Gospel Story Finder

My little brother, Jacob, and I do everything together. We are two years apart but almost the same size. People always ask if we are twins.
One day when we were playing, Jacob cut his finger really bad. We rushed inside to run water on his finger. While Mom checked his finger, I put my arm around him to make him feel better. He was really scared.
Mom decided that Jacob needed to go to the hospital so that they could treat his finger. Our neighbor offered to watch our little sister and asked if I wanted to go with them. I looked at Jacob. He begged me to go with him. Even though I knew it would be a long wait at the hospital, I decided to go with him. He needed me.
On the way to the hospital, Mom had me say a prayer for Jacob. When we arrived, I tried to make sure he was comfortable. We brought a water bottle with us, and I made sure I offered him lots of drinks to take his mind off his finger.
When we finally saw the doctor, I was a little scared. I didn’t know if my brother would need stitches. I knew it might hurt.
While they worked on Jacob’s finger, he screamed and cried. Mom didn’t want me to watch, so I stayed in a corner of the room while she held Jacob’s hand. Seeing him in pain made me cry, too.
Soon Jacob’s finger was bandaged and we were able to go home. Mom told me that I had been “my brother’s keeper.” She said that in a small way, I had felt how Jesus feels about us when we are sad and hurting. I am glad I was able to be there for my brother when he needed me.

These brethren are not alone in their commitment to serve. I am reminded of a sister in Peru who has been called by her bishop to be a “special proxy” at the Lima Peru Temple. Her day begins at 3:00 A.M., and she begins her trek to the temple at 4:00 A.M. She has to take three different buses to get there. The cost of the bus takes more than one-third of her small monthly income. During a bus strike in Lima, she still came. Once she arrived in the back of a truck headed in the direction of the temple. What marvelous devotion to service!

One time I went on a first date with a girl in my ward. The next morning we were the only two who showed up for our ward’s temple trip. We offered to help with whatever ordinance needed the most patrons … which turned out to be sealings.
I was so nervous, but to my surprise, doing vicarious sealings with a girl less than 12 hours after our first date wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. If anything, that experience gave me more perspective on how important each aspect of temple work is—including sealings (read more in my digital article).

And as a mother, I remember worrying about a young adult child who was doing things that I knew were not going to make that child happy. We had agreed to discuss the concern and had set a time to talk. Before the appointed time for our phone call, I had my lecture ready; I knew exactly what I was going to say. I prayed to have the Spirit with me. What came out of my mouth from the beginning of our conversation and throughout the call was completely different than what I had planned to say. But it was exactly what that child needed. The gift of the Holy Ghost made it possible for hearts to be softened and a better solution identified. That is a demonstration of how priesthood power works in our lives.

Jared is home from college. I asked him how he liked it, and he said, “It’s all right academically, but the social life isn’t too great.”
Mom says Jared’s problem is that he’s always trying to date the movie star type of girl, but he isn’t the movie star type of boy. Maybe that’s my problem too. I want to look like a model, but I’m not really that kind of girl. Not yet, anyway. I bet I could be if I tried. I’m going to begin as soon as Christmas is over.

Our family wasn’t especially gifted in music. Oh, yes, we loved music, but that didn’t mean we could sing. My mom couldn’t carry a tune even if she were singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I sort of played the piano, but it was hardly good enough to be called music. My dad had had piano lessons when he was a boy, but he never played anymore. At one time my mom played the accordion, but the poor instrument hadn’t been played for so long that its keys stuck. I’d had the usual Suzuki violin series in the third grade but all to no avail.
On family home evening nights we tried to sing something that slightly resembled a hymn while I plunked it out on the piano.
I thought it would be neat if our family could sing for the family presentation on fast Sunday, but we always ended up having the congregation sing a song pertaining to the theme.
I encouraged my family to sing in the car when long trips became boring. We tried, but it seemed like I was the only one who knew the words, and the only songs my little brother knew were “Book of Mormon Stories” and “We Are a Happy Family.”
I longed for a musical family. It seemed to me that families that sang together were so much closer.
My dream started coming true one day when I had an argument with my little brother. I got mad at him and left the room to finish my homework, which included typing practice. But as I began my homework, I started to feel quite bad about our disagreement, so I decided to type my brother a note. It read something like this:
Eric,You are very special to me.
I’m glad you’re my brother.
You have the cutest smile.
I love you,Becky
He was delighted and wrote a note back to me. The next day he wrote one to my mom and dad, and they wrote back to him. A few days later I wrote to Eric again, and my mom and dad wrote to me, and I wrote back to them. Soon it was not unusual to find a note almost every day—a sincere note that made you shiver with the spirit of love. They turned up everywhere. They were found in very unusual places like on your pillow, in the fridge, on your mirror, in your book, or in your lunchbox.
Our family had composed its own music. We had developed a very special harmony that can only abound where love is. I suddenly began to feel no need for a musical family. I came to understand that it isn’t the music that brings families closer, it is the love behind the music. Well, we have both—love and our special music, “love notes.”

I was the "Fourth Period Seminary Class President" one year, which more or less meant that I coordinated the opening exercises each day, asking students to play the piano, lead the singing, offer the prayer, and read a scripture. As it happened, there were two girls in the class who talked loudly throughout the entire period, and they especially liked to mock students who were participating in the devotional. One day, in front of the entire class, I rudely asked the teacher to make them be quiet. Immediately, I knew that what I had done was mean and that I ought to apologize. But I felt they deserved it, so I refused to listen to my conscience.
Days went by, then weeks, and I was constantly troubled by the vague sense that something was wrong. I felt sick. My stomach hurt. I was miserable. I'm not just talking about not feeling the Spirit--like when the Spirit is absent. Jonah's description of the belly of the whale--which he also called the belly of hell--isn't just about being alone. Jonah talks about the water encompassing his soul and the weeds wrapped around his head. He felt awful.
It took Jonah three days and three nights before he was humbled sufficiently to utter the words recorded in Jonah 2:9, "I will sacrifice unto thee with the voice of thanksgiving." Then, in verse 10, the whale "vomited out Jonah upon the dry land." I was a bit more stubborn. I'm sure that a month or more passed before I finally relented and called the girls to apologize. And, after being "vomited" on the beach by that whale, I immediately felt better. A weight was lifted.

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.
Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.
Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.
At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

“You can work in here,” said Brian Kelly, managing editor of the New Era magazine, as he pointed through an open door into a small cubicle that was once a storage closet. “There is a stack of old magazines in the corner. Spend the first couple of weeks reading through them and jotting down ideas. Get the feel of the magazine; then we’ll see if you can write something.”
So saying, he turned and left. My first-day-on-the-job smile was wearing thin around the edges as I slammed myself into a creaky swivel chair, trying not to glare after Brian as he retreated down the hall. “Me, see if I can write? After a couple of weeks?” I muttered to myself. “After all, I was selected for this internship over many other applicants. My English professors have all said I have natural ability. I can slam out a news story before deadline better than anyone at the student newspaper. See if I can write? I’ll show him.”

Finishing this monologue, I positioned a typewriter directly in front of me and pulled out some clean paper. Just one problem. Nothing to write about. After a few false starts at heart-rending fiction and preachy tomes, I finally took a handful of magazines from the old issues stack and started reading.

The next two days convinced me that writing for the New Era was going to be a snap. The fiction was positive in tone, evoked a happy ending, and was populated by the sort of adolescents teenagers wish they were, i.e., clever, witty, involved, and never boring. The articles were glib, fast, and seldom complicated. And it took me only two days to complete that in-depth analysis of New Era style, not two weeks.

Wednesday morning I reported to Brian that I was ready for my first assignment.

“Uh, how about an article on scripture marking?” he said, after I had blurted out how prepared I was to take the New Era by storm. “Seminary students are studying the Old Testament this year, and an interesting piece on scripture marking would really help them out.”

Simple. I spent the afternoon in the church office library researching scripture marking and the next day wrote up a concise, seven-page article outlining different methods of scripture marking, their advantages and drawbacks. Early Friday morning I presented it to Brian.

“Nice information,” he said, as he handed it back to me. “Now try writing it so the youth out there will read it. Inject some of yourself into it, get some anecdotes in somewhere, liven it up, pull the readers through. I almost went to sleep reading it myself.”

The next two weeks were among the most trying of my life. Livening up a subject with the inherent deadness of scripture marking seemed a task suitable for Dr. Frankenstein, not me. Injecting myself into the controversy of shading versus underlining was something I didn’t quite know how to do. And anecdotes! Ever heard a good story about cross-referencing?

I had come up short against “New Era style,” and although I thought I understood it, I didn’t know how to produce it. The magazine’s style was different from other writing I had done. The New Yorker has its style, so does Time, McCalls, Good Housekeeping, and True Confessions. Each magazine requires a different type of writing. What worked at the student newspaper was definitely not going to work at the New Era.

Fortunately for me, I managed to master “New Era style” (or at least begin to master it) during a two-week struggle with endless drafts of the scripture-marking article. Unfortunately, some people who want to publish in Church magazines don’t have two weeks as a magazine staff member in order to get the hang of it. What follows might be called a short course in New Era style, or “How to get something published in the New Era without developing ulcers.”

4. Now you’re ready to start writing. This article itself is a pretty fair example of how to get into subject matter for the New Era. Don’t attack something head-on. Get into the subject matter by means of an anecdote or story. Set a scene. Paint word pictures. Avoid straight declarations—lure the reader on.

The first draft of the scripture-marking article began with a paragraph detailing the virtues of a well-marked set of scriptures. The final, published version began with a true short story from my own experience about how a set of marked scriptures would have saved me from embarrassment. Both served the same purpose, but the anecdotal beginning was more interesting and readable.

But be cautious. Don’t just throw in stories. Be sure they have a place. The anecdote I used at the beginning of the scripture-marking article commented on most of the benefits of scripture marking that were outlined later in the piece. In fact what you have just read has already outlined how to write for the New Era. I’m just going into it in more detail now.

Two weeks and eight drafts after that Friday morning in Brian’s office, an article titled “But It Was in Amos Last Time I Looked” was sent off for final approval before publication. Finally.

Stephanie Christensen sits on the floor of the state historical library. She has several big file drawers pulled out in front of her, and she’s sorting through photographs.
“Here’s one. I know her,” she says, her excitement making her voice a little too loud for the library. But the few people who are there don’t mind.
“We worked with this family,” she says. She pulls the photo out of the drawer and studies the faces. The women are dressed in stiff dresses with big skirts with their hair tightly pinned. The men, unsmiling, look straight ahead, and the children, with baggy long stockings and high buttoned shoes, hold old-fashioned toys. They have been dead for more than a hundred years, but Stephanie can tell you about their lives. She can point out the houses they lived in and tell you who they are related to. She knows where they went to school, whether they talked with the accent of an immigrant, and can name what illness or accident killed them.
But at this moment, Stephanie is looking at their faces, looking for some hint of what they might be like, what they might think or feel. She and the other Young Women of the Meridian 15th Ward, Meridian Idaho East Stake, have just gone to the temple and been baptized for people whose names they had extracted from the local records of a ghost town cemetery. It was an exciting project that took the Young Women nearly a year to complete.
It all started innocently enough. The Christensen family had taken a picnic lunch and had driven about an hour out of the Boise area to visit Silver City, a ghost town. They collected crystals in the tailings left over from the mines. They toured the old hotel. They walked down the dusty streets. And they climbed the small hill to the town cemetery. Reading the gravestones, Stephanie found the name Katie Blackinger, who died at 16, the same age Stephanie was then. “I thought it was sad that she died so young. I wondered what she was like,” said Stephanie.
The Christensens know something about family history, since they’ve worked on their own genealogy for years. Walking through Silver City got the whole family wondering about the people who had lived in that town. Many were solitary miners who never had children. Others had lost all their children to illness. It made them wonder if any had descendants to do their temple work.
Carma Christensen was the Young Women president in her ward. She was looking for meaningful activities for her Young Women. Several of the girls in her ward were involved in their own genealogy, helping their parents assemble their records. Carma felt that the girls might like to spend their midweek activity time doing the genealogical research for the people of Silver City. With the project approved by the bishop and the stake president, she checked with their stake family history center and found virtually none of the names had any ordinance work done for them.
That’s when the work started. The Young Women were lucky in one sense. Someone had already collected all the obituaries from the newspaper that had been printed in Silver City before it became a ghost town. Those records often gave birth and death dates, plus parents’ and children’s names. The girls learned how to read the 1880 census and check other local histories for more information.
Each girl was given several names to research. Young Women leaders were worried at first that the girls would find the research too tedious. They didn’t need to worry. Cori Christensen, 15, said, “People would be jumping up and down yelling, ‘I found them. I found them.’ You would be so excited when you found the person you were looking for.” The girls spent hours poring over documents.
Sister Christensen created a worksheet for the girls to fill out on each person. Volunteers typed the names and information into a genealogical program on the computer. Then the stake family history consultant helped them clear the names for temple work. It took hours and hours, but a feeling of accomplishment piled up with each name.
There were moments of discouragement, like when they suspected certain parents went with certain children, but they had no proof. It made the girls resolve to complete their own family history and write down everything about their own families.
After researching more than 400 names, both male and female, the Young Women of the Meridian 15th Ward invited the Young Men to go with them to the Boise Temple to do baptisms. The temple arranged for the names to be kept in a file for their ward. Heather Bennett, 15, said, “The best part was being baptized for them. The names sounded familiar to me. That was the neatest thing about the whole project. We did work for people that otherwise wouldn’t have been done. They might have been forgotten.”
“While we were sitting in the baptistry in the temple,” said Cori, “we had this totally good feeling. It was a feeling of victory. We’d given them a chance.”
The girls also felt sorry for the hard times many of the people experienced. “There were so many who died because they got sick,” said Janae Jensen, 16. “It makes you grateful for modern medicine.”
Now that the baptisms have been completed, the names are being kept in a special file at the temple for ward members to draw from to do endowments and sealings.
As a conclusion to the project, the Young Women made a special trip to Silver City, a type of farewell party for those resting in the cemetery. Now the history of the town meant something to them. They felt the people who had lived there were friends, friends who might thank them for what they have done.

BOOM! Thunder cracked outside. Alexis hid under her blanket. But the thunder didn’t stop. Alexis shivered. Then she got up to find Daddy.
“Daddy,” she said. “I’m scared.”
Daddy gave Alexis a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know thunderstorms can be scary. But we’re safe inside our home.”
Alexis thought about that. “I don’t feel safe right now. Could we say a prayer together?”
“That’s a great idea.”
Alexis and Daddy got on their knees. Daddy reached for her hand. He held it while he prayed.
“Dear Heavenly Father, please help Alexis feel safe from the storm.”
Alexis held tightly to Daddy’s hand. Her heart felt peaceful. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
“I feel better,” Alexis said.
“Good,” said Daddy. “Now let’s get you back in bed.”
Alexis crawled into bed. Daddy pulled her blanket up to her chin. He kissed her forehead.
“I love you, Daddy,” Alexis said. “Thank you for praying with me.”
Daddy smiled. “You’re welcome. I love you too.”

He knew they would be looking for him, so David scrunched down in his seat on the bench behind Brother Johnson. He figured the deacons quorum adviser wouldn’t be able to see him way back there even though the chapel wasn’t very crowded and it would be difficult to remain unseen. He knew if they found him he would be asked to pass the sacrament, and he didn’t want to. He was a priest now and a six-foot player on the high school basketball team. It was embarrassing to stand at the front of the chapel with those little 12-year-old deacons.
His father had been watching him from the stand, and David felt his disapproval. Much to his surprise, however, he wasn’t asked to assist the deacons. Before they could ask him, Brother Hensley volunteered.
Brother Hensley was a new member of the Church, not much older than David, and newly ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. Everyone had been excited when they learned he was taking the missionary discussions. He had been very popular in high school just two years before and was now attending college.
He stood tall alongside the deacons. He walked proudly and passed the sacred emblems with dignity.
A group of members were talking in the lobby after the meeting. David couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, especially when he moved closer so he could hear better.
“Thanks for helping us out today,” someone was saying. “I hope it didn’t bother you to work with the young deacons.”
“Not at all,” David was surprised to hear him say. “I consider it a great honor. You know who the first person to ever pass the sacrament was, don’t you?” Then answering his own question, he continued. “It was Jesus Christ when he passed the sacrament of the Last Supper to his Apostles. It is my understanding that our Apostles and prophets today administer and pass the sacrament to one another just as we did today. I guess if they can consider this a privilege, well, so can I.”
David moved on quietly as he reflected upon what he had just heard. The following Sunday, he decided he would sit in plain sight. He would sit where they could find him.

It was Christmas time when this question came to me. What do I personally do to express joy? Something that isn't created by someone else and consumed by me? Handel wrote the Messiah, Jewish elders sound the shofar, my mother sews matching Christmas dresses in taffeta plaid-but what do I create myself that shows the Lord I am feeling the Spirit and using my gifts in His world?
Shortly afterward, a new baby was born into our family. My oldest nephew James was a firefighter in Kalispell, Montana. He and his wife Mary had their first little baby boy. I was a great aunt. I wanted to do something so this little boy would know when he grew up how much he was wanted and celebrated. But what could I do? When I myself was born my great grandmother made a quilt for me. Based on a nine square pattern, it was the quilt I hid under when I was scared, made forts out of in our basement, and dragged out to the couch and tucked around myself when I was sick.
So, I decided to make a quilt for this new great nephew. Only one problem: I was kicked out of sewing classes and had no idea how to sew. I had never made a quilt. I didn't know how to start. I didn't know any of the tricks to make the corners line up or the nine squares fit evenly. I worked on it doggedly for six months. I pored over the squares and actually prayed over the sewing machine bobbin not to tangle while I sewed because I had no way of fixing that. Making this quilt stretched me, but it was something I was creating to show joy and love.

“Just right,” Andi thought as she quickly looked in the mirror. She was wearing her favorite red dress. She always wanted to look her best on Sundays. She ran down to breakfast.
Andi was just finishing her last piece of toast when the Reeders’ car horn honked from the driveway. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!” Andi said, kissing them as she ran out the door.
Even though Mom and Dad were not members of the Church, they encouraged Andi to go to church each week. The Reeder family had given her a ride almost every Sunday since she had been baptized and confirmed. Andi liked how they always made her feel so welcome and loved.
After sacrament meeting it was time for Primary. Andi loved being in Brother and Sister Long’s Valiant class. They were kind, and their lessons were always the best.
“Today we’re going to talk about temples,” Sister Long said. “What are some things we know about temples?”
Andi knew one answer: “We can do temple baptisms.” She was excited about that because every year the young women in her ward made a trip to the temple to do baptisms. Soon Andi could go too!
“Great, Andi. What else do we know?”
“You can be married in the temple,” said Andi’s friend Allison.
“Very good,” said Sister Long. “Anything else?”
“Families can be together forever when they’re sealed in the temple,” Allison added.
“But not my family,” thought Andi. “Mom and Dad haven’t been sealed in the temple!” Suddenly her face felt hot, and her eyes began to sting with tears.
“Are you OK, Andi?” asked Sister Long.
“Yes,” Andi sniffed, trying to hold back the tears. But she could feel her heart pounding all through the rest of the lesson.
When class was over, Sister Long sat by Andi and put an arm around her. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I won’t be with my mom and dad forever,” Andi said. “They haven’t been married in the temple. Who will I belong to after I die? Does Heavenly Father still love me even if my parents aren’t members?”
Sister Long looked directly into Andi’s eyes. “No matter who you are and no matter if your family has been to the temple or not, you are still part of Heavenly Father’s family. You can stay close to Him and be an example to others. He will always love, guide, and protect you, no matter what. He wants to bless you and your family. You are a child of God, Andi.”
Just then Andi’s heart seemed to skip a beat, and the pounding stopped. Now a warm feeling filled her heart instead. She knew what her teacher had said was true.

Several years ago, I felt myself beginning to sink under the weight of opportunity and responsibility. We had two sons still living at home, one son on a mission, and three other children scattered across the United States with their families. My husband was running for a State-wide political office and I was supporting him and traveling with him when I was able. My father was recovering from open heart surgery and my Mother was dying of cancer. I took every opportunity to sit with Mom during her treatments, helping in their home, cooking, cleaning, and spending nights caring for my Mother so Dad could rest. As you can see, responsibilities associated with home and family were many and varied. I was also serving as a Stake Relief Society president. My days were filled with responsibilities and sweet opportunities to serve. One night I arrived home late, the house was quiet, I put in a new CD. The music soothed my troubled heart. One song touched me in a special way. I played it over and over listening to the words. As I listened, three words; "Lord, remember me" filled me with the Spirit and entered into my mind and my heart. I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer. I asked; "Lord, do you remember me?" The Spirit enveloped me and I heard this thought enter my mind; "I remember you, do you remember me?"

I realized at that very moment that, like Peter, I was distracted and had momentarily lost focus on the Savior. Like Martha, I was, "cumbered about much serving, and worried and troubled about many things..."[11] I was reminded; "one thing is needful..."[12] and partaking deeply of that "good part",[13] the Savior and His Atonement, each day is a choice.

“Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Jessica and her cousins sang at their grandmother’s funeral. It was a sad day for Jessica because she would miss Grandma Tolley. She enjoyed the time they had spent together working in the garden, going for walks, and having weekend sleepovers. But it was also a joyous day because Jessica knew that Grandma had longed to be reunited with Grandpa, who had passed away 17 years before.
Later that day, Jessica and her mother drove to the cemetery to visit the grave site. “The roses and carnations look so beautiful,” Mom said.
“They smell terrific.” Jessica sniffed a pink rose.
“I’m sure Grandma was pleased with all the family and friends who came today. She enjoyed helping others and loved all people. The beautiful flowers show they loved her, too,” Mom said.
Jessica thought for a moment. Then she said, “At the funeral, Aunt Diane said that ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was Grandma’s favorite song. Why was a Primary song her favorite?”
Mom smiled. “I’m going to let Grandma answer that question for you.”
“How can Grandma answer my question when she isn’t here anymore?” Jessica asked.
“We’ll stop by her house on the way home, and I’ll show you,” Mom answered.
As Jessica walked into Grandma’s house, it was dark and quiet. Quickly she turned on a light. Everything was still in its usual place. There were pictures of Jessica and her cousins hanging on the walls. A cherished afghan was folded neatly over the back of the couch.
Mom opened a small closet door. After a bit of searching, she pulled out a pile of worn notebooks.
“What are those?” Jessica asked.
“Grandma wrote in these notebooks throughout her life. They were her journals. There is one here that will answer your question.” Mom glanced through a few of the notebooks before she located the one she wanted. She handed it to Jessica. “As you read what Grandma wrote, you’ll find out why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song.”
The next day was Saturday, and Jessica got right to work doing her chores and practicing her piano lessons. She even skipped watching cartoons so she could have more time for Grandma’s journal. Opening to the first page, she began to read.
Jessica was surprised. She had always thought her grandma and grandpa had been married in the temple. For as long as Jessica could remember, Grandma Tolley had done temple work each week with her friends. Temple work had been very important to her, and she had talked about it often.
All afternoon, Jessica continued to read. She was amazed at how hard Grandma had worked each day. She hung the laundry out on the line to dry. She carried buckets of coal down to the basement to burn in the furnace. She sewed clothes, planted and cared for a large garden, made her own bread, spent time with her daughters, and still did things to help other people. Jessica also enjoyed learning about what her mother was like as a little girl.
Jessica was so absorbed in the journal that she didn’t hear her mother come into the room. “Looks like you’ve been doing some reading.”
“Yes, I have,” Jessica said. “I didn’t know that Grandma wasn’t married in the temple. I think it would be hard to know that after this life you would no longer be together as a family.”
“It was hard for Grandma,” Mom said.
“But that doesn’t explain why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song,” Jessica said.
“Keep reading.” Mom smiled as she left the room.
Jessica read until late in the afternoon. As she neared the end of the notebook, she was a little discouraged at not finding the answer she had been looking for. When she was about to stop for the day, Jessica decided to read one more entry.
“Have you discovered the answer?” Mom asked that evening at dinner.
“I think so,” Jessica replied. “Grandma loved her family very much. But because she was not married in the temple, her family wouldn’t always be together. Grandma prayed and worked toward the day they could go to the temple. The song must have reminded her of the day she was sealed to her family.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”
That night as Jessica knelt in prayer, she thanked Heavenly Father for a wonderful grandma. She also promised to live worthily to go to the temple. She wanted the blessing of an eternal family and the opportunity to be with Grandma Tolley again someday.

A mission for us? My husband and I were past retirement age, yet President Spencer W. Kimball seemed to be looking right at us as he explained in a conference session that older couples were needed in the mission field. (“Let Us Move Forward and Upward,” General Conference April 1979.) The decision did not come easy to us, but come it did and we found ourselves being interviewed by our bishop, then by our stake president. Even at this early stage we began to experience blessings and surprises.
We had not advertised our house for rent, but suddenly there was a couple at our door who said they were looking for a large house. In calling a real-estate agent, they had somehow connected with a wrong number and the voice on the wire said that he didn’t deal in rentals but he knew of a couple who were going on a mission and perhaps their house would be available. He gave them our address.
When our call came for the Washington Seattle Mission, we were delighted. Our oldest son had served a mission in that area, and we felt well acquainted with it.
Some months later we were interviewed by our district leader, and he asked in what way our testimonies had grown since being in the mission field. My response was that I was surprised at the strength of the manifestations of the Holy Spirit. I remember so vividly the help, inspiration, and personal revelations I had received in fulfilling my church and vocational callings; but when we sat with investigators and bore witness of the truthfulness of this gospel, there was a power there that is impossible to describe. We saw men who had been engaged in rough work all their lives, and who confessed they had never prayed except with a quick, emergency prayer, get down on their knees and pour out their hearts to a loving Heavenly Father. We saw their lives change.
Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.
We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”
We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.
We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.
We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

Several British men returning from armed service developed health complications and died during the pandemic. George Bradley was baptised a Latter-day Saint at age eight and had been valiant in his Church service throughout his youth, as well as during his military service. While returning from active duty in France, he became ill and passed away on 2 February 1918.12 A well-attended military funeral was held for the twenty-eight-year-old, who had been serving as the president of the Derby branch at the time of his death.13 George had enlisted in the Royal Garrison Artillery (RGA) in 1916 and left his young widow, family, and friends behind. Many people followed his elm casket, covered with the Union Jack, as he was carried by fellow soldiers from the RGA. In addition to his local congregation, friends from the Nottingham branch and other member friends sent flowers to his family as a token of respect and sympathy.14

When I was almost 17, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and felt a desire to serve the Lord on a mission. When my mission call arrived a few years later, I was called to leave Peru and preach the restored gospel in Salt Lake City.
Even as I thought about the great blessing of serving a mission, many things that I was going to need weighed on my mind: documents, passport, visa, clothing, and, of course, money. I was working but wasn’t making enough. I felt desperate! With a month and a half before I was to leave, I found I had only a small part of the necessary funds. All I could do was go to the Lord in prayer.
Because I didn’t make very much money, the tithes I paid each month were meager. But I soon realized that the Lord doesn’t care about the small amount: He cares that we pay the 10 percent He has asked. I felt a conviction and assurance that if I continued to pay tithing, the Lord would provide what I needed.
Everything began to come together. I got two additional jobs and obtained my documents. Many members of my ward, especially the Relief Society sisters, helped with other necessities. And the members of my stake offered their help as well. I left on my mission with what was required.
As a full-time missionary, I taught the law of tithing and its promises (see Malachi 3:10) with gratitude and testimony.

Karl G. Maeser’s conversion to Mormonism is a most interesting story. It is said that he read a book about the Mormons which interested him very much, whereupon he and Edward Schoenfeldt decided to see what more they could learn about the religion. A letter of inquiry written by Brother Maeser eventually reached my grandfather, Franklin D. Richards, who was at that time president of the European Mission with headquarters in Liverpool, England. Grandfather appointed an Elder William Budge, who knew German, to visit Dresden and act as a private instructor to the family of Professor Maeser inasmuch as there was no religious liberty in Saxony at that time. Elder Budge carried out his instructions, and soon the word reached Liverpool that several persons in Dresden were ready for baptism and desired to be organized into a branch. Later, when President Richards and an Elder Kimball set out for the continent, one of their objects was to attend to these matters. Accordingly, on the fourteenth of October, 1855, eight persons were baptized in the River Elbe, one of whom was Karl G. Maeser. On the following Sunday at the Maeser home they were confirmed and organized into a branch. The LDS Biographical Encyclopedia (page 708) relates the incident as follows:
On the night of October the fourteenth, 1855, the three elders (Franklin D. Richards, William Budge, and William H. Kimball), Dr. Maeser, Edward Schoenfeldt, and some others, repaired to the banks of the historic Elbe, in which river Dr. Maeser was baptized by Apostle Richards. It was the first baptism in Saxony in this dispensation. After performing the baptism the party started back toward the home of Dr. Maeser. The only elder who could talk German was William Budge, and the conversation was carried on between Apostle Richards and Dr. Maeser with Elder Budge acting as interpreter. The colloquy had not proceeded far, however, when Apostle Richards told Elder Budge that it was not necessary for him to interpret any more, as he and Brother Maeser could “understand each other perfectly.” Brother Schoenfeldt relates that it was a very dark night, and when he first realized that the two men were conversing together with perfect facility, yet neither understood the native tongue of the other, his feelings were indescribable, for he knew that it was a divine manifestation.
Dr. Maeser in later years testified that when he emerged from the water he prayed that his faith might be confirmed by some manifestation from heaven, and he felt confident that his prayer would be answered.