Gospel Story Finder

Polly and Ruth were blessed by their contributions. Their mutual generosity created a strong bond that lasted their whole lives. When Polly was 77 years old, she was still living in Boston, but she wanted to gather with the Saints in Utah Territory. So Ruth traveled to Boston and accompanied Polly to the Salt Lake Valley in 1857. “Aunt Polly” was beloved among the Saints in Utah until her death in 1866. When Ruth died in 1884, she was buried alongside Polly.7

I have been involved in many adoptions over the years so I will tell you a true to life adoption story. One day a bishop referred a young college student to me for birthparent services. She was a bright student on a full scholarship and she had a delightful personality. She had made a mistake and found herself pregnant with no possibility of marriage. She and her parents consulted their church leaders and LDS Family Services to find out her options.

Her parents were financially strong and could have easily supported one more child in the family. But after much prayer, this young woman and her parents decided to follow the counsel of the First Presidency and place the child for adoption with a temple sealed couple. Emotionally, it was not an easy thing to do but their great faith carried them through.

The birthmother selected a humble, righteous couple and corresponded with them throughout the pregnancy. A gorgeous little boy was born and the adoptive couple excitedly flew to Hawaii at the time of the birth. The placement took place in a peaceful, beautiful home where the Spirit of the Lord was indeed present and very strong. When the birthmother and her parents met the adoptive couple, there was instant love as though they had known each other before. There were hugs and tears.

After talking together for quite some time, the birthmother played a lovely piece on the piano, Canon in D, for the adoptive couple. The adoptive mother was a talented violinist. She and the birthmother then played two songs together with the piano and violin. One of the songs was "I Am a Child of God." "I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. Lead me, guide me, walk beside me, Help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do To live with him someday." This was the wish of the birthmother that her child would have such a life.

The birthmother then went to the other room to get the baby and she walked out confidently and placed the child into the arms of the adoptive parents. There were great expressions of how cute he was. Many tears fell. We all felt the Spirit that day and there was such deep love manifested.

This birthmother has since served the Lord in many ways and is now sealed to a faithful husband and has her own family. The special, beautiful baby was sealed in the temple to his parents and is loved and cherished by a large, righteous extended family. The birthmother listened and obeyed the counsel of the Brethren and she, the child and the adoptive parents have been blessed immensely.

Susan Wells remembered Christmas two years later in Salt Lake in December 1849, when there was a more formal party:
I well remember Brother Brigham’s [Christmas] party [of 1849]. Like the girls of today, on receiving my invitation the first thought was “nothing to wear.” This was literally true, as all our clothing was shabby and patched. Necessity is the mother of invention, so, after careful consideration, the wagon cover, that had done such faithful service in our journey across the plains, was brought out. We couldn’t afford canvas [for our wagon cover, so] our cover consisted of several thicknesses of unbleached factory [cloth]. This was carefully dyed and as good luck would have it, it turned out a very pretty brown. We made this into dresses for myself and sister, trimmed with silk from an old cape of mother’s. This cape, black, lined with light brown, not only furnished trimming for our dresses, but I made poke bonnets from the black with quilled lining of the light brown. I had embroidered buckskin moccasins . . . , but I believe for this occasion father, who was a shoemaker, made me a pair of slippers from his old boot legs. I tell you my first ball dress was stunning.

Noah Germaine was in a quandary. He had some serious convincing to do. At 13 years of age he couldn’t let his young years overshadow his determination.
Christmas was approaching. Grandpa Max Germaine had worked as a volunteer for many years with the Navajo Indians on the reservation 195 miles north of his home in Mesa, Arizona. Noah had overheard Grandpa say that the kids in one of the Church branches there might not have a Christmas party or receive any gifts.
“Grandpa, I can be responsible for the Christmas party,” Noah said. “There isn’t much time left, but I know I can do it.”
Grandpa replied, “You don’t realize how difficult this job could be. There are over a hundred kids in the Indian Wells Branch. If gifts are given, somehow you must obtain a suitable one for each. Where would you get the money? You wouldn’t have an organization behind you. Who would help you?”
“I know I can do this. I’ll gather support, and believe me, Grandpa, I won’t let you down,” Noah said.
Fired with enthusiasm, Noah launched his hastily conceived plan. Soon many neighbors, service groups, and local merchants had been informed.
Recruitment didn’t intimidate Noah. For instance, he strode into a local supermarket and approached the manager. “Would you help?” he began. “Today I need candy and nuts for more than 100 kids.”
The manager replied, “Are you putting me on?”
Noah said, “No sir, this is ‘for real.’”
“What is your telephone number?” the manager asked as he disappeared into his office. When he returned he said, “Your mother tells me you are trying to put this Christmas experience together. So, Noah, since she agrees that all this is ‘for real,’ let’s go select the candy you need.”
Toys, sports items, books, grooming articles—gifts of all possible varieties—began to accumulate in the Germaine home. Noah’s mom and dad and his sisters and younger brother were all involved. Noah organized a gift wrapping party the night before his trip to the reservation. Friends responded with eagerness. Although the atmosphere was lively, they worked steadily, wrapping until eleven o’clock that night.
When Noah surveyed the scene, he tried not to show his dismay. Many of the gifts were still unwrapped. Noah and Grandpa Germaine were to leave at five o’clock in the morning for the difficult winter trip up the mountains to the reservation.
Caught in an emergency, Noah turned to his other grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa Hanna. They arrived minutes later and joined with the family in another nonstop wrapping session.
“Done. We’re finally done, Noah,” his mother sighed.
Noah was counting. “Not quite,” came his labored reply. “We’re three boys’ packages short.”
Noah left the room and quickly returned with his prized marble collection. He filled the kitchen sink with sudsy water, washed, rinsed, dried and polished each marble. He then divided them into two containers, ready for wrapping.
One gift short. What could he do? Without a word, he began unbuckling the strap of the sports watch which encircled his wrist.
“Noah, are you sure?” he was I asked.
“Sure? Yes. There will be another time for another watch. Today we’re giving a Christmas party,” Noah said. And he carefully wrapped the final package.
After Noah returned from the reservation, he was asked, “Well, how did it go?”
Noah answered, “It wasn’t easy at first. We were strangers. Our language and customs are different. I think, because we all wanted to be friends, we reached out more than usual. Before long we were sharing, teasing, and laughing. They were very pleased with the gifts we brought. They gave me a gift, too—pottery bowls, a ‘living’ part of themselves, a part of their heritage.”
When asked if it was worth it, Noah answers, “It was the best Christmas I ever had! As I listened to them sing some of my favorite hymns in their native language, I realized that they love the same Father in Heaven I love; they know about the same Joseph Smith I know about. We really are brothers and sisters.”

Sadly, I was in an abusive marriage. I had heard that people get caught in abusive relationships, but I didn’t understand it until I experienced it.
I loved my husband and chose to focus on his positive traits despite the abuse and infidelity. I wanted to believe him when he promised it would never happen again, but it always did.
My self-worth had become so low that I was susceptible to Satan’s lies that I wasn’t worth much. I didn’t believe anyone else would ever want me. I found myself staying in the relationship partly because I feared being alone.
As I prayed for guidance and received professional counseling, I felt peace in deciding to end my marriage. I was grateful for our amicable divorce and received full custody of our son. At the time of our divorce, I was pregnant with a baby girl, and I knew I would not be able to parent an infant alone. After serious reflection and many prayers about what I should do, I was grateful that my ex-husband agreed to allow me to place our baby girl with an adoptive couple.1
The decision to place our daughter for adoption was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. But I felt strongly she would be better off being raised in a home with two loving parents.
The pain I was feeling at this time was excruciating. I was grieving the loss of my eternal marriage, my baby girl, and the hopes and dreams I had created for my future. I was in despair and needed strength beyond my own.
I had a difficult time being a single mother in the Church, but I believe God blessed me with the gift of testimony, so I remained active.
Nevertheless, I struggled to break the unhealthy patterns in my relationship with my ex-husband. He would just drop by my home unannounced and expect to spend time with our son, and I allowed him to do it. I knew logically that I needed to set firmer boundaries, but it was so hard.
I talked to my bishop about my situation. When he asked me, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon regularly?” I admitted I was not. He invited me to start reading it.
I believed that by following my bishop’s counsel to read the Book of Mormon, I could find answers to my questions and strength to overcome my challenges. I began studying the Book of Mormon with the prayerful purpose of finding God’s strength to help me. I journaled my thoughts and the things I learned as I read. It was a way for me to recognize and remember the things the Spirit was teaching me.
As I studied the Book of Mormon and became closer to the Lord through prayer, I felt stronger than I had ever felt. I experienced increased hope and strength every day. I received power to set firmer boundaries with my ex-husband and others.
Recently, President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Few things build faith more than does regular immersion in the Book of Mormon. No other book testifies of Jesus Christ with such power and clarity.”2
When he said this, I realized I received power because the Book of Mormon testifies of Jesus Christ, and He is the source of strength! Regular immersion in the Book of Mormon builds our faith, which gives us power. I’ll share some things the Spirit pointed out to me as I read.
I knew God was aware of me and that I was not alone when I read Jacob 2.
When I read Mosiah 5, I wanted to experience the mighty change the people experienced, to enter into a covenant with God to do His will, to have my heart changed through faith in Jesus Christ, to be born of Him, and to become His daughter.
When I read Alma 14, I understood that God allows people agency even when they hurt others so His judgment of them is just.
And I trust that everything I go through in this life, good and bad, is giving me experience, which will be for my good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
This quote by President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) explains my change of heart: “When we have undergone this mighty change, which is brought about only through faith in Jesus Christ and through the operation of the Spirit upon us, it is as though we have become a new person. Thus, the change is likened to a new birth. … You have no more disposition to return to your old ways. You are in reality a new person.”3
This change of heart through faith in Christ is what God blessed me with! It was His gift to me. I could finally act how I wanted to. Satan lost the powerful hold he had on me. We have to actively obey God’s commands and choose things, like studying the Book of Mormon daily, that allow us to have God’s power.
I learned that forgiveness is a gift for the person who has been hurt. I was grateful for the strength I was blessed with to end an unhealthy relationship with my ex-husband. It took longer for me to forgive him for all the pain he put our son and me through. At first, I wanted God to punish him for everything he had done. I felt like he ruined my life, left me with very little, and didn’t care. He never apologized. He showed no remorse. The Spirit taught me I was only hurting myself by holding on to pain and resentment. I had to pray for the gift of humility and trust that Jesus Christ is the only one who has the authority to judge because He is the only one who could complete the Atonement. He is the only one who knows every detail in a person’s life and what leads them to every choice they make. Jesus Christ is the only one who truly knows what a person is accountable for, and He is the only one who knows how to judge justly. (See Mosiah 3:18.)
Turning over that judgment to Jesus Christ was a huge relief. As I prayerfully pondered, the Spirit led me from wanting my ex-husband to be punished to hoping that he makes the changes he needs to be forgiven. He is the father of my son, and I want him to find peace and joy. I trust that God wants every one of His children to be happy eternally. Therefore, those things I cannot understand in this life, I trust that God will work out in eternity.
I continue to focus on being obedient and repenting in order to keep the mighty change of heart God blessed me with. I also pray for the gift of charity. I want to truly love others as God does. The gift of charity allows us to accept that people are doing the best they can with the knowledge they have at the time. I had to use this principle to forgive myself. It is not fair for us to use the knowledge we have now to judge past mistakes. Life is all about progression, so we need to learn from our mistakes and move forward. Satan wants us to hold on to our guilt and shame because that holds us back from serving God to our fullest potential.
Elder Tad R. Callister, an emeritus member of the Seventy, wrote:
“One of the blessings of the Atonement is that we can receive of the Savior’s succoring powers. …
“… His spirit heals; it refines; it comforts; it breathes new life into hopeless hearts. It has the power to transform all that is ugly and vicious and worthless in life to something of supreme and glorious splendor. He has the power to convert the ashes of mortality to the beauties of eternity.”4
The Savior transformed this into a growth experience. I am so blessed that I’ve been able to experience the succoring powers of the Savior because of His Atonement. He healed my heart so I can forgive, filling me with eternal joy. I’m grateful for my trials because they help me become a stronger, better disciple of Christ. I haven’t forgotten the abuse, but it’s no longer a painful memory. It’s an experience in my life that taught me so much about myself and helped me gain a closer relationship with God. I continue to overcome many challenges in my life by studying the Book of Mormon daily, giving me strength beyond my own.
Ideas for Coping after a Divorce
Emotional:
Grieve your loss.
Write your thoughts, feelings, and blessings in a journal.
Spiritual:
Ask for a priesthood blessing.
Read the scriptures daily, even if it’s just one verse.
Listen for the Spirit to guide your life.
Take time each day for prayer.
Attend the temple, with a friend if possible.
Social:
Stay close to family members and friends.
Reach out to your ministering brothers or sisters.
Consider your children and their needs.
Communicate about a visitation schedule for your children.

Sister Batson, our Blazer leader, was preparing us to become deacons. She faithfully took us on monthly hikes. One hike was down a dry desert wash toward Lake Mead. Sister Batson stayed with the stragglers while five or six of us forged ahead. We were quite a distance ahead when we heard something. It was a baby rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. Rather than giving it plenty of room, we found some sticks and began poking at it. The snake took off across the desert. Naturally we took off after it, running as fast as our legs would carry us, chasing that snake. We cornered it against the side of a gulch where it coiled with its one rattle making as much noise as it could. We formed a semicircle around the snake, and on the count of three, we rushed it.
The first guy in and at the bottom of the pile was Malcolm. Suddenly he exploded out of the pile, throwing us everywhere, and started a panic run across the desert with the snake attached to his hand. We took off after him and succeeded in ankle tackling him. He was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs, “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
We each took a leg and arm to pin him down so we could save his life. We then took out our trusty snakebite kits (which aren’t at all like the ones used today and not to be recommended). They consisted of several suction cups, a shoestring tourniquet, some antibacterial iodine, and a razor blade. The shoestring tourniquet didn’t seem big enough, so we whipped off our Scout belts and placed half a dozen tourniquets up his arm. We then stained his arm brown with the iodine. We decided that the suction cups were not good enough, and we would have to suck the poison out. We were arguing about who got to do the sucking and who got to cut him when Sister Batson arrived. She grabbed Malcolm, threw him over her shoulder, ran back to the van with us right behind her, and got Malcolm to the hospital in time to save his hand.
By the time I got home, my father had found out what happened. He took me to my room, sat me on the end of the bed, and said three words of profound meaning, “Son,” he said, “DON’T CHASE SNAKES!”

After I got baptized, I didn’t go to parties with alcohol and cigarettes anymore. One day my friends told me, “Come on, let’s go. Nothing’s going to happen.” But I told them no because I had promised that I would not drink alcohol, smoke, or take drugs. They understood because they knew that I belonged to the Church, and they know how important making a promise is.
We need to please not our friends but our Heavenly Father. If we fulfill the promises we made to Him when we were baptized, we will be blessed.
Roxana C., 19, Lima, Peru

Illustration by Patricia Geis
Ava squirmed in her seat. She bounced. She wiggled. She heard her Primary teacher talking. But Ava could not pay attention. All she could think about was the box under Sister Obi’s chair.
It was wrapped in shiny blue paper. It had a gold bow on top. What could it be? Ava leaned her head way down. She stared at the box. She wished she could see through the shiny paper. She could hardly wait to find out what was inside.
Finally Sister Obi pulled out the box. She set it on her lap. Ava leaned forward. But Sister Obi didn’t open it.
Sister Obi held out the box. “Inside this box is one of Heavenly Father’s greatest creations. Look inside. Then pass it on without saying anything.” She passed the box to Noah.
Noah slowly lifted the lid. He stared inside the box. He smiled. Then he passed the box to June.
Ava stood on her tiptoes to try to see. But it wasn’t her turn yet. What could be so important to Heavenly Father? And how could something so special fit in such a little box?
She watched everyone take a turn. One by one, each of her friends opened the box. They looked inside. They smiled.
Finally it was Ava’s turn! She lifted the shiny lid and looked inside. It was a mirror! Ava looked at the mirror in the box. She saw her own face looking back.
Ava saw her eyes get big. Was she one of Heavenly Father’s greatest creations? Did Heavenly Father love her that much?
Ava smiled. She felt warm and happy inside. It was like a big hug. A big hug from Heavenly Father. He did love her! She was one of His greatest creations.

Tom and Joan (names have been changed) had both lost their spouses. Tom’s wife had passed away from cancer, and Joan’s husband, because of addiction, had left for other relationships. Tom and Joan met at a singles conference and were looking forward to marriage.
Each of them had children, age 15 and under. Their families had been on several outings together, and both Tom and Joan could see potential problems in blending the families. They came to counseling for some ideas on how to communicate in healthy ways to navigate this new chapter of their lives.
I suggested they review the message on family councils by President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Children desperately need parents willing to listen to them,” he taught, “and the family council can provide a time during which family members can learn to understand and love one another.”1
For their family councils, they decided on the following agenda:
Define the problem.
Brainstorm solutions.
Choose a plan.
Put it into action.
Evaluate the success of the plan the next week and renegotiate the plan if necessary.
In addition to counseling together as a family, Tom and Joan learned that when relationship stress is high, there can be a need to learn how to improve one-on-one communication as well.
Tom and Joan learned several techniques that helped them improve their communication and their relationships with their children.
The parents stood together in finding solutions to problems with the children.
If a child had difficulty completing their daily tasks, one of the parents would spend time with them, discussing the day while they worked to complete the tasks.
They spent time each week deepening their relationship with every child.
They established ahead of time that they would take time-outs when the “emotional” brain (yelling) took over from the “rational,” solution-focused brain (discussion).
Whenever there was a power struggle between parent and child, the parent, when impressed to do so, withdrew and came back later to brainstorm a new solution.
As the family did their best to approach challenging relationship issues in faithful, healthy ways—communicating about their challenges and working through them together—Tom and Joan recognized important growth in their children as well as themselves.

Mark Fallentine, 17, of Frenchtown, had planned on sleeping in, then spending the day getting ready for a school dance. “Friday night, I got two calls from the priests quorum about the cleanup. Then Saturday morning I got a call from the branch president. So I went. But after we got out and started working, I felt really good about it. And now, just driving by the highway and looking at it, I can say, ‘Hey, I worked on this, and it looks real nice.’ It taught me that I ought to participate even when at first I don’t want to.”

I have always had a great love for music, as most of you do today. Yes, our music was different, but it was just as enjoyable to us as yours is to you today. I played the piano in a small dance band. We played for dances around town and quite often my date would accompany me as my friends and I played. She would sit at the side of the piano and listen to the music and smile at me as I played and tried to earn a few dollars to help with high school and college. We’d have good visits at intermission, and I’d take her home after such a date where often the only pleasure she’d had was sitting, listening to dance music, and tapping her foot to the beat of the drum. When I was 17 I was the ward organist, and many times I would take my date to the church so that I could practice the organ, and she would sit and listen. This may well have been because I didn’t have any money, much more than because of her deep love for music, but we started a relationship in doing that and we found that we both liked music. I played the hymns and they brought a lovely spirit to our times together in a chapel as hymns were played with intermittent talk, perhaps followed by a five-cent ice cream cone when I took her home. Now, any one of you reading this might think these were strange kinds of dates, but the important thing in any generation is to find uplifting things you can enjoy together and do them! There’s nothing more boring—and potentially dangerous—than a date that starts out, “Well, what do you want to do?” Be creative, be enthusiastic, and prepare by thinking about the kinds of things that will help you get to know each other better. Decide well in advance where you are going, what you will do, and what time you will be home.

Young men and women should continually prepare for conversation—an important part of any date. Each young man or woman reading this might well ask, “What subjects am I prepared to talk about?” Talking and listening attentively add depth to dating.

Are you interesting? Are you aware of what is going on in the world? Can you discuss several subjects intelligently? Are you a good listener? Do you talk too much? Not enough?

It seems to me that quality young people are searching for other young people of high caliber who dress and act modestly, understand conversation, have high standards of behavior, and are refined yet “down to earth.”

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

Dates can be fun and wholesome without spending a lot of money. Young men and young women alike should be cautious about overspending and taxing resources unnecessarily on frills that are not necessary to have a good time.

Young men should treat their dates with respect and honor in every sense and on every occasion. Good manners and actions appropriate to age and culture are just as important today as they were ten, twenty, thirty, or fifty years ago. Young women, too, should behave accordingly and be concerned about manner of dress, speech, and actions while on a date.

How pleasant it was to have a young man take one of my daughters on a date and tell me as they left where they were going and what time I could expect them home. This type of young man is going to impress many fathers and mothers and, of course, will impress the daughters, who are most important.

It is wise to date in groups. There is safety in numbers. Doctrine and Covenants 6:12 tells us, “Trifle not with sacred things.” [D&C 6:12] What is more sacred than virtue?

My wife and I recently attended a high school reunion. How grateful I was for the dates I had in high school! Meeting these good friends many years later, I was very grateful I had no sad memories of dates that were not what they should have been.

Always conduct each date so that you can meet the person many years later and have no regrets about what took place. Don’t ever trade a lifetime of happy gospel living for a brief moment of promiscuous pleasure.

Dating can be a wonderful stage of life with many rewards. Plan well, enjoy your date, and use the time to meet and make many wonderful friends. Let those friendships lead you to a lifetime of happiness that can and will be yours as you work toward the blessings of the temple and as you seek to find the one who can join you for a temple marriage and an eternal family unit based on living the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Missionary couples provide stability with their friendshipping and leadership skills in areas where the Church is in its infancy. I learned this firsthand while serving as a mission president in England. I assigned a couple who had been serving in the visitors’ center to work in a small, struggling unit. They were somewhat fearful of having to leave the “safe haven” of the visitors’ center. But with faith they went to work. Within six months, a unit which had 15 to 20 people coming to sacrament meeting had over 100 attending because of this couple’s fellowshipping, working with the priesthood. To this day, they and their children refer to that time as the greatest experience of their lives.

I wanted to thank you for the article “Speak Up!” in the August 1996 issue. Where I work, I am sometimes laughed at or teased for having the morals that I have. Every one of my co-workers knows I’m LDS. When they tease me about my standards, I just try to laugh it off. When I read this article, I knew it was just for me. Now when I get laughed at, I speak up for the Church and the gospel. Thank you so much for giving me the courage to do so.
Amber BlackburnCrofton, Maryland

Professor Bloom complimented the patience of our Church leaders. Patience is born of justified optimism. Elder Heber C. Kimball, an early Apostle, provides an impressive illustration. He returned from a mission to England in 1838 to find that half of the members in Kirtland, Ohio, had left the Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith and several key leaders were imprisoned for five months. Five of the Apostles and two of the Three Witnesses had apostatized. Thousands of the Saints in Missouri were being mobbed and driven from their torched homes. Entering this bleak situation, Elder Kimball wrote: “I can truly say that I have never seen the Church in a better state since I have been a member of it. What there [is] left are firm and steadfast, full of love and good works. They have lost all their earthly goods, and are now ready to go and preach the Gospel to a dying world!” (in Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, 3rd ed. [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967], p. 246).

At that same time, Joseph Smith penned these inspiring words from Liberty Jail: “What power shall stay the heavens? As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the Missouri river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from pouring down knowledge from heaven upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints” (D&C 121:33).

On Easter weekend in 2004, when I lived in Utah, a very special person in my ward passed away. It was Sister Marjorie Hinckley, President Hinckley’s wife. My mom was asked to make a dessert to take to the family dinner after the funeral. We decided to make my two favorite cookie recipes. I wanted to help my mom make the cookies, so we worked hard. While we were making them, I had a wonderful, warm, happy feeling inside. It was the Spirit letting me know that what I was doing was right. My mom and I talked about how Jesus taught that when we serve others, we are really serving God.
The next morning we put all the cookies on a platter to take to the dinner. I put on my white shirt and tie to deliver the cookies. I hope they helped make the Hinckley family feel better.

About the time she entered school, our daughter Anissa, who is nick-named Niss, began greeting each day with a negative attitude that affected the entire family. So I started calling her “Happy Niss.” That may seem strange, but it wasn’t a lie because I knew that happiness was and is an innate quality of her spirit.
“Good morning, Happy Niss,” I’d call in my most cheerful voice; and she’d call back, “I’m not happy. I’m just Niss.”
But I persisted in calling her Happy Niss. Things began to ease, but she still had grumpy mornings. Then one night as I tucked her into bed I said, “Do you know what I love, Happy Niss?”
“What?” she asked.
“I love to see that beautiful, bright, big smile of yours first thing in the morning. My whole day goes better when your smile is the first thing I see.”
She didn’t say a word. The next morning I was preparing breakfast when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see straggly haired, sleepy-eyed Anissa with the strangest forced grin stretched across her face.
“What is the matt—” I started, then stopped, remembering my words of the night before. “Oh, that smile!” I cried, and threw my arms around her. “I just know it’s going to be a good day now!” And it was.
The real climax to that experience came in a recent home evening when each of us was asked to describe one trait that made us unique or special. Anissa’s immediate response was, “I’m always happy.” The idea had now become part of her self-image.

May I share a personal experience to help any who feel anguish when eternal marriage is mentioned since you believe your spouse will not prepare for that sacred experience because of deeply rooted characteristics or habits. About five years into our marriage, we had a growing experience. Our precious two-year-old son Richard died while undergoing surgery to correct a congenital heart defect. Within six weeks, our daughter Andrea passed away at birth. My father, then not a member of the Church, loved little Richard very much. He said to my inactive mother, “I cannot understand how Richard and Jeanene seem to be able to accept the loss of these children.”
Mother, responding to a prompting, said, “Kenneth, they have been sealed in the temple. They know that their children will be with them in the eternities if they live righteously. But you and I will not have our five sons because we have not made those covenants.”
My father pondered those words. He began to meet with the stake missionaries and was soon baptized. In just over a year Mother, Dad, and the children were sealed in the temple. Later, President Kimball put his hands on my father’s head, promised him the vigor and strength of youth, and gave him the sealing power. He worked as a sealer for 11 years in the Washington D.C. Temple with Mother at his side. You do your part. Don’t abandon hope for a temple marriage.

Marco sat with his parents in the bishop’s office. He had just moved to Young Men, and now the bishop wanted to talk to him. He felt nervous.
“We’d like to give you a calling, Marco,” Bishop Díaz said. “Would you be willing to serve as a family history consultant?”
Marco raised his eyebrows. “What does a family history consultant do?” he asked.
“Great question,” the bishop said. “They set an example by doing family history and temple work. And they help others do their family history too.”
“OK.” Marco nodded. He still felt a bit nervous. But he was also kind of excited. “I haven’t been to the temple yet. But I’ve done a little indexing.”
“No problem,” said the bishop. “Sister Sánchez has a family history calling too. She can help you learn more.”
A few weeks later, Marco had a video call with Sister Sánchez. She was really nice. She helped Marco set up an account on FamilySearch.org. Then she taught him how to find his family tree.
Marco liked learning about his family. He liked seeing his grandparents and great-grandparents on his family tree. Sister Sánchez taught him how to add photos of family members. He also learned how to add people that weren’t on FamilySearch yet.
One person Marco added to FamilySearch was his aunt, Tía Mirna. She had died last year from cancer. Marco missed her a lot. He missed her cheerful smile. His tía had always made him feel loved.
With Mamá’s help, Marco typed in the date Tía Mirna was born and the date she passed away. He added photos of her. He even typed in some memories about her.
Tía Mirna hadn’t been baptized. But at the temple, Marco’s sister, Lizerya, could be baptized for her. So Marco and his family planned a time to go to the temple. Marco found other family members on FamilySearch who had died years ago. He could be baptized for them too.
Now that Marco knew more about family history, he was excited to help others. He shared his testimony of family history at a Church activity. And he invited other youth in their ward to come with his family on their temple trip.
Finally it was time for Marco’s first temple trip. Marco was excited! It was special to be there with his family and the other youth. But most of all, Marco was excited that Lizerya could be baptized for Tía Mirna.
After they changed into white clothes, Marco watched Papi and Lizerya step into the baptism font. Marco felt warm inside as he watched Papi baptize his sister for Tía Mirna. Mamá wiped away happy tears.
Then it was Marco’s turn. He stepped into the water to be baptized for other family members.
Marco smiled. He was glad he had tried something new by doing family history. The family history calling had turned out to be great after all!
This story took place in Peru.

“Three days?” Dad asked, sitting with me across the desk from Ed Flores, Coronado High’s assistant principal. “I hate to see him get behind.”
Mr. Flores adjusted his glasses and studied the suspension referral so he wouldn’t have to look at Dad or me. “If he was so worried about his studies,” Mr. Flores answered tersely, “he shouldn’t have picked a fight with Tanner Briggs. Tanner has a broken nose and a lower lip that will take a couple of stitches.”
Dad twisted nervously in the chair. “JD usually doesn’t pick fights. Now he’s not gonna let somebody push him,” Dad added quickly. “But he’s …”
“Dad, he’s not changing his mind,” I muttered, leaning forward in my chair. I hated dragging Dad in here. He was self-conscious around teachers and principals because he had dropped out of high school when he was 16 and settled for a GED a month before enlisting in the Marines.
“Is this other kid a troublemaker?” Dad questioned. “Because if he is, that would sure explain things. My boy’s a good student.”
Mr. Flores cast me a tired, impatient glance. “Joseph must be a real scholar,” he said, unable to keep the bite of sarcasm from his tone.
“JD,” I corrected warmly. I had already explained three times that I didn’t use Joseph Dale, my first and middle names.
Mr. Flores ignored my correction and studied my clothes—faded jeans, a sweatshirt with a rip under the left arm, and tan suede-laced boots. I wasn’t exactly the picture of preppy scholarship. What Mr. Flores obviously didn’t understand was that I was a good student and that I carried a 3.84 GPA. “Perhaps when you return Monday, you can hit the books rather than the first guy who bumps into you in the hall.”
Dad and I didn’t speak again until we were in the car. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dad questioned, keeping his eyes on the road as he lit a cigarette and opened the window a few inches. He knew I didn’t like his smoking, and he usually didn’t smoke while I was in the car. But he was nervous after his encounter with Mr. Flores. Mom had tried to get Dad to stop smoking, but all he committed to do was not bring it into the house. When Mom died, even that changed.
Slumping down in the front seat, I gazed out the window. “It was the regular ‘new kid’ stuff,” I answered tiredly. “If it hadn’t been today, it would’ve been tomorrow or next week. He tried to start something yesterday in P.E. I couldn’t tuck tail and crawl out.”
Dad looked over at me. “Your mom didn’t ever like you fighting. Maybe I shouldn’t have taught you to fight.”
“Then I’d have the broken nose and sewed-up lip.”
I knew Dad was having second thoughts, wondering if we should have moved from Mesa, Arizona, to Albuquerque, New Mexico. An old buddy from his Vietnam days had invited him to work in his machine shop here, so we had picked up and moved. “It’s no big deal, Dad. Now I’ll be home to help you finish moving in.”
“I wish you had a friend or two. Just somebody to hang around with. Since your mom died, you’ve been too much of a loner.” He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “Are there Mormon kids here?”
I laughed and shook my head. “If there are, they make themselves scarce. I don’t need anybody to hang around with, Dad. Like you said, I’m a loner. That suits me fine.”
“Maybe we should find a Mormon church,” Dad said. “You could make friends there. Your mother always wanted that. I should’ve done that much for her.”
“Dad, the Mormon kids aren’t interested in me. I’m not one of them.”
I stared out the window. The last time we were in a church was at my mother’s funeral, two weeks after I turned 13. Mom had always been active, and I’d gone with her. But after she died we moved from our old ward, and I never went back. I knew I should go to church—that Mom would want me to—but I’d grown accustomed to being alone. It was easier that way.
Monday at lunch I wandered by myself to the cafeteria, found an empty table, and ate my lunch while I finished a geometry assignment.
“There’s a corner spot on the patio,” someone spoke to me. I looked up to face a guy about my height but 20 pounds lighter. His blond hair was shaved to the skin around his ears and was thick and straight on top. He had three gold studs in his right ear. “I’m Bo Kramer. Some of us hang out there.”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and nodded down at my open geometry book. “I have some homework to do.”
“I heard about your trouble with Tanner Briggs. He needed someone to rearrange his face.” Bo looked me over and raised his brow. “I didn’t take you for a brain, Chugg.” He smiled. “Sure you don’t want to join us?”
I considered the offer and shook my head. Bo frowned, turned and walked away. I watched him go, knowing that I didn’t belong to Bo Kramer’s crowd any more than I belonged with the Mormons. I’d face Coronado High on my own.
A week later I stepped into one of the rest rooms. Bo and a group of his buddies were there hanging out. Ignoring the sullen glares, I began washing my hands as Bo and a friend opened a can of snuff.
As I was getting ready to leave, a young freshman kid charged through the door. He was inside before he realized who was in there. Startled, Bo hid his can of dip. The kid froze a few steps inside the rest room. He gulped and wet his lips.
“I just needed to …” He nervously cleared his throat. “I just needed to, uh, um, wash my hands. But I’ll, you know, come back later.”
“Don’t run off, big guy,” Bo said, walking over to him and putting his arm over his shoulder. “We were wondering when you’d show. What’s your name?”
“Tyler,” he answered, his voice breaking as I snatched a paper towel and began drying my hands. Tyler glanced in my direction. To him I was one more of them.
Bo laughed, holding the tobacco. “Tyler came in for his noon-hour buzz,” he announced. “Have a pinch, Tyler. It’ll grow hair on your chest.”
Tyler’s face paled as he stared down at the open can. “I don’t use it.” His protest was a mere whisper.
“What’s that?” Bo blared. “Speak up, big guy.”
Tyler shook his head and tried again. “I don’t use it.”
Bo mocked surprise, looking about the group with his mouth hanging open. Jabbing a thumb in Tyler’s direction, he gasped, “The kid don’t use the stuff.” Turning on Tyler, he growled, “Take some, kid, before I stuff the whole can in your mouth.”
Tyler looked sick, his face ashen and his thin, tight lips pressed together. He shook his head. Bo wasn’t smiling anymore. “One pinch won’t kill you.”
“It’s against my religion,” Tyler managed to squeak. “I’m a Mormon.” His breath came in short, anxious wheezes.
Bo snorted dryly while the others laughed. “I don’t care if you’re Mormon. They ain’t gonna kick you out of church for one little pinch.”
“He said he didn’t chew,” I spoke for the first time, still holding my wadded-up paper towel.
Genuinely surprised that I had spoken, Bo and his friends turned their gazes from Tyler to me. Bo studied me for a moment and then took a step away from Tyler in my direction. “Are you a good little Mormon too, Chugg?”
I couldn’t remember the last time I had ever admitted being LDS. I hadn’t exactly denied it, but I certainly hadn’t looked or acted so that anyone would ever accuse me of being one. “Maybe not such a good one, but I’m Mormon,” I answered evenly. “And I don’t use the stinkin’ stuff, either.”
I turned to Tyler and said, “Wash your hands.”
I knew Tyler didn’t want to wash his hands just then, but he did. Too flustered and nervous to grab a paper towel, he charged for the door, his hands still dripping soapy water. I followed him out, but he disappeared down the hall without saying a word to me.
The next day in the cafeteria I was eating when someone stopped at my table. I looked up to see Tyler. He pointed at the empty chair across the table from me. “You saving that for somebody?”
I hesitated a moment. “Nobody’s fighting over it.” Tyler set his tray on the table and sat down.
“I want to thank you.” He grinned. “I was in a bit of a hurry yesterday. I thought it was all over for me.”
We both started eating without speaking. “Are you really Mormon?” Tyler asked after a moment’s lull. I looked across the table at him. He was staring at me intently. “Or was that just something you said as a joke? I mean, I guess I just wasn’t …” He didn’t finish his sentence.
I rolled my tongue around in my mouth. “You don’t think I look Mormon?” I asked, keeping my face stony serious.
He flinched slightly. His mouth twitched and he permitted himself a reluctant, worried smile. “Well, you don’t exactly look like you’re expecting your mission call.”
I stuffed the last quarter of my hamburger in my mouth and chewed slowly without taking my eyes from Tyler. “Why should I kid? I’m not 19 yet.”
It was as though I’d told the funniest joke in the world because Tyler busted out laughing. “You are Mormon, aren’t you?”
His laugh was comfortably contagious. I could feel my face muscles loosen, and in a moment I was smiling. “Don’t expect me in sacrament meeting next Sunday, though.”
“Maybe we’re in the same ward. Which ward are you in?”
“How would I know? I haven’t been to church for years.”
Tyler and I were as different as a house cat and a junkyard dog, but we talked. I told him about our move from Arizona. He talked to me about his dad, how he worked on old cars as a hobby. He had fixed up a ’49 Buick Roadmaster and entered it in car shows. He was working on a ’51 Mercury now. Although I preferred being alone, Tyler was so unassuming and so uninhibited in his conversation that I really didn’t mind him hanging around.
The following day at lunch he spotted me as I was coming out of line and waved me over to his table. He had a couple of friends with him, and he invited me to sit down and join them.
“This is JD,” he said, introducing me. He turned to me a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know your last name.”
“Chugg.”
“This is Mick and Tyson,” Tyler went on. “They’re in my ward.” Turning to Mick and Tyson, he added, “JD’s waiting for his mission call.” While Mick and Tyson’s mouths dropped open, Tyler looked across the table at me, winked, and then grinned.
I couldn’t pass up joining in the joke. “Yeah,” I sighed, raking my fingers through my long hair,”it should be here any day now. That’s why I shaved and cut my hair. You should have seen me before.”
Lunch with Tyler became a regular thing. Sometimes he had other friends there. Sometimes he didn’t. It didn’t make any difference to him. Since he was a freshman and I was a junior, we didn’t have classes together. But he discovered that he lived three blocks past me, so we started walking home together.
About three weeks after the confrontation with Bo, Tyler was absent from school a day. I ate in the cafeteria alone. I had done that hundreds of times in Mesa, but for the first time in a long time I felt a tinge of loneliness. Of course, I didn’t admit that to myself right then, but I knew it was different not having Tyler’s friendly chatter.
“Were you ditching school yesterday?” I accused Tyler the next day.
“My dad let me go over to Santa Fe with him to look at an old Dodge truck he might buy. Did you miss me?” He grinned.
“I barely made it through the day,” I retorted sarcastically. “I almost had to leave school early just because you weren’t around.”
Tyler was suddenly serious. “I was going to invite you to go with us. I think you would have liked it. And I’d like Dad to meet you.”
“It’s nice to invite me now that you’re back,” I grumbled playfully. “Some friend you are. Why didn’t you invite me two days ago when I could have at least turned you down?”
“You’re pretty studious. I didn’t figure you’d want to leave school.”
He was serious. I could feel it. He really had wanted me to be with him. And he really had worried about my studies so he hadn’t asked. I continued to joke with Tyler, trying to make him feel like a jerk for not inviting me. But it was a cover-up on my part.
The following Sunday I came down with a good case of the flu. For the next couple of days I stayed in bed, aching, shaking, and coughing.
On Tuesday afternoon there was a knock at the door, which I ignored. But whoever was there was persistent. The longer they knocked, the more stubborn I became. I was not going to answer that door. Finally the knocking stopped, and I assumed they had given up. A moment later, I heard the door knob turn and the front door creak open.
“JD, are you awake?” Tyler called.
“I wondered who was banging on the door,” I said. “Can’t you take a hint?”
“I knew you were in here. What, did your dad tell you not to let strangers in while he was away?”
“Yeah, and you’re as strange as they come.”
“I brought you something.”
“Well, you’ve already woke me up. This better be good.”
Tyler came down the hall to my bedroom with a brown paper sack in one arm and his other one loaded with books. He dropped the books on the floor.
“Where’d they come from?”
“I got them out of your locker. I checked with each of your teachers and collected your homework.”
“Some pal you are,” I joked, rolling my eyes. “I stayed here to get away from the work, and you drag it home to me.”
“I didn’t want you to get behind. But I did bring some other stuff.” He opened the sack, pulled out three oranges, a carton of milk, and a bag of corn chips. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
I laughed. “Well, I guess if you’ll leave the food I’ll let you leave the books too.”
He then reached over and rubbed the week’s growth of beard on my chin. “How long you been growing this?”
“Almost a week.”
“You look a little on the rough side. You know the bishop’s going to make you shave before your mission.”
“You and your mission,” I grumbled. “One of these days I ought to show up at church, walk up to your bishop and say, ‘Hi, bishop. I’m the new prospective missionary Tyler’s been telling you about.’”
Tyler smiled. “I’d like that, JD. I’d like that a lot.”
After he left, I thought of what he’d said, and I knew he really wanted me to be there in church. Just like he had wanted me to be in Santa Fe with him and his dad.
Wednesday afternoon I shaved. That evening Dad trimmed my hair. When I returned to school Thursday I found Tyler sitting with Mick and Tyson in the cafeteria. I took a chair across the table from them.
“Gosh,” Tyler gasped. “JD really must have gotten his mission call! They probably called him to the Coronado High Student Gang Mission. When do you report, JD?”
I felt my cheeks color.
I sighed. “The bishop told me I couldn’t accept.”
“Why? Are they closing down the mission because there’s too much violence at Coronado?”
Feigning disappointment, I shook my head. “The bishop said I’d have to return the call because I’ve missed church one too many times.”
“Man, I should have picked you up Sunday.”
“I knew it was your fault,” I accused, smiling all the time. “When you see the bishop, tell him you’re the reason I had to pass this mission call up.”
Tyler’s smile slowly disappeared. He became serious. “Maybe you’d better go to church and tell the bishop yourself.” He shrugged, and the faint traces of a smile flickered across his lips. “I’d like that, JD.”
After years of being a loner, I realized that Tyler, in his kind, innocent way, had shown me what it was like to belong. Ever since Mom died, I had thought off and on about returning to church. But this was the first time I felt as though I really wanted to be there. I shrugged.
“Well, Tyler, maybe I’ll show up one of these first Sundays. Now keep in mind I only said maybe.”
Tyler’s face exploded into a genuine grin of triumph. “Maybe is good enough for me. I guess that means I’ll see you Sunday, JD?”
I tried to scowl, but deep down I knew I was going to be there. And when I arrived, I knew Tyler would be there with me.

Mike Strong, who was 14 at the time, received a plaque from the Veterans of Foreign Wars for saving the life of his infant sister, Danielle. The eight-month-old girl stopped breathing as her mother held her in her arms. The little girl had a soaring fever.
“It really scared me because I thought she was dead,” Mike said. “But the first thing that came to my mind was, ‘Do as you were taught in school.’” He took Danielle from his frightened mother’s grasp and gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Paramedics later said Danielle’s body temperature had reached 106 degrees Fahrenheit as a result of viral bronchitis, and that although she might have started breathing again on her own without help, Mike’s quick action had likely prevented brain damage.
Mike is a member of the El Cajon 5th Ward, El Cajon California Stake.