Gospel Story Finder

First let me share with you what I experienced overseas as I listened to a modest, gentle, manly father wearing the uniform of his country, leading and doing a job of importance while he gave great service to the Kingdom and his fellowmen. He told me of his work among many other officers in the prosecution arm of the United States Army—men who were not like him, who were not living the kind of life he was living. They had not been very much interested in the fact that he was a Mormon leader, or that he had a strong sense of loyalty to his wife and children and to God, or that he had control of his tongue and a way of speaking different from their own. None of that impressed them very much. He and his wife found themselves leaving required social events early quite frequently because the activities of the evening were not wholesome. As such an evening would progress, other guests occasionally became ugly as they imbibed additional spirits, lost their normal restraints, and sometimes acted less like men and women than like animals. He was not one to judge lightly or readily, and he was not expressing harsh judgments against them; he was simply presenting a setting for an incident that I shall not forget.

He said that they went to a Christmas party, more happily this time because the host family was a fine family who had little children of the same general age as their own. The children came in their pajamas by invitation and, joining the host family children, played together in another room while the adults ate their dinner. Periodically the children came out and interrupted proceedings with childish playing or questioning until finally the Mormon father, his sense of humor tried a little bit, said, “Now, look—you kids go on in the other room and stay there and don’t come out again or else.”

They sat at dinner in peace for a time; then the bedroom door opened and a little line of children filed out, the two-year-old in the vanguard. (They were sure daddy would not do too much violence to him.) The older brother had him by the shoulders and was egging him on. As the father, disturbed and feeling that he had to do something because he had said he would, began to push back his chair, the two-year-old said, “Daddy, you and mama forgot family prayer.”

Instead of expressing embarrassment, the mother said, “Honey, we did forget.” She pushed her chair back, he rose from his, and they excused themselves and quietly took their children and the other children into the bedroom where they performed this simple act of family unity and faith. Then they quietly came back to the table, seated themselves, and went on with the dinner.

“It was a different night,” he said to me, “and it’s been a different office. That party didn’t end like all the rest. And at the office things are different now.”

To be and not to seem brings great blessings.

A young lady I met at a Saturday evening dance in Belfast, Northern Ireland, was my first contact with the LDS church. We made a date for the following evening—Sunday—and I attended my first meeting in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because of my religious upbringing, however, and my activities in two Protestant faiths, I was not very responsive to the Latter-day Saints.
Indeed, in a friendly way, I heckled the elders as they held street meetings in the city, and I argued with them about the validity of Joseph Smith as a prophet. Perhaps as a result of my interest in the young lady, I continued to attend LDS church meetings and social activities, but I continued to stubbornly oppose the claim that Joseph Smith had been given divine authority.
And then it happened! One evening at sacrament meeting a young elder who had arrived in the mission field just that morning was asked to bear his testimony. He looked a little unkempt and tired from traveling. He spoke English with a German accent, and as he stood to bear his testimony, I thought he was the most unlikely ambassador the Church could possibly have appointed.
Simply and humbly he told “The Joseph Smith Story,” and as the tears rolled down his cheeks I unashamedly believed him as my tears joined with him. Shortly thereafter I was baptized in Helens Bay in Belfast Lough.

Now, there are obviously some infantile inclinations we don’t encourage. Twenty-five years ago, my then-three-year-old grandson bit his five-year-old sister on the arm. My son-in-law, caring for the children that night, frantically taught his daughter all the lessons on forgiveness he could think of, concluding that her little brother probably didn’t even know what a bite on the arm felt like. That ill-conceived fatherly comment worked for about a minute, maybe a minute and a half, until there was a window-rattling cry from the children’s bedroom, where my granddaughter calmly called out, “He does now.”

During a family home evening, my parents told my sister and me some exciting news. Our family was going to adopt a child. It seemed like it took forever, but finally my parents brought home our little brother. On 16 October 2001, we went to the Ogden Utah Temple so that my brother could be sealed to our family. I would like to tell you about that special day.
Because I had been baptized, I had to meet with the bishop to get a temple recommend. Our bishop was very nice as he asked me questions about keeping the commandments. He asked me if I had a testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. He also asked me if I believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that President Hinckley is the prophet today. He asked me if I paid my tithing and if I went to church. I answered yes to these questions and was given a recommend.
On the day we went to the temple, we dressed in our best church clothes. When I got to the temple, a man asked to see my recommend. I showed it to him and was allowed to enter the temple.
Inside the temple I changed into a white dress. The rest of my family changed into white clothes also. While our friends and other family members gathered in the sealing room, we waited in a room where there were toys and nice people who gave us a snack. Then they brought us to the sealing room. A man holding the priesthood said a special prayer and sealed my brother to our family for time and all eternity. He then pointed to the mirrors that face each other in the sealing room. He held us children up so that we could see into them. The mirrors reflect into each other, and the reflections never end. This reminds us of eternity and that our family can be together forever. Finally, everyone left the sealing room except for our family. We stayed and talked about the day when we children will go to the temple to be married.
I felt the Holy Ghost in the temple. I know that the temple is Heavenly Father’s house, and that He wants all of us to live worthily to go there so we can receive all of the blessings He has prepared for us.
Sara Carver, age 8Ogden, Utah

About a month ago Janet and I visited in Santa Monica, California, with one of the most remarkable people we have ever met. Bill Hobson is not a member of the LDS Church but is very impressed by the Church and also by our university. He is in his eighties, and some time ago suffered a stroke that affected his speech so severely that his doctors said he would never be able to speak again. In fact, he can speak, and after visiting with him I think I know why. At one point he told us how highly he thought of our “college.” He then added that he knew there was another word, more correct than college as applied to our school, but the other word was one he could not say.
When Janet responded, “Is the word university?” his entire countenance became radiant.
“Yes, that’s it. I can’t say the word, but that’s it.” Our newly found friend, Bill Hobson, is the perfect example of this first corollary to Janet’s general principle about learning from our mistakes. He is able to communicate so effectively now in spite of his stroke because he has a willingness and desire to do so.

It wasn’t easy for Shawna Burnham to get out of bed at 4:30 A.M. to go to a service activity, but she’s willing to admit it was worth it.
“By the end [of the activity], everyone was smiling,” says Shawna.
This unusual activity that coaxed smiles from dozens of sleep-deprived teenagers was a day at the Special Olympics in Los Angeles, California. Shawna and the other young men and young women in the Yorba Linda Second Ward, Placentia California Stake, spent the day helping with meals for the athletes and coaches at the event.
The activity was not only fun for the volunteers, but it also provided a different perspective on athletics and competition.
“Those athletes did the best they could with what they had. That’s something we should all be doing,” says one youth.

Finding and following Jesus Christ sometimes takes us through difficult waters. Tamton’s journey to Christ has been like that. “I was serving as a deacon in the Protestant church when the missionaries first came to Abaiang from Tarawa,” he says. “Their coming was strongly opposed, and they had difficulty getting land on which to build a bata [traditional grass house]. I felt sorry for them and invited them to stay with me. They taught me the gospel, and I felt what they were teaching was true. So I was baptized.”
That was in 1984. Tamton and Taake were among the first on Abaiang to join the Church. Amid suspicion and persecution, they immediately began helping the missionaries find others to teach.
Tamton and Taake feel they have been richly blessed by the Lord. Several years ago, Tamton wanted to build a large fish trap to support his family. But to build one, he needed to take thousands of rocks out into the ocean. The task seemed impossible. He had only a small canoe and just his sons to help.
“I prayed hard about the problem,” he says. “The next day I saw a float [a tangle of debris] beached on my land. In the float were some large pieces of styrofoam. With them, I built a raft, and with the raft, my sons and I built our fish trap. In fact, we built two.” The traps have been valuable family assets. When the traps catch more fish than the family can use, they sell the extra.
As their faith in Jesus Christ sustains Tamton and his family in times of need, it also comforts them in times of sorrow. Several years ago one of their sons died while fishing for octopus. He was only 22, but he suffered a heart attack alone out in the ocean.
Tamton’s eyes get moist as he speaks of his son. “The news broke our hearts,” he says. But then his eyes brighten. “We want him sealed to us.” When Tune was their district president, he taught Tamton and Taake about the priesthood and its power to seal families together forever in the temple. They are eager to go.
But with few resources, they have yet to see a temple let alone visit one. Still, Tamton and Taake are trying to find a way. Tune says that if they die before they go to the temple, he will make sure their work is done for them. He encourages them to fill out the necessary family records. Perhaps their children will be able to do the temple work they cannot.
With the meal and the singing and the stories over, Tune and Moretekai take their leave of Tamton and Taake. They have others on the island to visit.
The Saints in Kiribati have great respect for the priesthood, and wherever Tune goes on Abaiang, he is received with gladness. It soon becomes apparent it wasn’t whim that brought him to Abaiang. He was drawn to the island by prayer—reeled in like one of his tuna. He thought he was just visiting, perhaps finding an excuse to go fishing. But the real reason he came was to give Aritaake Moutu a priesthood blessing.
“Ever since I joined the Church, I’ve depended on priesthood blessings,” Sister Moutu says. “I had a problem with one of my legs before I joined the Church. Now whenever it gives me trouble, I ask for a blessing, and I’m always healed. This morning I was praying for someone to come and give me a blessing because my husband is not on the island to give me one.” She smiles at Tune. “That’s why you came.”
“It’s always like that,” Tune says. “She lives on this isolated island in the middle of nowhere. She and her family have their challenges. There are few jobs; most people live off what they can grow and get from the sea. There are no doctors or nurses on Abaiang. The Saints here depend a lot on the Lord. And the Lord takes care of them.”
“Yes, we have our challenges,” Sister Moutu says, “even after joining the Church. But we don’t notice them as much now.”
When the missionaries first contacted her family, Aritaake would run away—or chase the missionaries away. “Our minister told us there would be false prophets, and we thought that was them,” she remembers. “But one time an elder by the name of Jones came to visit us. When I turned him away, he stood outside the house and prayed for us. While he was praying, I felt something in my heart change. I asked the missionaries to forgive me and teach my family.
“One thing the elders did changed me completely. They asked me to pray. When I said my prayer, I became a different person. I started liking the Church, and it was no problem believing the Church’s teachings.”
What impressed her most in all the missionaries taught? “The Spirit they brought. And the teachings about the family—how we can be happy as a family and remain together forever.”
It is time to return to Tarawa. Tune knows he needs to get back before the tide pulls too much water out of Tarawa’s lagoon, leaving parts of it too shallow for his outboard motor. But before he and Moretekai leave, Tune gives Aritaake the priesthood blessing she prayed for.

It was my privilege just over a month ago to dedicate the Gilbert Arizona Temple, a magnificent structure. The evening before the dedication, a cultural event was held at the nearby Discovery Park. Twelve thousand young people performed a 90-minute program. The dancing, the singing, and the musical performances were outstanding.
This area had been experiencing an especially dry season, and I believe many prayers had been sent heavenward over the preceding several weeks for much-needed rain. Unfortunately, it came just before the performance and stayed for the entire production! Despite the fact that the youth were soaked through with the rain and chilled from the cool temperature, we all felt the Spirit of the Lord. The theme of the program, “Live True to the Faith”—think about that: “Live True to the Faith”—was portrayed magnificently by smiling and enthusiastic young men and young women. Despite the cold and the rain, this was a faith-filled and inspiring experience these young people will ever treasure and will be relating to their children and grandchildren in the years to come.

After graduation Franklin received an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. He wondered if he accepted the appointment if he would ever serve a full-time mission. It was a difficult decision to make. Elder Richards said, “I think unknowingly I was following the advice of the Lord to Oliver Cowdery:
“‘Behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right’ [D&C 9:8].
“In effect, I was doing that, I thought about a mission and about my grandfather, and I wondered, Do I want to go to Annapolis and tie myself up or don’t I? So I studied it out, talked to several people, and reached the decision that I would prefer to go on a mission. I made it a matter of prayer, expressing my feelings to the Lord, and the Holy Ghost bore witness to me that my decision was right.”

In 2017, my goal for visiting Wales was to discover Margaret Rowland, the sister of Job Rowland, my great-great grandfather who immigrated to the United States in 1849. I had records that indicated that her husband, Morgan Thomas, had been buried in Pant Cemetery in Merthyr Tydfil, but nothing about her, and I was determined to suss out her information.
In March of 2017, my friend Sandra, my two brothers and their wives and I set out on a journey that would take us across the south of England, through Scotland and straight into our family’s history in Wales.
The day we arrived in Merthyr Tydfil, we went to the local history centre and spent a couple of confusing hours trying to decide how to begin our search. At a loss, we decided to pick up a few pamphlets and go to the Pant Cemetery where we were sure we could find the grave of Morgan Thomas, Margaret Rowland’s husband, or at least find someone who could guide us to the grave.
When we arrived, we were stunned, having been used to our western American cemeteries of limited size. Pant was huge! Hill upon hill of ancient gravestones in every conceivable state of disrepair. We all stood in disbelief as we stared at the task before us. We ultimately decided just to walk around a bit as we prayed to be guided in the right direction. After about 30 minutes of wandering, we met and determined that this would be a hopeless endeavor and somewhat discouraged, we left for dinner.
The next morning, we went to the Engine House (a genealogical repository and information center) in Merthyr to begin our research. It is there where the miracles began as we entered the Engine House and met miracle number one, Terry Jones.
My brothers Richard and Joe, Joe’s wife, Eileen, and I were downstairs learning about the history of the iron industry in the town when Richard’s wife, Sharon, and my friend Sandy went upstairs to wander and look for restrooms. There, they encountered a gentleman working on a computer and began a conversation with him about our quest. When they mentioned trying to find one grave amongst the 10,000 in Pant Cemetery he realized that we really did need some help. He introduced himself as Terry Jones and arranged for us to meet him at the cemetery office across the street where he introduced us to Deb, the keeper of records. Here we not only found Margaret’s grave site number, but others who were related and resided next to her. We were able to arrange with Deb’s husband, the caretaker of the cemetery, to meet later that day to see the graves.
Miracle number two occurred when we returned to the cemetery and realized that all six of us had previously stood very near the actual site of the graves at some point as we wandered the cemetery. The reason we didn’t see the graves was they were covered entirely by a huge tree that had completely swallowed them. We had previously photographed the tree because it was so immense and imposing, but for no other reason.
We returned later to cut away some of the lower branches so that Sharon could crawl inside and read the writing on the headstones, and we discovered that we had many more relatives buried in this plot than we realized.
Miracle number three came with a visit to the Colly Isaf farm upon which Margaret and Morgan Thomas farmed. It is no longer in the Thomas family, but the current owners allowed us to visit and to photograph the place where our family lived. We discovered the name of the farm listed on the back of a photograph found in material one of our aunts had given us.
Miracle number four occurred throughout the following year as Terry continued to do research for our family and discovered many more links in the family chain, but culminated with a discovery of John Thomas, a direct descendant of Margaret Rowland and Morgan Thomas.
John currently lives on Penrhiw farm which has been in the family since 1724 and he and his wife, Celia, were willing to meet with us. He sent us a lineage chart of all the siblings of Job who remained in Wales, adding much needed information to connect our family to those who had died. This discovery came about through another miracle, number five, that of Terry meeting Father Powell at St. Catwg’s Episcopal Church. While looking for Edward Rowland and Ann Miles, he mentioned John as a possible Thomas still living on the farm.
Miracle number six, cheap tickets to Wales even though it was at the time of the royal wedding. The window for these tickets was short, and directly after we booked them the price doubled.
Miracle number seven again involved Terry Jones who had looked for one year for the marriage of Edward Rowland and Ann Miles (Job and Margaret’s grandparents). Three weeks before we returned to Merthyr in 2018, he found it.
When we arrived in Merthyr, the scene had already been set by those who had been directing our lives for the past year. It felt as though we were in a giant genealogical chess game over which we had no control. Terry was beginning to feel the same forces in action as well. Every morning he would present us with a list of places we would visit that day. One day he showed us his list, which had two sides. He said that he created one list the night before and then this morning, for some unknown reason, he changed it and added a new place: Gadfield Elm Chapel in Gloucestershire. He said he didn’t know why he added it but thought it would be interesting for us to see. Of course, we acquiesced.
Miracle number eight: As we got to Gadfield Elm we discovered the reason. The first ownership of the chapel was given to Wilford Woodruff by the United Brethren, but it rested on or near brother Benbow’s farm. Many of the early members were baptized in Benbow’s pond. And Benbow was the maiden name of Terry’s wife. Terry was stunned. He kept saying he had no idea why he had changed the itinerary for the day, but we all knew why.
The next day we visited St. Catwg’s church and we were met by Father Powell and his lay reader Carolynn Corbin, who showed us around this very impressive 2,000-year-old building. While chatting, my brother Richard discovered miracle number nine that Carolynn was a Parry and quite likely a very close cousin of ours. We exchanged emails and discovered that we did indeed have a common ancestor. This led to a wonderful afternoon tea and the uniting of another branch of Welsh and American lines. After just a few minutes with this family we knew we had met before.
Miracle number ten: We discovered that we were not in charge in other ways as we went to Terry’s home for juice and to collect a book of remembrance that he had found when cleaning out the Engine House. He had asked Richard and Sharon to take the book of remembrance back to Logan where they live to find its owner. He showed Sharon this photo of a family reunion taken in 2004 (he had been doing research for the person who sent it to him), and she recognized someone. She immediately texted that person, and as a result, the connection was made between the photo and the owner of the book of remembrance.
There were more miracles during our visit that involved finding graves that were hidden in cemeteries, discovering writing on tombstones that were covered in lichen and moss, and potentially uncovering ancestors of whom we had no knowledge. If you ever doubt that the veil is thin or that there are others across that veil who wish their work done, let these experiences prove to you that you can be an instrument in their hands. If you allow yourself to be open to the impressions, the promptings, or urgings, as a member of this Church or not, the work of Elijah can be accomplished. Please always live so that you can be a vehicle in the work of redeeming your dead; so that when you meet them, they will encircle you with their joy and gratitude.

When I was a stake president, there was a young man by the name of Jim Sirrine in our stake. As I recall, Jim was not particularly talented, not particularly athletic or gifted, but, like the rest of us, a normal garden-variety member of the Church. One evening, his ward youth decided to do a food drive for the homeless. They met at the Church, had a prayer, and then sent each youth, with a little wagon, out to collect cans of food from those who lived within the ward boundaries. They were to return in 45 minutes and the one with the most cans of food in their wagon would win a prize. They all left for their stations and returned at the appointed time. Jim returned a few minutes late but with an empty wagon. The other youth chided him, and asked him if he has gone to get a drink at the local 7-Eleven. Jim just laughed and went over and quietly sat down. The attention of the youth soon turned to the many cans of food, and seeing who was the winner with the most cans collected.

As they counted the cans, a member of the bishopric, Brother Whitehead, went over and sat down next to Jim. He quietly said, "Jim, I have a feeling that something happened out there tonight that you didn't tell us about." Jim explained that he was about ready to return with his wagon full of cans, when he decided to go to one more home. He rang the bell and a lady came to the door. He explained to her what they were doing and asked if she would be willing to contribute. She said it was a wonderful project, and said she would be right back. In a moment, she returned with two cans of food. Jim thanked her, put the cans in his wagon, bade goodbye and began down the walk.

Jim then said, "As I got half-way to the street, I had the strangest feeling, and I turned around and returned to the door. Again I rang the bell. When she answered, I said, 'Ma'am, I don't know you and you don't know me, but as I was leaving here, I had the strangest feeling that you need this food more than where I am taking it. And so I have decided to leave it here with you.'" As he said that, she burst into tears and just sobbed. Well, what does a teenage boy do when a grown woman begins to cry? What does a grown man do when a grown woman starts to cry? So he just began to unload the cans on her porch and left. As he finished the story, Jim said, "Brother Whitehead, I may never know why she needed that food so badly, but I know that it was the right thing to do."

As I heard that story, I thought, what a wonderful thing that Jim was prepared to hear the voice of the Holy Ghost speak to his soul as it invited to spontaneously serve. Jim knew who he was, and because he did, he was a pure vessel in the hands of the Lord to bless the lives of that woman and her family.

Joan smiled and flashed her crossed fingers at Bob and Drew as she entered class. The three had completed a special class on how to take tests just in time for midterm exams. It came as no surprise when Mr. Smith, their history teacher, announced the midterm. Joan turned to section one of her notes from the test class: “What You Should Know about a Test.” Her hand flew into the air.
“Mr. Smith, what kind of test will it be?” she asked. “I mean, like true-false or multiple choice.”
“Multiple choice,” he replied.
“How many questions will there be?” Joan pressed.
“Fifty even,” responded the teacher.
Joan followed her outline. “What will the test cover—what chapters in the book? And will it cover our class notes, too?”
“The test will cover chapters one through five in the text and a handful of questions on your notes,” he replied.
“Can you be more specific about the class-note questions?” Joan persisted.
“There will be about ten questions from your notes, and they will cover the same period as your chapter on the revolutionary war through the civil war. Any more questions?” Mr. Smith asked with a smile.
“Yes,” Joan broke in. “Will we have the whole class period for the test?”
“No, we’ll take a little break for roll call,” Mr. Smith quipped.
Everyone laughed, but Joan continued, “You didn’t tell us when the test will be.”
“Right,” answered Mr. Smith. “You haven’t given me a chance! The test will be on Monday, one week from today.”
Bob groaned out loud. That was the same day as his English midterm. Drew Stevens tapped Joan on the shoulder. “Way to go,” he whispered. “Mr. Smith has never been pinned down like that before!”
As they left class that day, Bob complained to Drew, “The teachers must sit in the faculty room during lunch and plan their schedules so tests all fall on the same day!”
“I know,” responded Jim. “I’ve got a math midterm that day, too.”
That night Bob went to work. He flipped through his test class notes to section two: “How to Prepare for a Test.” Mr. Smith had announced 40 questions from the textbook covering five chapters. That would average eight questions per chapter. If he made up his own test with questions from each chapter, his chances would be good of selecting some of the same test questions chosen by Mr. Smith. He had seven days to prepare for the test. If he made up a chapter test each night on his class notes, he would have one day left for general review.
Next Bob planned for his English exam. They had studied 12 authors, but there were only three essay questions on the famous authors. If he reviewed two authors a night, he’d still have Sunday without any studying. A light review before the exam and he would be ready. Bob hoped the plan would work. He always tightened during tests and forgot almost everything.
Bob set aside the English and returned to the history. He skimmed through chapter one. To be sure he had the main ideas, he wrote down the major headings in bold black print. Then he went back and read the material in detail, carefully noting and underlining names, places, and dates. It took him 45 minutes to finish. After a 15-minute break, he started a crucial step: sorting and coding his notes. He coded the material #1 if he was sure it would be on the test, #2 if he felt it could be on the test, and #3 if it might be on the test. He wrote out each question and the answer, and then recorded the questions and answers on his tape recorder. Using an earphone, he would be able to listen to his sample questions many times while riding to school on the bus and even during study period in the library.
Joan began studying her notes first. She had carefully followed the instructions given in the test class: “Teachers will tell you what will be on a test in four ways: (1) they will come right out and tell you, ‘You had better know this; it’s important that you understand this; etc.’; (2) they will write key points on the board; (3) they will repeat a key point several times; (4) they will spend a great deal of time talking about a specific point.” The instructions in the test class were: “Be test-wise when you take notes; put an asterisk by any material that meets the four rules.” Joan also made up a test by using the material in her notes marked with an asterisk.
Drew’s job was not as easy. Besides the history test, he had a midterm in math. Unfortunately he ignored his notes and began working the exercises at the end of the chapter. In ten minutes he was so frustrated that he couldn’t think. In desperation he turned to an example worked in the book and tried to follow it. It didn’t make sense either. He sat back in his chair and flipped to the section in his test notes on math and science tests. A sentence in bold type jumped off the page at him: “If you do not understand a principle or cannot work a problem—stop! Ask your teacher for help immediately!” Drew decided that was the best course of action. He put his math away and started to review for the history test.
The next day Drew went to Mr. Cragun and asked for special help. Mr. Cragun arranged to meet with him after school. It took less than 15 minutes for Drew to discover the small but crucial step he had overlooked the night before. He read the study outline from the test notes and followed the five steps: (1) Work the example in the book. (2) Substitute your own numbers in the example and work it again. (3) Work it backwards to check your answer. (4) Work the problems at the end of the chapter. (5) Get extra help on any you cannot work.
Drew had always tried to cram hard the day before a test, but this time he confidently went to bed early. The math test had ten problems. Drew remembered the strategy—work all problems you know you can work first; then work those you think you know. Finally, take a short break by stretching and thinking of something pleasant for a minute, and then go back and try the ones that have given you trouble.
Drew followed the plan. He worked problems 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8 and 9. He went back and struggled through problems 7 and 10. He was working on the final problem when the bell rang.
Meanwhile, for the English test Bob had made some calculations on which three authors Miss Elgart would ask about. She seemed to have four favorites. Bob talked to some of the students who had taken English from her the year before. He found out that she didn’t ask trivial or tricky questions. He studied all twelve authors but put extra work in on her four favorites.
Bob smiled broadly to himself as he looked at the test. He was two-thirds right. Two of the three questions asked about the authors he had singled out. “Not bad!” he said to himself.
Bob prepared to make an outline of each author. There were 45 minutes left in the class period when they received the test. It consisted of three questions, allowing 15 minutes per question. The first question was, “What were the main influences on Hemingway’s writing style?” Bob rewrote the question at the top of his outline: “What happened in Hemingway’s life to make him write the way he did?” The following is his outline using the facts he knew about Hemingway:
Born in a small town in Minnesota.
Father educated as a doctor.
Reporter for newspaper.
Short, brief newspaper style.
Factual.
Service with Italian army.
Saw death and destruction.
Was hurt himself.
Spanish Civil War.
Politics.
More destruction.
Personal Reactions.
Sadness over human misery.
Anger at human folly.
Greatest war story: “A Farewell to Arms.”
Later in the history exam Bob felt himself getting uptight as the teacher passed the exams out. He thought about the 185 game he had bowled the night before, and he took several slow, deep breaths, forcing out his stomach. Soon he felt relaxed. His confidence grew as he read the first three questions. They looked exactly like questions from the test he made up. He attacked the test with cool vigor.
In her history test Joan completed only the questions she knew. She circled the number of the others. Her sample test had been a good one; she knew 36 of the 50 answers. She went back to the 14 questions she was not sure of, eliminated those choices she knew were wrong, and then used her first impressions about the right answer. She completed ten more questions. Then she studied the answers in the four remaining questions. She crossed out two choices on one question because they had the words always and never in the sentences. She finally circled the alternative that had the word usually in it. The three remaining questions were dates. Question 17 was, “What was the date of the Battle of Bull Run?” Joan tried to remember the events. Bull Run was an early victory for the South. “Probably in the first year of the war,” she thought. She remembered the war began in 1861. She looked down the choices and circled choice C—1862. The other choices on the last two questions drew a complete blank, so she circled C for both of them—remembering instructions in the test class to that effect.
By Friday the test results were back. Drew got a 91 on the math test. He missed half of one problem, but had even been given part credit for his work on the one he hadn’t finished. Ninety-one was third best in the class and better than Drew had ever done. Joan’s history score was the highest in the class. Bob was walking on air when he got his English exam back. He had never done better than a C+ on an English test. The A- he received was better than he had dared hope. He had come from his usual C- to a B+ in history. But Drew felt prouder than both. Bob and Joan. He had gone from his usual D+ to a solid B on his history test.

So is his sense of humor. There is usually a smile on Si’s face, and he loves a good practical joke. When his mother went to the hospital recently for her daily visit, she was in for a shock. Two orderlies were sitting grim faced near Si’s room, and his door was closed. She opened the door and went in.
Si’s room was darkened, and he was covered with a white sheet. Anita’s heart faltered. She walked over and pulled back the sheet. Si was laughing! Then the orderlies came in, and they were laughing too.
Si had struck again! No one is safe from his jokes, and no one would want to be, because they are as full of fun and laughter as he is himself.

The new learning resources for youth have one central goal: to help youth become converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I recently saw a young man in a youth Sunday School class discover truth for himself. When I noticed that he was having difficulty relating the Atonement to his own life, I asked him if he had ever felt forgiveness. He responded: “Yeah, like that time I broke a guy’s nose when we were playing soccer. I felt bad about it. I wondered what I needed to do to feel better. So I went to his home and asked him to forgive me, but I knew I needed to do more, so I prayed, and then I felt that Heavenly Father forgave me too. This is what the Atonement means to me.”
When he shared this experience in class that day, he read from John 3:16—“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son”—and then testified of the power of the Atonement. This doctrine was no longer an abstract concept to this young man. It became part of his life because he asked his own question and then exercised his agency to act.
This young man was becoming more converted, and so were his classmates. They focused on a key doctrine by studying the scriptures. They related those sacred words to their own life and then testified of the blessings that had come to them as a result of living the doctrine. When we teach the gospel of Jesus Christ, we focus on the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We draw upon sacred text to help strengthen faith, build testimonies, and help everyone become fully converted. The new learning resources for youth will help all who use them to understand and live the word of God.

“I guess I thought that the Good Fairy would wash the milk pail,” Paul grumbled sleepily to himself the next morning when he found the unwashed bucket where he had left it in the sink. He scrubbed the bucket and strainer until they were as clean and shiny as Grandma had left them, then headed out to milk the cow. He breathed deeply the fragrant early morning air as he walked and thought how very different Sunday was here than at home. A cow that had to be milked and livestock requiring feed and water every day made some changes in even the most carefully planned “day of rest.”
Paul milked with hands still sore from the night before, but at least Clarabelle cooperated a little better. She stepped around some, but she didn’t step on him or kick the bucket. “Someone should invent a cow that you don’t have to milk on weekends,” Paul told her as he turned her loose into the horse pasture.
“Since the calves are a pretty good size now,” Grandpa had explained, “they get the morning milk, and we get the night milk.” So Paul fed the cats meowing around his feet, then divided the remaining milk between the two red calves. With an eye on his watch, he hayed them and grained the pigs and made sure that all the animals still had water.
The horses came when he whistled. Ginger was limping, and one knee was swollen, but she really didn’t look too bad, considering how she had looked just a few hours before.
He detoured to open the chicken coop door on the way to the house. This time he washed the milk pail right away and set it in the dish drainer.
Since he had neglected his bath the night before, he took one now, then dressed in his good clothes. He had time for a leisurely breakfast and was on his second bowl of cold cereal when Grandma called.
After she told him that Grandpa had reacted badly to the anesthetic the doctors used when they set his leg, Paul decided not to tell her about the horse just yet. She asked him to bring her a change of clothes and her scriptures after church and told him where to look. He couldn’t find the blouse that she had described, so he picked one that he liked and put all the items into a paper sack.
He was sitting on the front porch in the sunshine, the sack beside him and his scriptures in his hand, when Brother Ross arrived. This, he thought, is hardly how I expected my first Sunday in Wyoming to be.
There were a few faces that he recognized from visits other summers, but mostly he was surrounded by strangers as he entered the chapel. He was welcomed warmly, however, and it felt good to be where he knew he should be.
He watched with interest as the deacons passed the sacrament. This was the first time all year that it wasn’t his responsibility, and, fleetingly, he felt a little left out. A number of people stopped him in the hall between meetings and afterward to ask about his grandfather.
He and Brother Ross stopped at the hospital after church, and Paul gave the sack to Grandma. She looked inside briefly, nodded, and thanked him. Paul thought that she looked as tired as he felt—if that were possible.
Grandpa, pale and groggy, lay with his stiff, cast-covered leg propped up on a pillow. He squeezed Paul’s hand, smiled at him, but had little to say.
As they walked down the hall later, Grandma explained, “The doctor says that when he gets over the problem from the anesthetic, he should recover quickly. We think he’ll be home in a few days.” She hesitated, then said almost pleadingly, “If you’re going to be all right, I’ll stay here until his mind is clear enough for him to fight his own battles.”
“Everything’s under control,” Paul assured her. “He needs you worse than I do—at least until the roast runs out,” he added with a grin.
Grandma chuckled and gave him a hug.
“My family’s gone and I’m a lousy cook, or I’d invite you to dinner,” Brother Ross explained as he took Paul home.
“That’s OK. Why don’t you come have a roast beef sandwich with me? There’s a big roast in the refrigerator, and I was too tired last night to make much of a dent in it.”
After Brother Ross left, Paul carefully put away his good clothes and flopped across his bed. Despite the bright sunlight in the room, he slept until nearly chore time.

In speaking of exemplary women, I am reminded of three remarkable young sister missionaries with whom we had the privilege of serving in Kentucky and who have since passed away. All three had the Spirit in their lives in rich abundance. All three were worthy and ready when “called home” at such an early age. They provide powerful examples of being “justified” before the Father and receiving His support, which simply means the Holy Ghost is active in our lives so our ordinances and covenants are in full force. Thus the Savior can justify our lives and efforts as our advocate with the Father – and his grace is sufficient for us to receive eternal life.

Sister Shellise Sharp was killed near Boise when her vehicle was hit broadside by a speeding car. She was a great missionary who helped teach a woman in our home who Sister Cannon contacted at the Kroger bakery. They had a sweet experience working with this woman who ended up joining the Church.

I mentioned how Heavenly Father is in charge and knows the end from the beginning. Sister Sharp was with us when we spoke in sacrament meeting upon returning home in July 2002. She literally glowed with a radiance that was somewhat surreal and unearthly, which Shauna and I discussed on our drive home. Eight days later, we understood why. Though we, her family and friends mourned – and still mourn – her passing when we gathered for her funeral, the Spirit bore witness concerning how prepared she was to move on.

We didn’t have the privilege of having Sister Josie Johnson in our mission for long. She was assigned temporarily to Kentucky while awaiting her visa to serve overseas. But she was one who, when arriving at the mission home with her companion, instantly made a profoundly positive impact. My wife and I just looked at each other and thought, “Wow. What strings can we pull at Church headquarters to have her assigned to us permanently?” Of course, that wasn’t the plan, and a few weeks later she was off to Belgium. She left a huge imprint for good on her area in Kentucky and upon her associates. We were heartbroken to learn she was hit and killed while bicycling in one of the canyons above Salt Lake City a few months ago.

Sister Alexandria Wagley was another incredible missionary who inexplicably was diagnosed with lung cancer shortly after her return home. Her cancer was one of those seemingly random bad things that happen to great people. No habits in her life could have predicted it. Sister Wagley endured chemotherapy, radiation, several hospitalizations and finally succumbed on September 28 of this year.

In the words of her parents: “We will always miss Alexandria. She was an amazing person. We’re amazed that Heavenly Father entrusted her to our care for 29 years. What an undeserved blessing that was! How we loved her! Throughout this whole ordeal she never complained, nor did she whine, ‘Why me?’ In fact, she was so uncomplaining that we had no idea how near to death she was. We know that the spirit world is a happier place with our sunshine girl there.”

I know it is, too, and reiterate in these three circumstances – and in so many others – that “to believe in God is to know all the rules will be fair, and there will be wonderful surprises.” There is hope. There is a life – everlasting life and, if faithful like these three, eternal life – beyond this veil of tears thanks to what Jesus has done for all of us.

—“My dad runs a welding shop,” said Blaine Hill, 19, who hails from Burley, Idaho. “He was always building swing sets and monkey bars for the family, doing repairs and making things for people. I grew up with welding.”
But he had no idea that it was the sort of thing he could get a degree in.
“I imagined that when you went to college you’d have to major in something big, like being a doctor or a lawyer or something to make money. I thought welding was something you did in your spare time.”
Then in high school, he heard about a welding contest sponsored by Ricks. He entered it, and it changed his life.
“I won a scholarship, so I came here just to get a feel of what it would be like.”
Not only did he discover that “welding is what I’d like to do for the rest of my life,” he also found out that it’s a topic of study and research at a number of major universities.
Blaine is currently serving in the Oregon Portland Mission. When he returns, he’ll “probably go on to Arizona State University for a master’s degree in welding engineering and technology.” That program, like the associate degree program at Ricks, has a job placement approaching 100 percent.

From our youth, many of us may remember the story of a very young boy who was abducted from his parents and his home and taken to a village situated far away. Under these conditions, the small boy grew to young manhood without a knowledge of his actual parents or earthly home.
But where was home to be found? Where were his mother and father to be discovered? Oh, if only he could remember even their names, his task would be less hopeless. Desperately he sought to recall even a glimpse of his childhood.
Like a flash of inspiration, he remembered the sound of a bell which from the tower atop the village church pealed its welcome each Sabbath morning. From village to village the young man wandered, ever listening for that familiar bell to chime. Some bells were similar, others far different from the sound he remembered.
At length the weary young man stood one Sunday morning before a church of a typical town. He listened carefully as the bell began to peal. The sound was familiar. It was unlike any other he had heard, save that bell which pealed in the memory of his childhood days. Yes, it was the same bell. Its ring was true. His eyes filled with tears. His heart rejoiced in gladness. His soul overflowed with gratitude. The young man dropped to his knees, looked upward beyond the bell tower—even toward heaven—and in a prayer of gratitude whispered, “Thanks be to God. I’m home.”

The first thing Zayne Callahan can remember is living in the basement of an orphanage in China. He had been there since he was a baby. Zayne later learned that he was kept in the basement so people who came to the orphanage to adopt children wouldn’t see him.

“I was considered an embarrassment because I was born with spina bifida,” Zayne says. Spina bifida is a birth defect that made his legs weak and prevented him from walking normally. “I wasn’t able to go to school or hardly even learn the Chinese language because the people at the orphanage didn’t think it was important to teach a child with a disability.”

Zayne was seven years old when John and Wendy Callahan—his future parents—first saw him on a videotape of Chinese children waiting to be adopted. When the photographer passed the camera over Zayne briefly, he smiled and waved. That action won the hearts of his future parents who recognized his brave, strong, intelligent spirit.

That was five years ago. Now, Zayne is a deacon in the Lolo Ward of the Stevensville Montana Stake. When he turned 12, he wanted to fulfill his priesthood responsibilities by passing the sacrament. That was a big challenge for a boy who must use crutches to walk.

Originally, Zayne tried to pass the sacrament while balancing on his crutches. When that didn’t work, he decided to use his wheelchair instead. Now Zayne passes the sacrament by placing the trays on his lap and wheeling down the aisles.

Zayne works hard to fulfill his other priesthood duties too. An older member in his ward says she was impressed when the young men went to her home to pick up rocks as a service project. She found Zayne sitting on the ground putting rocks into a wheelbarrow. He had laid his crutches down because they were in the way, but his disability didn’t stop him from serving just like the other boys.

According to his father, Zayne doesn’t waste time feeling sorry for himself. If he wants to do something, he figures out a way to do it. He played a lead part in the school production of Red Riding Hood. He was the head wolf and led a pack of wolves onstage, his crutches keeping time to the music. He is also an accomplished violinist and pianist. While playing his violin, he has to sit on a high stool rather than stand like most violinists, but that doesn’t distract from the beauty of his music.

No matter where Zayne goes or what he does, people notice his good example. One classmate summed it up by saying, “He’s that boy with the big smile.”

In the early days of the Brigham Young Academy, the building that housed the school burnt to the ground. Many thought the fire signaled the end of the Academy. Reed Smoot lamented to Karl G. Maeser that the school had been destroyed. But Brother Maeser knew better.

On Sunday, January 27, 1884, flames erupted from the second floor of the building. The cause of the fire was never determined, but it didn’t matter. Provo had no fire department and the Academy had no insurance. Townspeople rushed to form a bucket brigade, but their efforts were futile. They removed what books and furniture they could, then they just stood and watched the building burn. Reed Smoot, one of the school’s first 29 students, was among them. He would later become a U.S. senator and an apostle of the Lord. He approached Karl Maeser grief-stricken that the Academy had burned down. But Karl set his jaw. “No! Fire has destroyed the house, but the Academy lives on.”

Even so, it took a prophetic dream regarding BYU’s future to persuade Brother Maeser to stay here during those difficult days and years that ­followed the fire.

Nevertheless, despite Karl’s determination, the next eight years were dark indeed. The school ­occupied several temporary buildings, including the Smoot Drugstore, and finally settled into a warehouse leased from ZCMI. But facilities were makeshift and supplies depleted. Karl struggled to pay the rent. At first the faculty were fiercely loyal, but then their families began going hungry. There was talk of closing the school. Even Karl himself wrote of giving up the cause: “I am worn out and sick in spirit, . . . and with all my love for this Academy, I feel that I owe it to my very life, which is needlessly wearing itself out here in an apparently hopeless task, to accept any change that will promise me opportunities for permanent usefulness.”

[With] that he told his wife and his daughter that [because there seemed to be no real support or future for a school here,] he was going to accept a position at the University of Deseret, where he could get a regular salary and [at least] adequately provide for his family. Accordingly his wife and daughter got things packed—and then sat on their trunks for [several] days, until his daughter finally mustered enough courage to ask her father when they were moving. His response . . . was, “I have changed my mind. I have had a dream—I have seen Temple Hill filled with buildings—great temples of learning, and I have decided to remain and do my part.”