Gospel Story Finder

That night at the priesthood session, the Chile stadium was full. Young Mario and I were seated just forty meters from the prophet. The spirit of the occasion was so wonderful that tears again filled my eyes to think of the great blessings our sacrifice had brought. I was contemplating our marvelous experience when I noticed that Mario was missing. I looked quickly around, but young Mario was nowhere to be found.
Very frightened, I turned toward the prophet, as if seeking comfort. There was Mario, greeting the prophet and shaking his hand in a gesture of love. Then Mario ran toward me, weeping for joy. “Look at my hand,” he said. “It touched the prophet of God.” He had slipped past the guards protecting President Kimball.
Today, eight years later, Mario is an engineering student at the university. He is a leader in the Church and is preparing to serve a mission. “As long as I live, I will remember that I shook the prophet’s hand,” he says. “It is the love of our Heavenly Father for all of us, especially our family, that gives me the courage to serve the Lord full-time.”

There was to be one great final lesson before his mortal life ended. He was incarcerated in Carthage Jail with his brother Hyrum, with John Taylor, and with Willard Richards. The angry mob stormed the jail; they came up the stairway, blasphemous in their cursing, heavily armed, and began to fire at will. Hyrum was hit and died. John Taylor took several balls of fire within his bosom. The Prophet Joseph, with his pistol in hand, was attempting to defend his life and that of his brethren, and yet he could tell from the pounding on the door that this mob would storm that door and would kill John Taylor and Willard Richards in an attempt to kill him.
And so his last great act here upon the earth was to leave the door and lead Willard Richards to safety, throw the gun on the floor, and go to the window, that they might see him, that the attention of this ruthless mob might be focused upon him rather than the others. Joseph Smith gave his life. Willard Richards was spared, and John Taylor recovered from his wounds. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.

Jennifer and Melissa Peterson and Shawn Edwards, of the Council Bluffs Iowa Ward, Papillon Nebraska Stake were in the mood to win a contest, so they produced a video called “Glenn Miller: A Master Showperson and Arranger.” It won first place in their division of the International Student Media Festival.
Jennifer, Melissa, and Shawn wrote the narration for the video, mixed the music and narration, recorded still photos and film on video, and combined the video and sound. Glenn Miller might seem like an unusual subject for teenagers to pick, but they explained it this way: “We picked Glenn Miller because he was from Iowa and we like his music.” Their film won them the right to attend the International Student Media Festival Awards Conference in Orlando, Florida.

After a recent mission tour in Indonesia when I visited the missionaries and the Saints on the island of Java, I had to catch an early morning flight to Singapore, and I checked out of the hotel at 6:00 A.M. I climbed into a taxi that was parked near the hotel entrance and told the driver to go to the international airport, but alas, his car would not start. Apparently the battery was dead.
Well, what do you do in such a case? I calculated that it would probably cost me much time to unload my luggage and find another taxi, and it also occurred to me that the taxi driver was trying hard to earn enough money to provide for his family and would be very disappointed if he could not earn the large fare he would get for the half-hour trip to the airport.
I decided to do my morning exercises by pushing the taxi, leaving the Indonesian cab driver behind the steering wheel to start the car. However, he greatly overestimated the early morning physical power of a Dutchman and released the clutch of the car before I had been able to give the car adequate speed. As a result, it came to a sudden halt. But I tried again and this time it started. With a roaring motor the taxi moved forward. I flung open the door, jumped in, and we were on our way.
An hour and a half later when I boarded my flight, the air hostess who greeted me at the door of the plane said: “I am surprised to see you here! You are the gentleman who pushed the taxi in front of the Borobudur Hotel this morning.”
She then told me that all the members of the plane crew had witnessed the scene from the airport limousine parked at a side door of the hotel. She said that on the way to the airport they had talked a lot about the incident and had wondered: “What kind of a man is this? If he can afford to stay in the Borobudur Hotel, why would he work to push a taxicab at 6:00 A.M.?
I thought, “This is my chance to do missionary work!” I took a name card out of my wallet, handed it over to her, and said, “We in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believe in good human relations.”
The air hostess told me she was not actually a stewardess but was flight services instructor for Cathay Pacific Airways and had boarded this flight to evaluate the performance of some students she had taught in the cabin crew training school in Hong Kong. That enabled me to make another statement about the Church: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the largest educational institution in the world today. At least 2 million people teach one another on a weekly basis with divinely inspired lesson materials.” I further explained to her that a great deal of my time is spent teaching missionaries and members of the Church in the nine missions of Southeast Asia.
She remarked: “Then you are maybe the man we are looking for—an experienced air traveler with the ability to teach our personnel how to be friendly with customers.” I told her that I would gladly do it free of charge whenever they planned another initial or refresher course in Hong Kong and when these dates would not interfere with my other Church assignments. I thought then and there: “What a golden opportunity to let these people know what makes Mormons behave as they do!”
After my return to Hong Kong, I was approached by the training manager of the airline, who had received a report from the flight services instructor. I made an appointment and spent a couple of hours with him in his office. He was greatly impressed by the work and the achievements of the Church.
I am sure I will have the opportunity to reach out to many souls in the future simply because of what the world observed when they saw the Church in action one early morning in Jakarta, Indonesia.

Two missionaries teaching an older couple in their home in Peru were interrupted by the arrival of the couple’s son, his wife, and three children. The elders explained who they were and what they were doing. The son was suspicious of the missionaries, resulting in an awkward moment. The junior companion prayed silently, “Heavenly Father, what do we do?” The impression came to sing. They sang “I Am a Child of God.” The Spirit touched the hearts of this family of five. Instead of two converts, all seven became members, influenced initially by a hymn.

Loic Gomes, age 13, is the deacons quorum president of the Antony Ward. He says what he likes about the Aaronic Priesthood is that “we are truly brothers.”

“We help each other out,” he explains. “If one of us has a problem, the others come to his aid.” In a deacons quorum with two active members and one less-active member, that means the teachers and the priests help out a lot. “The priesthood isn’t just something we talk about,” Loic adds. “It’s something we live.”

And that includes a lot of effort to reach that one deacon who hasn’t been attending meetings. “He used to come; I don’t know what happened,” Loic explains. “So we write letters; we visit him; we let him know we care. We hope he’ll be back with us soon.”

In a curious parallel 300 years later, Nancy Towle, a famous itinerant preacher in the 1830s, visited Kirtland to personally observe the “Mormons.” In conversing with Joseph Smith and other Church leaders, she sharply criticized the Church.
According to Towle’s record, Joseph said nothing until she turned to him and demanded that he swear that an angel had shown him where to find the golden plates. He good-naturedly replied that he never swore at all! Failing to rattle him, she tried to belittle him. “Are you not ashamed, of such pretensions?” she asked. “You, who are no more than any ignorant plough-boy of our land!”
Joseph calmly responded, “The gift, has returned back again, as in former times, to illiterate fishermen.”11

One day I met a young lady from Chile working as an usher during the open house. She was very excited and offered to help wherever she was needed. She told me she was in the United States sightseeing for only a few weeks, and she would soon be returning to her country. I asked her how long she had been a member of the Church and was astonished when she told me she hadn’t been baptized yet.
She must have noticed I was speechless, so she told me her story. On the second day of her vacation, she had seen an ad in the newspaper announcing the temple open house. She was curious and decided to visit. During the tour she felt so moved by the beauty and peace she felt that she could not hold back her tears. When the tour was over, she asked the missionaries to tell her more about the Church. After being taught, she made the decision to be baptized. She had come here on vacation, and the Lord prepared a way for her to hear the gospel. And even though she wasn’t a member yet, she had asked to work as an usher for the open house!

If we remember that our families can be eternal, our trials won’t seem as difficult. A man from Hong Kong, Lee Hing Chung, learned this for himself. When he lost his arm in an accident and could not work to support his family, he became very depressed. He and his family later joined the Church and were sealed in the temple. Before Lee was baptized, he thought that money would make him happy. After he was baptized and made temple covenants, he found true happiness because he understood Heavenly Father’s plan. He said, “When I attend church on Sunday with my family, I am so grateful that we are together and that we can be together forever. … The temple reminds me to be good, to be disciplined, to be worthy.”* Temple blessings give us hope, happiness, and a desire to become like Heavenly Father so that we can be with our families forever.

I first read “To Receive a Crown of Glory,” a First Presidency Message by President James E. Faust (see Liahona, Apr. 2004, 2), by myself, then we studied it in family home evening, and then we studied it again in an elders quorum meeting. At that time I was preparing to go to the temple to be sealed to my wife. When I studied President Faust’s words regarding sin and repentance, I realized that I needed to confess an old sin to my bishop. Afterward I felt the peace we are promised when we truly repent. I am grateful to the Lord for His Church and for His leaders who guide us today.Name withheld

In my class at school, there are only two other members of the Church. What we believe is like a new world to some of my classmates. They often ask us questions about the gospel, and some are difficult to answer. If we don’t know the answer to a question, we discuss it together and seek guidance from our Church leaders. Once we know how to respond, we tell our classmates about what we know to be true. I have even invited some of them to come and see for themselves how we worship, and they’ve received good feelings about sacrament meeting.

Another moving story of loyalty is that of Stephen Markham, who appeared in the Prophet’s later life at nearly every occasion of peril. When Joseph was imprisoned in Missouri, Stephen Markham brought the Smith family safely to Illinois. 15 When Joseph was illegally detained and abused by two Missouri constables, it was Stephen Markham who defied them, shamed them into humane behavior, and helped prevent the Prophet’s abduction to Missouri.16 At Carthage, it was Brother Markham who offered to trade clothes and help the Prophet escape.17 On the day of the martyrdom, Brother Markham was returning to the jail with medicine for Willard Richards when the conspiring guards challenged him, attacked him, and finally forced him away at bayonet point to keep him from returning to the Prophet. Prodded onto his horse, he was poked so many times that his boots filled with blood.18 Joseph Smith’s last journal entry records a prophecy spoken to Stephen Markham that “if I and Hyrum were ever taken again, we should be massacred.”19 The measure of Brother Markham’s love is his brave effort to prevent that prophecy’s fulfillment.

I should like to begin by relating a marvelous vision Joseph Smith the Prophet had concerning the Twelve Apostles in his day, which has profound significance for me. Heber C. Kimball recorded, “The following vision was manifested to him [Joseph Smith] as near as I can recollect:

“He saw the Twelve going forth, and they appeared to be in a far distant land. After some time they unexpectedly met together, apparently in great tribulation, their clothes all ragged, and their knees and feet sore. They formed into a circle, and all stood with their eyes fixed upon the ground. The Savior appeared and stood in their midst and wept over them, and wanted to show Himself to them, but they did not discover Him.” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, 2d ed., Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, p. 93; see also History of the Church, 2:381.)

As I began, I referred to the vision of Joseph the Prophet concerning the Twelve Apostles in his time. No one need assume that the Twelve who failed to see the Savior because they stood with their eyes fixed upon the ground had in any way failed in their labors. As a body they continued strong and steadfast in their ministry. Their discouragement was only temporary. Their labors were heroic; their acts were bold and courageous. Joseph the Prophet, at the conclusion of that vision, was privileged to see the completion of the work of the Twelve. Heber C. Kimball records: “He (Joseph) saw until they had accomplished their work, and arrived at the gate of the celestial city; there Father Adam stood and opened the gate to them, and as they entered he embraced them one by one and kissed them. He [Adam] then led them to the throne of God, and then the Savior embraced each one of them and kissed them, and crowned each one of them in the presence of God. … The impression this vision left on Brother Joseph’s mind was of so acute a nature, that he never could refrain from weeping while rehearsing it.” (Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, pp. 93–94.)

When our boys were young, we had a family council and set a goal to take a “dream vacation” down the Colorado River. When any of us wanted to buy something during the next year, we would ask each other, “Do we really want to buy that thing now, or do we want to take our dream trip later?” This was a wonderful teaching experience in choosing provident living. By not satisfying our every immediate want, we obtained the more desirable reward of family togetherness and fond memories for years to come.

Though only moments remained in Franklin High’s last preseason scrimmage, several players were still fighting for their basketball survival. Final cuts were tomorrow, and the intense action on the court reflected the athletes’ anxiety. It was now or never to make that one last good impression.
Jeff Anderson, on the other hand, was as confident as they come. A slim six-foot-one senior with aspirations of a college scholarship, Jeff had made the varsity team three years running. He had even been named an all-star twice. The competition was a little tougher this year, the team had a new coach, and Jeff hadn’t exactly found the top of his game yet, but that was nothing to worry about. His position was sure.
When the buzzer finally sounded, the exhausted contenders headed for the showers. On the way off the court, Jeff found himself next to Mark, a freshman who had been giving his all to make the varsity squad. Poor Mark probably didn’t have a chance, Jeff thought.
“Think you’ll make the cut?” Jeff asked him anyway.
“I don’t know,” Mark replied cautiously. “I hope so.”
“Well, since this is your first year, don’t take it so hard if you don’t land a spot. Good luck, though.”
“Thanks,” Mark said as the two split to go to their separate lockers. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
The next day when Jeff reported to practice, the final team roster was posted outside the coach’s door. Jeff almost didn’t bother to read it, but curiosity made him stop.
Mark had made the cut, as had a few other underclassmen. But when Jeff got to the end of the list, a terrible realization hit him like a right hook to the jaw—his own name was missing.
Jeff went white with shock. For five minutes he stood there dazed, frantically scanning the paper over and over. This can’t be happening, he thought. In desperation, he opened the door and asked the coach if there had been a mistake. There hadn’t.
“But why?” asked Jeff in disbelief. “I’m a senior and a two-time all-star. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
The coach sat down. “Yes, Jeff, it does,” he began, “but I have to go with my best players. This year there were a lot of younger guys who were better. I could have kept you on the team and let you sit on the bench, but didn’t think that would be fair to you. I’m sorry, Jeff.”
It’s still not fair, Jeff thought as he walked away. You just don’t cut an all-star. He could feel the anger and frustration swelling within him. Even if your younger guys were better, seniors should have priority. But right now it didn’t matter what he thought. That morning he had been a star basketball player and a member of a real team, but now he was nobody, and when people found out, his life would be over for sure.
That afternoon, Jeff’s mom was quick with her usual greeting.
“Hi, Jeff. How was your day?” she asked cheerfully, unaware of the day’s events.
“Bad,” Jeff retorted bluntly. Avoiding eye contact, he threw down his backpack and stomped into the kitchen. His mom followed.
“How bad?” she asked. “What happened?”
Silence. He didn’t want to talk, but he guessed it would have to come out sometime.
“It’s so stupid,” he finally confessed, banging his fist on the counter.
“What’s stupid?”
“The basketball team,” Jeff started. “The new coach thinks the sophomores and juniors are better than me and today he cut me from the team—just like that.”
Jeff’s mother knew how much basketball meant to him. “Oh, Jeff, I’m sorry, but it’s not the end …” she stopped abruptly, knowing this was not the time for a lecture.
“End, nothing,” he replied angrily. “My life is ruined.” And with that he tromped upstairs to his room and slammed the door.
By dinnertime, word of Jeff’s catastrophe had spread through the entire family, and as expected, everyone had questions and advice he didn’t want to hear.
“Are you still going to be on the basketball team?” Jeff’s ten-year-old brother, Doug, wanted to know. As younger brothers often do, Doug idolized Jeff and wanted to know every detail of his athletic affairs.
“No,” Jeff snapped, still mad at the world. “I got cut, okay? Now leave me alone.”
Jeff’s dad tried to offer some sympathy. “Well, I think the coach made a poor decision,” he said. “But even if we could make him take you back, you know he wouldn’t play you. Just don’t let it get you down. When I was a freshman in high school I wanted to be a star baseball player, but I didn’t make the cut either. I was angry and disappointed like you, but instead of letting it eat at me, I got involved in other things and still had a fun four years. Just look at this as a kind of intermission,” Dad continued. “With the right attitude, you could still have a great second half.”
“But Dad,” Jeff countered, “I’ve already made the team three years in a row. You hadn’t put as much into it as I have. You still had plenty of time to start over. I don’t.”
“There are still plenty of activities you could try,” his mom interjected. “Maybe you could audition for the drama club or join the school choir.”
“Ha ha,” Jeff said dryly. “You couldn’t get me into those things if you paid me. Besides, I’m an athlete.”
“How about baseball?” Doug suggested. “You could be the pitcher!” Any sport was fine for Doug.
“Baseball is different than basketball,” Jeff explained, brushing Doug aside. “Now could everyone please just let me eat in peace?”
The room immediately fell silent. Except for the occasional clink of knives and forks, no one spoke for several minutes. Finally, someone dared to try again.
“I hear there’s an opening for a sports reporter on the school paper,” suggested Cindy, a year younger than Jeff. “You’ve always been a good writer, and that might be right up your alley.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Jeff said, getting up from the table. He couldn’t stand it anymore. “If none of you mind, I’ll just run my own life.” He stomped from the room, and with a loud clatter he dropped his plate in the kitchen sink and disappeared. It looked to be a long basketball season for the Andersons.
Several days passed, and Jeff refused to cheer up for anyone. He avoided his family whenever possible, and at school he distanced himself from friends. At lunch he sat alone, far from anyone who might dare talk to him, until one day he had a surprise visitor.
“Hi, Jeff,” she said as she sat down across from him. Her name was Kristy Campbell, and Jeff knew her from a few classes they had taken together. She had also been in his sixth period study hall at the beginning of this year but had disappeared after only a few weeks.
“Lately you look like you could use a friend,” she announced, “so I’ve come to apply for the position. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Jeff shot back. It was a nice gesture on her part, but it looked to him like she only wanted to be his psychiatrist, and the last thing he needed was one more self-styled shrink to analyze his plight.
“I heard about the basketball team,” Kristy revealed. “That’s really too bad.”
“Yeah, what else is new?” Jeff asked sarcastically. He wasn’t in the mood for this.
Kristy chuckled. “What are you doing with your spare time now that you’re not playing basketball?” she asked.
“Not a lot,” Jeff answered evasively, looking down at his tray.
Kristy didn’t give up. “Say, don’t you have a free hour sixth period?” she remembered.
“It’s my study hall hour,” he said. “Why do you want to know?”
“Well, since you’ve got a little time on your hands, I thought you might be able to come down to the gym sixth period and help me out with something.”
“Like what?”
Kristy got up from the table. “It’s a surprise,” she said with a smile, “but it has to do with basketball, and you’re just the person I need. I’ll see you there.”
She turned and bolted for the door. By the time Jeff could say anything, she was yards away and out of earshot. Oh well, he thought, she’ll be disappointed when I’m not there.
By the end of fifth period, however, Jeff’s curiosity was piqued. What kind of favor could Kristy possibly need that involved basketball? And why him? His homework was light today, so maybe he would at least go see what it was. If it didn’t look interesting, he could always go back to the library and study.
When the bell sounded, he walked slowly down the hall, still imagining what might lie ahead. As he neared the gym, he heard basketballs bouncing. He racked his brain again for possible explanations. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to find.
When he entered the gym he saw several students dribbling or shooting basketballs, but they weren’t in any of his classes and they weren’t on the basketball team. They were members of Franklin High’s special education class, and all of them had some kind of mental disability. Some were physically handicapped as well.
Jeff instantly felt out of place and turned to make a quick exit, but an excited Kristy Campbell stood between him and the door.
“You came!” she nearly shouted. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Then she explained. “You see, I’ve been using my study period to help out with the special ed P.E. class, and today we’re playing basketball. I thought I could use a little help, and with your expertise, you’re the perfect person to be my assistant. Come and let me introduce you.”
This was awkward. Jeff had seen the special ed class in the halls and in their own corner of the cafeteria, but he had never felt comfortable enough to talk to them and didn’t feel like starting now. He didn’t know them, and they were, well, different.
“Attention everyone. This is Jeff Anderson,” Kristy announced to the group. “He was on the school basketball team last year and today he’s going to watch and give us a little advice.”
Great, Jeff thought. Now I’m stuck.
“And since he’s such a hotshot superstar,” Kristy continued, shooting Jeff a grin, “we should all be pros by the end of the period.”
As soon as Kristy finished, Jeff was immediately mobbed by his new fan club. One boy in particular was eager to get close to him.
“My name is Joseph,” he shouted above the clamor. He was Jeff’s age, and he shared Jeff’s love for basketball, but he also suffered from Down’s syndrome. Jeff didn’t know what to say.
“I went to five games last year and you played great,” Joseph said. “In the last game against Jefferson you scored 18 points and Franklin won, 55–40. Can you teach us to shoot baskets like you? Please?”
Jeff was flattered by Joseph’s compliments, but more than that, he was astounded at Joseph’s amazing memory of scores and statistics. He hadn’t thought anyone like Joseph could be capable of such a feat, but now he realized that he was wrong. More than that, he was intrigued.
“Sure, I can show you,” Jeff finally agreed, his face now sporting a visible grin. The small crowd erupted in cheers, and Jeff began to notice that for them this was an exciting day.
From there Kristy basically ran the show, naming the drills and organizing the students. Jeff, meanwhile, demonstrated each move and offered pointers and assistance wherever he could. All the participants loved his attention, and no one was the least bit annoyed with his suggestions. If only everyone could respond this well to coaching, he thought.
At one point during a shooting exercise, Joseph became discouraged because he couldn’t get the ball in the basket. He had tried several times from the same spot and hadn’t come close to hitting anything.
“I give up!” he shouted in disgust. “I’m never going to make it from here.”
“Hey, relax,” Jeff broke in. “Let’s try it again. Bend your knees a little bit, and push off with your feet when you shoot. Focus on the front of the rim and try to shoot the ball just over the rim.” He gave the ball back to Joseph, who followed his instructions carefully. The shot still didn’t fall, but this time it went high enough and far enough and banked off the rim.
“The most important thing to remember is to never give up,” Jeff told Joseph. Then almost as a joke he added, “And if that doesn’t work, try a different shot.”
“Thanks,” Joseph said. “You’re awesome. That’s good advice.”
“You bet,” Jeff replied without thinking. But as he passed the ball on, it suddenly hit him. These students were the embodiment of perseverance and improvisation. If anybody needed that advice, he did.
When the bell rang, the regular instructor returned and Kristy asked the students to gather up all the equipment. While they were busy, she ran to grab Jeff before he left the gym.
“Thanks a lot, Jeff,” she said. “I know you didn’t have to stay or even show up in the first place.”
“You really didn’t need me here,” Jeff pointed out. “You could have done all this yourself.”
“Maybe,” she answered, “but they needed you. You gave them your attention, along with a shot of inspiration, and they won’t soon forget that. Besides, I think you needed them.”
Jeff didn’t admit it, but he knew exactly what Kristy meant. Just being there to actively help her students had forced him out of his shell. It had even been fun. What’s more, Joseph’s astute observation had made him realize that he shouldn’t let anything keep him down for too long—not even getting cut from the basketball team.
“We don’t play basketball every time,” Kristy continued, “but we could sure use you again if you have the time. Our next class is Wednesday, same period.”
Jeff hesitated. Although the hour had gone well, he wasn’t sure he wanted to make a habit out of it. “Well …” he started.
“Hey, Jeff!” a voice suddenly bellowed from behind. It was Joseph, on his way out the door with the rest of the class. “Are you coming back Wednesday?”
Instantly all Jeff’s excuses seemed to vanish. “Sure,” he answered. “You can count on it.”
Joseph grinned and waved good-bye. Jeff waved back and then turned to look at Kristy. “Thanks,” she said as she hoisted the equipment bag over her shoulder. “You’re a real hero.”
On the walk home that afternoon, Jeff thought about the day’s developments. He wasn’t any closer to regaining his spot on the varsity basketball squad, but now he had a new team, and for the first time in weeks, he felt important. He had only coached Kristy’s students in small ways, but they had managed to teach him a lot more. He still had a lot to give, no matter what uniform he was wearing.
As for Kristy’s class, Jeff would see them Wednesday, and maybe more Wednesdays if Kristy asked. In the meantime, he might even check into that reporting job with the paper. If he couldn’t play the games, at least he could write about them. The second half was about to begin.

I know where you be coming from. My mother died when I was eight. I was bitter, and I hated everything that had anything to do with the Church. I especially hated God for taking my mother from me and my family.
For the longest time I just went through the motions of Church activity, and then when I was 17 my Laurel adviser gave a lesson on families being forever. That lesson really made an impression on me. After that I started praying and reading my scriptures. I finally got some answers that were real to me. I also talked to my bishop. He helped me understand what I was reading and receiving in my prayers.
Families are forever.
Tina Miller, 19Danbury, Connecticut

During a visit to a juvenile detention home some months ago, my attention was drawn to three young girls who were visiting with each other just prior to our religious service. They appeared to be ten to twelve years of age. I found later they were being detained for a few days to see if some problems could be resolved. As I was waiting to participate with them and others in the services, they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. “What could they be talking about?” I wondered to myself. My curiosity prompted me to step closer to them for a chance to catch a few of their words. I was moved when I heard one of the girls raise this question to her friends: “I wonder if someone will come today who will want to take me home. It would be fun to live with someone who wants me.”
Here was a ten-year-old who wasn’t wanted. Her parents had given the impression to those in charge that they were pleased when she was confined, because they were then free from putting up with her. What a pleasure it was later to learn she had been placed by licensed social services agents of the Church in a new home, adopted, loved, and was receiving parental direction. Loving foster parents are now helping her find her way in the warmth of family unity and oneness.

Priscila prepared for her temple trip by studying general conference talks about the temple with her mother, reading Church magazines, and studying the scriptures. She also gathered the names of four generations on her father’s side of the family so she could perform vicarious baptisms for them. Priscila’s mom compiled the family history information for four generations of her side of the family.
Once the 185 members departed Manaus by boat, Priscila and the five other young women in the caravan helped tend the Primary-age children and fixed meals. At night they slept in hammocks on the boat deck to try to stay cool in the hot jungle temperatures.
“Being on the caravan was so spiritual because everyone was so excited and anxious to go to the temple,” Priscila comments. “Most people had never been to the temple, so almost no one knew exactly what to expect. Everyone sang songs and read scriptures together. We were so united.”
The bus ride was the most difficult part of the journey because the buses traveled both day and night for three days, and the members were unable to move around much. As a result, many of the members had severe pain and swelling in their legs.
When they arrived at the temple, Priscila immediately went to the baptistry to do baptisms for the dead, while her mother went to a different part of the temple to receive her endowment. Priscila spent every day in São Paulo in the temple, even though it was the first time she had been to the large metropolis.
“I spent my 15th birthday in the temple. When the baptismal font coordinator discovered it was my birthday, he told me he had a present for me,” Priscila explains. “So many people come to the temple that most patrons can do the baptisms for only five people. He gave me a large stack of names of people who needed their baptismal work done for them. He couldn’t have given me a better present.”
Priscila’s mother comments about other changes that happened in Priscila’s life: “The caravan spiritually influenced her. She was a light for all of the other members. Everyone came back different. On the bus ride home, we felt that our appearances and faces had changed; we were all so happy.”

Walking slowly along the wet sand—hands in pockets and bare feet kicking the water that lapped at his toes—Guillermo (Gee-yer-mo) wished he had a present to welcome his friend Philip. Soon it would be time for Philip to arrive in Baja, California, after the trip with his family along the Oregon seacoast. Two years ago the two boys had been neighbors in Arizona. Will Philip be the same? he wondered. He was concerned that perhaps they wouldn’t still like the same things.
Guillermo stooped to pick up a flat, gray, roundish seashell almost hidden in the wet sand. It was a sand dollar! He turned it over in his hand with the feeling of awe and wonder he always felt when he thought about the legend of the shell. He slipped the shell into his jeans pocket as he heard the sound of his mother’s voice floating down from the bluff.
“Guillermo, it is time.”
He climbed the winding path up the bluff to their red brick home at the top and opened the heavy wooden door to enter a cool, tile-bordered room.
“Hurry, Guillermo, and help me set the table,” urged his mother. “Philip’s parents will want their lunch so they can be on their way to Cabo San Lucas. How nice that Philip can stay with you for a whole week!”
Guillermo had just finished putting a bright cloth on the table and had changed into a clean T-shirt when he heard a car pull into the yard.
“Here they are,” said his mother. “Tell Papa.”
“Papa, they’re here!” called Guillermo. Then he hurried outside, one hand in his pocket.
A red-haired boy ran toward him with a package in his hand.
“Hola (hello), Guillermo, como está usted (how are you)?”
“I’m fine, Philip,” Guillermo replied.
“I’ve been practicing Spanish,” his friend explained. “Look what I brought you.” He shoved the package into Guillermo’s hand and said excitedly, “Open it, OK?”
Guillermo opened the package. Inside was a plastic flying saucer.
“Muchas gracias, Felipe (many thanks, Philip),” he said, grinning.
Again he wished he had a welcoming gift for Philip. Then he remembered the sand dollar he had picked up. He put his hand into his pocket and drew out the flat seashell.
“I have a present for you, too, Philip. I’m sorry it isn’t wrapped.”
“I’ve never seen a shell like this before,” said Philip. “What is it?”
“It’s a sand dollar. However, some people call it a keyhole urchin. It’s found on the Gulf coast and Atlantic coast. After dinner let’s go to my room and I’ll tell you about it.”
Later when they reached his bedroom, Guillermo opened a shoe box on his dresser and took out a dry, sun-bleached sand dollar. “The legend,” Guillermo began, “says that this shell tells the story of the birth and death of Jesus.”
“How can a sand dollar do that?” asked Philip.
Guillermo pointed to the shell in his hand.
“The markings show up better on this dry shell than on yours. See, on the back there’s an Easter lily. In the center of it is the tracing of the star that guided the wise men to the Christ child.”
Guillermo turned the shell over. “Here on the other side are the markings of the Christmas poinsettia. In the middle are five holes, representing the wounds in Jesus’ body when He was crucified.”
“Wow!” said Philip, “that’s interesting.” Then, looking closely at the holes, he thought of something else and asked, “How does the shell move?”
“When it’s alive it’s covered with brown, hair-like spines, and it moves with them. It’s an animal like the starfish.” Guillermo pointed to a small hole in the bottom of the shell. “It takes food in through here.” He handed the shell to Philip. “Here, shake it,” he suggested to his friend.
Guillermo watched as Philip gently shook the shell and sand fell out.
“What’s inside, more sand?” asked Philip.
“No. Hold out your hand. Now watch.”
Guillermo broke open the sand dollar and out dropped several tiny white wing-like objects.
“They’re like folded butterflies made of ivory or bone!” Philip exclaimed.
“The legend says they are the white doves that spread goodwill and peace,” Guillermo explained.
“That’s really neat,” said Philip. “Can we look for more sand dollars on the beach?”
“Sure, Philip. Did you know that some women wear pendants of gold cast from real sand dollars? Other people thread sand dollars on strings and use them for wind chimes.”
“I can make a chime for my mother!” said Philip excitedly. “Or maybe I could make her a necklace for Christmas. Boy, Guillermo, I’m so glad I came!”

Jenny reached for the nearest pans to put them into the water. “Oh, no!” she thought. “Not the muffin tins!” The muffin tins were always hard to clean. She would have to scrub out each section one at a time and keep checking to make sure they were completely clean.
As Jenny worked, she started thinking about muffins. Her mother had made banana muffins for breakfast that morning. Banana muffins were her favorite kind, and this morning they had been hot and delicious. Jenny had never made muffins before, but she knew her mother had to get up early to make sure they were ready before school. And her mother probably hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because of Elizabeth’s crying. Jenny rinsed the muffin tins carefully and set them out to dry. Somehow, washing the muffin tins didn’t seem like such a chore anymore.