Gospel Story Finder

Gottfried Richter, now 79, looks back over nearly a lifetime of service in the Church that began for him when times were extremely difficult for Latter-day Saints in his country. After four and one-half years in Russian prison camps, he returned to Karl-Marx-Stadt (now Chemnitz), in the communist-controlled German Democratic Republic (GDR). Through a friend who would later become his wife, he found the Church and was baptized in 1951. In 1952 he and Gertraude had their first child. The following year he was called on a full-time mission. These were times when being a Latter-day Saint automatically brought one under the suspicion of the secret police. So it was for many years afterward while he served as a district president and then in the presidency of the Dresden mission. Now the former prisoner of war finds himself serving the Lord in a reunified Germany as a sealer in the Freiberg Germany Temple.
“After the war there were many older members but not very many young people, but that has changed greatly. Today there are many young members. And this is something really special,” Brother Richter says with a wide smile. “They are marrying each other within the Church and bringing up strong children in the gospel. The day after tomorrow I will seal a young couple in the Freiberg temple. Both are fifth-generation members of the Church.”

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

When I was a young boy, I spent most of my summer on the farm with my Grandma and Grandpa Pace in the little town of Hoytsville, Utah. My grandfather had a great sense of humor, and he was a tease. I loved to be around him.
He loved his family deeply. I remember him taking me into the living room and showing me a picture in the Church News. He and Grandma were standing in front of the Salt Lake Temple with their eleven children and their spouses. They had all gone through a temple session together for my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. This had been the happiest day of Grandpa’s life.
Many years later, after I was called as a General Authority, I performed the marriage ceremony for one of my cousins. My mind went back to my grandfather telling me of the happiest day of his life. In my mind’s eye, I pictured him in the temple with all of his children. I decided to write a letter to all my cousins, telling them of this experience and reminding them of Grandma and Grandpa.
We later held a family reunion on what would have been our grandparents’ ninety-second wedding anniversary. The reunion included a special session in the Salt Lake Temple. We didn’t have one hundred percent of the family there, but we had a pretty good percentage. Eighty-six members of our family, including spouses, were at the temple together. It was a very inspirational experience. As I greeted my cousins, I had the feeling that Grandma and Grandpa and other family members from the other side of the veil were also there. We all felt very close. After the session, we met on the steps at the east door of the temple and had our picture taken together. This memento will be treasured by us and our children for years to come.
I am grateful for these moments of joy the gospel brings to families, but I am equally grateful for the comfort it offers in times of deepest sorrow.
I served as a mission president in Australia, and when we came home for general conference, we met Addison, a three-month-old grandson, for the first time. He died of crib death shortly afterward, and six weeks later my father passed away. It’s in times like these when your testimony really makes a difference. Having wept at the passing of loved ones, and rejoiced in the births of grandchildren, I have come to realize that from the eternal perspective, birth and death are equally worthwhile events in our eternal progression.
As a child, I heard my grandfather talk about how much his family meant to him. Now that I am a father and a grandfather, I know what he is talking about firsthand. My family is where my heart is.
Children, you have responsibilities in the home to support one another. If all children could catch the vision of how much nurturing you can do in your own families, you could change the world. Never underestimate the good influence you can be on your parents, brothers and sisters, a cousin, an uncle, an aunt, a grandma, or a grandpa. Grandchildren can do a lot to nurture grandparents and bring great joy into their lives. That is especially true if the grandparent is a widow or widower. My mother is alone now, and as my children drop in and bring their babies, it lets her both give and receive love.
Throughout her life, our youngest daughter, Joéll, has been a good influence on our family. She was the one who reminded us to have family prayer. She was the one who tried to get us excited about family home evening. She devised treasure hunts; she fixed treats; she would do anything to try to get the family excited about having family home evening. Occasionally her older brothers resisted, but even as they were resisting, there was a respect for what she was trying to do.
This kind of family closeness can continue even after you grow up and leave home. While my wife and I were on our mission, our married children did a lot to support us. They stuck together and held monthly family home evenings. They published a monthly family letter that we all sent back and forth. None of them ever complained about our absence, and it was evident that their testimonies brought them closer together as siblings and to us.
Not even death should separate loving family members for long. The First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles issued a proclamation to the world concerning families. Part of it states: “The divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to [continue] beyond the grave. Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.”

As a kid, I didn’t have very many good interactions with girls. I always thought they represented the “opposite.” When I moved, I struggled because there were more girls in my new ward than there were in my old ward. I didn’t know how to talk to them.
Still, a girl in the ward was one of the first people to welcome me. We ended up becoming close friends. One day, I gave her a gift, but I didn’t know if she would like it. She misunderstood the present and thought I was romantically interested in her. As a result, we didn’t talk for six months.
It was tough because I really wanted to be friends with her. I was scared to apologize incorrectly and possibly make things worse. But I missed her friendship and felt awful that I’d made her feel bad. Before this, I’d always found praying kind of tedious, but I started praying constantly to the Lord for help.
One day while reading the scriptures, I came across Mosiah 18:9, which says we should “comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” I realized that I needed not only to apologize but also to try to comfort her and show more interest in our friendship. Doing things my way wasn’t working. I needed more compassion and humility.
The Lord provided the right moment for me to apologize. I went with my mother to take my siblings to a stake Primary activity, and I found my friend there with her family. I asked the Lord to help and inspire me so I could talk to her, and I was able to apologize.
Today, we’re great friends. We joke a lot, set goals together, and consider ourselves like siblings. Liking someone doesn’t always mean being in love with them. Sometimes, you just appreciate their good qualities and enjoy being with them.
I know the Lord helped me, because if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have succeeded. I might have spoken differently or exaggerated my apologies, and it wouldn’t have worked out. I needed someone more than myself.
That’s where asking God comes in. Many times, I don’t ask for help and try to do everything on my own. But we’re not alone, right? We always have God by our side.
God blesses me, not always with what I want, but always with what I need. During the six months my friend and I weren’t talking, I needed to learn how to receive personal revelation and listen to the Holy Ghost. Now I find it easy to pray, because I enjoy conversing with my Heavenly Father.

When Lucy* and I were little, we were good friends and played together often. As time passed it became harder and harder to get along with her. She was often negative and critical of me. It seemed like she really enjoyed stirring up trouble among our friends, and there were lots of hurt feelings. I decided I didn’t want to be around her anymore, and we stopped talking to each other. I felt really uncomfortable each time I passed her in the halls at school.
This past year as I became a Beehive and began to study about divine nature, individual worth, and good works, Lucy started coming to my mind. I decided I should forgive her for the way she’d acted and the things she’d said and done.
I started small by just saying hi to Lucy in the hallways when we passed each other. After doing this for a few weeks, I felt I was ready for the next step. I called Lucy and asked her if she’d like to go to the temple with me early in the morning to do baptisms. She was excited and said she’d love to go. We had a great morning at the temple and going out for breakfast!
I’ve found that as I’ve done my part to forgive Lucy, Heavenly Father has changed my heart and blessed me with ideas on how I can strengthen our friendship again, and I’m happy, because I know that by forgiving her, I’m following my Savior.

We were swimming in the pool at a hotel and found a pocket watch at the bottom of the pool. We asked a lot of people if the watch belonged to them. They all said no. At the end of the day, we felt like we should go to the pool one more time with the watch. There was a family in the pool. We asked if the watch was theirs. They said it was, and they had been looking for it all week. It belonged to their dad, and it cost a lot of money. I’m glad we listened to the Holy Ghost so the watch could be returned.
Huntley, Sarabeth, and Caelin C., ages 10, 9, and 7, California, USA
Illustration of watch by Joe Flores

And now another example. [Some of the actual names and places have been changed.] In March of 1978, a letter was received by the Wilson family, who live in Idaho. It began, “Dear Brother and Sister Wilson, Just a short note to see how things are going with you and let you know how things are with me.”
This letter was written by the Wilsons’ Lamanite foster daughter, Celia Red Horse, whom they had not heard from for several years.
The seeds of their relationship had been planted in 1965 in a talk delivered by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Brother Wilson, who was a bishop at the time of Elder Kimball’s address, was impressed with the words of a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “I will soften the hearts of the Gentiles that they shall be like unto a father to them” (2 Ne. 10:18). As the meeting continued, Bishop Wilson was further touched in his heart and determined within himself to help with the Indian student placement program. In the fall of 1967, a wonderful new experience came into the lives of the Wilson family when sixteen-year-old Celia Red Horse came to live with them for the school year.
To quote the Wilsons: “We enjoyed Celia and had some special times with her. She was a good student and very obedient. When she went home to the reservation, we communicated with her for some time, but gradually, as the years passed, there was less communication.”
After Celia left, the Wilsons had several other young Lamanites in their home over the years, all of whom they came to love, appreciate, and have a special relationship with. By 1978, when Celia’s letter arrived, eleven years had passed. The Wilson family had grown to include ten children of their own, and they had not participated in the placement program for two years. May I continue to read from Celia’s letter:
“Right now, I am working as a secretary. I am saving a lot of my pay so that I can buy clothes for my daughter before she can go on placement.
“I guess I haven’t seen you or your family for about ten years. I know everyone has changed quite a bit. I imagine the kids are all grown up and gone. …
“I have one little girl. Her name is Margaret. She is seven and will be going on placement this fall. She wants to go. I have told her all about the program. She has never been away from home in all her seven years.
“Do you remember my brother David? Well, he has already been on his mission, and now he is at BYU. He is coming back this summer to baptize Margaret. He came home in December for the Christmas vacation. Then, while he was back for Christmas, he blessed my brother’s little girl. Before that, he baptized two others in our family.
“How old are Joy, Curt, Rhonda, Gary, and Jenny? I remember them all—Joy and her allergy, Curt and his accordion, Rhonda and her ballet lessons, and how Gary used to swim like a little frog in the swimming pool. I can still remember Jenny and her red hair. All of these kids are probably teenagers or older. How are they all doing?”
Celia goes on to mention that the problems of modern youth having to do with alcohol and drugs have infiltrated the reservation as seriously as they have the inner city. She indicates deep gratitude for the Church and its teachings, which have such a profound effect in keeping young people from some of the mistakes of their peers. She also indicates that through the teachings of the Church her family is closer and more secure. She tells us that most of her little brothers and sisters are going to be involved in the placement program this year, and then she goes on to ask:
“Are you still participating in the placement program?
“Please write and tell me all the news. …
“I think I better close here. Take care, and may the Lord bless you in all your righteous endeavors. Love. …”
As Brother and Sister Wilson read this lovely letter from Celia, Brother Wilson vaguely remembered a portion of the address he had heard Elder Kimball deliver twelve years earlier. “Elder Kimball had said that success would not be felt in the first generation, but real success would come in the second, third, or fourth,” Brother Wilson recalled. “When this statement came back to me, I felt that we should invite Celia’s daughter to come into our home, for this would be the second generation of the same family in the same home.”
An inquiry was made through the Indian placement program as to whether it would be possible for Margaret to live with the Wilsons. When Celia found out this was possible, “she immediately called us and with tears said how pleased she would be to have Margaret come to the home where she had once lived,” Brother Wilson said.
Margaret spent the 1978–79 school year with the Wilson family and, like her mother before her, brought as much to the Wilson family as she received from them.
“She is very generous with others,” Sister Wilson said. “If someone comments on something that she has and says, ‘I like that,’ then Margaret will give it to him. Each of our children receives an allowance, and since Margaret is considered one of the children she also gets an allowance.
“Last Christmas we talked about doing something as a family to help somebody else. Margaret had saved up quite a bit of her allowance, which she gave to the family project.
“She helps out with household chores just like any other member of the family. She and Angela, who is also eight, share kitchen duties one night a week. They also have other responsibilities in the home.”
Brother Wilson recalled that when Margaret first came into their home, she was very quiet and did not express herself very well. Her mother, Celia, had asked the Wilsons to help Margaret learn how to pray and express her feelings.
Now “she asks if she can ask the blessing on the food or if she can offer prayers,” Brother Wilson reports. “And when she prays, the rest of us really listen because she has some very good thoughts.”
As the end of the school year approached, the Wilsons made arrangements for Celia to visit with them in Idaho, and a special reunion time was held with her at that time as she came back to her foster home and stayed with her daughter and her foster family. She took Margaret home with her and, in discussion with the Wilson family, decided that Margaret should remain home with her family this year and attend school on the reservation.

Their family often goes camping and fishing. “We went camping a couple of weeks after they moved here,” Brother Campbell said.
“They didn’t know anything about mountains, camping, or sleeping in a tent,” Sister Campbell added. “But they adjusted really well. Both of them even caught a fish on their first try!”
“You didn’t catch it,” Jessa told James. “Daddy helped you.”
“Daddy helped you, too,” James said with a laugh.

When I was growing up, it was not uncommon for Mother to wake me in the middle of the night and say, “Sheri, take your pillow and go downstairs.” I knew what that meant. It meant a tornado was coming, and I was instantly afraid. But then Mother would say, “Sheri, everything will be OK.” Her words always calmed me. Today, decades later, when life seems overwhelming or frightening, I call Mother and wait for her to say, “Everything will be OK.”

I am indebted to a good friend of mine, Aldin Porter, for a story and I would like to share it with you. He shared it with me about two years ago. “No one in our Utah town knew where the Countess had come from; her carefully precise English indicated that she was not a native American. From the size of her house and staff we knew that she must be wealthy, but she never entertained and she made it clear that when she was at home she was completely inaccessible. Only when she stepped outdoors did she become at all a public figure—and then chiefly to the small fry of the town, who lived in awe of her. “The countess always carried a cane, not only for support, but as a means of chastising any youngster she thought needed disciplining. And at one time or another most of the kids in our neighborhood seemed to display that need. By running fast and staying alert, I had managed to keep out of her reach. But one day when I was about thirteen, as I was short-cutting through her hedge, she got close enough to rap my head with her stick. “‘Ouch!’ I yelled, jumping a couple of feet. “‘Young man, I want to talk to you,’ she said. I was expecting a lecture on the evils of trespassing, but as she looked at me, half smiling, she seemed to change her mind. “‘Don’t you live in that green house with the willow trees in the next block?’ “‘Yes, ma’am.’ … “‘Good. I’ve lost my gardener. Be at my house Thursday morning at seven, and don’t tell me you have something else to do; I’ve seen you slouching around on Thursdays.’ “When the Countess gave an order, it was carried out. I didn’t dare not come on that next Thursday. I went over the whole lawn three times with a mower before she was satisfied, and then she had me down on all fours looking for weeds until my knees were as green as the grass. She finally called me up to the porch. “‘Well, young man, how much do you want for your day’s work?’ “‘I don’t know. Fifty cents, maybe.’ “‘Is that what you figure you’re worth?” “‘Yes’m. About that.’ “‘Very well. Here’s the fifty cents you say you’re worth, and here’s the dollar and a half more that I’ve earned for you by pushing you. Now I’m going to tell you something about how you and I are going to work together. There are as many ways of mowing a lawn as there are people, and they may be worth anywhere from a penny to five dollars. Let’s say that a three-dollar job would be just what you have done today, except that you’d have to be something of a fool to spend that much time on a lawn. A five-dollar lawn is—well, it’s impossible, so we’ll forget about that. Now then, each week I’m going to pay you according to your own evaluation of your work.’ “I left with my two dollars, richer than I remembered being in my whole life, and determined that I would get four dollars out of her the next week. But I failed to reach even the three dollar mark. My will began to falter the second time around her yard. “‘Two dollars again, eh? That kind of job puts you right on the edge of being dismissed, young man.’ “‘Yes’m. But I’ll do better next week.’ “And somehow I did. The last time around the lawn I was exhausted, but I found I could spur myself on. In the exhilaration of that new feeling, I had no hesitation in asking the Countess for three dollars. “Each Thursday for the next four or five weeks, I varied between a three- and a three-and-a-half dollar job. The more I became more acquainted with her lawn, places where the ground was a little high or a little low, places where it needed to be clipped short or left long on the edges to make a more satisfying curve along the garden, the more I became aware of just what a four-dollar lawn would consist of. And each week I would resolve to do just that kind of a job. But by the time I had made my three dollar or three and-a-half dollar mark I was too tired to remember even having had the ambition to go beyond that. “‘You look like a good consistent $3.50 man,’ she would say as she handed me the money. “‘I guess so’ I would say, too happy at the sight of the money to remember that I had shot for something higher. “‘Well, don’t feel too bad,’ she would comfort me. ‘After all, there are only a handful of people in the world who could do a four-dollar job.’ “And her words were a comfort at first, but then, without my noticing what was happening, her comfort became an irritant that made me resolve to do that four-dollar job, even if it killed me. In the fever of my resolve, I could see myself expiring on her lawn, with the Countess leaning over me, handing me the four dollars with a tear in her eye, begging my forgiveness for having thought I couldn’t do it. “It was in the middle of such a fever, one Thursday night when I was trying to forget the day’s defeat and get some sleep, that the truth hit me so hard that I sat upright, half choking in my excitement. It was the five-dollar job I had to do, not the four-dollar one! I had to do the job that no one could do because it was impossible. “I was well acquainted with the difficulties ahead. I had the problem, for example, of doing something about the worm mounds in the lawn. The Countess might not even have noticed them yet, they were so small; but in my bare feet I knew about them and I had to do something about them. And I could go on trimming the garden edges with shears, but I knew that a five-dollar lawn demanded that I line up each edge exactly with a yard stick and then trim it precisely with the edger. And there were other problems that only I and my bare feet knew about. “I started the next Thursday by ironing out the worm mounds with a heavy roller. After two hours of that I was ready to give up for the day. Nine o’clock in the morning, and my will was already gone! It was only by accident that I discovered how to regain it. Sitting under a walnut tree for a few minutes after finishing the rolling, I fell asleep. When I woke up minutes later, the lawn looked so good and felt so good under my feet, I was anxious to get on with the job. “I followed this secret for the rest of the day, dozing for a few minutes every hour to regain my perspective and replenish my strength. Between naps, I mowed four times, two times lengthwise, two times across, until the lawn looked like a green velvet checkerboard. Then I dug around every tree, crumbling the big clods and smoothing the soil with my hands, then finished with the edger, meticulously lining up each stroke so that the effect would be perfectly symmetrical. And I carefully trimmed the grass between the flagstones of the front walk. The shears wore my fingers raw, but the walk never looked better. “Finally about eight o’clock that evening … it was all completed. I was so proud I didn’t even feel tired when I went up to her door. “‘Well, what is it today?’ she asked. “‘Five dollars,’ I said, trying for a little calm and sophistication. “‘Five dollars? You mean four dollars, don’t you? I told you that a five-dollar lawn job isn’t possible.’ “‘Yes it is. I just did it.’ “‘Well, young man, the first five-dollar lawn in history certainly deserves some looking around.’ “We walked about the lawn together in the light of evening, and even I was quite overcome by the impossibility of what I had done. “‘Young man,’ she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, ‘what on earth made you do such a crazy, wonderful thing?’ “I didn’t know why, but even if I had, I could not have explained it in the excitement of hearing that I had done it. “‘I think I know,’ she continued, ‘how you felt when this idea first came to you of caring for a lawn that I told you was impossible. It made you very happy when it first came, then a little frightened. Am I right?’ “She could see she was right by the startled look on my face. “‘I know how you felt, because the same thing happens to almost everyone. They feel this sudden burst in them of wanting to do some great thing. They feel a wonderful happiness, but then it passes because they have said, “No, I can’t do that. It’s impossible.” Whenever something in you says, “It’s impossible,” remember to take a careful look and see if it isn’t really God asking you to grow an inch, or a foot, or a mile, that you may come to a fuller life.’ … “Since that time, some 25 years ago, when I have felt myself at an end with nothing before me, suddenly, with the appearance of that word, ‘impossible,’ I have experienced the unexpected lift, the leap inside me, and known that the only possible way lay through the very middle of impossible.” (Richard Thurman, “The Countess and the Impossible,” Reader’s Digest, June 1958.)

On Saturday mornings Mama and I get up early, put on our clothes, and eat a quick breakfast. Then Mama half-fills a tall glass with water, and we walk real fast to Tony’s flower stand.
“Hello, Mrs. Nelson. Hi, Emily,” he says and sells us a dozen of his brightest daisies.
Mama puts the daisies into the glass, and we walk even faster to catch the bus. Mama lets me sit by the window. It’s a very long ride.
When we get off the bus, we’re in a small town instead of the big city. As Mama and I walk along, we see people working in their yards and boys and girls riding their bikes. One time we saw three silly chickens running in circles and squawking.
Finally we reach Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandma kisses us and hugs us as though we haven’t seen each other for a year. Next she exclaims, “Daisies! They’re Papa’s favorites! You go upstairs and see him while I put them in a vase.”
We climb the high, wide stairs, make a half turn on the landing, and open the door at the top. Grandpa is the same as he was last week. He lies on his back. Sometimes his eyes are open; sometimes they are shut. Sometimes he breathes normally; other times he makes poof noises. He never moves.
Mama kisses him and says, “Hello, Papa.”
I say, “Hi, Grandpa,” and kiss him too.
It used to be that when we came to visit Grandpa he would be all over the house and the yard. He’d untie Grandma’s apron, then chuckle when she pretended to scold him. Sometimes he’d lift me onto his shoulders and prance through the house, and he always remembered to duck when we went through the doorways. He’d give me rides in the wheelbarrow, or he’d push me in the rope swing as high as the leaves in the old tree. Then we’d sit on the steps while he told me stories about long, long ago when he visited his grandpa. Sometimes we’d go downtown for ice cream or some other treat for Grandma.
That was how it used to be. Now Grandpa’s hands don’t move, and his feet don’t move.
Today Mama sits on the chair by his bed and picks up the thick history book from Grandpa’s table. Finding the right place, she begins to read aloud. Grandpa loves history.
Mama turns the page and smiles at me, and I know that it’s all right to go play, so I do. Downstairs, I talk to Grandma while she makes cookies. Then I go outside and around the house to the gravel walkway. There, hanging from the biggest old tree, is the rope swing that Grandpa put up before Mama was born. I swing and wonder what the world was like before Mama. I can’t imagine it. And once there was a world without Grandpa! That’s even harder to imagine.
Later Grandma calls me inside. “I’ve made oatmeal scones,” Grandma says, “and I have hot soup ready. Where shall we eat, Emily?”
“Out here,” I answer.
She puts food on the picnic table, and I carry out bowls and things. Then she calls upstairs to Mama.
Mama stops reading, and she comes down. As we eat, she and Grandma talk about something that Grandpa did when Mama was as young as I am now. It helps me remember when Grandpa still acted like everybody else.
One time, early in the morning after Mama and I had spent the night with him and Grandma, Grandpa and I went to buy a morning newspaper because the funnies are the best thing to read before breakfast. On the way, he found a big broken branch that made a good walking stick. He pretended to hobble with it, then did a silly hop, skip, and jump. We had more fun than anything!
When we got home, Grandma took one look at Grandpa’s stick and said, “You get that dirty old thing out of the house!” Grandpa just laughed. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around.
“Put me down!” she screeched, but she was laughing too.
Grandpa kissed her before we went into the living room to read the funnies to each other.
That’s the way it used to be.
After we finish the soup and scones, we all go upstairs again. The daisies sit beside Grandpa’s book. Grandma pats his foot. “I’ll bring your lunch up,” she says.
Mama kisses him goodbye. “I’ll come next Saturday,” she promises.
“I’ll be back, too,” I tell him.
And then the greatest thing happens: Grandpa blinks!
All three of us see both his eyes slowly close and open. We look at each other and laugh. Then we pat Grandpa’s shoulder.
Downstairs, everybody kisses and hugs. Even Mama and I kiss and hug each other as if one of us is going and one is staying behind. When we leave, Grandma stands on the front steps to wave. As we turn the corner a block away, we see her still lifting her arm high.
We catch the bus. Mama puts our glass for daisies into her purse and her arm over the back of my seat. We look out the window. It’s getting late. We see lights here and there. At last we are in the city. Lights and noise and people and cars are everywhere.

“Thanks again, Alanna,” Brother Tolley said. “You did a great job.”
“You’re welcome.” Alanna Johnson could barely keep the excitement from her voice.
Her first baby-sitting job had gone perfectly. She’d taken the child-care kit that she’d made at a Primary Achievement Day activity and played games with the Tolley’s three children until it was bedtime.
Brother Tolley walked her to her front door and waited while she let herself into the house.
Alanna hadn’t even looked at the money Sister Tolley had pressed into her hand at the end of the evening. She’d expected five or six dollars. Now, she saw that it was a twenty-dollar bill!
That’s eighteen dollars, she thought, after I pay my tithing. Alanna imagined her parents’ faces when she handed them the eighteen dollars.
Things hadn’t been easy for the Johnson family since Dad had lost his engineering job a year ago. Her sixteen-year-old brother, Steve, had found an after-school job at the supermarket. And, for the first time Alanna could remember, her mother had taken a part-time job.
Still, the family struggled to make ends meet. There had been no new clothes or movies in the last year. They no longer went out to eat on Fridays or to the bowling alley on Saturdays. Alanna didn’t really mind, as long as their family was together.
But now she could help. Eighteen dollars! That was enough to fill the car with gas or to buy a bag of groceries.
Her excitement faded as she wondered if Sister Tolley realized how much money she had given her. Could she have made a mistake? Alanna frowned as she remembered that Sister Tolley had simply pulled the money from her purse without looking at it.
Maybe Sister Tolley meant to give me the twenty-dollar bill. Baby-sitting three children is a lot of work. Alanna remembered that the Tolleys didn’t seem to have much money, either. But, she silently argued with herself, they gave me the money. I didn’t steal it. Alanna looked around the living room. Though the room had only a few pieces of furniture, her mother had hung pictures of the Savior, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and President Gordon B. Hinckley on the walls. Alanna remembered helping her mother cut the pictures from the Ensign and put them in frames they’d found at a garage sale. President Hinckley seemed to be looking intently at her from his framed picture.
He wouldn’t keep the twenty dollars, she thought. Not if it didn’t really belong to him.
She found her parents in the kitchen. Her mother was cooking; her father was paying bills at the table.
Alanna took a deep breath and told them what happened. “I wanted to give the money to you, to help out the family, but I think Sister Tolley made a mistake.” She swallowed hard. “I’m going to give it back to her.”
Dad settled his big hand on her shoulder. “You just gave us the best gift there is, Alanna. Knowing that you want to do what is right is worth far, far more than eighteen dollars.”
Mom kissed her. “We’re very proud of you, sweetheart.”
When her family arrived at church the following morning, Alanna looked for Sister Tolley. “I think you overpaid me last night,” she said and handed the twenty-dollar bill to her.
Sister Tolley looked startled, then relieved. “I didn’t know where that money had gone! I knew that I had put it in my purse. Then this morning, I couldn’t find it.” She started to cry. “It’s the last payment for something my husband needed. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I didn’t find it.”
Alanna discovered that she was crying, too.
Sister Tolley opened her purse and counted out six dollars. “I hope you’ll baby-sit for us again. Our children think you’re the best baby-sitter they’ve ever had—and so do I.”
Alanna gave her mother five dollars. After paying her tithing, she had only forty cents left, but somehow she felt very rich.
There is no substitute under the heavens for … the boy or girl who is honest.—President Gordon B. Hinckley (Ensign, November 2000, page 52.)

During a recent multistake dance I attended as a chaperone, I decided to make friends with another chaperone. I learned that we had met briefly before, that she lived in a different stake, and that we had friends in common. I also learned she was from Rochester, New York, USA, where her family had lived for many years.
I told my new friend, Sara, that my mom was born and raised in Rochester. Sara asked for my mother’s maiden name. I insisted there was no way she’d know her. My mother was not a member of the Church back then.
I explained that Mom had joined the Church her freshman year while attending college in Missouri. In high school, she had had a high school teacher she respected. He was always kind to her and was a great example of the Savior’s love.
My mother found out he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When she left for college, she wanted to learn more about his religion.
“My dad was an English teacher in Rochester for 35 years,” Sara said. “What high school did your mom attend?”
I quickly texted my mom, asking what school she attended and the name of the teacher who had influenced her to seek out the Church.
“Eastridge High, David Anderson,” she replied.
Sara’s father was David Anderson!
We enjoyed a special moment as my mother explained the wonderful things life had brought her since she joined the Church—a temple wedding, missionary service by four of her eight children and many of her grandchildren, and numerous other blessings.
When Sara shared my mother’s story with her father the next day, he wept with gratitude. He had joined the Church after getting married and had wanted to serve a mission himself, but he was a widower who had lost two wives. Hearing my mother’s story helped him feel that he truly had a wonderful life.
My family is grateful for Mr. Anderson, the covenant-keeping high school teacher whose example inspired an 18-year-old girl to seek truth and change her life and the life of generations to come.
With the gospel of Jesus Christ, life can be wonderful for all those willing to follow the Savior and honor their covenants.

by Chris Williams
I recently had the opportunity of being one of two youth leaders in Utah to attend the United States Senate Youth Program in Washington, D.C. At the opening social, many people, upon seeing my name tag, asked if I was Mormon. I was told that a boy from Illinois was looking for me. Cameron Cozzens found me and asked if I was a member of the Church. When I said yes, he said, “I knew it. I thought a Christopher Williams from Utah just might be LDS.” He then introduced me to the others that he knew were LDS, and I introduced him to the ones I had met. We discovered that there were seven of us: Amy Pack from Idaho, Heidi Fish from Spain, Matt Fairholm from Virginia, Doug Daum from Delaware, Audrey Wright from California, and Cameron and I.
Between the tours and speeches, I found that I talked to a lot of people about the Church. I was lucky that Matt Fairholm was my roommate. I found I needed his assurance when we answered questions about the Church.
One of our most unforgettable experiences was on Sunday morning. After breakfast, we met in our room for a short devotional. We found that our religion interested many people and raised questions. Others were surprised to discover that Mormons were such normal people.
And as I look back, I’m really glad we have the Constitution and the freedoms it grants us, especially freedom of religion. It was wonderful to be in a place where 104 young people could gather together and freely discuss each other’s beliefs. We all learned a lot about our freedoms and what our forefathers fought for.

My temple service ended when I moved away to attend college. And I was so busy and overwhelmed with my studies that I didn’t attend the temple as often. I started to notice a nagging feeling that I needed to serve there again, so I met with my bishop to ask about it.
I received a call to serve in the temple on Saturday afternoons.
Yes, I was so busy, but I was thrilled to make time to serve in the Lord’s house every week. With each shift, I grew closer to the Savior and to Heavenly Father, and I was able to enjoy the peace that is unique to His house.
My temple service has been somewhat brief, but I can testify that my time serving has changed my life for the better.

My grandparents have had a great influence on my life. Even though they have been dead for many years, I still feel their confirming love. One grandfather, James Akerley Faust, died before I was born. I knew him only through the stories my grandmother and my parents told about him. However, I feel a strong kinship with him because I am in part what he was. Among other things, he was a cowboy, a rancher, and a postmaster in a small town in central Utah. On one occasion, Grandfather took a trip in the winter to Idaho, where he met an acquaintance who had fallen on hard times. It was cold, and Grandfather’s friend had no coat. Grandfather took off his coat and gave it to him.

I remember one of the last sacrament meetings my father ever attended. After fighting cancer for a year, my dad was reaching the end of his life. The opening hymn that day at church was “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30).
I peered down the row to look at my dad. He was crying. I moved down the bench to sit next to him and asked him if he was crying because of the pain or the song. As we sang, “And should we die before our journey’s through,” he looked straight into my eyes, and I knew that he was leaving us.
Now it brings me peace when I finish the rest of the song: “Happy day! All is well! We then are free from toil and sorrow, too; With the just we shall dwell!” This song of comfort is part of my father’s legacy to me.

When a service opportunity came up at the Food Bank of Mexico, three young women (including myself), one young man from our youth group, and 10 others decided to participate.
At first, I had no idea what we were going to do. But soon people at the food bank explained that we were going to separate perishable and non-perishable foods into grocery bags to make food packages for people in need. Our group divided the tasks, and then we started packing. We worked quickly as a team and put together more than 500 grocery bags!
From this experience I learned that even if we don’t have many resources ourselves, we can still help others who have even less. Little by little, we can all help in different ways. I know that we are blessed when we serve.
I really liked serving at the food bank. If I were given the opportunity to do it again, of course I would! It was great to be able to serve others. If you have the opportunity to serve, do it! And do it with all your heart and good cheer.

The temple closest to me is located on another island. To get there, we have to take a 45-minute flight or a 12-hour boat ride. I had never been to the temple before, and in my last year of school, my mom made plans for us to go. She had saved money for a year so my family could go together.
Unfortunately, we would return home after the start of school, which worried me. It was always important for me to have a good grade point average (GPA) in school so I could receive a scholarship for college. I considered not going to the temple, because the absences could harm my final GPA. Then my mom said, “Why don’t you pray and ask for the Lord’s help?”
I was a little reluctant because I was afraid, but I decided to pray. Heavenly Father guided me, and I chose to go to the temple. For the entire week we were there, we went to the temple every day. It was amazing! Doing baptisms was an incredible experience; I could feel the Spirit very strongly.
In the end, I managed to finish school with a good GPA. Maintaining a close relationship with the Savior helped me have hope during that time. I knew He was with me, giving me strength. The Lord is aware of our efforts, and when we put things in His hands, we can trust that everything will be fine.

Elder Haight’s family and the Church were important to him, even more so after an experience he had while serving in the U.S. Navy during World War II. One night, while flying over the Pacific Ocean on his way from California to Hawaii, he looked out the plane’s window and saw flames coming out of an engine. “It was spewing so much fire that I thought the plane was on fire, which caused me great concern. I wondered about my family, whether I would see them again,” he recalled.

David couldn’t sleep that night, so he prayed. “I made a commitment to the Lord that if I got out of the war alive and back with my family, the Church would always come first in my life. … Before then it seemed to me that I didn’t have my priorities in proper order. That night I reappraised my life and recommitted myself to the Lord.”5

The plane arrived safely, and Elder Haight kept his commitment to the end of his life.