Gospel Story Finder

This summer I went to Denmark, and I actually began to miss my family (except for the 6:00 A.M. Saturday morning “Smurf’s are on” call). When I returned and stepped off the airplane, there they were—13 people screaming, “Shannon’s back!”

As I wandered through the house in the middle of the night suffering from jet lag, I saw the ten-pound bucket of butter in the refrigerator, stumbled over the assorted pairs of mismatched shoes in the front entry, and opened my lipstick tubes to find that they had all been bitten off or smashed down, and I smiled and said to myself, “I’m home.”

In 1971, my father became so ill that he was hospitalized and was not expected to live. He was in the intensive care unit and the doctors told us that we needed to bring our family together as quickly as possible. My father invited me to come to his hospital room and bring a notebook so he could give some final instructions about his estate. He then said: "Son, I would like to receive a Priesthood blessing, and would like you to be the voice in that blessing." As a family we started fasting, and those who lived away arrived as soon as possible. We went to an empty room in the hospital where we knelt in prayer and closed our fast. It was a long walk down the hall to my father's room. We surrounded his bed, laid our hands upon his head and proceeded with the blessing, but there was nothing. I said a few words, and pleaded in my heart that the Lord would let me know what I should say. Of course we wanted him to live, but we knew that the Lord was in charge, and that His will would be done. Suddenly it seemed almost like a book was opened and I knew exactly what I was to say. I blessed my father to get well, and promised him that he would serve missions, (plural), for the Church. As I left the room I thought what have I done? Did I really listen to the promptings of the spirit? Did I say what I wanted to happen? The doctors were so certain that he would not live, why did I make all those promises? As I pondered the blessing, I knew that the Spirit had spoken clearly to my mind and heart. Dad slowly recovered, and soon left the hospital. From 1972-1973, he served with my mother on a stake mission. From 1975-1976, they were called on an 18 month mission to Calgary, Canada. From 1977 to 1979 they served for 18 months in Anchorage, Alaska. Upon returning, they served in the temple for nearly 10 years. The Lord knows the time appointed, and that decision is not ours to make.

“Well, Cory, based on what we’ve talked about, I would be pleased to recommend you for full-time service as a missionary,” my bishop said, nearing the end of the interview.
“So, I guess I’m pretty well on my way to the mission field after this,” I said. I was already picturing myself in an exotic land, saving lost souls. But the bishop interrupted my daydreams.
“Actually, there’s one more very important thing I wanted to talk about before we end this evening,” he said. “Far too often potential missionaries are so involved in checking off items on their ‘to do’ list that they don’t keep their temple ordinances in the right perspective.” I felt like the bishop was describing me as he went on, “For some missionaries, receiving their endowment is sandwiched between checking the dimensions of their luggage and hitting next weekend’s two-pant suit sale.” My bishop’s words made me realize that I needed to consider the temple with the importance it deserved.
During the rest of the interview he explained the sacred nature of the endowment. By going through the temple, he told me, I would be making sacred covenants with my Heavenly Father that go far beyond the mission and are essential to my exaltation. “Not only that,” he continued, “your temple experience will fill you with the desire to serve. You will want those you teach to receive the same blessings of the temple that you have received. The strength you’ll receive from your temple covenants will benefit you as a missionary, but they also have eternal significance.”
The bishop’s words weighed on me as I walked slowly home. I began to feel nervous. I had looked forward my whole life to the time when I would enter the temple, but now I was especially eager to be ready.
A few weeks later I received my mission call. With excitement I read the words “Brazil Porto Alegre North Mission.” I could hardly wait to be among the Brazilian people, sharing the message of the restored gospel. I shared the news of my call with my extended family, ward members, and friends. I also noticed how many people were just as eager to know when I would go through the temple. Many had words of advice to offer me on how I should prepare myself mentally and spiritually before entering the house of the Lord.
During the next few months I made sure to attend temple preparation classes. I read my scriptures and prayed for a continuing reassurance of my decision to receive my endowment. The Spirit comforted me again and again. I also read the pamphlet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, written to assist those preparing to attend the temple for the first time. I was so grateful for the statements about the reverence and peace that prevail in the temple. During this time of preparation I gained a much stronger testimony of the sacred nature of the Lord’s house and the work that is performed inside.
I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.
Throughout my mission I frequently reflected on my first temple experience. I was also thankful for having attended the temple each week at the MTC. The blessings of the temple fortified me and gave me strength through difficult times. I was filled with the desire to serve and bring others to a knowledge of God’s plan. I wanted everyone I taught to have the same opportunity to make covenants with Heavenly Father and receive a greater understanding of His infinite love.
I am grateful for having realized that the temple will be a part of me forever and not something to simply check off before leaving on my mission. Since returning home from my mission, I have made temple attendance a priority in my life. The temple is a place of clarity and renewal for me. It is a place of holiness where I can feel God’s love for me and for all His children.

I needed that confirmation when I was first called to serve as Young Women president for the Church. It came in a way I didn’t anticipate. I felt terrified and inadequate, lying awake at night worrying, repenting, and crying. After several nights of this I had a very moving experience. I started thinking about my Young Women nieces, then about the Young Women in my neighborhood and ward, then about the Young Women I saw regularly at the high school, and then I envisioned young women throughout the world, over a half a million of them. The most wonderfully warm feeling began to envelop me and surge through me. I felt such exquisite love for them, each one of them, and I knew that what I was feeling was our Heavenly Father’s love for them, for each of them – and for me. It was powerful and all-encompassing. For the first time I felt peace, because I knew that what Heavenly Father wanted me to do, I could do. He wanted me to witness to share with young women everywhere of His great love for them.
I know that when Heavenly Father gives us assignments to work with His children, he endows us with love for them, his perfect, powerful love. I testify that He loves His children, each of us. He has a plan for us, and He will ever be there to lead us and love us.

We know this because over 30 years later, a Methodist minister, Hiram McKee, who had been Brigham’s friend in Oswego, wrote reminding him of the times when Brigham had been his friend and fellow seeker after truth there in Western New York: “I have not forgotten your advice, counsel, prayers. My confidence was great in you, in view of your deep piety, and faith in God. You was one of my early spiritual friends, and guides.”

Reverend McKee went on to wonder, on the basis of the scandalous reports in Eastern papers he had been reading, “if Brigham enjoyed as much piety now as then, or whether ambition, and love of power, and distinction did not hold some sway in that mind that was once so humble, contrite and devoted. … O, my brother how is it? How sweet was our communion in Old Oswego, how encouraging our prayers, and enlivening our songs we used to sing. … Now Brother Brigham, before the all-seeing God, who in the judgement will judge us, can you lay your hand on your heart and say that your hope of heaven is as good as then?”19

Brigham assured the good Reverend that he was “as honest a seeker after truth as I was during our acquaintance in Oswego.”20 He and Miriam, as a young married couple, had apparently joined with McKee in a little group of independent “seekers,” and may have done so in the other towns where they lived. We know they did with Brigham’s brothers and father when they moved to Mendon in 1829. Phineas Young, who was the leader of the group, described it thus: “We … opened a house for preaching, and commenced teaching the people according to the light we had; a reformation commenced, and we soon had a good society organized, and the Lord blessed our labors.”21

Sam Stewart builds temples. Their spires do not rise majestically above busy freeways or green hilltops, but above the floor of the Stewart family room in Henderson, Nevada. Their walls are not hewn from fine granite but cut from plain brown cardboard boxes. Yet these knee-high models somehow capture the majesty of real temples.
Sam (11) hopes to design real temples someday. Architects (people who design buildings) must have an artistic flair, and Sam does. His mom first discovered his talent when he was just three years old. She walked into his room and was astonished to see pictures of dinosaurs all over the walls. On the one hand, she didn’t feel that bedroom walls were quite the right place for drawing dinosaurs. On the other hand, they were drawn so well! She suggested that Sam use paper next time, but the already-hatched reptiles were left to roam the walls.
Cardboard replaced paper as the young artist’s favorite surface when he was nine years old. The family was reading about putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). There were cardboard boxes lying around because the Stewarts were sending packages to Sam’s brothers who were on missions. The boxes and the armor collided in Sam’s mind, and he began constructing a cardboard “shield of faith.” After he finished it, he shaped a “sword of the Spirit” out of wood.
About this time, Sam began to feel a strong attachment to the nearby Las Vegas Nevada Temple. At first he appreciated it simply because it was beautiful. But as he learned more about the purpose of temples, he came to love it for the blessings it brings to people’s lives. This interest soon grew to include all the temples of the Church. Sam began filling a binder with pictures of the world’s temples and a file with diagrams and information about their design, history, and construction. By the time he had filled the binder, he knew that he wanted to build temples of stone someday. In the meantime, he would build temples of cardboard.
With boxes, a pair of scissors, a hot-glue gun, and a ruler, he created a faithful scale model of the Las Vegas Temple. It was astonishingly good. No one taught him how to build cardboard temples. He invented the craft as he went along.
Next came his version of the historic Nauvoo Illinois Temple, which was then being rebuilt. The family read all they could find about the project as Sam raised his cardboard walls. He drew the sunstones and other carvings onto the surface with a pen. The Manti Temple and the Preston England Temple followed. Then Sam started working on his masterpiece—the Salt Lake Temple, crafted in far greater detail than the others. This project has taken a year so far and is not yet finished. Once it’s completed, he plans to build models of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the Portland Oregon Temple.
Sam doesn’t just build temples; he studies them, too. He learned so much about the stone carvings on the Nauvoo Temple that his dad invited him to explain their meaning to the temple preparation class he teaches. Sam has also given family home evening lessons on temple architecture to several families in the ward.
He is not shy about sharing his love of temples with his friends from other religions. They like to watch him build, and as he works he quizzes them about temple facts. By now they know all the answers.
Working on temples doesn’t fill all of Sam’s time. He is an excellent student who studies hard because he knows that to be an architect he must be good at math and get good grades. He enjoys sports, including skiing, baseball, and soccer. He especially loves the outdoors and the beauties of nature. He is always eager to visit his family’s cabin in the mountains of Utah.
Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”
“Sam wants to understand things spiritually,” his dad comments. “He prays. He reads the scriptures. He asks a lot of difficult questions—the kind that parents don’t always know how to answer. He’s made me a better person just being around him.”
His mom adds, “He has a clear vision of what’s right and wrong, and he’s strong in doing what’s right. He wants to make people happy. If I’m down, he knows it, and he’ll cheer me up.”
This builder of temples is also helping to build a happy family.

The Primary children of the Ville-Marie Ward, Montréal Québec Stake, and their teachers and leaders enjoyed visiting the Montréal Québec Temple grounds. They were calm and reverent as the temple presidency welcomed them and gave them a tour of the grounds. They loved seeing the colorful flowers and the beautiful temple. They also viewed a film about the temple, and each received a small card with a picture of the temple.

I remember holding my daughter Nikki in my arms for the first time. She looked beautiful and perfect. My heart and mind filled with loving dreams of nurturing her. I looked forward to sharing my love of books, music, and art. I would spare no effort to support her in developing her talents and abilities.
I could not have imagined at that time that she would never be able to read above a fourth-grade level; calculate beyond simple, single-digit arithmetic problems; or learn to drive a car. It was only after six difficult years of fears, frustrations, medical evaluation, and psychological testing that I learned Nikki was intellectually impaired.
Adjusting to having a child with a disability is a process, not an event. Ten percent of all children have a disability or a long-term chronic illness. Although it is a reasonably common experience, most parents are not prepared to hear, “Your child has a serious disability.” It takes some time to learn how to deal with the confusion, physical demands, behavioral challenges, extra expenses, and feelings of embarrassment and loneliness. If you have experienced or are still going through this process of adjustment, it is important for you to know that many of your responses and reactions are normal.
You may find it very difficult at first to assimilate the information that your child has a disability. You may need some time to understand what the diagnosis means. We all have images and stereotypes of children with intellectual impairment or mental illness. These diagnoses may not match what we see in our child, particularly if the child looks normal. It is helpful to learn about the disability. Find out as much as you can about your child’s diagnosis. Seek information from reliable sources, such as professional organizations that focus on the specific disability.
Denial is a psychological defense mechanism we utilize when we feel overwhelmed and unable to cope. In a way, denial can be a gift that allows us to accept the truth a little at a time and make it more bearable. Denial often comes from fear—fear due to uncertainty about the future or concern about the impact this child will have on other family members. Denial can lead to a frantic search for a cure. Parents may believe if they can only find the right doctor, the right medicine, the right program, or the right learning approach, then the child will be made “normal.” This process of searching is useful in the sense that it can help you locate resources that might help your child, yourself, and your family. Sooner or later, however, you have to confront the child’s limitations and accept your own inability to undo the disability. You must also release other people from that responsibility.
Acknowledging the reality of the disability may lead to feeling anxious. Anxiety is the body’s way of responding to fear and mobilizing resources. If a great beast were to come into your room, you would probably have an anxiety response. Your body would release adrenaline, and you would be prepared to fight, flee, or freeze. These are common responses when people are threatened in some way. As you begin to realize this child needs special care and protection, that anxious energy can mobilize your resources. Get information. Talk with other parents. Pray and talk with priesthood leaders. Seek help from professionals. Activity that reduces the feeling of powerlessness is a good way to use that energy. Self-care is also important in managing anxiety. Get adequate sleep, eat right, and take time for activities that help you relax and enjoy life. Parents need occasional respite from the heavy responsibility of caring for a child with a disability.
Belief in a just world sometimes produces unwarranted guilt. We want to believe that our world is predictable and controllable. This belief protects us from our fears. We convince ourselves that bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people. This seems just. The downside of this belief is that when something does hurt us, we tend to feel we are somehow to blame. Comments by well-meaning but insensitive people can trigger these feelings. Comments such as “You must have needed this particular experience for your salvation” or can lead parents to have painful and unwarranted guilt. They start asking, “Why me? Am I so bad that I needed something this severe to shape me up? I wanted only to be a good parent.” Questions may also come from people who believe they can protect themselves from this same experience if they can only discover what you did “wrong.”
You will need to find your own spiritual meaning concerning painful events and not allow others to impose their answers as to why these things happened. It takes years to fully understand, and sometimes the answer doesn’t come in this life. Trust that Heavenly Father is a God of love and does not delight in punishing you. That way, you will be able to find more accurate meaning in the adversities you face.
Strong emotions result from losses. If you have a child with a disability, you may feel the loss of the child you thought you would be raising. You may also feel grief over the loss of what you may have envisioned as an ideal family. Indeed, you may have to reframe your definition of an ideal family.
When I was a young mother with four children, my husband was serving as a bishop. It felt wonderful to be part of my idea of an ideal Latter-day Saint family. But my husband died of cancer, and I was left to raise my children alone. I had to return to school, finish a degree, and work. I had to reframe what I perceived an ideal Latter-day Saint family to be. I later married a man with six children, and we became a blended family with ten children. Once again I had to reframe what I thought an ideal LDS family was.
Learning how to grieve and then go on with your life can build strength. When you can acknowledge and work through painful feelings, you develop emotional, spiritual, and psychological skills that can help you in other areas of your life. Your capacity for empathy can grow through a personal acquaintance with grief.
We need to make sense of what we perceive as injustice. Raising a child with a disability can give you a close view of the cruel side of life. Creating a new definition of what is fair and just, however, can reduce anger. For example, when my daughter was 10 years old, she attended a Sunday School party. She came home scraped and bleeding. One of the boys in the class had called her a “stupid retard” and pushed her down. I felt angry that my child was hurt. Angry feelings can be a message that something needs to be done. Anger can alert us to dangers, problems, and offenses that may need some correcting. We can make decisions, however, about how we act on those feelings. We can deal with anger in a constructive way.
My husband and I visited the boy’s family. We sat with the boy and his parents and calmly talked about what the word retarded meant. We asked the boy how he would feel if he were unable to do the things he enjoyed. This boy became one of our daughter’s strongest allies. That experience ultimately helped another person to grow. This seemed “fair.” Retaliation would not have produced justice. Although anger may come from experiences with injustice, we can turn them into good experiences for ourselves and others.
Children with disabilities have a harder time mastering routine behaviors and activities. Learning emotional skills is even more difficult. They experience more frustration than other children. If the disability affects brain functioning, the child will find it harder to think through problems rationally. My husband refers to behavior resulting from this difficulty as “the law of the universe”: If you cannot talk it out, you are going to act it out. In other words, what cannot be verbally expressed will be acted out in some way, even if it is just through having a stomachache. Often the child’s misbehavior is simply an attempt to cope with some other problem.
For example, when my daughter was 18, she would not go to bed and insisted on leaving her light on all night. She would get very angry and say, “I don’t want to go to bed because there are missionaries hiding in my dresser drawer.” I recognized this as clearly delusional.
Rather than being angry, I tried to understand. What would cause her to be so frightened? As I thought about it, I realized that many of her friends were getting married. She had attended bridal parties where they had received beautiful things they would put in their dresser drawers. They were getting married, leaving her, and were no longer available as her friends. She also longed to have those same experiences and had expressed concerns: “Will I ever marry? Will anyone ever love me? Will anyone ever give me a bridal party and beautiful things?” Her friends had married returned missionaries. She could see that returned missionaries were great husbands. Somehow, all of this went together. She was also poignantly and painfully aware that she lacked the skills and the ability to manage the demands of a marriage. She was unable to verbally express those conflicts or even fully understand them, so all we heard was a delusion about missionaries hiding in the drawer. Once I began to understand her inner experience, I was able to talk it through with her. We worked together to verbalize her conflicts and grieve the sorrow of not being able to marry. The problem behavior stopped, and she was able to sleep peacefully.
Parents sometimes find it difficult to identify the source of a disabled child’s misbehavior. Disabilities differ in the kinds of challenges they create. Children’s natural dispositions, strengths, and weaknesses vary. The circumstances surrounding incidents of misbehavior are unique to each family. These factors make it difficult, but if you can determine the meaning of the misbehavior, it becomes easier to know which problems need to be solved. Becoming angry and frustrated with the child is counterproductive because these reactions generally prevent parents from identifying the real source of the misbehavior.
One fairly common source of misbehavior is attention seeking. The child may be trying to get your attention because he or she is hungry, tired, scared, overstimulated, bored, frustrated, sick, or having an allergic response to food or the environment. If a child doesn’t have the skill to talk it out, he or she will act it out. This is particularly true for children who have disorders that compromise brain functioning, such as attention deficit disorder, intellectual impairment, bipolar mood disorder, or schizophrenia. The child may feel overwhelmed and may not be able to verbalize the distress. Parents need to be alert to what is going on in the child’s life that may cause him or her to seek attention.
Strategies that do not work in managing misbehavior include (1) making discipline rules and not enforcing them; (2) yelling—the child learns not to listen unless somebody yells; (3) insulting and name calling, which only shame the child; (4) withdrawing privileges that have no relationship to the misbehavior; and (5) physically or verbally abusing the child. These strategies usually increase misbehavior rather than help the child learn how to manage difficult situations and emotions.
Many blessings come from raising a child with a disability. I realize the important role Nikki has played in my personal and spiritual growth. The experience has brought me to my knees on many occasions because I needed further instruction from a wise Heavenly Father. It has opened my heart to truths I had desired to better understand. I do not yet have all the answers to “Why me?” or “Why her?” I do, however, have an increased understanding of many principles—an understanding that is priceless to me.
One of the most beautiful realizations is the knowledge that my child’s spirit is not disabled. I have become aware that she experiences a rich spiritual life. She is often the first in the family to feel the presence of the Holy Ghost on sacred occasions. She frequently shares spiritual insights that her limited intellectual abilities could not have generated.
When Nikki received her patriarchal blessing, she was told she had been given this special experience in mortality because of the greatness of her soul. She helps others learn compassion and understanding. I am grateful for all the good she has done for our family as well as for many others. Nikki teaches us that love, kindness, and charity are not just for the swift or the strong, but they are also for those who struggle. I have the firm hope of an eternal relationship with Nikki. I know that when she is finally healed of her disability, I will learn yet more from the greatness of her soul.

Corey’s introduction to scripture study came from his grandfather. He remembers going to visit him. Each morning at breakfast, his grandfather had them read scriptures together. “I used to dislike it,” says Corey. “But now I realize that doing it is essential to strengthen one’s testimony. My grandfather was an incredible example of adhering to the gospel and to Christ. I respect him so much for that.”

Anderson School was a tall and dark redbrick building, and Jenny knew she wouldn’t like it. She remembered the low cream-colored school she had attended in California, also the modern one in Maryland before that where one wall was built completely of glass.
Clutching her mother’s hand, Jenny walked into the principal’s office. A woman behind a desk stood up to meet them and introduced herself. Jenny heard her mother’s meeting-new-people voice, telling of their arrival in Grant’s Valley two days before. Jenny knew the sentences by heart: “Our daughter has gone to five different schools and has never had any trouble adjusting.”
The lady smiled and said kindly, “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the fourth grade here, Jenny. Miss Sorenson is a wonderful teacher!”
Jenny’s mother said again that she knew Jenny would fit right in as she always had in the other schools.
But Jenny wasn’t sure that she would. She just twisted her pink handkerchief around her little finger and stared hard at the bouquet of lilacs on the principal’s desk, until the two women rose to go to the fourth grade classroom. Then she followed them down the hall, glancing at the boys and girls who sat at the old desks in the rooms she passed.
When they arrived at Room 12, Miss Sorenson was showing a movie about Washington, D.C. The teacher stopped the movie and turned on the lights so she could talk with the principal. The children turned around in their seats and looked at Jenny. The room smelled like blackboard erasers, and there were narrow windows at the side with dark green blinds pulled down for the movie. Jenny wished that her mother would stop talking to Miss Sorenson and go home. A girl with brown hair and a red-checked dress whispered something to the girl across the aisle, who giggled and whispered back, their eyes on Jenny.
At last Jenny’s mother left. Miss Sorenson said, “Class, this is Jenny Martin, who just moved here from California. Now, Jenny, why don’t you take that seat there in the second row and we’ll finish watching the movie.”
Gratefully, Jenny slid into the seat just as someone switched off the light. She watched as the scenes flashed by on the screen, showing the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument during cherry blossom time. Jenny wanted to say, “I’ve been to those places!” But she was sure no one cared about that.
Recess followed the movie. Everyone had to wait in line and march down the long halls together. In California, the playground had been right next to the classroom. Jenny reached the end of the line and slowly walked outside, wondering what they would play.
There were swings, a slide, and climbing bars on the playground. In California, the playground was an area of black asphalt without play equipment, but with painted white lines for hopscotch and dodge ball. Jenny kicked at the dirt that comprised most of the playground and watched the other children. They played noisily in their own private groups. The girls looked at her as she walked past them, but no one smiled or asked her to join them. She walked on until she went around a corner of the building and just kept going. Soon she had walked past the end of the school property and crossed the street at the corner.
Jenny continued walking. The weather was cool and, even though it was early May, she wished she’d worn a coat instead of her light sweater. Between the sidewalk and the street a stream of sparkling water rushed through the new grass. Jenny noticed how beautiful the trees were, with tiny leaves of the softest green, just the color of a dress her mother sometimes wore to parties.
At the end of the block Jenny came to a small park. It was empty except for a man picking up litter with a pointed stick. The lonely girl sat down in a swing and pushed herself slowly. It made a squeaking noise, and for a moment she was afraid someone would come to ask why she wasn’t in school. But soon the rhythm of the swing and the sound of the wind moving through the trees made her forget her fear. She closed her eyes and swung higher, pretending she was back in California playing on the beach.
When she opened her eyes, she saw the principal was standing there. Jenny almost fell out of the swing.
“Hello, Jenny,” said the principal in a kind voice. “Did you decide to come here for recess today?”
She didn’t sound angry, and for a minute Jenny almost smiled.
“I saw you walking away from the playground and wondered if you thought school was over for the day,” the principal added.
Then Jenny did a strange thing. She started to cry. She hardly ever cried, but she cried now because she was thinking of how the girl in the red-checked dress would probably laugh and whisper about her tardiness. And she was crying because she knew that she couldn’t hunt for shells and rocks on the beach anymore. But mostly she was crying because the principal was very kind and Jenny thought somehow she should be quite cross.
The principal didn’t put her arms around the sobbing girl, although she wanted to very much, to help her stop crying. She stood quietly and said, “Jenny, I imagine you noticed a lot of things about Grant’s Valley on your little walk, didn’t you? I used to live in San Francisco, and when I came here I was surprised to find that spring in Grant’s Valley is like a miracle. When we walk back to school, I’ll show you the place where I got the lilacs on my desk, and perhaps the lady who lives there will give you some to take to your mother.”
The principal took Jenny’s hand in hers and continued, “You will soon see that the children in Grant’s Valley have a good time, especially in the spring and summer. They don’t ride ferryboats across the bay, and they can’t go to the beach and find seashells. But they play games outside on warm summer evenings, and wade in these refreshing irrigation ditches. And do you know, I’ll bet if you told the class some afternoon about all the things you’ve seen and done in the places you’ve lived, they’d be glad to share with you some of the wonderful things in their lives!”
Together she and Jenny walked back to Anderson School—the friendly redbrick building.

Many years ago, I got a phone call from a good friend who had been hired to play Santa Claus at a local mall. He wasn’t the real Santa Claus but was just one of his helpers. He explained that he needed someone to take his shift. He asked if I would substitute for him for just one night. I have to admit that this job was perfect for me. I always enjoy making children smile, so I gladly agreed.
The evening arrived, and I soon found myself in a small back room at the Eastview Mall. I changed into that familiar red suit, those polished black boots, and that white beard. I needed quite a bit of extra padding to make everything fit. But with a little effort, the Santa makeover was complete.
As I walked through the mall to get to my place, I was delighted to see how excited the young children were to see Santa. Even adults couldn’t help but smile and wave.
Once I sat down, the gate to the workshop opened. A long line of parents and children kept coming in. All but the very shyest children climbed up on my knee, and I listened patiently while they told me their Christmas wishes.
I was having a terrific time. It was great to interact with all the young children who looked at Santa with such wide-eyed wonder. I am proud to say that I really played up the role. I perfected my “Ho, ho, ho!” and even managed a laugh or two that made my belly shake like a bowl full of jelly.
A woman brought a small boy to me. “Excuse me,” she said. “He just wanted to come and say hello.”
I invited him to sit on my lap, but she declined, explaining that he didn’t speak English.
“He’s from Belgium,” she said. “He speaks French.”
My first reaction was, “Oh, this is going to be fun!” Nine years earlier, I had served a French-speaking mission in Quebec, Canada. Although I was no longer fluent in French, I could still have a conversation with a four-year-old. So I turned to the boy and, in French, invited him to come sit with me. The woman’s eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped, but the boy beamed and jumped onto my lap!
After several delightful minutes, it was time to say goodbye because the line had steadily grown while we were talking. Still, I congratulated myself on what felt like a real Christmas miracle—just like the one in Miracle on 34th Street.
But then I did something out of character for Santa. I felt impressed to tell the boy, “Always remember that Santa loves you.” I recall instantly thinking, “What a strange thing for Santa to say!” But the boy hugged me. And then he smiled and waved and ran back to the woman.
She led him a few steps away and then stopped. She asked him to wait there and turned back to me. “I don’t know what just happened,” she told me with tears in her eyes. “But I need to tell you something.”
She explained that she was the little boy’s aunt. She had returned with him from Belgium only a few days earlier. “His mother and father were killed in a car crash,” she said. “I’m his only living relative. I have just brought him to the United States to live with me.”
Her tears began to fall more freely. “But it’s Christmas, and I simply had no idea how we were going to make it through this season. It’s supposed to be joyful and magical, but all I could feel was sorrow. I kept praying, ‘God, help us both get through this.’”
She decided to bring him to the mall. “I know it seems silly,” she continued, “but I thought that if we walked around and just looked at the stores and the holiday decorations, it would at least give us a little distraction.”
“But my nephew saw you and said that he had to come see you. I told him, ‘No, honey, Santa won’t be able to understand you.’ But he said, ‘Yes, he will. I need to talk to him.’ And he literally pulled me to you.”
She looked at me again and said, “I don’t know how this happened, but thank you.”
I had been enjoying playing the coolest Santa ever. But in that instant, I knew that my being at the mall that evening was not about me at all. Instead, it was about one child who needed his own Christmas miracle.
I have no idea how many children climbed onto Santa’s lap for the rest of that night. But I’m sure their loved ones were wondering why Santa seemed to be crying!
Every Christmas, I still think about that boy. I wonder if he even remembers that night he met me and brought tears to my eyes. I’ll never forget how God led me to be just where He needed me to be one winter’s night to bless one of His precious children.
That experience continues to be a strong reminder to me that God knows and loves each of us. He knows our desires—even those expressed through the pure faith of a small child who simply wanted to talk with Santa.

A few months ago, my elders quorum president entrusted me with the responsibility of training a newly ordained 14-year-old teacher in my ward on how to minister. I was proud to be able to teach him everything I had learned in all my many years of service, but it was in fact he who taught me that day!
During this period, I was a little overwhelmed by my responsibilities and it took me a few weeks before I began serving alongside him. Eventually, I made an appointment with the family we wanted to minister to. As we made our way to the family’s home, I seized the opportunity to tell him everything I knew about our responsibilities as priesthood holders. While we were chatting with this family, the mother turned to my young ministering companion and said, “thank you so much for taking care of us these last few weeks, you called us three times to find out how we were doing and today you made us a cake.” I was stunned! My companion had not waited for me to tell him or show him what to do, he simply began to serve. He had acted on his own, out of love for this family, and followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit. He showed me that age is not a barrier to service.
That day he taught me as the Saviour taught, to do with his heart and out of love, without boasting of anything; to do rather than to say.

Until just recently I would have said one life preserver is as good as another. But not anymore! What changed my mind?

Recently I attended a safety exhibit that stressed accident prevention. The water safety display intrigued me most. It included a variety of familiar pieces of lifesaving equipment. On each piece of equipment was a simple card with just one word in bold, block letters. The card read YES on the pieces of equipment that were safety approved; NO on those that were not. I was amazed. I thought all the equipment was approved and would save one’s life in an emergency. The man in charge of the display said, “Most people think all equipment is perfectly safe, but they are just taking things for granted. That’s the tragedy of it. Instead of saving you, some of this equipment could get waterlogged, weigh you down and contribute to your drowning.”

He demonstrated several pieces of equipment with the YES label and then said, “If you want to be safe and sure, use only approved equipment.”

The Young Women of the Niagara Falls Ward, Buffalo New York Stake, comforted some of their peers with quilted comforters, handmade. They made a dozen quilts in all, and also contributed personal items like shampoo, washcloths, towels, and deodorant to put into kits.
They then delivered the kits to teenagers in a home for those with no place to live or unsuitable family situations, the Compass House, in Buffalo. “The project was a lot of work, but it was worth every minute of it,” they said.

“When he was older and wanted to join a baseball team, … the other [boys laughed] at him, … calling him a ‘sissy’ because he could not throw the ball between the bases. His teammates teased him so much that … he … made up his mind that he was going to play with the nine who would win the championship of the Territory of Utah. He purchased a baseball and practiced hour after hour, throwing at a neighbor’s old barn. Often his arm would ache so much he could hardly … sleep at night. He kept on practicing and … improving and advancing from one team to another until he finally [succeeded] in playing [on the team that] won the [territorial] championship!”

I am reminded of a story about a missionary call which you may find of interest and which shows how the inspiration of the Lord directs his work. I could give you a dozen. But on one occasion, after the letters of call had been sent to a group of missionaries, the executive secretary of the Missionary Department received a telephone call from the mother of a boy who had received an assignment to a mission in the eastern part of the United States. The mother said that she and the father of the boy were extremely disappointed because the boy’s father and grandfather had served missions in Germany, and they had expressed their desires that the boy also be called to a German mission.

The secretary asked the mother how the boy felt about it, and she replied that he was at school and that she had opened the letter in his absence. He did not yet know where he was to be called. The secretary expressed his surprise that the mother would open the only letter the boy might ever receive from the President of the Church and suggested that she call him back after the boy had read the letter.

The following day the mother called back most apologetically and said that the boy’s reaction was one of complete satisfaction with the call. He had secretly been praying that he would not be called to a foreign mission.

For the past 17 years, I have had the privilege of spending the majority of my time living and traveling throughout China. I see numerous members participate in monthly temple excursions to Hong Kong to do temple ordinances for those who have departed this world. Many are involved in genealogical projects where long lost ancestral records are found and temple ordinances can be done for them. In 2008, a deadly earthquake occurred in Sichuan Province where tens of thousands of inhabitants perished. Hundreds of church members responded instantly. Many travelled to the areas of destruction to offer lifesaving services. I am proud to say, some of them are among you in the audience. Some recipients were touched by those charitable acts and subsequently accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ. Another young sister was in college at the time of the earthquake. She did not hesitate to make the extreme personal sacrifice. She left school altogether to join the rescue effort to save lives that lasted several months. This remarkable sister from Sichuan, China will arrive here to further her education this coming September.

Mary Jane took a deep breath and smiled as she hurried along the muddy path on the way home from school. It was springtime in the year 1852, and a soft, cool breeze was blowing over the Irish Sea.
She was remembering that warm feeling when a gust of wind blew a strand of her long black hair across her face. Mary Jane pushed it back. “I wish I had a pretty blue ribbon to tie my hair back,” she thought.
Just then, Mary Jane almost stepped in a puddle on the path. As she started to walk around it, she saw something bright in the water. She stopped and looked closely. It looked like a coin.
Finding a long stick, Mary Jane carefully raked out the coin. And it was a valuable one. “Lucky me!” she thought. “What should I buy with it?” Then the wind reminded her. “A long blue ribbon,” she thought. “That is what I will buy.” Slipping the coin into her pocket, she hurried home.
When she opened the front door, Mary Jane saw that the missionaries were visiting her family. The younger children were sitting quietly, and a reverent feeling filled the room. Mary Jane’s family loved the missionaries, who had come all the way to Ireland to bring them the gospel. Father said the missionaries came without purse or scrip. That meant they came without money and with only the clothes they were wearing. Today they had brought good news. Some other families in the village were going to join the Church!
Mary Jane’s father invited the elders to stay for supper. As they gathered around the table, everyone was smiling. Mary Jane liked to hear the elders ask for a blessing on the food. It gave her a “Sunday feeling.”
After dinner, Mama served dessert in the parlor. She had baked a cake and made candy frosting. As one of the elders sat down and stretched out his long legs with his shoes turned upward, Mary Jane and her father looked at each other in surprise. The soles of the elder’s shoes were worn through with large holes.
Father went to the kitchen, and Mary Jane followed him. Father reached to the top shelf of the cupboard where they kept money. But as he looked at the coins in his hand, he had a sad face. It was not enough to buy a new pair of shoes for the elder.
Mary Jane reached her hand into her pocket and placed her coin in Father’s hand. “Now is there enough?” she asked softly.
Father looked surprised. He was silent for a long moment. Then in a husky voice he answered, “Yes, dear. That is just right.” Father put his arm around Mary Jane, and she had the same warm feeling she had felt at her baptism.

Elder James O. Mason, a former General Authority Seventy told of a meeting he had with Elder Spencer W. Kimball. He explained his plans to become a doctor which left no alternative but to postpone having a family. Elder Kimball listened patiently and then responded in a soft voice, "Brother Mason, would the Lord want you to break one of His important commandments in order for you to become a doctor? With the help of the Lord, you can have your family and still become a doctor. Where is your faith?"[15]
Just like paying tithing, brothers and sisters, it is a matter not of time, money or convenience; it is a question of faith. Elder Mason did become a doctor and added two more children to his family while in school.

As my wife mentioned in our introduction, after we were married, we moved to Provo to prepare for school and the football season. I enrolled in the 'Living Prophets' course. We committed to follow President Ezra Taft Benson’s counsel for mothers, like Julie, to stay home and nurture and raise our soon to be born 1st child, Mapuana. As I was on a football scholarship, I couldn’t work while in school.
Julia was offered a teaching position that was to pay more money than we’d ever had (mind you, Julie only made $9,000 the previous year as she was a full-time student) so anything more than that was a lot of money, to us. We did not accept the offer and trusted in the Lord so Julie could stay home with our Mapuana.
After making that decision, my dear maternal grandparents, Joseph Keaunui and Henrietta Bee Ah Quin of Hauula Hawaii...who we thought would never leave this rock or Hawaii, and who were not active members of the church, decided out-of-the-blue to sell their beautiful farm in Hauula to move to Utah. We were blessed to live with them and ohana until I graduated and returned home to Laie, therefore meeting our needs and desire for Julie to stay home with Mapuana.