”
Ellie nodded. “It’s really pretty and ends with a ‘brrr.’” She trilled her tongue.
“He’s one of my favorites, Mr. Red-winged Blackbird.”
Ellie stopped listening for a moment and looked at the long grass and overgrown brambles. Then she wondered aloud, “Why is your yard so messy?”
Mr. Coriman pulled his sweater closer around him. “I can’t keep it up. My heart’s bad, and I have to take medicine.” He looked down and shifted his chair. “My nephew used to mow and trim for me sometimes, but then he had to move.”
The silence hung between them. Ellie thought of the lawn mower and clippers in her garage, and of her three older brothers. She should talk to her mom. It would be fun to surprise him.
“Well, Missy, do you hear any more birds?” the old man’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Just then Ellie’s friend Marty screeched to a halt on his bike by Mr. Coriman’s driveway. He looked puzzled. “Uh, Ellie,” he finally said, “you want to come play?”
“Come here, Marty!” Ellie stood up and waved to him. “We’re listening to the birds. Mr. Coriman is showing me how to tell the birds apart!”
Marty leaned his bike against the rusty mailbox.
While he was coming up the walk, Ellie explained, “You need to sit down and be quiet. Sometimes you have to wait and be patient and listen for each bird’s song. Listen to his song, and then you’ll know who he is!”
She looked up with pride at Mr. Coriman, and his wrinkled smile warmed her.

When I was a college freshman, I found myself flustered and frustrated as I tried to get through my first semester. It was very difficult to fit everything into my busy schedule, which included a full load of classes, a very time-consuming Church calling, and the everyday adjustments of living on my own for the first time. As December arrived, I became overwhelmed with everything. With the pressure of finals and a lack of time and money, I didn’t feel the Christmas spirit at all.
I went home a week before Christmas, wondering what to do for gifts. I had been assigned to buy a present for my younger sister Rachel and didn’t know what to get her, until my friend showed me a very plain little stuffed bear her mother had made for her and the touching poem she’d written to go along with it.
On Christmas Eve, I found myself working frantically to finish a bear. My mom came to my room, sat down with me, and helped me get it done for Christmas morning.
As Rachel tore the paper from the package and peered inside, a huge smile spread across her face. There were tears in everyone’s eyes as the family realized what a special gift it was. In its seams, and in the poem attached, was the real meaning of Christmas. There was love in that simple bear.
—Lisa McKinstryRexburg, Idaho

When I was in high school, I lived in Idaho. They dismissed school for a couple of weeks every fall for the students to help in the potato harvest. One day when I was picking up potatoes, the boy working with me began to tell me things about the Prophet Joseph Smith that I didn’t believe were true. I don’t think I discussed my concerns with anybody. I just naturally went to the Book of Mormon and began to read. Nobody told me to do this. It just seemed right. From what I read there, I knew that a bad man could not have written it.

Just about everybody at the Air Force Academy knows who Jake Oldham is. It’s hard not to.
Jake was the Top Graduate, number one in his class for combined academic, athletic, and military scores. In his four years at the academy, with a double major in premedicine and mechanical engineering, he maintained a 3.969 grade-point average.
Jake earned a spot in the drum and bugle corps. He was number one at the academy in his weight division in boxing and placed third at nationals. And he was one of four group commanders (a leader of 1,000 cadets). No wonder he got a standing ovation at the awards ceremony.
Jake spent graduation week meeting generals and VIPs. His photo was on the front page of the Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph. He sat in the first chair of 916 chairs at graduation. His name was added to the 100-year honor roll.
Despite all these accolades, Jake earned a reputation as a modest, polite young man. “He always showed a profound respect for others,” said John Hasler, director of the Colorado Springs LDS Institute. “He always stood up when you entered the room. He always shook your hand and looked you in the eyes. It was more than just being polite. He made each person feel important.” One military officer described him as “a perfect poster boy for the Air Force Academy.”
Jake graduated in May 1996. He is now studying medicine at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, on his way to becoming a military doctor.
That’s quite a list of accomplishments, particularly for someone who once resigned from the academy with no guarantee he’d be allowed to return. A lot of people at the academy know that story about Jake Oldham, too.
Jake accepted a call from the Lord, signed by a living prophet, to serve full-time in the Japan Sapporo Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That meant resigning, leaving the lofty realms of the academy for the even higher heights of the mission field.
“I prayed about it a lot,” says Jake, who comes from Kaysville, Utah. “I knew it was what I needed to do. Some things are important enough that, no matter how difficult, they are worth doing.
“And my mission was a great experience. I have never spent two years, even at the academy, so focused on one thing—learning the gospel and teaching it.
“My mission not only gave me an opportunity to love the Japanese people and to share the gospel with them, but it also did a lot to help me understand myself and to strengthen my testimony.”
As his two-year mission came to a close, however, Jake had to face the reality that he might not be reappointed to the place cadets call “the hill.” “I had to apply all over again, compete with a new group of potential appointees, and try to communicate with the admissions officers clear from Japan. I was a bit apprehensive,” Jake explains.
Even though the process is tough, he was greeted with open arms. “I discovered that the academy is learning to respect returned missionaries. We come back as better leaders, better people, just better officer-candidates all-around. The things they teach us in the mission field about loving and helping people—those are traits that make anybody a better person.”

Who can forget the devastating Australian bushfires of 2019-2020, known as Black Summer, that burnt over 24 million hectares of land, destroyed over 3,000 homes, killed 33 people and killed or displaced an estimated three billion animals?
For the residents of the Bega Shire in southeast New South Wales (NSW), Australia, the devastation can still be seen two years on. Fifty-eight percent of the Bega Valley was destroyed by fire, which also took 448 homes and four lives.
In mid-2020, the chairman of the Bega Shire Recovery Committee sent a request to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and after an evaluation of the situation, a partnership was formed.
The Bega Shire Council, Latter-day Saint Charities (which is the humanitarian arm of the Church) and the Pambula/Merimbula Rotary Club worked together to provide 66 water tanks to selected recipients in the Bega Shire community.
Water is essential for life and sanitation and is amongst the most important requirements for families in Bega Shire to begin rebuilding their lives. Landowners in remote areas are not on town water and previously relied on rainwater or local streams for their water supplies. After the fires took out almost everything they owned, including their water tanks, locals relied on costly 1000L water cubes that had to be refilled by water tankers. A thousand litres doesn’t go very far even when it is being used mainly for drinking, cooking and basic hygiene.
Mark and Denise Hamstead (humanitarian and emergency preparedness specialists for the Church in NSW and Canberra) coordinated the project with Lynne Koerbin, and Daryl and Angie Dobsons (Rotary Club’s community service directors) to identify families who were most in need.
The first tanks were ordered from local suppliers and delivered to the first of the recipients in early 2021. The last orders were placed in mid-2021 but due to COVID-19 restrictions, a number were not delivered until late 2021.
Brother and Sister Hamstead, assisted by Brother and Sister Cummins (representing the Canberra Stake presidency) and Area Seventy Elder Robert Simpson and his wife visited several water tank recipients in early December 2021.
There were many heartrending stories behind this project. Here are just three examples which also demonstrate the resilience of so many.
Gordon and Susie are a down-to-earth couple living in a small hut on their land after the bushfires destroyed their home in late 2019. They had no access to running water and the donation of the water tank was very welcome.
“More than anything, they appreciated the fact that someone cared,” reported Brother Cummins.
A single man, Jamie, who also received a water tank, had moved to the valley from Canberra shortly before the fires. His home was destroyed. He, like many others, has never fully recovered emotionally from the fires and feels very much alone. The fact that people cared enough to donate a much-needed water tank and visit him to see how he was progressing had a positive impact on him.
Jamie is now building his own house on his property with whatever items of material he can find. From time-to-time, friends donate materials, but it is a slow process—he is doing it largely by himself, with the occasional help from professional friends. He is planning to position the water tank next to the new house once completed.
Zoe and Michael are a couple with two young children. Before the fires, they were living in a small town in the Bega Valley called Cobargo. They had purchased a remote rural property complete with house and an orchard and were about to move in when the fires destroyed both their rural property and their house in Cobargo. Since the fires they have been living rough, camping in a borrowed caravan on the rural property. They received a water tank, a shed (donated by another group) and a bathroom pod built into the shed and connected to the water tank (which will be added to their house when it is rebuilt).
Even though the location of the shed and tank is quite a distance from their current camp, they are very appreciative as they can now bathe their children properly—one of whom had been regularly ill, and one who’d had a broken leg. They say that the newly donated infrastructure has helped to reduce their anxiety levels.
Mark and Denise noted, “During the inspection weekend, we were shown properties, such as Zoe and Michael’s, which had not only received one of our tanks, but the households had also received a bathroom pod and shed donated by another organisation that were willing to provide the pods because we had provided the tanks.”
No good deed goes unnoticed and often precipitates additional help from others.

By 9:00 her morning work was done, and she was kneeling in her chrysanthemums, acting very busy with weeding, looking for any evil little bug that would bring harm to her small, delicate beings. Her thoughts kept wandering to the events that had happened just last week.

Her morning had started as usual, but at 7:30 her phone rang and it was bad news from her daughter. Her grandson, one of those with the long hair and bad habits, had been involved in what started as a stay-out-of-Africa rally and ended in a blood bath between students with rocks, signs, and knives and a local garrison of guardsmen with their clubs, shields, and guns. The rally ended with one dead national guard member and five dead students, of which her grandson had been one.

The shock lingered long after the telephone call. She sat staring at the kitchen wall for an hour, and finally she had dragged herself down to her flowers. There she sat, trying to forget.

Consider the experience of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. When he graduated as an ensign, he was given an old, decrepit destroyer as his first command. It was named the Decatur. It was all he could do to put the old destroyer in shape, and on one of its maiden voyages, Ensign Nimitz ran the ship aground. It resulted in a summary court martial. Had Chester Nimitz not been made of the stuff he was, that defeat could have ruined his career. But what did he do? He put that defeat behind him and went on to become the commanding admiral of the greatest sea force ever assembled in this world—the Pacific Fleet. He showed one and all that one defeat could not keep a good man down.

Kathy listened as Mr. Sodeberg explained how people migrated in the United States. She was excited about her new history class. Flipping through the pages of her new history book, Kathy stopped at a picture of Brigham Young. She had never realized Brigham Young’s significance in United States history before.
Mr. Sodeberg finished his lecture. “There will be homework every day,” he said. “Your first assignment is due tomorrow.”
At home Kathy sighed as she looked at all the questions Mr. Sodeberg had assigned.
“Tough day at school?” Mom asked.
“Homework every day,” Kathy said. She remembered the picture in her history book. “Mom, Brigham Young is in my textbook. What makes him so important in U.S. history?”
“He directed the migration of thousands of Latter-day Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Then he organized them into settlements,” Mom said. “That took a lot of planning. It was a significant part of the country’s westward migration.”
The next day Mr. Sodeberg announced, “Next week we will perform a readers’ theater. Each of you will dramatize a character of the westward migration. Your parents and other students will be invited to attend the performance.”
Mr. Sodeberg began assigning characters and handing out scripts. When he asked who wanted the part of Brigham Young, Kathy quickly raised her hand.
“Tonight’s homework is to begin memorizing your part,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “You must recite it perfectly. Your grade depends on it.”
Kathy read over her part as she and her friend Laura left class. A terrible feeling came over her. “This is all wrong,” she said to Laura. “It makes Brigham Young sound dishonest.”
“You just see things differently because of your church,” Laura said.
“I can’t say these things,” Kathy said.
“You have to recite them perfectly,” Laura reminded her.
Tears rolled down Kathy’s cheeks as she ran home and burst through the front door.
“More homework?” Mom asked.
“Worse,” Kathy said, handing her the script. “Read this.”
Mom read the script and shook her head. “This writer didn’t know a lot about Brigham Young.”
“What should I do?” Kathy asked.
“First let’s find a Brigham Young costume,” Mom said.
Kathy tried on Grandpa’s long black coat and rolled up the sleeves on her brother’s white shirt. Mr. Grandi next door showed Kathy how to walk with his extra wooden cane.
Mom found a tall black hat in a closet and put it on Kathy’s head. “You’d make Brigham Young proud,” Mom said. “Now you need a new script.”
Kathy looked for information about Brigham Young in Church history books and on the Church Web site. Soon the script was rewritten.
“The true story of Brigham Young,” Kathy said.
On the day of the performance, Kathy’s class gathered in the auditorium. Parents and other students waited in their seats. Mr. Sodeberg introduced the program; then he stood offstage as the students recited their parts.
Alex recited his script perfectly, but Randall mixed up his words. Mr. Sodeberg made him begin again. Kathy squeezed her cane. When it was her turn, Kathy recited the true story of Brigham Young.
“Did you change your script?” Laura asked after the performance.
“Yes. I told the truth,” Kathy said.
“Here comes Mr. Sodeberg,” Laura said.
“Well done, ladies,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “Kathy,” he continued, “you were the best Brigham Young I have ever seen.”

When my husband’s salary was suddenly reduced by 30 percent several years ago, I began to think of ways I could help my family meet our expenses.
I had often organized birthday parties—including dressing up as a clown, providing games, and performing puppet shows—for my two children, and relatives had asked me why I didn’t turn this into a job for other people’s celebrations. Now seemed like a great time to turn their suggestion into action.
I began putting up posters at local businesses. Shortly thereafter Jazmín the Clown had her first job.
It wasn’t a smooth start, however. For the first six months, most of the parties I received requests for were held on Sunday. Everyone, it seemed, needed a clown on the Sabbath! While I had promised the Lord I would never work on the Sabbath, it was discouraging to have to reject work when I needed it so much.
On one occasion I received an offer from the city government to help at the celebration for the Day of the Child, which was to be held on Sunday. The officials offered to pay me well, but I couldn’t break my promise. Some of my friends told me I would never be successful if I didn’t accept work on the Sabbath, but I knew I couldn’t disappoint the Lord. In the face of such opposition, I tried to focus on the promises He has made to those who honor the Sabbath (see D&C 59:9–13).
In time, circumstances began to improve. Now, some years later, I have lots of work on Saturdays and weekdays. I have even been able to persuade some of my clients to change their parties from Sunday to Saturday.
Initially, I wondered if I would be successful when it seemed that so many people treated Sunday like any other day of the week. But now I understand that when we show the Lord we are willing to keep His commandments and do our part, He will provide a way for us to do so.

Following the recommendation of the Council of the Twelve to feature cultural programs in conjunction with June regional meetings, the Payson (Utah) Region youth got together last summer for a lively, creative dance festival on a local high school football field.
“The Colorful World of Dance” was a treat not only for the audience but for the 360 participants from Payson Utah, Payson Utah East, and Santaquin Utah stakes who kicked up their heels in such numbers as “Devil’s Dream,” “Muskrat Love,” and “Spinning Wheel.” Swedish, Norwegian, and Hungarian folk dances were also featured, and a Lamanite sister rendered “The Lord’s Prayer” in Indian sign language.
Many hours were spent sewing colorful costumes and practicing under the leadership of 16 stake dance directors and two ballroom dancers from BYU. As the group concluded by gathering to sing “I Am a Child of God” with the audience, it was generally agreed that it had all been worth the effort.

Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service. An actual experience involving young women, their teacher, and a widow illustrates this truth.
As the Christmas season approached, a teacher of Laurels arranged a visit to bring joy to the heart of a lonely widow, Jane. The girls busied themselves preparing delicious cookies, special refreshments—even a Christmas tree with ornaments to be placed thereon. They did not forget a beautiful corsage which they knew would brighten the soul of the special woman they planned to visit.
With their parcels tucked tightly under each arm, the girls and their teacher made their way up the never-ending flights of stairs which led to Jane’s apartment. There was an interminable delay as Jane’s aged feet made their way to the door. As she opened it, she greeted each of the beautiful young ladies and made them welcome in her humble apartment. Their smiles reflected the goodness of their hearts as they erected the Christmas tree and placed upon it the decorations they had so carefully carried. Then the packaged gifts were placed beneath its outstretched branches. I was there. I had never seen a more beautiful tree, for no tree had ever before been decorated with such love, such Christlike care and concern. The teacher slipped into the kitchen; and, aided by three of her girls, the refreshments were prepared and a feast enjoyed.
Then the dear widow gathered her guests around her to share with them her life’s precious memories. She told how, as a young girl in far-off Scotland, she had heard the missionaries, embraced the truth which they taught—even suffered the gibes and comments which adherence to a then-unpopular faith inevitably provoked. She told them how the entire Sabbath day was taken just to travel and to attend the meetings of her newfound faith. Instinctively, the girls compared the ease with which they made their way each Sunday to their chapel.
When Jane told them of the voyage to America, described the storm-tossed Atlantic and the warm feeling which came to the heart when the Statue of Liberty was first glimpsed, I noted that the girls were visibly touched. Tears brimmed in their eyes and pledges were made within their hearts—pledges to do that which is correct, to be honorable, to live true to the faith, and to abide by their standards.
As the evening came to an end, there were kisses and embraces; and then each young lady filed silently from the doorway and made her way down the staircases to the street outside. They left behind a mother filled with the goodness of the world, with love rekindled, with faith again inspired. I’m certain this was one of the happiest days of her life. That night the corsage was carefully and tenderly placed in safekeeping. It had become a symbol of all that is good and clean and wholesome.
Outside the snow was falling, and the girls could hear the crunch of their own footsteps on the snow-covered pavement. Words didn’t come easily, and then one Laurel girl asked, “Why is it I feel better than I’ve ever felt before?” Others nodded the same curiosity. I answered them, “Remember the words of the Master: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.’” (Matt. 25:40.) The words from the hymn “O Little Town of Bethlehem” seemed fitting. They were repeated:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(Hymns, 1985, no. 208.)
The dear Christ had indeed entered in—entered a humble home, entered a widow’s heart, and entered, forever to remain, in the soul of each girl. The lighthouse of the Lord had shown the way.