Gospel Story Finder

Her last acts were so typical of her. She was up preparing breakfast for her family. I heard her drop a dish and give a little moan. As I rushed from my study, thinking she had injured herself, I found that she was suffering from a stroke that was causing her to lose the use of her right arm. I quickly picked her up and carried her in to a little couch I had just recently convinced her that she should have near her kitchen so she could rest during the day.
There was terror in her eyes as the paralysis started to spread down her side. I told her I was going to rush a call to the doctor. She said, “First, give me a blessing.” As I laid my hands on her head that morning, the Lord in his great mercy let me know that her time had come. As I left the room to call the doctor after that blessing, she was literally fighting to move her right arm and her right leg. And the last words I heard her utter were, “I will not live as a half a person.”
Her next two hours, her last in mortality, were the only two I know of in her life that she was not carrying her full load and a little extra for someone else. The Lord in his mercy has let her pass through the veil and relieved her from her anxiety and pain. Now she is whole again, and I am certain paradise is a much more joyful place because she is there.

When I was a young boy, about 12 years old, I loved to play baseball. The only piece of athletic equipment that we had around our house was an old baseball mitt. We didn’t have footballs in those days. We didn’t have a lot of other things. I thought the great moment in my life would be that I would be playing baseball for the New York Yankees, and this was back in the days when the Yankees were a great team. I would be playing for them in the World Series, the games tied 3 and 3. Now in the deciding game, guess who would get up to bat? As I stood at the plate, the pitcher would pitch the ball exactly where I’d want it, I’d knock it out of Yankee Stadium, and I would become the hero of the World Series. I thought that would be the great moment of my life. But I want you to know that that isn’t true.

A few years ago I sat in the Los Angeles Temple in a little sealing room with my wife, Ruby. We had our sons there with their wives—they’d been married just for a short time—and our sweet daughter was kneeling at the altar, holding the hand of the young man she was to be sealed to. And as I looked around the room, I then realized that this was the great moment of my life because I had in that room everything that was precious to me—everything. My wife was there, my eternal sweetheart and companion. Our three children were there with their eternal companions. And I thought, David, in your youth you had things all wrong. You thought some worldly event of some kind might be the great event of your life. But now I was witnessing that great event. I was there, I was feeling it, I felt a part of it, and I knew in that little white sealing room—clean, sweet, pure in that room—with all of my family there, that this was the great moment of my life.

Before attending her sacrament meetings, Sister Bednar frequently prays for the spiritual eyes to see those who have a need. Often as she observes the brothers and sisters and children in the congregation, she will feel a spiritual nudge to visit with or make a phone call to a particular person. And when Sister Bednar receives such an impression, she promptly responds and obeys. It often is the case that as soon as the “amen” is spoken in the benediction, she will talk with a teenager or hug a sister or, upon returning home, immediately pick up the phone and make a call. As long as I have known Sister Bednar, people have marveled at her capacity to discern and respond to their needs. Often they will ask her, “How did you know?” The spiritual gift of being quick to observe has enabled her to see and to act promptly and has been a great blessing in the lives of many people.

The Twelve love President Hunter, and President Howard W. Hunter loves the Twelve. President Hunter’s gentle, persuasive leadership invites the Spirit of the Lord into all of their meetings. I hope President Hunter will forgive me for relating an experience which portrayed to me the great love the Twelve have for each other, which love brings the Holy Spirit into their quorum meetings.

Many will remember a number of years ago President Hunter was informed that he would not walk again. However, his faith and determination were greater than that message. Daily, without fanfare and the knowledge of others, he went through some very strenuous physical therapy exercises with determination, faith, and the vision that he would walk again. During those difficult months, his Brethren of the Twelve were praying for him daily in their quorum meetings and in their private prayers.

Months later, on a Thursday morning, I went to President Hunter’s office to discuss an agenda item for the temple meeting that morning. I found he left early and was informed that he was walking to the temple. I questioned that information and then hurried to catch up with him. When I caught up with him, he was walking with the help of a walker. We walked together to the elevator and then up to the fourth floor. We went down the hall to the upper room of the temple. When their president walked into that room, the Twelve stood and began to clap their hands. They tenderly watched him walk over to his chair and let his body down into the chair. Then with magnificent love, honor, and tenderness, each of the Twelve went up to him and extended to him an affectionate touch, kiss on the forehead, and a hug, showing their great love and admiration for him. They all sat down, and President Hunter thanked them and said, “I was not supposed to walk again, but with the Lord’s help and my determination and, most important, the faith of my Brethren of the Twelve, I am walking again.” President Howard W. Hunter is an example of maintaining faith and determination in the face of adversity. The Twelve are examples of maintaining faith and prayer in behalf of those who are experiencing adversity.

Some years ago, I was called to serve as the bishop of a large ward. One evening, my telephone rang. I heard a voice say, “Bishop Monson, this is the hospital calling. Kathleen McKee, a member of your congregation, has just passed away. Your name is listed as the one to be notified of her death. Could you come to the hospital right away?”
Upon arriving there, I was presented with a key to the apartment in which Kathleen had lived. I entered her apartment, turned the light switch, and discovered a letter. It read:
“Bishop Monson,
“I think I shall not return from the hospital. In the kitchen are my three precious canaries. Two of them are beautiful, yellow-gold in color and perfectly marked. On their cages I have noted the names of friends to whom they are to be given. In the third cage is ‘Billie.’ He is my favorite. Billie looks a bit scrubby, and his yellow hue [color] is marred by gray on his wings. Will you and your family make a home for him? He isn’t the prettiest, but his song is the best.”
Kathleen McKee had befriended many neighbors in need. She had brightened each life she touched. Kathleen was much like “Billie,” her prized yellow canary with gray on its wings. She was not blessed with beauty. Yet her song helped others to more willingly bear their burdens.

I was not a very impressive teenager and spent little time serving others. During this time my mother invited me to come with her to visit my great-aunt at a nursing home.

My cousin and her daughter Stephanie accompanied us on this visit. Stephanie was seven or eight years old. As we walked into the nursing home, she waved at everyone she saw. They lit up as if she were handing out sunshine and rainbows. I, on the other hand, avoided eye contact.

When we entered the room that my great-aunt shared with another elderly woman, I did my best to disappear into the background. Stephanie, however, jumped onto my aunt’s bed and began to regale her with stories.

I noticed something about this room. On my aunt’s side were signs of love and family. Pictures and crayon drawings hung on the wall, and flowers adorned a nightstand. The other side of the room was sterile and bare. There were no signs of any visitors; no cards or pictures hung on the wall.

My aunt’s roommate sat alone in a wheelchair and did not acknowledge our presence. She was humming a tune and tapping the arms of her wheelchair, which made me uncomfortable.

Stephanie tugged on her mother’s arm and asked, “Mommy, what’s the matter with that lady?” Stephanie’s mother leaned down and whispered, “She needs love.” I was not prepared for what happened next.

Without hesitation, Stephanie ran over and jumped into the woman’s lap. She then began to tell her stories and ask all kinds of questions. The woman did not answer. Instead, tears ran down her face as she embraced Stephanie. For the next several minutes, Stephanie sat in her lap, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek.

I had never witnessed this type of unselfish love before, and I tried to hide my tears. Later, as we drove away from the nursing home, I marveled at how young Stephanie could be so selfless and so full of love and compassion for a complete stranger.

Durban’s dedication weekend served as a homecoming for Elder and Sister Cook, who had resided in South Africa as he served five years in the Africa Southeast Area presidency, including the last three as president. He had presided at the Durban temple’s groundbreaking on April 6, 2016.
“Four years ago, Sister Cook and I climbed the hill where the Durban temple was to be built, along with many others who attended the groundbreaking,” he recalled of the beautiful, clear day.
“There was a feeling of awe as we sat on that empty hillside. We looked out over the valley and out to the ocean and realized that in a few short years, a temple would rise up on that ground. To have the sacred privilege of returning for the dedication of the Durban temple that has been built up to the Lord is very humbling. I am filled with joy.”

On her way home from practice, Jillian saw her friend Mei. They were in the same Primary class. But Mei hadn’t come to Primary for a while.

Jillian smiled at Mei. “Hi, Mei! I’ve missed you at Primary. Are you OK?”

Mei stared down at her shoes. “My mom doesn’t want to go to church.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know.” Mei lifted her head. “Well, I have to go.”

Jillian waved and watched Mei walk away. How can I help Mei? she wondered.

When Jillian got home, she played some Primary songs on her ukulele. Then she invited her brothers to sing along. They sang until Mom called them for dinner.

“I’m going to visit Sister Aurea tomorrow,” Mom said.

“Sister Aurea is Mei’s mom, right?” Jillian asked. “Can I go with you? Mei hasn’t been coming to Primary. And when I saw her today, she seemed kind of sad.”

“Sure, you can come,” Mom said.

“I’ll bring my ukulele! I can play Primary songs. I bet she misses singing them,” said Jillian.

When they got to Mei’s house the next day, Jillian gave Mei a big hug. While their moms talked, the girls went outside. Jillian played her ukulele, and Mei picked the songs. They had fun laughing and singing together until it was time for Jillian to go.

“It was great to see you,” Jillian said. “We’ve missed you in Primary.”

“Yeah, I wish I could come. Maybe I’ll ask my mom again.”

The next Sunday, Mei was at church. Jillian sat beside her. “I’m so happy you could come,” she said.

Mei grinned. “Me too.”

That night as she lay in bed, Jillian thought about Mei and her football team. She was happy to be part of a team, just like she was happy to be part of Primary. They all helped each other. Jillian was glad she could help her friends, whether it was at church or on the field.

Last year around Thanksgiving, my family and I were sitting around the table, about ready to stuff ourselves full of warm, flavourful food. Starting our Thanksgiving tradition, my mom said, “Before we start to eat, let’s go around the table and say five things we’re grateful for. Don, would you like to start?”
“Sure thing,” my dad replied. “I’m grateful for you guys and your mom and that you’re always there for me even when work gets tough. I’m grateful for our home and that we’re all healthy and happy.” He turned to me. “What about you, Alison?”
“Um …” I said, thinking about how the year had flown by. It seemed like just yesterday that I was at last year’s Thanksgiving dinner, struggling to find five solid things for which I was grateful.
I thanked everyone in my family for being so loving and for each of their unique contributions in my life. This lifted my spirits for a few hours, but I soon felt like the gesture seemed inauthentic. Unsatisfied, I made a commitment to myself that I’d try to find reasons to be grateful every week instead of just around Thanksgiving.
This seemingly small decision made a huge difference in my life. I’m not sure how or if I’ve made a difference to my parents or siblings by being more grateful toward them, but I know I’ve been blessed. By committing to being more grateful in my life, I’ve been able to develop a stronger relationship with both my family and my Heavenly Father—something definitely worth feeling grateful for.

Serving has increased Sadie Wilson’s testimony, too. She remembers one activity when the young women watched a movie on the Atonement of Jesus Christ. “Afterward,” she says, “our leader asked the girls why He had to suffer for us. My friend said, ‘Because He loves us and had to die for us.’ And I always knew that, but hearing her state it and knowing that she believed it reinforced my own testimony.”

The teacher nurses a knife wound in her back. Gladys Saiah is not much older than her students. She and her sister were running an errand for their mother in an unfamiliar part of town when she was attacked and stabbed by a group of men. Gladys and her sister were fortunate; they were allowed to leave without further injury.
“As my sister and I began walking home,” she says, “I told Ellen we must first thank Heavenly Father for sparing our lives. We did, and then, arising from our knees, I asked Ellen, ‘Now will you please clean my back?’”
Though life in Soweto can sometimes be dangerous, the dangers are pushed into the background once the opening hymn and prayer start seminary. Class begins with scripture mastery, and each student recites a scripture word for word.
“And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them” (Moses 7:18).
“But the Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7).
Soweto seminary students know the Lord helps them through the scriptures. Lucky Ndhiela knows his faith spared him a severe beating.
“One day our school teacher was very angry with our class,” says Lucky. “He said he had explained a science principle to us, and the other students said he had not. A still, small voice whispered in my ear, ‘You know it, Lucky—the teacher did teach us that.’
“So I raised my hand and said in front of the whole class, ‘You did teach us that.’ I felt so happy to say it.
“But the whole class shouted, ‘He did NOT!’ The teacher became very angry and started hitting them all, one by one. I sat near the back of the class, and while he was busy punishing the students in front, I bowed my head and began to pray.
“I remembered my scripture mastery, Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6], and said to myself, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
“When the teacher came to my desk, his voice changed. His face changed. He said, ‘Lucky is praying to his God. I forgive him.’ He did not punish me, nor any others that day. That is how I know it is important to apply the scriptures in my life. My prayer was answered!”
Studying the Old Testament together had great impact on Soweto’s seminary students. Scenes like this one, described by a teacher, Leadh Vilakazi, are not uncommon:
“When we got to the story of Moses, everyone wanted to know everything concerning him. It was a wonderful feeling, as if Moses were among us.
“But the sad moment started when Moses was told he would not be allowed to enter the promised land, after all he had been through, and the faithful heart he had, and his hard work in leading the Israelites.
“‘Oh, what a painful and upsetting thing,’ my students grieved to me. And it was even a greater blow when the scriptures said Moses died. Everyone’s heart was moved, as if Moses had departed from us, and it was silent for a moment.
“When I looked at the students’ faces, tears were about to fall. Some of them looked down—they could not look at me. I heard one of the students say, ‘We now know that we had such a wonderful leader.’
“Another said, ‘Why don’t we sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” ?’
“Then came another voice. ‘Oh, yes—just to thank our Heavenly Father for our beloved prophet for the last time.’ And so we sang, with our tears.”
Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane, and something told me to say I was staying with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out that the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I did, and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 [Isa. 1:18] can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: ‘Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.’”
Many people would be amazed at Girly’s charitable attitude. They would view Soweto as a terrible place. But Soweto is where these seminary students have received the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through study, prayer, and faith, they have found hope, confidence, courage, and love.
“I want to tell everyone not to forget their Heavenly Father, wherever you are,” says Girly. “He won’t forget you. He didn’t forget me.”

Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane, and something told me to say I was staying with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out that the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I did, and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 [Isa. 1:18] can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: ‘Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.’”

I was a well-known journalist who had written for some good magazines and newspapers in Lima, Peru, but my way of life—far from God—was tormenting me more each day. Because of this, I accepted a job as a proofreader for a magazine in the Ventanilla District, located far from my home. I was desperately seeking a way to get away from my current circle of friends. In Ventanilla, I felt in my heart that my life would change.
I was occasionally attending church with my girlfriend, María Cristina, when two good, stubborn missionaries convinced me to ask Heavenly Father in prayer if the Church was true. I did so, and what I experienced was indescribable. I had never felt the Spirit so strong as on that unforgettable day.
Married and baptized a short time later, María Cristina and I rented a small, uncomfortable room in Ventanilla. Because of my hard work, I was advanced from proofreader to editor at the company’s magazine and newspaper. I had never been an editor before, and I was happy with the position. Even so, things started to change when our publications began to lower their standards, publishing items of questionable morality. These changes, ordered by our directors, opposed Church principles and values.
I had always wanted to be an editor, but the situation made me uncomfortable. Our bishop suggested that if we did things that pleased our Heavenly Father, He would bless us. After my wife and I thought it over and prayed about it, we felt prompted that I should quit my job.
A few days later I was beginning to feel stressed out and wondered if I had done the right thing. After resigning, I had sent résumés to several companies but had heard nothing back. María Cristina suggested that we pray again, and we did so. We prayed that everything would turn out well and that we would not lose faith even though the bills were piling up.
A few hours later my wife encouraged me to call one of the companies. Somewhat unbelieving, I called. I was astounded when an official there said he was just about to call me. He wanted to know if I could start the next day!
We wept for joy. Our Heavenly Father had answered our prayers.
We had to leave our ward and many good friends for my new job, but we left with stronger testimonies. I now have respectable work and a good salary, and we have a nice place to live. Above all, we have been blessed with the certainty that when we do the things that please God, we receive His blessings.

I have seen many Christmas trees. Usually they have been topped with a lighted star or a lovely angel. But the most beautiful tree I have ever seen had a big red bow on top.
I wasn’t sure how to celebrate Christmas that year. My mother had been a widow for several years, and since I was single, we had continued many of our family traditions and had celebrated most of the holidays together. When my mother died just before Christmas, however, the old traditions suddenly seemed too painful without her.
Just before Christmas, the bishopric came to visit. They expressed concern about my being alone for Christmas. Looking around, the bishop asked why there was no Christmas tree or other decorations. I explained that I didn’t want to decorate a tree alone and so had decided not to have one. Christmas seemed so much of a family celebration that I thought ignoring it would be the best way to make it through the holidays.
After they left, I went about my work. But the bishop did not let the matter alone. He told the ward Primary president about his talk with me. I had just been called to teach the 11-year-old girls but would not start until the first of the year.
One afternoon, Michelle, one of the girls who would be in my class, called and asked if she could drop by the next evening about 7:30. I was surprised but looked forward to her company.
The doorbell rang at exactly 7:30, but it was not just Michelle who stood on my porch. It was all of the girls in my new Primary class—with a Christmas tree, lights, and decorations!
They pushed the large tree through the door and started setting it up in my living room. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I was soon moving furniture to find just the right spot for the tree. I asked what I should do to help and was told to sit on the couch and just watch. My next two hours were filled with the holiday laughter and love that only 11-year-olds can create and share.
The girls told me their names and what part each had played in the project. Cindy showed me the hot-glue burns she had suffered while attaching ribbons to the backs of gingerbread ornaments. Amanda couldn’t come that evening, so she had gone with her mother to buy the tree earlier in the day. Bethany was the tallest, so she was in charge of the lights. Lindsay joined the decorating with a large box of candy canes. Rachel put a stocking filled with candy and a gift under the tree. And Michelle told me they had tried to find or make a star for the top of the tree but couldn’t, so they had brought a large red bow.
That bow topped one of the largest and most beautiful Christmas gifts I have ever received. Even before that tree was finished and lighted, my heart was full of the spirit of Christmas and of love for each girl in my future Primary class. That feeling was renewed each time I turned on the tree lights.
I have some new Christmas traditions now. I plan to have a tree every year, and it will always have candy canes, gingerbread ornaments—and a big red bow on top.

I once knew a man who attained a high position in a company. Each day he would go to his office with a briefcase. One day his wife asked him, “Why do you carry that briefcase to work each day?”
He replied, “The executive vice-president is a very important person, and the paperwork he manages is also important. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” she said. But then she asked, “How many times do you open the briefcase and use the papers?”
“The truth is, very few times,” he responded.
And she replied, “If the briefcase gives you a feeling of importance, wouldn’t it be easier just to carry an empty one?”
While he was thinking about that, she added one more thought.
“But if you carry it only for status, let me remind you that by the time you leave the office, the only person who sees you is the custodian.”

The city lay in darkness. The blank windows of the mercantile store glinted now and then with a hint of the treasures inside. The white stars at the roof of the bandstand stood out against their red, white, and blue bunting.
When the Heritage Arts Committee began selecting displays from Heritage Arts festivals to be exhibited at June Conference, they soon realized that the work was just too good to be housed in little square booths. They called a special “atmosphere committee” that decided to create a turn-of-the-century village to house the displays in the Salt Palace convention center. They drew up plans and assigned a ward, stake, or group of stakes to put up each of the buildings.
Local stake presidents were asked to provide 40 journeymen carpenters and 40 helpers. The 80 built a whole frame city out of two-by-fours one Saturday morning, using enough lumber to have built four four-bedroom houses.
But before even one two-by-four had felt a hard-hit nail, thousands of Church members had spent months planning, researching and collecting relics of the past, not to mention learning, developing, or brushing up on age-old skills.
The red-brick grammar school seemed to slumber in the shadows. Next to the co-op, the balconied Deseret Hotel was shadowy and silent. The social hall looked awkward and lonely without its crowds of happy people.
Members of the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women of the Holladay 22nd Ward, Salt Lake City, began when the bishop’s youth committee discussed activities stressing the past that might interest young ward members. They chose as their theme “Born of Goodly Parents” in appreciation for the legacy of other generations. Class presidents met together with class members and selected projects. Together the young people worked under the supervision of their presidencies, calling on the ward service and activities committee to suggest specialists and to help coordinate. The kids sponsored a potluck banquet and invited all ward members to see their projects. They set up the displays in the ward meetinghouse and were later invited to do the same for the stake festival. The Salt Palace display was their third. This time they were to display their skills in an old-time mercantile store.
The Church steeple was gray against the blackness. The barber pole was merely a shimmer of pale white stripes.
When the frames were up, the wards and stakes assigned moved in and started fleshing out the skeletons. Although each group was given a suggested plan for the facade of its building, everyone was encouraged to make improvements, and some groups even called on architects in their stake to help create authentic and beautiful designs.
The spirit of cooperation and achievement was infectious. One man and his teenage helper started driving their pickup down the street toward their building, glancing at the work on both sides as they went. Before long they stopped the pickup and started backing out. When someone asked them what was wrong, the man replied, “Ours isn’t good enough. We’ll be back.” He went home and got a crew and more materials and came back and built a whole new storefront.
The newspaper presses were silent. There were no car sounds, no people sounds, not even dog sounds. The town was suspended in a stillness unknown to modern cities. The clocks all said 4:00P.M.
In the Sweet Shop a retired carpenter worked alongside an Aaronic Priesthood youth. They did not work swiftly, but every small detail was finished perfectly.
At the post office a deacon, a teacher, and their nine-year-old sister painted real-looking rocks on the whole building, putting in more than 14 hours each.
An 81-year-old lady working on the grammar school climbed up and down a ladder, pasting each red cardboard brick on individually.
Soon, a gleam came from the east, and the city lights flickered on. Men and women came. Doors began to open. There was talk and laughter. Dresses and dolls and rugs and plows and saddles were set out. The barber stood ready by his chair. The potter’s wheel began to turn.
In the meetinghouse of a Salt Lake student branch a poster titled “Jobs to Be Done” hung on the wall. There were instructions under each job listed. For two days, at all hours of the day, young people would come streaming in from work or school, pull on a pair of coveralls, do the job, scratch it off the list, and be on their way.
Students from the Utah Technical College donated the labor necessary to install 10,000 feet of electrical wiring, plus light poles and lights. The poles were supported by sandbags donated by inmates at the Utah State Prison. For five days hundreds of people worked hard and loved it. Laughter was as prevalent as the banging of hammers and the rasp of saws. Finally, when the sawdust had cleared, there were 50 buildings, a bandstand, a medicine show wagon, and a tepee—an authentic little turn-of-the-century town with a few last workers walking down its streets dressed in the clothing of an age to come.
When the clocks said 5:00 P.M., the row of doors to the east swung open and hordes of people came pouring in out of the future to look and point and wonder at the way it was. A band struck up a lively tune, and Heritage Square was open for another evening of business.
In their store, the youth of the Holladay 22nd Ward talked to visitors and embroidered, hammered, and quilted. Robed Buie, first counselor in the bishopric commented, “We took it seriously when the prophet said the youth were our first and foremost responsibility.” He was there to offer help, but he made it clear that the kids were running the show and had from the start.
The first-year Beehives made patriotic pillows for their rooms. Large and small, tufted, machine-stitched, embroidered, appliquéd, and creweled, the pillows displayed original as well as traditional designs, many taken from past American flags and Naval symbols.
The second-year Beehives discovered Pennsylvania Dutch designs. Seeing the distinctive heart, tulip, angel, and fruit patterns on bedspreads, furniture, birth certificates, and needlework, they duplicated the authentic designs on wall plaques, dish towels, pillow cases, table runners, and cutting boards.
The Mia Maids took advantage of the experience of a ward member and a blue-ribbon recipe for honey wheat bread to learn and demonstrate the art of bread making.
Thinking of their hope chests, the Laurels took up quilting, embroidery, and cross stitching. “People are really interested in taking up the older handicrafts,” said Mary Robinson. “The older women all say they’re glad the old skills aren’t dying out. We’re making a stitch quilt in activity night, and it’s really made me appreciate the time people used to take in doing a beautiful job.” The group donated three of their quilts to the Primary Children’s Medical Center.
The Holladay 22nd Ward Aaronic Priesthood wasn’t about to be outdone. The deacons earned the pioneer merit badge and worked on their Heritage Arts project at the same time. With dowels and balsa wood they built spans, trusses, monkey, suspension, and pier bridges.
Teachers quorum members chose pioneer photography. They studied early cameras and inventors and also photographed other classes at work on their projects.
The priests learned leather tooling from quorum members Richard Larson and Craig Hanson and then made sheepskin vests, belts, hats, wallets, moccasins, and even purses.
Visitors to the mercantile store were delighted as the young people stitched and pounded and demonstrated. The onlookers repeatedly asked, “How long does it take?”, “Where did you learn this?”, and “Is it hard?”
Throughout the square people learned from each other. A Laurel worked alongside an 85-year-old woman, explaining a new needlepoint stitch to her, and the sister taught the Laurel the practically lost art of tatting. Becky Cutler, 18, worked on a circular shag rug across from Ada Jensen, 79, who used 40 years of experience in making hidden-crocheted rugs.
The festival committee told participants that some 20,000 people might visit Heritage Square. No one was surprised, however, when the word got out and more than 100,000 showed up. The display was extended an extra day. Salt Palace executives tried unsuccessfully to extend it even further, but the volunteers who manned the displays were unable to give more time.
Everything on the 1900 Main Street teased memories. There were Dutch almond pastry, apple butter on wheat bread, and sour dough pancakes to taste. There were Indian dancers, flappers, brass bands, barber shop quartets, and marimba players to see and hear. There was even a lady who played the spoons and comb. The grammar school was complete with girls in pigtails, ink wells, dunce cap, pot-belly stove, and a portrait of George Washington. The Centerville Utah Co-op bragged that it was “the store that sells striped paint.” Modeled after the town’s old general store, the co-op featured lace-up ladies boots, black-boa wide-brimmed hats, the legendary cracker barrel and pickle jar, sasperilla, ginger snaps, shelves of mason jars, and yellow “bridal pajamas” trimmed with black lace. The Dressmaker, with its elegant collection of ecru vintage clothing, brought back the parasol, hats with plumes, long christening dresses, and the top hat. Everyone overlooked the frayed hems, worn velvet, and clumped feathers and marveled at the Japanese silk, delicate lace edgings, and tiny shoes. At the Missionary Church, a black-coated preacher exhorted, “There are places still on the front row,” and a young girl answered knowingly, “Aren’t there always?”
There were young people churning butter, dipping candles, throwing pots, pulling taffy, and spinning wool. Across from them their friends were weaving cloth, caning ladder-back chairs, stringing snowshoes, splitting stones, tying trout flies, and making rope.
This was a time-spanning occasion for all as evidenced by the equal numbers of “What’s that, Dad?” and “Hey, look over there. That’s what we used to chop ice.” Or “… warm the bed … reap wheat … pump water … and … harness the team.”
The grandmothers left feeling their quilting skills were not lost, and fathers left knowing that the five-foot saw with one-and-a-half-inch teeth was as big as they’d remembered. Mothers decided that making wheat bread must not be as hard as they remembered, while their daughters learned there’s more to embroider than jeans. For those who had spent months preparing, it was a time to excite and explain. But for most it was a motive to go home and search the attic, library, and family tree for old skills and heirlooms in an attempt to “remember the past, to better the future.”

The entire family enjoys drama. They put on skits, puppet shows, and brief musicals during family home evenings and for summer activities. One of their favorite skits was a Western, which they did for a Primary talent show in Emmett, Idaho. Nicholas liked it because he got to fall into a pie tin filled with whipped cream. Ashley liked it because she had a beard made of chocolate—yum! Sometimes they wear animal noses and play zoo.

Early in our marriage my wife, Mary, and I decided that to the extent possible we would choose activities that we could attend together. We also wanted to be prudent with our budget. Mary loves music and was undoubtedly concerned that I might overemphasize sporting events, so she negotiated that for all paid events, there would be two musicals, operas, or cultural activities for each paid ball game.
Initially I was resistant to the opera component, but over time I changed my view. I particularly came to enjoy the operas by Giuseppe Verdi.1 This week will be the 200th anniversary of his birth.

I went to a party one night with a group of my closest friends. As we sat laughing, the conversation turned. My friends started to gossip about a young man we all knew who was my friend. The conversation went on for a while with everyone except me agreeing with what was being said. Eventually I had enough. I expressed my feelings that it was wrong for them to belittle this young man.
The room went silent, and no one stood by me. I had never felt so alone in my life than at that moment. Eventually the conversations moved on, but everyone ignored me. I decided to call my mom to come pick me up. Then I announced that I was going home. No one asked questions, and small good-byes were said as I left.
It was hard for me to go against my friends, but I knew that it was the right thing to do. This experience changed my life, and I feel good about my decision to stick up for this young man. I learned that even if you stand alone, you should always do what’s right. Your crowd may not be the crowd you’re meant to be with. It’s better to stand alone and do what’s right than to stand with others doing wrong.

Chioma N., age 15, of Nigeria, studied John 7 and 3 Nephi 14 as part of a desire to be more obedient. She admits that it’s difficult to “do some things I hate doing—especially tidying up the kitchen when I am tired.” But she also has a desire to “love people around her,” and obedience, she found, was one way to show that love (see John 14:15).
As Chioma studied the Savior’s teachings about obedience and read about His submission to Heavenly Father’s will, she recognized that because Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ knew that we would sin and go astray, They gave us commandments to help us stay on the strait and narrow path. She also learned that without obedience, we cannot enter into the kingdom of God.
“I learned that nobody is perfect, but with obedience, we can all strive toward perfection,” she said. “And I have learned that we should be obedient so that Heavenly Father can bless us.”
She found an opportunity to exhibit obedience at school when she was asked to sweep the classroom when it wasn’t her turn.
“I humbly obeyed as I listened to the Holy Ghost telling me to obey and sweep the classroom. My fellow students were surprised, and our teacher also. Because of this incident, people now know me as an obedient and humble girl. I felt happy throughout the week because I was obedient.”