Gospel Story Finder

A couple weeks after I started going to seminary, Heather asked me if I was interested in having the missionaries teach me the discussions. What are missionaries, I thought? I imagined two old bald men who carried briefcases everywhere they went and had no personality. But when I met the Elders, I knew I was wrong. They made learning fun. Not only did I grow to love them and the family that invited me into their home every Sunday night, I also grew to love the Lord and his church.

Oertli turned and looked back at the rapids. Another raft, the last of seven, was moving toward the head of the rapids. Oertli rowed to the slow water on the inside of a bend. He waved his arms at the other raft.
“Left, left,” he shouted.
His arms were wet, shining in the bright sunlight.
“He’s rowed here before a couple of times, but that’s a tricky spot. I told him about the two rocks. I hope he remembers.”
He wiped his hands on his legs.
“We’ll watch in case they run into trouble,” he said.
The other raft rose and dropped suddenly, vanishing below waves and then rising up again.
“He’s missed the first rock.”
Oertli stood on the supply box in the middle of the raft waving.
“Right, right,” he shouted. He stopped and stood silent. “He can’t hear me. He’s not rowing.”
A wave suddenly sprayed up in front of the other raft. Jerking back, it stopped, pinned against the rock. Water foamed around it in a wild swirl, tipping it forward. The current caught it, turned it, and pulled It from the rock and down the river, safe.
“Someone’s in the water,” Oertli yelled.
A small orange figure bobbed in front of the raft in white water.
“Row toward her,” Oertli yelled.
Small forms on the raft moved frantically. Out of control in the turbulence, the raft came sideways down the rapids, and the distance between it and the girl in the water grew as the river swept her downstream.
Oertli grabbed the oars again and rowed toward the shore.
“We’ll stop and pick her up when she comes by. If we pick her up now, she’ll be fine. She has her life jacket on, but the water’s cold.”
The shore came up fast.
“Doug, jump out and brake the raft with the rope when we get to the shore. The current’s strong here.”
Doug jumped into the water next to the shore, holding the rope, and fell. He braced himself. The rope grew taut and jerked him down into the water. He stood, getting his footing on slick rocks, then fell again.
The raft slowed and swung in against the shore. Doug stood and brought the raft to a stop.
“Get ready to push off when I say,” Oertli said. “This is why I make sure right at the first that everyone has a life jacket on and buckled. This is a good river. It’s safe, but you can never be too careful.”
He looked up the river. The girl was coming down fast.
“Get ready,” Oertli shouted.
The girl drifted closer.
“Now!” he yelled, grabbing the oars.
Doug pushed the raft into the current and jumped in. Pumping the oars in a rhythmic motion, Oertli brought the raft to the middle of the river. The girl drifted even with the raft about ten feet away. Someone threw her a rope. Oertli hit the water hard with the oars. The raft moved next to the girl and several hands pulled her from the water.
“Are you all right?” Oertli asked.
The girl nodded.
She was clenching her fists tight to her body, shivering. Water dripped from her hair down her face.
“Cold?” Oertli asked.
She nodded again.
“We’ll fix that,” he said.
“Doug, we’re going to pull in and stop.”
He pulled out a pile of waterproof bags and undid the straps on one. He unpacked a heavy wool sweater, a pair of pants, and a thick, down jacket.
“When we get to the shore, go back in the trees and put these on,” he said.
A few minutes later the girl returned.
“Are you okay now?”
She nodded.
“Warm enough?” Oertli asked smiling.
She managed a smile and nodded.
“I keep several sets of warm clothes just for this.”
He rowed to the fast current and leaned back, tipping his head up toward the sun. It was bright and hung low in the sky.
“We’ll be in camp in about an hour,” he said.

Concordances are great but they do have their drawbacks.
I was just leaving my English class, heading for the lunchroom, when I saw Stan. He was coming down the other side of the hall. Positioning my books more securely under my arm and braving the current of bodies, I forged my way over to meet him.
“Well, we gonna talk about religion some more today?” he asked, glancing at the standard works under my arm. (I’d been to seminary that morning.)
We’d had several discussions about the Church. After entering the cafeteria and taking our places in line, he turned and said, “All right. You show me where the Lord says he has always and will always work through prophets, and I’ll read the Book of Mormon.”
Taking a paperbound copy of the Book of Mormon triumphantly from under my arm and thrusting it toward him, I quoted, “Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets.” (We had talked about that last week in seminary.)
“Wait a minute,” he cautioned. “I want to see that in print. Chapter and verse.”
My smile drooped a little bit, and I swallowed hard. “Hmm,” I said clearing my throat, “let’s see.” I fumbled my other books to the floor and leafed to the Bible concordance. “Key words,” I thought. “Just remember the key words. You’ll find it in a second.” Kicking my books along the floor as the lunch line moved ominously toward the serving counter, I turned to prophet in the concordance.
“… Aaron thy brother shall be thy p. … that all the Lord’s people were p. … God will raise up unto thee. … is Saul also among the p. … I am a p. …”
It wasn’t there.
We were almost up to the silverware tray. My friend waited patiently. Thinking of other key words, I stumbled nervously to secret. The scripture wasn’t listed under secret. Almost tearing a page out of the concordance, I flipped to servants. It wasn’t listed there either. Stan was getting his silverware and moving into the line.
Kicking my books along the base of the serving counter, balancing my tray with one hand, Bible propped under my elbow, and turning the pages with my thumb, I glanced under the subdivision God. No luck.
“What key word is it listed under?” I thought as I sat down and watched Stan finish his mashed potatoes.
Out of desperation I tried another key word from the scripture: nothing. Nothing. Stan gulped down the last of his milk and asked me, “Found it yet?” Realizing my meatloaf was getting cold and the butter on my peas was congealing, I turned desperately to the last key word I could think of—reveal.
There it was! “Am. 3:7 he r. his secret unto his servants the prophets.”
I turned to Amos 3:7 and stuck it under Stan’s nose just as he decided the chocolate pudding was too watery and was preparing to leave. He read it, thought about it for a minute, stuffed his napkin into his milk carton and crushed it, and reached out to take the copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Thanks,” he said. “If I have any questions, can I ask you about them?”
“Yes,” I almost shouted as he turned to leave.
“See you tomorrow,” Stan said as he left.
Deciding cold meatloaf, congealed peas, and watery pudding didn’t look all that hot, I decided to leave too.
“Besides,” I thought, “because of that dumb concordance I don’t have enough time to eat anyway.”
It was easy to blame my scriptural clumsiness on the concordance, but at home later that night I realized the cold, hard truth. Although I had read my beautiful leather-bound scriptures many times, I could turn to comparatively few passages. My scripture study had not been systematic, and I had taken such “care” of my books that every page was clean, blank, unmarked.
“Perhaps,” I thought, “if I had marked my scriptures as I read them, taking time to classify and cross reference, I could have skipped the concordance fiasco.”
Duly penitent, I got out my colored pens, pencils, and notebook and became a confirmed scripture marker.
My books don’t look like new anymore. Occasionally there’s a blotch and a mistake. But I can usually find the passage I want when I want it. And I have never since struggled with a concordance while my lunch got cold.

My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.

Time machines have been dreamed up in all shapes and sizes. Such fantastical devices have been represented on screen and in books as everything from hyped-up supercars to phone booths.
For a large group of youth from Arizona, USA, their blast to the past took place inside their local stake center.
This particular journey began after President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told youth, “You may wonder, at my age what I can contribute to your lives. I have been where you are and know where you are going. But you have not yet been where I am” (“Counsel to Youth,” Ensign, Nov. 2011, 16). These words prompted leaders in one stake to start thinking about ways to help youth connect with elderly people in their area.
As youth and leaders began planning, they decided to put together a program in the spirit of The Lawrence Welk Show, a popular American TV show featuring music and dancing that ran from the 1950s through the 1970s. This was a show many of the seniors in the stake knew and loved well.
Most of the youth, however, had never heard of it, and at first some of them didn’t know quite what to think of the idea.
“I was unsure,” says Lisette L., a Laurel from the stake. Adds Slade C., 15, “Honestly, I thought it was going to be kind of weird.”
After all, we’re talking about barbershop quartet music, dance styles from decades past, and the hope to form close friendships across wide generation gaps. Still, the youth jumped in with both feet and started preparing.
“We wanted the youth and the elderly citizens to get to know each other,” says Pam Nielson, one of the leaders. “We wanted them to realize they have a lot in common.”
This wasn’t an activity that could be thrown together in a few days. Preparation involved weeks of rehearsals. There was an all-youth orchestra, an all-youth barbershop chorus, an all-youth band, and all-youth dance teams who learned songs and routines from the 1920s through the 1960s. That takes time to create. “These kids were amazing,” says Pam.
For their part, Slade and Lisette were both chosen as part of an advanced dancing team. “There were lots of rehearsals,” Slade says. “After Mutual, we went down to the stake center and practiced.”
As the show began coming together, the excitement grew. “It was really fun,” says Lisette. “For most of us, it was our first time hearing any of this kind of music.”
When the big day arrived, the surprise highlight—for many—took place before the first note of music even rang in the air.
The activity was scheduled in two segments. For the first part, the 200 youth from the stake were divided into groups of four, and then each group was assigned to visit an elderly man or woman in his or her home for an hour and a half.
“That was definitely one of my favorite parts,” says Slade. He wasn’t alone, either. For many of the young men and young women, these get-to-know-you sessions were fascinating as well as inspiring.
Slade’s group was assigned to visit Hazel Cameron, a widow in their stake who lived through the Great Depression. “I never guessed at all the things she’s been through,” Slade explains. “She told us a few stories that I thought were pretty exciting.”
Slade and the others in his group spent 90 minutes getting to know Hazel, asking her questions about her life. They all enjoyed one another’s company—and none of them minded a bit when Hazel shared a few treats she’d made. It turns out baking cookies and making candy is one of her favorite hobbies!
Another of Hazel’s favorite hobbies is dancing, including the fox-trot. “She taught me a few moves,” Slade says.
At the end of their time together, the elderly members in each group shared a few words of advice with the youth. These messages were recorded and later compiled and handed out as treasured DVDs.
When visiting time was over, the youth said good-bye to their new friends and got ready for the performance later that night. They could hardly wait to put on the performance.
After all the hard work, The Lawrence Wright Show was ready to begin. The event was named for the stake president, Lawrence Wright, who played the role of host Lawrence Welk, complete with a flurry of bubbles like they had in the original show.
The youth went all-out in performing for their new friends. All night long, the stake center became a time machine as song after song turned back the years for the guests of honor. “I loved seeing how happy they were as we performed for them and brought back memories,” says Lisette.
After the grand finale—a song and dance routine to the traditional closing song from The Lawrence Welk Show—music continued, and the youth invited their friends from the audience to join them for more dancing. “It was super exciting,” says Slade, who shared a dance with Hazel.
The friendships formed that day have lasted well past the show’s closing curtain. The youth enjoy seeing their new friends at church and around town. Slade, for example, drops by Hazel’s house now and again just to say hello. He often thinks of ways to brighten her day. “I didn’t think this activity was going to be amazing, but it was,” Slade explains.
Pam hears all the time from senior members in the stake who tell her how the youth will come up and talk with them at church. “They truly made friends,” she says.
This activity ended up providing much more than entertainment. By getting to know those they served, the youth formed friendships they never knew they were missing. “No matter what age we are,” says Lisette, “we’re all part of the same family.”

Father’s Day was coming and I didn’t have a clue what to give my dad. What could he need that he didn’t already have? I decided I had to become a detective to find out.
When Dad came home from work, I was ready. I had a small notebook and pencil to write down clues. I listened carefully and watched closely everything that happened.
First, my dad walked in the door and said, “I’m home.” My mom said, “Welcome home, dear,” and gave him a kiss. Then Dad put his briefcase down by the bookcase. He took some coins and keys from his pockets, and put them on a shelf. Then he took off his coat and tie and hung them in his closet. He rolled up his sleeves and washed up for dinner.
After dinner, Dad cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then he read the newspaper and listened to music. After family prayer I went to bed, still clueless about what my dad needed.
The next morning I decided to try again. I got out my notebook and watched. It wasn’t long before I finally had the clue I’d been looking for.
First, Dad came into the kitchen tying his tie. He said, “Good morning, everyone,” and took a sip of orange juice. “I’ve got to hurry today,” he said. He was putting the coins back in his pocket when he stopped and looked around.
“Have you seen my keys?” he asked me.
I jumped up and found them on the floor near the bookcase.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Lucky for me you have such sharp eyes.”
He waved good-bye, and I returned his wave with a big grin. I was happy because now I knew exactly what to make my dad for Father’s Day.
I asked my mom for a clean, empty tin can with the top removed. She made sure there were no sharp edges. I covered the outside of the can with gold paper. From some old magazines I cut out pictures of things that had to do with money and keys—a piggy bank, a treasure chest, a door lock, and a sports car. I glued the pictures onto the gold paper. My mom then sprayed the can with a clear sealant. While I waited for the can to dry so I could wrap it, I made a card for my dad with a drawing of a detective on it.
On Father’s Day, when Dad opened my gift, he looked confused. “This is a very pretty tin can,” he said.
“It’s for your extra coins,” I pointed out. “And so you don’t lose your keys anymore.”
Dad’s eyes lit up and he smiled broadly. Right then and there he got up and put the can on the bookshelf. “Perfect,” he said as he dropped his coins and keys in with a clatter. “How did you know this was exactly what I needed?”
I just smiled.
My dad used that tin can every day after that. Whenever I heard the familiar clatter of coins and keys, I felt happy inside. That sound meant my dad was home. And I felt a surge of love for him, knowing that I had been able to give him something he really needed. All I had to do was open my eyes and look for the clues.

We often talk about teaching our children from the scriptures, but how do we do that?
Several years ago I was teaching our young son about the life and experiences of the brother of Jared. Although the story was very interesting, he was not engaged. I then asked what the story meant to him personally. It means so much when we ask our children, “What does it mean to you?” He said, “You know, it’s not that different from what Joseph Smith did in the grove when he prayed and got an answer.”
I said, “You’re about Joseph’s age. Do you think a prayer like his would be helpful to you?” Suddenly we weren’t talking about a long-ago story in a faraway land. We were talking about our son—about his life, his needs, and the way prayer could help him.

As a young man I was called as a ward missionary and enjoyed proselyting with the missionaries. I also watched as some of the young men in our ward went on missions. When they returned, they were different. They were more learned and mature, both physically and spiritually. My older brother also served a mission. When he returned, I saw many improvements in his behavior. I kept asking myself, “What is it about a mission that makes all these people change and grow so much?” I became enthusiastic about going on a mission.
After I finished high school, I was working to save money for a mission. Soon my desire to serve a mission became lost because I enjoyed the money I was making. It would have been a sacrifice to go on a mission because the money I earned helped support my family. Each time I started filling out my mission forms, I thought about the money I would be giving up, and I dropped my forms and continued working.
As my friends left on missions, I felt bad because I knew I should also be getting ready to go. This caused me to examine myself. I thought, “Sustaining the prophet and my leaders is not just raising my right hand. It’s doing what they say and obeying our Heavenly Father’s commandments.”
Now was the time to serve a mission, so I submitted my mission papers to the bishop. It was the second happiest day of my life. The happiest was the day my bishop called me to his office and gave me a white envelope with my mission call to the Nigeria Ibadan Mission. My heart was full of joy.
In the missionary training center, I became better acquainted with the doctrines of the gospel and learned marvelous things. I was also able to receive my endowment in the temple. I am so grateful for my decision to come on a mission, and I have never regretted it. I too have grown spiritually on my mission. I believe it is because I am helping people receive the same gospel blessings that have brought so much happiness to me and my family.

In the vicinity where I once lived and served, we operated a poultry project. Most of the time it was an efficiently operated project, supplying to the storehouse thousands of dozens of fresh eggs and hundreds of pounds of dressed poultry. On a few occasions, however, the experience of being volunteer city farmers provided not only blisters on the hands, but also frustration of heart and mind.

For instance, I shall ever remember the time we gathered together the Aaronic Priesthood young men to really give the project a spring cleaning treatment. Our enthusiastic and energetic throng assembled at the project and in a speedy fashion uprooted, gathered, and burned large quantities of weeds and debris. By the light of the glowing bonfires, we ate hot dogs and congratulated ourselves on a job well done. The project was now neat and tidy. However, there was just one disastrous problem: The noise and the fires had so disturbed the fragile and temperamental population of five thousand laying hens that most of them went into a sudden molt and ceased laying. Thereafter we tolerated a few weeds, that we might produce more eggs.

In the Dominican Republic capital of Santo Domingo is a small school for poor children, held in the patio of a dedicated LDS sister by the name of Lubian Sequi.
When the youth of the West Bountiful Ninth Ward, West Bountiful Stake, heard about the school, they decided they wanted to help. After all, Sister Sequi was funding the school out of her own pocket, and she didn’t have much to spare.
The youth chipped in with their own money to buy school supplies like crayons, pencils, and paper, and they decorated school boxes for each of the students. Then they collected clothes from ward members to include, since Sister Sequi noted that sometimes the children were absent because they literally did not have shirts on their backs.
Once all the things were put together, a local shipping company helped them get the supplies overseas and through customs.
“It was one of the best service projects we’ve ever done,” said Scott Thomas, a priest. “More people came out to this project than any other. They came because they thought it was such a good cause. It makes you feel great to know that you’re helping those little kids.”

Illustration by Jim Madsen
I had always procrastinated doing my genealogy. But my desire to serve a mission led me to set goals to help prepare myself to be a better missionary. With the help of an inspired bishop, I decided to begin working on Personal Progress. In order to accomplish certain goals and good works projects, I needed to become involved in genealogy. So I went to work.
I know the Spirit guided me, because one Sunday night, after only three hours of work, something amazing happened.
As soon as I began, I remembered that my great-great-grandfather had been the governor of the state of Amazonas, Brazil. So I typed his name into an online search engine, and to my surprise, I found a Wikipedia page about both my great-great-grandfather and my great-great-grandmother! I immediately recognized in them talents and gifts I have, and emotion began to well up inside me. But there was still much more to discover.
Looking through the links on the page, I noticed one of them said “family tree.” I clicked on it, and I found branches of my family I’d had no idea even existed. But what most caught my attention was the name of my great-aunt, Rosalina Meireles, who apparently lived in Utah, USA.
I was astonished. I thought only my brother and I were members of the Church. Could there really be other Church members in my family? When I clicked on her name, I saw a link to a Facebook page, so I contacted her. Within two days I received a message from her, confirming that we were related and that she too was a member of the Church.
I felt immensely grateful to Heavenly Father for allowing me to feel such great joy as I felt in that moment.
I continued searching for my deceased ancestors, and Heavenly Father blessed me with so many family names that I could take to the temple. But He also helped me find living family members who are faithful in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. And I owe it all to Personal Progress, family history work, and my desire to serve a mission.

While we were in the sacred city of Jerusalem, we also had the unique blessing of being able to visit the tomb of the Saviour. As Gaby and I were making our way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, for some reason I cannot remember, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Looking back, I wouldn’t doubt that I was hungry and being bumped by thousands of people didn’t help.
In the queue to enter the tomb, it was uncomfortably warm. There was a lot of talk in many different languages, which now brings me joy—Christ truly is the Saviour of the world—but caused sensory overload at the time.
With all the people around and the heat stressing me out, I went onto my phone and tried to ignore everyone.
When Gaby and I were finally at the front of the line and walked into the tomb, all anxiety, discomfort and stress fled.
An almighty, miraculous peace, comfort and joy replaced them. In that location so sacred, so holy, I experienced yet another undeniable manifestation of the love of the Lord and I knew Jesus Christ was my personal Saviour.
He died for me personally. He died for all of us. He suffered, and bled, and died for us all. Three days later, scriptures tell us, He walked out of that tomb.
I have seen the tomb of the Lord Jesus Christ, and I testify that it is empty. Along with the angels who spoke to Mary Magdalene, I say this: “He is risen” (Matthew 28:6).

“We’re having a scavenger hunt,” Mom announced at family home evening.
Ten-year-old Amy and her brothers, Nathan and Carl, grinned.
Mom continued, “You’ll be able to find most of the things on the list tonight, but some may take all week. Heavenly Father will help you, if you ask.” She passed a list to each person.
Amy scanned the page: (1) a picture of Jesus Christ; (2) a story of a missionary experience; (3) a true pioneer story; (4) the name of an ancestor with your first or middle name.
“OK,” Mom said, before Amy could finish reading the list, “be back here in an hour. We’ll try to finish the list during the week, and we’ll share our experiences next week.”
Amy read the rest of the list: (5) a story about President Hinckley when he was young; (6) a scripture about faith; (7) a picture of a temple; and (8) someone to give a copy of the Book of Mormon to.
Amy groaned. The first seven wouldn’t be too hard. But who would she give a Book of Mormon to?
“The first one’s easy,” Amy said to herself. She pulled a small picture of Jesus Christ out of her journal.
Her Primary class had read Alma 32:21 last week. It was a good scripture on faith, so Amy marked it.
Amy’s middle name was Evelyn, and it was her great-grandmother’s name, too!
Next she looked through copies of The Friend. She found a picture of the Tokyo Japan Temple, a story about President Hinckley growing up, and several true pioneer stories. Then the hour was up.
No one in the family had thought of someone to give a Book of Mormon to. In the closing prayer, they asked for help in finding people who were looking for the gospel.
Brother and Sister McKenzie had just come home from their mission, so on Tuesday, Amy asked them about their mission. But she still didn’t know who to give a Book of Mormon to.
Amy thought and prayed all week. Who would want a Book of Mormon? What would she say to them? “We’re having a scavenger hunt—would you like a Book of Mormon?” They would laugh.
She didn’t want to be laughed at. The Book of Mormon wasn’t a joke. It was a special book. She loved it, and she loved Jesus Christ. That was it! It was a book for people who loved Jesus! Now Amy knew just the person.
She knelt and prayed for Heavenly Father’s help. She felt calm and warm inside as she rode her bike to her friend Sarah’s house. But the calm feeling vanished when she got to the door. She prayed silently, then rang the doorbell.
“Hi, Amy,” Mrs. Morgan said. “Sarah’s at her grandmother’s this week.”
“I came to talk to you,” Amy said. She took a deep breath, then hurried on. “Mrs. Morgan, you love Jesus Christ a lot, don’t you?”
“Oh, very much,” smiled Mrs. Morgan.
“Would you like another book about Him?” Amy held out a Book of Mormon.
“The Book of Mormon,” Mrs. Morgan read. “Another Testament of Jesus Christ.”
“It tells some really wonderful things about Jesus,” Amy said. “About His visit to America and what He taught the people there. And it has one of my favorite scriptures—‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God’” (Mosiah 2:17).
“Another Testament of Jesus Christ,” Mrs. Morgan repeated softly. “Yes, Amy, I would like to read this. Thank you.”
Amy grinned, and the warm feeling grew inside her. “I like all of it, but 3 Nephi tells about the Savior’s visit to the Americas. I especially like when He blesses the children.”
Amy helped Mrs. Morgan find 3 Nephi.
Amy smiled and left as Mrs. Morgan sat on the steps and began reading. Still full of that warm feeling, Amy knew she had won the real prize of the scavenger hunt, and she hoped everyone else in her family would win it, too.

Cindy nodded slowly. She thought of Mrs. Clark, her friend Linda’s grandmother. Cindy’d seen Mrs. Clark once. She was hunched over in a rocking chair, staring at the wall. She didn’t answer Linda’s questions but just sat there, constantly rubbing the chair arms with her hands. Linda had said that her grandmother seemed happiest when she sat in the rocker. It bothered Cindy; she never visited Mrs. Clark again.

“I’m sure Mrs. Nealy wouldn’t mind your seeing him,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I have their number. You can call from here.”
“That’s OK. I think I shouldn’t bother them.”
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Tyler busied herself with some packages.
She sees all right, Cindy thought. She sees what a chicken I am. I don’t care—I can’t bear to see Mr. Nealy be like Linda’s grandmother.
As she watched Mrs. Tyler place stamps on the packages, Cindy thought about the first time she saw Mr. Nealy. She’d been too shy to talk to him, and the time had really dragged while she waited for her mother. But after Mr. Nealy made friends with her, that hour flew by. Later she realized that Mr. Nealy enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his. Between three and four o’clock was a slow period when there were few travelers. She helped him sweep the floor, wash the windows, check for burned out light bulbs. He talked about trains, and she talked about school.
He was fond of black licorice and often asked her to go to the nearby store and buy him a package of it. She remembered how he always said, “Black licorice, Cindy. Not red. And not the shoestring kind, either.” And he always gave her extra money to buy candy for herself.
As the memories flooded her mind, Cindy saw him standing very tall, with beautiful silver hair and a thick mustache. He was strong, picking up cargo as if the crates were empty. That Christmas she gave him a conch shell that she’d found in Florida while on vacation, and he gave her a pin in the shape of a caboose. She still had the pin.
Thinking of that shell made Cindy smile. Mr. Nealy kept it at his office, where it lay among the forms and tickets and stamps. It looked out of place, but he never moved it, except to put it to his ear sometimes and listen to the sound of the sea. “That’s where I should be right now,” he’d say, “lying on a beach, loafing my life away.” Then they would laugh.
To see him like Linda’s grandmother—Cindy shuddered at the thought. Turning now to go, she said, “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Tyler.”
“You, too, dear.” Mrs. Tyler gave Cindy a good-bye hug. “Come back to visit.”
“I will.”
As Cindy passed the train station once more, she tried to not think of Mr. Nealy. But the thoughts kept coming.
The store had not changed. Cindy quickly found the black licorice at the candy counter. Maybe he won’t be as sick as Linda’s grandmother, she thought. Maybe he just started getting that way. And I don’t have to stay long. She fumbled with the licorice, trying to make up her mind. Should I go? She saw a pay phone on the wall. Should I call?
Fifteen minutes later she pushed the doorbell of the Nealy house. Patting the package of licorice in her jacket pocket, she felt good about her decision.
“I’m glad to finally meet you, Cindy,” Mrs. Nealy greeted her. “Henry will love seeing you again.”
“I hope I’m not bothering you.”
“Of course not. As I told you when you phoned, we love to have company. Come in.”
Cindy felt a little strange. She’d never pictured Mr. Nealy having a regular house. The station had seemed like his home—he’d cared for it and cleaned it as if he lived there day and night.
“Mr. Nealy doesn’t get many visitors anymore. At first he might look strange to you, but it will pass after a little while. He’s in the living room.”
Cindy followed Mrs. Nealy toward the sound of a TV. She could see the back of Mr. Nealy’s head as they entered the room. He was sitting in a swivel chair in front of the television.
Mrs. Nealy bent over the chair. “Henry, look who’s come to see you. It’s Cindy.”
Cindy watched the chair swivel toward her. Mr. Nealy was hunched over, his eyes showing no recognition. He pushed the chair around and around, and each time he passed her, his eyes remained blank.
“Sit here, Cindy.” Mrs. Nealy pointed to the sofa. She asked Cindy questions about her new hometown, her school, and her new friends. After most of Cindy’s answers, Mrs. Nealy said, “Isn’t that nice, Henry?” or “Did you hear that, Henry?”
As she watched the retired stationmaster circle that green chair round and round, Cindy thought that it was hopeless to even pretend that he knew what they were saying. Seeing him was worse than seeing Linda’s grandmother, because Cindy could not forget how he used to be. As she talked to Mrs. Nealy, memories of his deep laughter, his wide smile, his stories and silly jokes swirled within her until she could no longer bear the sight and sound of his chair. “I have to go, Mrs. Nealy. It’s getting late.”
She pulled the licorice from her jacket. “Would you give these to Mr. Nealy. He used to like black licorice.”
“He still does. He’ll be pleased.”
“Mrs. Nealy, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“In his way, he knows. Please—you give him the candy.” She got up, and Cindy followed her to the swivel chair. “Henry, Cindy has a present for you.” She stopped the chair.
“Mr. Nealy, these are for you.” Cindy waved the candy in front of him, trying to catch his attention.
When he saw the licorice, he grabbed at it. Close to him now, Cindy saw that he wasn’t so different, after all. He still had the lovely silver hair and thick mustache, his eyes were still deep blue, and he still wore his railroad ring.
“Cin, Cin,” he uttered, staring at her.
“Yes, Mr. Nealy. It’s me, Cindy.”
He raised a hand, and Cindy stooped to let him touch her face. He smiled, then pointed to a table. Cindy could not understand his words, but she recognized the conch shell.
“You still have this?”
Cindy picked it up and took it to him. But when she tried to place it in his hands, he pushed the shell back to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Nealy. It will remind me of you.”
He smiled, and Cindy decided that somehow he understood. Then he ripped open the licorice and started his chair whirling again, and she knew that he was back in his own world. She turned to Mrs. Nealy. “It hurts to see him this way—is he in pain?”
“No, Cindy. He isn’t in pain.”
“He isn’t, but we are.” Cindy put the shell to her ear and listened to the sound of the sea. She looked up again at Mrs. Nealy and managed a brave smile. “I’m glad that at least we have some happy memories.”

At stake conference I heard a General Authority speak about being committed to making the right decisions. Afterward, I remember getting on my knees and saying to Heavenly Father, “This is what I plan to do. Wouldst thou help me?” I vowed that I would keep the Word of Wisdom throughout my life, that some day I would tell my grandchildren truthfully that I had never touched tobacco, tea, coffee, or a drop of liquor. I decided then how I was going to act so that decision never had to be made again.

Please share this recent experience I had while visiting in South America. I was traveling with a mission president 200 miles from his office. Word reached him one of his elders was in the hospital with a ruptured appendix. His condition was grave because of the six- to seven-hour delay in getting medical attention. The mission president gave immediate instructions by telephone, getting the best physician possible, leading sixty missionaries assembled in zone conference in united prayer. He and his wife were at the elder’s bedside the following morning. Prayers continued, medical attention increased, companions took turns sitting at his bedside around the clock. Parents in Idaho were notified. “The best is being done for your son. We feel he will make it. Please have your family join us in our prayers.”

Here was friendship in action. Here was a friend at work. Here was an example of leaving the ninety and nine for the immediate attention of the one.

Margaret and Dean’s life also took an unexpected turn when Dean developed early Alzheimer’s. He could no longer help with the finances, and Margaret felt lost. With help from their children, Margaret pieced together available resources. Yet she froze when making decisions about finances and about Dean’s care.
Margaret wore herself out as Dean’s primary caregiver. She was afraid they couldn’t afford caregivers or moving to an assisted-living facility.
Where could she turn for help beyond her immediate family circle?
Seeking direction from heaven, she soon found peace. She was guided to her team of angels. These angels came in the form of physicians, financial professionals, and Church leaders. They not only found ways to reposition resources but also found outside sources of help.
Through her bishop’s wise counsel, Margaret learned she need not feel guilty about being unable to care for Dean by herself. She gained the confidence to move him into a moderately priced assisted-living center where caregivers were available as needed. Dean was later moved to a memory-care wing where Margaret could still visit him daily. Margaret also enjoyed the social support from the other residents in the center. The children and grandchildren visited often.
Many hard decisions had to be made, but Margaret had the peace of knowing that her resources were sufficient. If needed, however, her children had offered to chip in. These difficult family discussions brought them all closer together.

Illustrations by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
The Prophet went to visit his aunt and uncle. His uncle and his cousins were sick with the fever and chills.
Joseph, your uncle has the worst of it. I fear for his life.
Here, Uncle, have my shoes.
But, Joseph, what will you wear?
Joseph rode home without his shoes.
He sent for his uncle and had him brought to his home.
He will heal better at my house. Emma will take good care of him.
He also sent many supplies to help the rest of the family recover.
Thank you, Joseph. Thank you.
The Prophet’s genuine love for others saved his uncle’s life and eased his aunt’s burdens.

Our family enjoys nature. We spend almost every Saturday outside—hiking, camping, bike riding, or sightseeing in the summer; and sledding, skiing, or taking walks in the snow in the winter. These are wonderful family times that give my husband and me opportunities to converse with our three children.
One summer day we hiked around a lake in a nearby forest. It was perfect weather: sunny and warm with a refreshing, cool breeze from the lake. As we made our way down the trail, we pointed out the wildflowers and trees. We discussed how much Heavenly Father must love us to create such beauty for our enjoyment. We tried to decide which was the most beautiful place we had seen. One child suggested nearby Yellowstone National Park. Someone else suggested a favorite camping spot. We thought about our trip to the ocean and the beauty of a cross-country ski trail with trees covered in glistening snow.
Our youngest child, Jacob, age 7, who had been quietly listening to our discussion, said, “I think the most beautiful place in the world is where all the things about Jesus are.” Things about Jesus? My mind searched for a connection, and then I realized that Jacob meant Temple Square in Salt Lake City. With the magnificent temple, trees, fountains, and flower gardens, Temple Square is indeed a beautiful place. But to Jacob, Temple Square means more than the outward beauty of nature alone.
Born with a complex congenital heart defect, Jacob is the veteran of three heart surgeries and numerous medical tests, with many more surgeries anticipated. His doctor frequently comes to Idaho, but for Jacob’s surgeries and some tests, we must travel to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City. These trips are often filled with anxiety and worry about Jacob’s health, and we have found that a trip to Temple Square helps calm our nerves and reminds us of Heavenly Father’s plan and of our need to trust in Him.
The night before Jacob’s most recent and most complicated surgery, we took him to the Temple Square visitors’ center, where we sat together looking at that glorious statue of the Savior—the Christus. Peaceful, warm, and safe in a parent’s lap and not wanting to leave, Jacob sat uncharacteristically still and kept asking to stay for “just five more minutes,” until our time there stretched past an hour. When at long last we needed to leave, we all felt at peace and ready to cope with whatever the surgery would bring.
I believe that Temple Square is beautiful to Jacob not because of what he sees there but because of what he feels there. Heavenly Father’s gifts of peace, hope, and comfort are more beautiful than anything Jacob can remember seeing with his physical eyes.
Understanding Heavenly Father’s plan and accepting and trusting in His will can bring indescribable peace and joy. When we become discouraged, upset, or afraid, there is somewhere to turn—not to a specific beautiful place but to our Savior Jesus Christ. And I think Jacob is right: nothing is more beautiful than that.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.