Gospel Story Finder

On April 30, 1844, the ship Timoleon came in sight of the small Pacific island of Tubuai, 640 kilometers (400 miles) south of Tahiti. Canoes filled with men paddled out to greet the passengers. When they met Elders Addison Pratt, Noah Rogers, and Benjamin Grouard, the first Latter-day Saint missionaries to arrive in the region, they greeted them happily. For nearly 50 years, Tubuaians had received Christian missionaries—most from the London Missionary Society—and embraced Christian teachings. Previous missionaries had occasionally visited the island’s two villages, Mahu and Mataura, but they usually stayed only a short time. Telii,1 a local woman from Mataura, was also excited when she learned that new gospel teachers were on the island. The island’s kings and chiefs attempted to convince one of the missionaries to remain as their teacher, and Telii and her husband, Nabota, offered their home as a place for the missionaries to stay.2
The missionaries initially declined these invitations. The people, anxious to have them stay, persisted. “I took the subject into prayerful consideration,” Elder Pratt said, “and was soon convinced that should I leave this island, I should be running away from duty.”3 Elders Grouard and Rogers sailed on to Tahiti while Elder Pratt remained and accepted the invitation to live with Telii and Nabota. The couple immediately began helping Elder Pratt study the local language, and they learned the gospel as visitors asked Elder Pratt to interpret scripture, offer spiritual guidance, and provide healing blessings.4 As Telii and Nabota listened to Elder Pratt preach, the fire of a growing testimony was kindled in their hearts. In late July 1844, Telii and Nabota were the first natives of Tubuai to be baptized. Many others soon followed.
As Latter-day Saint missionaries continued to visit Tubuai over the next several years, Telii and Nabota became a source of strength and support to them and the island’s growing Latter-day Saint community. Telii became a friend, teacher, and leader to the missionaries and local members.
Telii, Nabota, and Elder Pratt developed a deep and loyal friendship. “The native family with whom I live are much attached to me; where I go, they go, and where I stay, they stay,” Elder Pratt wrote to his wife, Louisa.5 With small but growing groups of converts in each village, Elder Pratt soon began alternating locations, spending a week in each place. While in Mataura, he lived with Telii and Nabota. When he went to Mahu, they traveled with him and stayed with Telii’s relatives there.6 In addition to being the first local converts Elder Pratt baptized, Telii and Nabota were frequently his most ardent defenders, sharing with others the insights they had gleaned from the many sermons and conversations they had heard.7
Early in 1846, Elder Pratt announced that he would be going to Anaa, an atoll 780 kilometers (490 miles) northwest of Tubuai, to assist Elder Grouard, who was enjoying incredible success there. Telii and Nabota insisted on accompanying him. When they arrived in Anaa, they found more than 600 converts in five branches. As Elder Pratt fell into administrative duties in the branches, Telii and Nabota traveled with him, preaching the gospel, visiting the people to attend to their needs, and bringing the sick to Elder Pratt to be blessed.8
Telii helped spread the gospel by translating Latter-day Saint hymns and scriptures and setting them to himene, a singing style common in the region. Many evenings, Telii gathered large groups together at dusk to sing these songs, which often lasted until late into the night. By singing Telii’s songs, many of the local people learned gospel principles and cemented passages of scripture in their minds and hearts.9

In October 2021 the Book of Mormon musical began its performances in The Millenium Centre in Cardiff. On the opening evening, I had the privilege of going to the Millennium Centre, along with Stake President Jason Spragg and Bishop Stefan Liassides of Cardiff Ward. We had all attended training in preparation for questions from the media or audience members.

We waited as the audience made their way out after seeing the show, where they were met by 40 missionaries in bright white shirts and missionary tags clearly in view. These young men and women stood firm in their beliefs and were a shining example to us who stood by. They were polite, friendly, and answered all questions. Some people stopped to listen and then while walking away would exclaim, “They are the real ones”. I remember seeing one young missionary run to his mission president in excitement proclaiming, “We need more, we need more!” He was referring to the pass-along cards, and leaflets with more information about the Church.

Due to COVID restrictions these missionaries had spent most of their mission working with social media to share the gospel and to contact people. Now they had the opportunity to meet face-to-face and to share their beliefs.

These young men and women were wonderful examples. Even though some people rushed past, or said they weren’t interested, the missionaries were not disheartened and carried on sharing what they knew to be true. How lucky we are to have real missionaries in each of our wards and stakes.

My wife and I have just celebrated a remarkable thirtieth anniversary. Thirty years ago, young missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door in Nottingham, England.
How did their message appeal to two active members of another church? We, and generations before us, had held membership in the established church of the land. Furthermore, we were very happy with our way of life. Two precious children had graced our home, and a new job in a large industrial company was giving challenge and enjoyment.
What more could we hope for? What could add to our happiness? As the missionaries taught us and prayed with us, we began to realize that there were gaps in our life, that we had unfulfilled needs. For a few minutes may I share with you ten ways in which our lives became even more purposeful and happy as these needs were fulfilled. I am sure you will be able to identify some of these needs in your life, in your home, in your family.
First, we realized that our communication with God was not often enough or strong enough. True, we had always said our individual prayers, but when, because of the missionaries, we also started to pray together regularly as husband and wife and with our children, we experienced a tremendous feeling of closeness, not only with each other but with the Almighty God.
The missionaries had taught us that he is a personal being, that he is literally our Father, and prayers began to flow from the heart and were no longer repetitious. We came to know him as a loving Father, just and kind, reliable and true. What great need there is in the world today to commune with the Infinite, to talk and walk with God, to know that he speaks to us today and that we are in reality his children.
Second, we came to know Jesus Christ, not just as a historical figure, but as the living Son of God. In high school and the years that followed I had made a special study of the New Testament. However, the Savior’s life and mortal ministry had no great impact on my life until the missionaries testified, as did Job of old, that our Redeemer lives (see Job 19:25).
I came to know him as my personal Savior, who gave his life for me and for each of us. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). Everyone needs a friend and everyone has a friend beyond compare—Jesus Christ and him crucified and resurrected for us.
Third, as a young married couple, we were seeking security in an insecure world. We had grown from youth through teenage years during World War II. I had been a member of the Home Guard at sixteen, trained to defend my country, and at seventeen had volunteered for the Royal Air Force. Now, more than five years after the war had finished, there was still rubble in the streets and rationing in the shops.
We grasped at the secure message that the missionaries gave us, that God speaks today as he did anciently, through prophets. Yes, he is mindful of us, he does love us, he has restored his church and the fulness of his gospel as he promised. Oh, how the world needs a prophet to lead us and guide us in these troubled times. I testify that we have such a prophet. He sits behind me as I speak in this tabernacle. He presides over The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Lord’s church and kingdom here on earth.
Fourth, we began attending the Church at the missionaries’ invitation—and what a friendly reception! We soon learned what true sociality is, and sincere brotherhood and sisterhood which bind together people of all nations and tongues. “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). What a wonderful feeling of belonging, of being needed and appreciated, beyond anything we had previously experienced.
Soon we were singing in choirs; visiting other Church members in their homes, just as they visited us; and giving service to others in some of the many service projects the Church provides. We were able to choose from a wide range of activities—drama, dancing, sport—to supplement the spiritual progress that came rapidly by worshiping and learning with other Latter-day Saints. Everyone needs to experience the warmth of friendship and happy social activity on a continuing basis.
Fifth, my family and family life became even more meaningful and precious to me as we commenced having wonderful family home evenings together. We learned that all over the world, members of the Church spend at least one evening a week together in a balanced evening of spiritual instruction, fun, and talent sharing. We love our children, and we were glad to learn from the missionaries that although baptism is essential for the remission of sins, infant baptism is not necessary since “all children who die before … accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom” (D&C 137:10). We have known a number of parents who have been distressed at the death of a small child because of the un-Christian doctrine of infant baptism.
Again, we also became concerned about our wider family: our grandparents, our great-grandparents, and all of our ancestors. This is also a universal need, as Alex Haley expressed, “a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage” (“What Roots Means to Me,” Reader’s Digest, May 1977, p. 73). Everyone has some family, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes living in mortality, sometimes passed on and awaiting the Resurrection. The strength that comes from family in all its aspects is a vital need, one that can be fulfilled by the principles and programs learned from the missionaries.
Sixth, everyone appreciates good health, and there is a basic need to have our spirit housed in a well-functioning body if at all possible. Personally, I had suffered internal discomfort for some years, but the health code, or Word of Wisdom, taught by the missionaries helped me to overcome this. I can testify that the exclusion of the habit-forming stimulants of alcohol, tobacco, tea, and coffee has been a great blessing in my life and the lives of my wife and my children. I am glad the Lord gave this revelation through Joseph Smith, the Prophet, almost 150 years ago, bringing increased health and vitality to millions of people.
Seventh, as provider for our young family, I was not only concerned about physical and spiritual well-being, but indeed with personal progress generally. I soon found that in the Lord’s Church all kinds of resources are provided to fulfill this need. Before long I was involved in educational activities and leadership training and cultural pursuits of various kinds. Progress within my company organization was a natural outgrowth of progression in the Church. This was not surprising, for early in our discussions with the missionaries we had learned of God’s plan of eternal progression for his children. Does not everyone deep down have this yearning, this need to progress and improve, to develop and refine?
Eighth, I think along with these needs there is also a spirit of adventure in most of us in varying degrees, a need to discover, a need to explore. For many this need is met by reading adventure stories or traveling to new places. For myself, I had always been fascinated by the study of Middle Eastern archaeology, particularly of the great Egyptian civilization.
The message of my missionary friends even fulfilled this need, for they told us of an ancient record on gold plates, inscribed by people from the Middle East in the pre-Christian era. Imagine my excitement to learn that these ancient people with their prophets and culture had left the Old World and traveled to the New, to become a mighty people on what is now the American continent. Their records were hidden and preserved and a little over 150 years ago were discovered, not by archaeologists, but by a teenage youth. The faith and worthiness of this young man, Joseph Smith, enabled him not only to find the gold plates, but later to translate the hieroglyphic record by the power of God.
What a thrill it was to see some of the reformed Egyptian characters as copied by the hand of Joseph Smith. I knew by the feeling I had that they were true characters. Then, to hold this book of scripture, this Book of Mormon, in my hands and read it eagerly, sincerely, prayerfully, was a powerful spiritual experience. The need I had for the adventure of discovery was fulfilled through the Book of Mormon. This was not merely discovery of ancient peoples, but a complete discovery of the divinity of Jesus Christ. I testify that the Book of Mormon is a witness, a modern-day witness, of the Savior of the world, who visited this continent after his resurrection.
Ninth, as one who had lived less than perfectly, and yet had no serious matters to disturb my conscience, I felt the need to make some changes in my life. I was overjoyed to learn the pure teaching of Jesus Christ concerning faith, repentance, baptism by immersion for the remission of sins, and the laying on of hands to receive the Holy Ghost. What joy to start afresh with a clean sheet, having turned away from unsound doctrines, vain traditions, and perverted ordinances.
Again, this would seem to be a universal need, all men having been born into this earth life innocent and pure, and having been tainted by the things of the world. The marvelous thing is that Jesus gave his life for everyone. His resurrection was for everyone, “for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22).
Tenth, and finally, since being baptized into this wonderful restored Church of Jesus Christ, I have felt an inner peace, “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philip. 4:7). I have heard many people say their greatest need and desire is to obtain peace of mind. How does this come? It comes by knowing the truth, for “the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). I testify that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church of Jesus Christ, and teaches true principles and true ordinances.
How grateful I am that my ten most fervent needs have been fulfilled through listening to the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then, by study and prayer and obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel, I have found happiness not only here but for eternities to come.
May all within the sound of my voice, and all God’s children everywhere, have the same fulfillment, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

During a priesthood executive committee meeting, our full-time missionaries reported meeting a member whose records were not in the ward. I recognized the name immediately and mentioned that she and I had been in the same ward many years ago.
One of the missionaries said, “Yes, bishop, she mentioned that and seemed quite surprised that you were the bishop.”
I asked them, “What did she say?”
They said she looked very surprised and said, “He’s the bishop?”
I had to laugh and explain that this sister knew me as a very different person 30 years ago.

Some years ago, I went with a stake president in the southeastern United States to visit several families before a stake conference. As we arrived at one home, a man dressed in shabby clothes walked up to us.
“What do you want?” he shouted. “I don’t want people coming to my house!”
I was concerned when the man’s demeanor became threatening. I wanted to grab the stake president and run back to the car! But the stake president was calm. “We are sorry,” he said. “We thought your bishop had told you we were coming.”
As they spoke, I felt the Spirit so strongly. I gathered my courage, approached the man, and said, “Dear brother, President Thomas S. Monson [he was the prophet at the time] has given me the assignment to come here. We are here to see you. I bring the love of the prophet to you.”
I looked into the man’s eyes and noticed they were tearing up. He began to share his challenges with us. His wife suffered from depression. He had just lost his job. He did not have food to feed his children. The stake president assured the man that the Church would help him and his family. We had a nice visit.
Several weeks later, I asked the stake president for an update. He told me that this brother’s bishop and the ward council were assisting him and that he and his wife, who was not a member of the Church, began meeting with the missionaries.

Amanda had many friends who watched videos after school. Some of the videos had scenes that Amanda wasn’t sure Heavenly Father or her parents would like, and she wondered if she should watch them.
____ Being with her friends was fun. The videos weren’t that bad, and she would be a part of the group. If she didn’t watch the videos, she might not have anything at all to do after school.
____ Amanda chose to watch the videos with her friends.
____ She prayed to know if her decision was right.
____ Amanda felt uneasy about her decision to watch the videos.

“Wait for me, Holly Noel Hunt!” shouted her older sister, Sarah. Ten-year-old Holly stopped in her tracks, squinting into the late afternoon sunlight, glad for the chance to catch her breath.
“Where do you think you’re going—to a fire?” Sarah teased, when she caught up to Holly. She linked her arm through Holly’s. “Keep it down to a fast crawl, and tell me what you want for Christmas and your birthday.”
Holly had been born eleven years ago, two days before Christmas. She had always loved celebrating her birthday so close to the Savior’s, and she had been named Holly Noel in honor of Christmas.
Marching in step as they laughed and talked, the two girls soon burst through their front door. Mother was on the phone, a worried frown creasing her brow. She motioned for the girls to be quiet. “I’ll have to discuss it with my family first, of course,” Mother was saying. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”
Holly grabbed an apple and flopped into the nearest chair. “Ask your family about what?” she mumbled between bites.
“That was Mrs. Ortega from the Crippled Children’s School. Their vacation is starting, and they have a little girl your age, Holly, who has nowhere to go for the Christmas holidays. Debbie grew up in a foster home in the country, but her foster mother died last fall. They would like us to take her for the holidays.”
“Oh, let’s do!” Holly and Sarah chorused.
“I’m glad you’re so willing to share your home and Christmas with someone who needs us,” Mother said. “Debbie has some special problems, however. Mrs. Ortega said she is one of the most severely crippled children at the school. They wouldn’t even consider us taking her if I weren’t a registered nurse.”
Sarah and Holly looked surprised, and Mother continued, “She can only move her neck and head. The rest of her body is paralyzed and deformed. There is very little she can do for herself.”
“It’s hard to imagine a girl my age like that,” Holly whispered.
A look of steely determination settled over Sarah’s face. “Well, I’m certainly willing to help you take care of her, Mom. If it’s OK with Dad and Greg, I think we should take her, don’t you, Holly?”
“Yeah, I guess so, but it scares me a little.”
“I guess we all feel a little scared, honey,” Mother said, giving both daughters a hug.
That evening as they ate bowls of steaming homemade soup with hot, crusty french bread, the Hunt family decided unanimously that they wanted Debbie as part of their family for Christmas.
Holly had butterflies in her stomach as they pulled up to the school in their old brown station wagon, got out, and entered the building.
“Here she comes,” whispered Sarah, as a nurse came down the hall pushing a wheelchair.
Debbie was smiling at them, showing two deep dimples on each side of her face. Her clear, bright blue eyes were framed by soft yellow curls. She looked like the fairy princess in one of Holly’s old storybooks. Holly looked down at the rest of Debbie’s little body, then quickly looked away, hoping Debbie hadn’t seen her shocked expression. Nothing had prepared Holly for the little stub arms and legs coming out from Debbie’s twisted body.
“Would you like to come down to the physical therapy room with me before we go?” Debbie asked. “I’d like to show you some of the things that I’m learning to do with my teeth. Miss Durrant made me a special stick that I can type with, and I’m learning to paint and draw with some other special tools. I’d like you to meet some of my friends too. Oh, and I hope you can come to our Christmas program tonight! I’m supposed to be in it.”
By the time they reached the physical therapy room, Holly was starting to appreciate Debbie as a person.
When Miss Durrant proudly showed them some of Debbie’s accomplishments, Holly said ruefully, “I wish my schoolwork looked this neat.”
“Well, I think it’s time to get you settled at home if you’re going to be in a program tonight, Debbie,” suggested Mother. “Otherwise, you’ll be too tired.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you can come! I was afraid I might have to miss the program. I’m one of the angels in the choir.”
“Oh, we’ll all come. None of our children are in a Christmas program this year, so we’ll be happy to see yours.”
Later that evening the family sat together in the darkened auditorium, waiting for the program to begin. The curtains opened, and the program began with angels singing familiar Christmas carols. As she watched row after row of children from the audience around her go with their braces, crutches, or wheelchairs to perform on stage, Holly thought about how hard it must be for them to do things—and to do some of them in front of all these people too! She wasn’t at all surprised to see silent tears sliding down her mother’s face. Somehow after listening to Debbie all afternoon telling about her friends and the tricks they played and about how they got in trouble for racing down the hall in wheelchairs, Holly had nearly forgotten about their physical problems.
After the choir sang, a play about Santa Claus began. Santa had a bad case of gout, and he had to have physical therapy and treatment at the School for Crippled Children before he could go on his usual Christmas Eve rounds.
The part of the doctor was played by a handsome, humpbacked teenager who walked with a cane. Suddenly he lost his balance and went crashing to the floor. The audience gasped with concern. Holly felt Greg’s shoulder moving against hers, and she realized that he was struggling with the boy to stand up. Finally the boy got to his feet.
“Nurse, see that something is done about that floor!” the boy commanded, thumping the offending floor with his cane.
Waves of applause filled the auditorium along with relieved laughter. It was a Christmas program that none of them would ever forget.
The morning of her birthday, Holly carefully closed the bathroom door, then tried drinking a glass of water without using her hands as she had seen Debbie do. She only managed to soak herself and drop the plastic glass with a clatter into the sink. She looked into the bathroom mirror, and solemn brown eyes looked back at her.
Yesterday she had come in from building a giant snowman with her friends and found Debbie watching from the window, her usually merry blue eyes shadowed with sadness.
“I wish I could run and play like other kids,” Debbie had said with a long sigh. “I wonder why I was born like this.”
Holly had put her arms around Debbie in silent sympathy but had had no answer for her. She thought about her birthday three years ago when Grandfather had become very ill and had been in the hospital. Holly had heard her parents say that he would never get well. She had sat in a corner by the Christmas tree, sobbing and tightly clutching the hand-carved cane Grandfather had made especially for her. Her father had picked her up and wiped away her tears with the back of his big, gentle hand.
“Remember when you became separated from us in that crowded store last Christmastime, Holly?” he had asked. “You were so frightened—just sobbing when we found you.”
Holly had nodded solemnly.
“I wiped the tears from your eyes, and you were safe and happy in my arms. When Grandfather goes back to Heavenly Father, it will be a safe and happy time for him too. We may all feel lost at times, but because Jesus came to earth and died for us, there will be a time when all our tears will be dried.”
Holly had felt the truth of her father’s words then, and she longed now to find a way to tell Debbie how she felt.
“Hey, come on, birthday girl—Greg’s famous pancakes await you!” her brother shouted from downstairs. Holly shook away her thoughts and ran downstairs.
“Boy, are your missionary companions going to love you when they find out about these pancakes,” she said as she pulled up her chair. Greg was going to leave on his mission right after the Christmas holidays.
“Every year on Holly’s birthday we have a tradition of giving her some special gift that we do or make ourselves,” Mother explained to Debbie. “Her birthday is so close to Christmas that we wanted to make sure it wasn’t overlooked in the holiday excitement. Greg’s gift is his special pancakes.”
“And I’m going to be her slave for the day and do all her chores,” groaned Sarah, rolling her eyes in a gesture of mock despair.
Holly’s eyes were twinkling as she said, “Tonight Mom and Dad are going to tell the Christmas story, wearing robes my uncle brought back from a trip to Israel.”
Debbie seemed unusually quiet all afternoon. She spent most of the time alone in her room with only Mother going in and out.
After dinner everyone watched as Holly blew out eleven flickering candles with one big puff. Then they all sang “Happy Birthday.” Mother and Father disappeared for a moment while Greg built a fire, and everyone gathered around the fireplace, waiting expectantly.
All the lights were extinguished except the tree lights and a few candles flickering around the room. The fire glowed and crackled in the fireplace, and soon Mother and Father returned, dressed in flowing robes. As Father and Mother told the age-old story of the first Christmas, a feeling of love and contentment surrounded the little group.
When the beautiful story had ended, they watched the fire in silence for a few minutes. Then Greg jumped up to get more wood. Just as he threw a log onto the fire, Holly noticed that one of her new furry white mittens was snagged on it. She hurried to fish it out of the flames with a poker, but the thumb already had a hole burned in it. Swallowing her disappointment, she laid it carefully on the mantel and went to open her birthday presents.
When the gifts had all been opened and Holly had thanked each giver, Debbie said shyly, “If you’ll come here, I have something else for you, Holly.”
“But you already gave me a beautiful red sweater,” Holly said as she walked to Debbie’s side.
“I wanted to give you something of myself, like the others,” Debbie said shyly, nodding to an envelope on her lap.
Holly opened the envelope and looked with amazement at a button sewn on a little square of cloth.
Debbie smiled proudly. “I sewed it on myself!”
Everyone but Mother looked at her in wonder.
“She did,” Mother affirmed. “I watched her do it.”
“But how?” Holly asked.
“I stuck myself a lot,” Debbie admitted cheerfully, “and my mouth is quite sore, but I wanted to do it for you.”
Holly’s eyes pricked with tears at the enormity of Debbie’s gift. Her eyes wandered up to the hand-carved nativity scene nestled among the pine boughs on the mantel. She walked over and reverently touched the Babe in the manger, then looked over at the charred mitten.
Turning to Debbie she said softly, “I think because of you, I understand more about giving and about Christmas than I ever did before. Debbie, I want to give you something too. She grabbed her ruined mitten and ran out, returning immediately. “Look, Debbie,” she said, holding out the burned mitten, “the part of your body that’s crippled may seem like this to you.” She tugged gently and pulled its mate from inside the burned one. “But the real you inside is just as perfect as this.”

He said:
“These are shoes of a young convert to the Church whose family situation was strained, yet he was determined to serve a successful mission and did so in Guatemala. Upon his return I met with him to extend an honorable release and saw his shoes were worn out. This young man had given his all to the Lord without much, if any, family support.
“He noticed I was staring at his shoes and asked me, ‘President, is anything wrong?’
“I responded, ‘No, Elder, everything is right! Can I have those shoes?’”
The stake president continued: “My respect and love for this returning missionary was overwhelming! I wanted to memorialize the experience, so I had his shoes bronzed. It is a reminder to me when I walk into this office of the effort we all must give regardless of our circumstances. The verse was from Isaiah: ‘How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!’ (Isaiah 52:7).”

One afternoon Percy K. Fetzer, a righteous patriarch, came to my office by appointment. He was weeping as we visited together. He explained that he had just returned from the land of Poland, where he had been privileged to give patriarchal blessings to our worthy members there. After a long pause, the patriarch revealed that he had been impressed to promise to members of a German-speaking family by the name of Konietz declarations which could not be fulfilled. He had promised missions. He had promised temple blessings. These were beyond the reach of those whom he had blessed. He whispered that he had tried to withhold the promises he knew were unattainable. It had been no use. The inspiration had come, the promises spoken, the blessings provided.

“What shall I do? What can I say?” he repeated to me.

I replied, “Brother Fetzer, these blessings have not come from you; they have been given of God. Let us kneel and pray to Him for their fulfillment.”

Within several years of that prayer, an unanticipated pact was signed between the Federal Republic of Germany and the Polish nation which provided that German nationals trapped in Poland at war’s end could now enter Germany. The Konietz family, whose members had received these special patriarchal blessings, came to live in West Germany. I had the privilege to ordain the father a bishop in the Dortmund stake of the Church. The family then made that long-awaited trek to the temple in Switzerland. They dressed in clothing of spotless white. They knelt at a sacred altar to await that ordinance which binds father, mother, brothers, and sisters not only for time, but for all eternity. He who pronounced that sacred sealing ceremony was the temple president. More than this, however, he was the same servant of the Lord, Percy K. Fetzer, who, as a patriarch years before, had provided those precious promises in the patriarchal blessings he had bestowed.

In early Church history, the Prophet Joseph, Emma, and their 11-month-old twins, Joseph and Julia, were in Hiram, Ohio, at the John and Alice Johnson home. Both of the children were suffering from measles. Joseph and his little son were sleeping on a trundle bed near the front door.
During the night a group of men with black-painted faces burst through the door and dragged the Prophet outside, where they beat him and threw tar on him and Sidney Rigdon.
The most tragic part of this mobbing was that little Joseph was exposed to the night air and caught a severe cold when his father was dragged away. As a result, he died a few days later.2
Those who participated in the Martyrdom of the Prophet and his brother Hyrum also painted their faces to hide their true identities.3

I overheard a conversation between golfing great Arnold Palmer and a young caddie he was using for the first time. The young caddie, while handing Mr. Palmer his club, told him the distance to the flag was 165 yards, there was an unseen stream on the left, and a long and treacherous rough on the right. In a very kind but firm way, Mr. Palmer reminded the young man that the only information he required was the distance to the hole. He further suggested he didn’t want to lose focus by worrying about what was on the right or left.

It is easy to lose sight of the really important objectives of life. There is much to distract us. Some are floundering in the water hazards on the left, and others are finding the long, treacherous rough on the right insurmountable. Safety and success come when focus is maintained on the important opportunities found by driving the ball straight down the middle—priesthood advancement, temple worthiness, and missionary service. And that’s the way it is.

Alison touched her hair. Still wet, she thought, smiling. She gazed out the window of the car as it left the church parking lot. The Saturday afternoon looked brighter than usual. The trees seemed greener, the sky a deeper blue. I’ve done it! she told herself. I’ve been baptized.
She closed her eyes and relived the baptismal service in her mind. Dressed in white, she and her father sat on the front row of the chapel as the bishop spoke. “You will come out of the water cleansed from all your sins,” he said. “Then you can be confirmed a member of the Church and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. If you keep the commandments, the Holy Ghost will be your constant companion and help you choose the right.”
Later, Dad stood waiting in the baptismal font. He took her small hand in his large one and guided her down the steps. The water was warm and clear. She looked up and saw her family and friends watching reverently. Mom smiled. Alison grasped Dad’s wrist with her left hand while he held her right wrist and raised his right arm to the square. She listened carefully as he said the baptismal prayer. Then she held her nose and her breath as he placed his right hand in the middle of her back and immersed her gently but completely under the water.
Warmth and peace surrounded her a moment before she was brought up out of the water by her father. Streaming water dazzled her eyes like diamonds. Through the glistening drops, she saw blurry faces smiling at her, and she smiled back. She felt so good, so clean—like a new person. She looked up at Dad. He smiled and hugged her close. She wanted to feel like this always.
After Alison changed into dry clothes, the family met in a classroom with the bishop. He and Dad put their hands on her head, confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and gave her the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now Alison felt not only new and clean but strong, too, as if she could always do what was right, no matter what.
“So how do you feel?” Dad asked, breaking into Alison’s daydream.
She opened her eyes and grinned. “I feel good. I’ve never felt this good in my whole life. I’m never going to do anything wrong again. I’m clean now, and I want to stay this way.”
“That’s a wonderful goal,” Dad said, “but I’m afraid that we all make mistakes.”
I won’t, Alison thought, settling back into her seat. I don’t ever want to lose this feeling.
A couple of weeks later, Alison sat on the couch, studying the baptismal certificate the bishop had given her.
Tyler climbed up beside her. “Let me see it!” he demanded, grabbing the paper.
Alison held him off with an elbow. “This isn’t a toy. This is important.”
Tyler laughed and grabbed the paper as Alison jerked it away. With an ugly ripping sound, the certificate tore in half.
Alison stared a long moment in disbelief. Then a furious anger gathered around her like a storm. How could he destroy this precious thing! Tyler’s eyes were wide with fear and dismay, and Alison had a strong feeling that she should walk away before she did something bad. But she didn’t want to walk away. She wanted to get even. She let the anger rush in, filling her to overflowing, and she gave Tyler a push.
He tumbled off the couch. Before he could even catch his breath to let out his first angry howl, she jumped up and gathered him into her arms. The anger was gone, replaced by remorse and a sick guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
Mom and Dad came running in to see what was wrong. “I pushed Tyler on purpose,” Alison said. “I’ve only been baptized a couple of weeks, and I’ve spoiled it already.” She ran to her room, where she fell on her knees by her bed and prayed and cried a long time.
Finally the door opened and Tyler came in. “Don’t be sad, Alison,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Alison held him tightly. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll try to do better. I’ll try to be a good sister. Will you forgive me?”
Tyler gave her a huge, wet kiss on the cheek and a big hug. “I forgive you this much.”
Mom and Dad came in and sat down on either side of her.
“Alison,” Mom said, “your certificate can be replaced. That is important, of course, but that isn’t what is upsetting you, is it?”
“No—it’s that this time I messed up big time.”
Dad nodded. “We all do. The important thing is that we repent.”
Alison brushed away a tear. “How do I know for sure that I’ve repented?”
“Heavenly Father made it pretty simple,” Dad said. “First we need to recognize that we’ve done wrong and feel sorry for it. I think you’ve already done that. Then we need to ask forgiveness from the person we’ve sinned against and from Heavenly Father.”
Alison sighed. “I’ve been doing that.”
“Then we must try to make up for the wrong we’ve done.”
“I’m going to do something nice for Tyler every day,” Alison said. “I don’t want him to ever be afraid of his own sister. Is that all?”
“There’s one more thing,” Dad said. “We must try as hard as we can not to do the wrong thing again.”
Alison put her head on Dad’s shoulder. “I think the Holy Ghost tried to tell me not to push Tyler, but I wouldn’t listen. If He ever talks to me again, I’m going to listen.”
“He’ll talk to you,” Dad assured her.
“And I’m going to write down some ways of controlling my temper better, and work on them every day.”
Dad hugged her. “Good for you. If you do all those things, the Lord will forgive you and the Holy Ghost will be your Companion. Heavenly Father has promised it.”
“But I’m not clean anymore, and I wanted to stay clean forever. Can I get baptized again?”
“Well, no, but you don’t need to. The Savior knew that we’d make mistakes even after baptism, so He provided a way for us to be clean again. It always starts with sincere repentance, followed by something we do each Sunday in the chapel. Do you know what it is?”
Alison thought for a moment. “The sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “Right. When we’re baptized, we make covenants, or mutual promises, with God. One promise is that we’ll keep His commandments. Each Sunday when we take the sacrament, we renew those covenants. If we’ve repented of our sins, we become clean again.”
“Just as clean as when we were baptized?”
“Just as clean.”
The next day, Alison eagerly waited for the sacrament. She had followed the steps of repentance faithfully. When the sacrament came, Alison quietly put a piece of bread in her mouth. When the water came, she drank it reverently. A sweet peace filled her heart. Dad was right. She felt good again. Clean again.
Smiling, Alison reached up and touched her hair. This time it wasn’t even damp. But that didn’t matter—she was clean.

All of us may be tempted to let our personal desires overcome the guidance of the Holy Ghost. The Prophet Joseph Smith pleaded with Heavenly Father for permission to lend the first 116 pages of the Book of Mormon to Martin Harris. Joseph thought it was a good idea. At first the Holy Ghost did not give him confirming feelings. Eventually, the Lord allowed Joseph to lend the pages anyway. Martin Harris lost them. For a season, the Lord withdrew the Prophet’s gift to translate, and Joseph learned a painful but valuable lesson that shaped the remainder of his service.

Juan sat quietly in the flickering light of the fire. He watched his mother grinding corn on her metate (grinding stone) for the evening meal. Juan’s father was busy too. He was carving a wooden ball for Juan. The even, polished surface gleamed yellow in the firelight.
“Will it be ready for the race on Friday?” Juan asked.
“Yes. I will finish it tomorrow,” his father replied.
Juan smiled. He and his two teammates would run even better with such a well-made ball.
Juan was an Indian of the Tarahumara tribe. He lived high in the Sierra Madre Mountains in northern Mexico. His family home was near Barranca del Cobre (Copper Canyon).
Juan’s father, Dionisio, was a great man. He was the best runner in the village—maybe the best in all the mountains! Wearing his “lucky” belt of deer hooves, he’d won many races. For the Tarahumara people, running was one of the most important things in life. In fact, they called themselves Rama Mure (foot runners). Men and boys ran along the rocky mountain paths, kicking before them a wooden ball carved from an oak tree root.
Juan was fifteen now. He’d been running almost since he could walk, and on Friday he and his teammates would run a big race against a team from the village of Pilares. Juan wanted to run as well as his father ran.
All the Indians knew Dionisio. “¡Kawira-ba (hello)!” people called whenever Juan’s father passed them during a race. It was nothing for Dionisio and his team to run for two days and nights without stopping for anything except a drink.
Juan loved racing at night by torchlight, but right now the race he was most interested in was the race against the Pilares team. Although it would only be twelve miles, it was still important. To Juan and his friends, every race was important.
There were other important things in Juan and his father’s life besides running. They planted corn, beans, and squash. They also tended their seventeen goats, corraling them each night. Each of the goats was named and was well known by the family. To have so many goats to provide milk and cheese was good. Seldom would Juan’s father kill one of the animals, for they were too precious to use as meat. Meat was provided by the deer and chipmunks of the mountains.
At the end of each day Father would take the handmade violin from the pegs on the wall and draw the bow across the strings, bringing forth sweet, sad songs.
In all things Juan’s father was his ideal. He did everything well—running, hunting, growing crops, playing music, carving from wood. Sometimes Juan became discouraged. He could not carve well—except the flesh of his own fingers! He could beg only mournful cries from the violin. And running? Not yet. Maybe this race against the Pilares team would be a turning point for him. Not only would my winning the race make father proud, he daydreamed, but it would also mean that one day I might be a truly great runner!
Early the next morning Juan went with his father to move the corral. Juan knew that besides giving them cheese and milk, their goats also fed the earth. He knew that seeds planted in the place where a corral had stood grew into strong plants. Juan was glad for so much work that day, because he would have less time to think about the upcoming race.
Friday dawned, and Juan tried to quiet his excitement. His father had told him that too much fear or excitement could take the strength from his body.
Today was also a holiday. Juan’s people celebrated many holidays each year, and running was always part of the festivities. Mother had prepared cedar tea so that Juan could bathe his legs in it. All Tarahumara runners did this before running. They thought it kept away evil spirits.
On his left foot Juan wore a sandal, as did all the runners. The right foot—the kicking foot—was bare. A runner must be able to lift the ball and kick it with his toes and foot. Although the running must be swift, the ball must go ahead. A lost one meant a delay until another ball was put into play.
Finally the Pilares team arrived. The signal was given, and the two teams ran. Juan’s new ball was painted with a red stripe. First it was kicked by Juan, then by each teammate in turn. Up and down the steep, rocky path they went. The boys had run this trail many times. They knew when to send the ball swiftly ahead and when to slow down for curves in the path.
On and on they ran. Many of the villagers ran behind them to see the outcome of the race. Juan knew that his father was with them.
When at last they neared the end of the twelve-mile run, Juan found himself running side by side with a Pilares runner.
I must win! I must win! Juan told himself. He ran faster and faster. He felt power in his tired legs. He felt the wind of his own speed rushing through his hair. He felt he could fly! The runner from Pilares was no longer beside him. Juan ran alone.
Then the wind was gone.
Juan looked up from the rocky path where he had fallen. The runner from Pilares sped ahead.
It was Father who tended the deep cut in Juan’s knee.
“I lost! I will never be a great runner,” the boy declared mournfully.
Father stopped wrapping the cloth around Juan’s leg and looked at him. Then he spoke. “I don’t know how many races I lost when I was young, but I know I learned something each time I raced.”
“But you are the best! You are a winner. Everyone admires you.”
“Ahhh. It is because they do not remember the times I lost. They remember only the times I won. I remember both.”
Juan sat amazed. His father had once lost races!
“You are not a loser, my son. You are a winner learning how to win.”

In my freshman English class, the professor insisted that, to describe a situation, one of the students must substitute a crude expression for one gentler. I was jarred at an expression which I had seldom heard and never in harmonious circumstances. Years later in graduate school I had a conversation with a friend who argued that one should be, as he called it, direct, even if rude and insensitive to others’ feelings
Unfortunately, the spirit animating these incidents has taken firm hold on society and is found even among the Saints. Over the years, there has been an increase in sexual innuendos, raucous humor, violent expressions, and great noise in talk, in music, in gestures. Much around us is crude and rude, with a corruption of moral behavior and sensitivity. Society has not been improved by our “light speeches” and our “light-mindedness” (D&C 88:121). Instead, our expressions have polluted our communities and corrupted our souls.
In contrasting the importance of some of the weightier things of the kingdom with the dietary code of ancient Israel, Jesus told His disciples: “Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man.
“… Those things which proceed out of the mouth come … from the heart; and they defile the man” (Matt. 15:11, 18). Our words and external expressions are not neutral, for they reflect both who we are and shape who we are becoming.
At Winter Quarters, as the Saints were in the midst of an arduous exodus, the Lord commanded, “Let your words tend to edifying one another” (D&C 136:24). Nephi declared that the fruit of receiving the Holy Ghost and listening to the promptings of the Spirit is that we may speak with “the tongue of angels” (2 Ne. 32:2). Thus we create a spirit of reverence and of revelation.
I recently overheard a conversation among some of our young grandchildren. One of them apparently used the word stupid. Eight-year-old Nicholas, recently baptized, commented that perhaps one should not say that, as it was a “bad word.” It was evident that there had been some good influence from Mom and Dad. I know there had been similar discussions about other expressions. Now some might think that these are small matters compared to the far more foul and demeaning expressions all around us. Yet, in small and in great ways, our words create an atmosphere in which we build or demolish.
I recently commented to a friend from New York City that I thought the atmosphere had improved markedly in the city over the past years and wondered why. He noted that his wife is a municipal judge, and they were enforcing the little things, like ordinances against spitting and jaywalking, and the big things were being affected thereby. So in our daily speech and acts of edification, the Lord said, we invite the spirit of truth and righteousness in which we “may chase darkness from among [us]” (D&C 50:25).
President Spencer W. Kimball warned of vulgarity of speech and expression and particularly counseled against speaking of sex glibly, which he associated with immodesty. “Lewd talk and jokes,” he said, “constitute another danger which lurks seeking as its prey any who will entertain it as the first step to dirtying the mind and thus the soul” (The Miracle of Forgiveness, 228).
What we say and how we present ourselves not only betray our inner person but also mold that person, those around us, and finally our whole society. Every day each of us is implicated in obscuring the light or in chasing away the darkness. We have been called to invite the light and to be a light, to sanctify ourselves and edify others.
When we speak and act, we should ask whether our words and expressions are calculated to invite the powers of heaven into our lives and to invite all to come unto Christ. We must treat sacred things with reverence. We need to eliminate from our conversations the immodest and the lewd, the violent and the threatening, the demeaning and the false. As the Apostle Peter wrote, “But as he which hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation” (1 Pet. 1:15). The expression conversation refers here not only to speech but also to our entire comportment. As Nephi, he is inviting us to so live that we may speak with the “tongue of angels.”
I bear witness that God is indeed holy. He is our Father, we His children. We are His heirs and co-heirs with Jesus Christ of His glory, and He has invited us to be as He is and to edify in word and in deed. I pray we may do so.

Beads of sweat trickled down Tad’s face as he dragged the lawn mower’s grass catcher through the gate into the alley. All Tad could think of was a drink of cold water on this hot Saturday. As he opened the metal garbage can to dump the grass clippings, he saw a magazine lying at the bottom.
Tad reached down to pick it up, and as he pulled it out, his arm brushed against the hot metal edge of the can. Ouch! He straightened up and looked at the magazine in his hand. On the cover was a smiling woman who was immodestly dressed.
Tad remembered Dad warning him about magazines with this kind of picture. Someone must have dropped the magazine in the trash can as he or she walked through the alley.
“Tad, would you like something to drink?” Mom called from the back porch.
Tad’s heart suddenly sped up. He knew he should leave the magazine in the trash, but he wasn’t ready to let it go.
“I’ll be right there, Mom,” Tad yelled back. He quickly rolled up the magazine and stuffed one end into the top of his jeans and pulled his shirt over it. He dumped the grass clippings and walked back through the gate. Mom handed him a glass of lemonade.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said.
“Thank you for mowing the lawn,” Mom replied. “You need to come inside now. Your face looks flushed from the heat.” She turned and walked back to the house.
Tad knew that his face was probably red from the fear of being caught. As he was putting his empty glass in the kitchen, Dad suddenly walked in. Tad jumped.
“Hey, Tad! Got the yard done?” Dad asked.
“Yep.”
“I could use your help fixing the car right now,” Dad said. “How about it?”
“Sure,” Tad said. “I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks,” Dad said and walked out the door.
“Whew! That was close,” Tad thought. He hurried to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He pulled out the magazine. His hands trembled as he looked for a place to hide it. Tad shared the bedroom with his younger brother Alex, and he didn’t want him to find the magazine. Tad pulled a chair over to the closet. Climbing up and looking at the highest shelf, he spied an empty cardboard tube that used to hold his telescope. He slid the magazine into the tube, then pushed it toward the back of the shelf. A feeling started gnawing at him that if he needed to be sneaky he was doing something he shouldn’t. Tad pushed the feeling away and went outside to help Dad.
The rest of the day was so busy that Tad had to ignore the magazine. He was frustrated, and he felt confused too. On Sunday, as he got ready for church, he grew more and more uncomfortable. He had a dark feeling that he couldn’t shake.
“Why did I keep it?” he thought. “Why didn’t I just leave it where it was?”
In Primary, Tad’s class talked about choosing the right and, for the boys, preparing for the priesthood. Tad was deep in thought on the way home. He decided that on Monday after school he would burn the magazine. He felt better already.
When Tad got home from school on Monday, he hurried to his room. “The sooner I get this done, the better!” he thought. But as he turned the corner he almost tripped over a stack of books on the floor. A strong, fresh smell of paint caught his attention.
Tad peeked into his room and saw Mom sitting on his bed. Painting supplies were scattered across a big cloth on the floor. When Mom looked at Tad, he knew she had found the filthy magazine.
Tad’s heart started pumping faster. “What are you doing to my room?” he asked.
“I wanted to start painting it, and I had a strong feeling that I should start in the closet first,” Mom said. She motioned for Tad to sit by her. She put her arm around him and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “The Holy Ghost wanted me to find what you had hidden in your closet.”
Tad hung his head. He was afraid of what his mother must think of him. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Where did you get it?” Mom asked sternly.
“It was in the garbage can in the alley,” he said. “Saturday afternoon.”
“Did you look at it?”
“No, Mom, I didn’t. On Sunday, well, it just didn’t feel right. I decided to burn it after school today.”
“Oh, Tad, I’m so glad to hear that!” Mom pulled him to her in a close hug. “I’ve been so worried about you all day. Heavenly Father was worried about you too. He didn’t want you to look at that pornography because it would have put bad images in your mind.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Tad said. He felt so ashamed.
“I can see you are, Tad. I’ve been thinking all day about the wonderful gift of the Holy Ghost and the voice of warning He can be.”
Tad was glad his mother had listened. He resolved that next time he would listen too.
That night as Tad knelt by his bed, the smell of paint still hung in the air. He saw how good his closet looked without the scuff marks, smudges, and fingerprints. Even though the filthy magazine was in his closet for only a weekend, those two days had felt like the longest, yuckiest days of his life. As Tad began his prayer, he knew the first thing he would thank Heavenly Father for was his mom.

One of my ancestors, Isaac Bartlett Nash, joined the Church in Wales and crossed the Atlantic and the plains before joining the Saints in Salt Lake City. After his arrival he heard one of the presiding elders of the Church denounce the use of tobacco in these words: “There are Elders in this assembly who now have tobacco in their mouths, though even a hog would not chew the vile weed.” Isaac, with a chew of tobacco in his mouth, quietly slipped it out, dropped it to the ground, and said to the tobacco, “Now stay there until I come for you.” He never did.3

Elsewhere in the West Indies Mission, 17-year-old Curfew Ali of the Arima Branch in Port of Spain, Trinidad, explains to Mark Mangray, also 17, that even though she earns only a little money, she pays 10 percent of her increase as tithing and contributes to fast offerings too. “That way, I know the Lord is free to bless me,” she says. She talks to Mark about tithing settlement and how great it feels to be able to declare that she has paid a full tithing.
Mark looks at a blank donation slip, reads it, and says, “You’re right, Curfew. I’m bringing my tithing to church tomorrow.”

I had been serving as a full-time missionary in Argentina for only two months when word arrived that my younger, and only, sister was engaged. Rebecca and I were close growing up and had dreamed of each other’s weddings, but now I would miss hers.
My parents sent me plans, pictures, menus, and schedules, but I still felt left out, alone, and far away. Missionary work was hard and slow. I found myself wondering what I was doing so far from home, and I became confused about what I was supposed to accomplish.
Nevertheless, I knew that the Lord had called me to serve, and I had a strong testimony of prayer and the power of the priesthood. I received a blessing of comfort that promised me I was where I needed to be.
As missionaries we often shared the exhortation found in Moroni 10:4–5. I believed firmly in the promise of those verses—that if I asked God, my Eternal Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, I could know the truth of all things by the power of the Holy Ghost. I prayed diligently to know whether I had done the right thing by coming to Argentina instead of remaining at home, where I would have been helping my sister prepare for her wedding. As her wedding drew closer, my prayers became increasingly heartfelt. I felt the reassuring influence of the Spirit, but I still hoped for an answer.
Two weeks before the wedding, my companion and I were walking home from a lunch appointment with members of the branch in which we served. The branch was in a little town in central Argentina, where people observed the midday custom of siesta. At that time of day there was usually no one about.
As we walked along, however, a young man called to us. Because many young men teased us, we ignored him and continued walking. When he called again, I felt a prompting to answer him.
His name was Horacio, and he wanted to know if we were friends with two young women who had been reading the Book of Mormon with his cousin. He told us he had felt something special while the sisters, who also served in our branch, were reading. He wanted to know if he could come to our church.
As we taught Horacio with the help of local members, he quickly grew to love the gospel. He changed his life as he grew in the gospel, but his family raised objections and his friends rejected him. Nevertheless, Horacio felt the love of the Lord and desired to follow Him. I had some of the most special experiences of my mission teaching Horacio.
As my family sat in the Oakland California Temple watching my sister complete one of the ordinances that would help prepare her for the celestial kingdom, I sat in a little chapel in General Pico, Argentina, waiting for Horacio to complete an interview in preparation for receiving his first saving ordinance—baptism. My sister had been able to prepare for her ordinances without my help, but Horacio might not have been able to do the same. He needed my companion and me to teach him the gospel, and I needed him to remind me of my true purpose as a missionary—helping bring souls to Christ.
As I prepared to leave Argentina at the end of my mission, Horacio was preparing to serve his own mission. Through him, Heavenly Father had answered my prayers and then sent Horacio to answer the prayers of others.

October is a month to play tricks, but the youth of the Surrey Second Ward, Surrey British Columbia Stake, decided to give treats to a local hospital instead.
Dressed in their Halloween costumes, the youth delivered uncut jack-o’-lanterns that they had decorated with paints, marking pens, and hats (cut jack-o’-lanterns don’t last as long) to the nurses’ stations at a nearby medical center.
Making Halloween sweet instead of scary for the patients wasn’t just a great way for the youth to give service; they say it was also a lot of fun.