Gospel Story Finder

Let me give you another example. In my youth I once was negligent in a way that later caused an injury to one of my brothers. It was not major, but required some stitches in his hand. I was embarrassed about it, and did not own up to my stupidity at the time, and no one ever knew about my role in the matter. Many years later, I was praying that God would reveal to me anything in my life that needed correction so that I might be found more acceptable before Him, and this incident came to my mind. Frankly, I had forgotten all about it. The Spirit whispered to me that this was an unresolved transgression that I needed to confess. I called my brother and apologized and asked for his forgiveness which he promptly and generously gave. On reflection I realized that my embarrassment and regret would have been less if I had apologized when the accident happened. Of course, it would have been even better if I had followed the prompting of the Spirit at the time and avoided the injury to my brother altogether. It was interesting and very significant to me that the Lord had not forgotten about that event of the distant past even though I had. It was a comparatively small thing, but it still needed to be handled, or I would be answering for it at the judgment bar when the opportunity for repentance had passed. I realized once again that things do not get "swept under the rug" in the eternal economy of things. Sins do not take care of themselves or simply fade away. They must be dealt with, and the wonderful thing is that because of His atoning grace they can be dealt with in a much happier and less painful manner than directly satisfying offended justice ourselves.

In 1971, I was assigned to stake conferences in Western Samoa, including the organization of a new stake on Upolu island. After interviews we chartered a small plane to Savai‘i island to hold a stake conference there. The plane landed on a grassy field at Faala and was to return the next afternoon to take us back to Upolu island.
The day we were to return from Savai‘i, it was raining. Knowing the plane could not land on the wet field, we drove to the west end of the island, where there was a runway of sorts atop a coral break. We waited until dark, but no plane arrived. Finally, we learned by radio that there was a storm, and the plane could not take off. We radioed back that we would come by boat. Someone was to meet us at Mulifanua.
As we pulled out of port on Savai‘i, the captain of the 40-foot (12 m) boat asked the mission president if he had a flashlight. Fortunately, he did and made a present of it to the captain. We made the 13-mile (21 km) crossing to Upolu island on very rough seas. None of us realized that a ferocious tropical storm had hit the island, and we were heading straight into it.
We arrived in the harbor at Mulifanua. There was one narrow passage we were to go through along the reef. A light on the hill above the beach and a second lower light marked the narrow passage. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, the boat would be lined up properly to pass through the dangerous rocks that lined the passage.
But that night there was only one light. Two elders were waiting on the landing to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After watching for hours for signs of our boat, the elders tired and fell asleep, neglecting to turn on the second light, the lower light. As a result, the passage through the reef was not clear.
The captain maneuvered the boat as best he could toward the one upper light on shore while a crewman held the borrowed flashlight over the bow, searching for rocks ahead. We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage.
After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the passage. All we could do was try to reach the harbor at Apia 40 miles (64 km) away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements. I do not remember ever being where it was so dark.
We made no progress for the first hour, even though the engine was at full throttle. The boat would struggle up a mountainous wave and then pause in exhaustion at the top of the crest with the propellers out of the water. The vibration of the propellers would shake the boat almost to pieces before it slid down the other side.
We were lying spread-eagled on the cover of the cargo hold, holding on with our hands on one side and with our toes locked on the other to keep from being washed overboard. Brother Mark Littleford lost hold and was thrown against the low iron rail. His head was cut, but the rail kept him from being washed away.
Eventually, we moved ahead and near daylight finally pulled into the harbor at Apia. Boats were lashed to one another for safety. They were several deep at the pier. We crawled across them, trying not to disturb those sleeping on deck. We made our way to Pesega, dried our clothing, and headed for Vailuutai to organize the new stake.
I do not know who had been waiting for us at the beach at Mulifanua. I refused to let them tell me. But it is true that without that lower light, we all might have been lost.

Mom, look!
“You’re invited to Dante’s birthday party!”
Can we go get Dante’s present now?
OK. But we don’t have much money for gifts.
Can we get this?
I’m sorry. We don’t have enough.
How about this?
Well, Dante does like candy bars …
Besides, your friendship is the best gift you can give.
Is a candy bar enough? Maybe it would be better if I didn’t go.
At the party …
Cool! Thanks, Hannah!
I LOVE these! Thank you, Ben!
Really?
Yeah, they’re my favorite!
Thanks for coming to my party! I’m glad we’re friends.
Mom was right! Friendship is the best gift of all.

I love to read the New Era. I can’t wait for it to arrive each month. But the April 1987 issue came just at the right time.
On March 17, one of the best friends I’ll ever have died. I received the April issue in March, so I thumbed through it on the day after she passed away. I remember seeing the article “When a Friend Dies.” I was emotionally struggling with her death—very much so in fact—when I picked up the New Era and started to read it.
When I had finished, I was so deeply touched that I knew she was all right and that everything was okay.
I want to thank you so much for that article. I don’t know how I could have overcome this crisis without you.
Brooke WakefieldTaylorsville, Utah

The role of bishop holds special significance for Elder Stevenson. “When I was 12, my father was called as bishop,” he recalls. “The ward had many widows, and Dad would often take me along when he ministered to them. He would have me take care of the garbage cans, clean up something in the house, or get my friends to join me in raking leaves or shoveling snow. When we left, I always felt good inside. Visiting the widows helped me realize that part of what bishops do is minister to people one on one. The bishops of the Church are my heroes.”

In her book Adversity, author Elaine Cannon recalls a moment from the life of Sister Freda Joan Lee, who was mourning the death of her husband, President Harold B. Lee. Sister Cannon writes:
Sister Lee sobbed and said, “The world is mourning a prophet, but I have lost my husband. And I have had him such a short time.”
Sister Lee, since then deceased herself, was in her sixties when she married President Lee, following the death of his first wife, and she comforted countless numbers of single girls with this hope. Thinking of separation now, plus a stretch of loneliness ahead proved a consuming trial for her. She who had comforted so many now stood on the uncomfortable threshold of despair herself.
Later, lonely and struggling to understand the untimely death of her husband who had been President of the Church for a brief eighteen months, Sister Lee sat in church on the back bench. She had a prayer in her heart for peace. In the midst of her affliction she turned to God for a way back up and out of anguish.
Then the closing song was sung. It was “Though Deepening Trials” [Eliza R. Snow’s great hymn of hope in the Savior]. The last verse particularly comforted her:
“By the time we sang that last verse,” said Sister Lee, “a wonderful lifting assurance had welled up within me. I was at peace. The Comforter had come. All would be well.” [Elaine Cannon, Adversity (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1987), 117–18]

There are a number of lessons we can learn from Sister Lee’s experience. Note how Sister Lee attended her Church meetings even though she was greatly troubled by the passing of her husband. Note how she had a prayer in her heart. She knew her peace would come from God. She was alert and attentive during the meeting. Note, too, how her answer was found in the words of a simple hymn. In her humility, she recognized the answer when it came to her.

They had left him! Derek stood in the driveway with his shiny black Sunday shoes in his hands. He had been digging the shoes out of the bottom of his closet when he heard the car’s engine starting. Bounding down the stairs, Derek only caught a glimpse of the family van as it turned the corner.
Derek was sure that his family hadn’t left him on purpose. Mom probably thought he was in the backseat of the van. A lonely, empty feeling filled Derek’s stomach. What was he supposed to do now?
Sitting down in the middle of the driveway, Derek pulled on his socks and shoes. If his family had forgotten him, he would just walk to church by himself. It was a warm day, and he was pretty sure he knew the way.
He started confidently down the street. He walked past the Garretts’ house, past the tree house in the willow where he played after kindergarten, and past the Petersons’ house. He was about to turn the corner when a sudden thought came to him: he needed to go back to the house.
Derek stopped mid-step. That was silly. Why should he go back? He stood silently on the deserted sidewalk, thinking about what to do next. He took another step down the street.
The thought came again, this time stronger. “Go back to the house!” He turned and ran as fast as his feet would carry him back to the house. He ran past the Petersons’, past the tree house, and past the Garretts’, his Sunday shoes pounding loudly on the sidewalk. He ran through the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Out of breath and filled with panic, he slumped down in the corner of the family room behind the couch and curled up tightly in a ball. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He shut his eyes tightly and murmured a short prayer. “Please help my family to come find me soon!”
As soon as he had finished saying the words, he heard the front door open. “Derek?” someone called. Derek peeked over the couch. His older sister, Amanda, was standing in the doorway. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed when she saw the top of his head. Derek ran to her, threw his arms around her legs and started to cry. Amanda knelt down to give him a hug.
“Oh, Bud,” she said softly. “It’s OK. You know we wouldn’t ever really forget you.”
Derek nodded through his tears. “I started to walk to church, but then I heard something telling me to go back to the house. Then I said a prayer, and you came back.”
“Good job!” Amanda said. “You must have been following the promptings of the Holy Ghost!” Derek was surprised. Was that who the thoughts had come from?
Amanda continued, “I’m glad you came back because it helped me to find you quickly. What if you had walked a different way than I came home, or if you had gotten lost? You made the right choice.”
Derek smiled at his big sister. A warm feeling started in his heart and filled him up inside. “Thank you, Amanda,” he said. “I’m glad that I listened to the Spirit.”

Steve Crandall sat bolt upright in bed.
“Your mother’s pains have started.” His father’s face was lined with worried creases. “Can you come help me clear the road to the highway?”
Steve was already struggling to pull on long underwear, sweaters, socks, pants, parka, boots, muffler, gloves. His heart was racing.
Shoveling snow, opening the garage door, starting the jeep, hitching the drag, swinging open the jeep door for his father—Steve fumbled with numb fingers while his heart beat with the fury of the wind swirling up the snow drifts.
Through the roar and clanking of the old jeep, his father shouted, “Take it easy, Steve. We’ll make it. Your mother has had nine kids before this, including you.”
Steve was glad to be able to hide his face in the parka hood. He was quiet for a moment. Then he let his memory wander and thought back to the time when Mom had Julie. There had been no special precautions that time; Dad had just helped Mom to the car, and they drove off to the hospital.
That seemed a long time ago and many miles away in a place where everything was so much different. This was Alaska. It was 50° F. below zero. The hospital was 51 miles away, and there was no telephone in their house. This time Dad paused to give Mom a priesthood blessing before helping her to the car. This time, Dad, Steve, and his two sisters prayed together in the car that they would make it down the road before the baby came. But this time, too, when it was all over and little Rachael took her place in the Crandall clan, 16-year-old Steve felt older somehow. It was as if he had been a part of something that was much more real than he had ever experienced before.
That is how everything has become since Steve’s family moved a year ago into their little log house in the wilds near Fairbanks. There are six other families within five miles in the woods where they live, but it is more than 30 miles into town and about 15 miles to the Eielson Air Force Base. They have no electricity or telephone, their close neighbors are the lynx, fox, and bear, and their television set is the view from their window of the Alaska Mountain Range shrouded by dense spruce forests. Life is simple.
But hewn down to its basic elements, life also seems richer. The isolation in the harsh climate has brought the family closer than ever before. Working together, playing together, worshiping together—they share more of life than ever before.
“B.J., Steve, Susan, David, Danny, Becky, Julie, Jesse … time for breakfast,” comes the call from the kitchen every morning. (Rachael is already in the high chair and Susie is away at college.) Soon the sounds of padding feet fill the kitchen, and everyone is poised for the new day. Over hot cakes the daily planning session begins. There is school for Steve and the little ones, and work for Dad at the air force base. There is work for 19-year-old B.J. (Billie Joe) and home Primary for both her and Mom in the afternoon. Then there is dinner together and home evening that night.
And there are always plenty of chores for everyone. Most of the summer is spent getting ready for the winter. And most of the winter is spent coping with the cold that can freeze bare flesh in less than a minute and the darkness that can linger into depression. With ten children and no electricity, the chores are given a twist of creativity.
The five-mile stretch of dirt road that leads to the highway is not maintained by the state, so one of Steve’s jobs is to help the men in the neighborhood pack down the snow during the winter by the use of a flat device called a drag. It seems that this always needs to be done at the least convenient times, such as when Mom is in labor or when it is time to go to church.
Another of Steve’s jobs is to keep the car from freezing up at night. “We had one garage, not insulated or anything, just plywood sides, with a wood stove in it,” he explained. “We would just pull the car in there every night, and I’d build a fire. I had to put enough wood in there so the fire would last all night. The car was only frozen up one time the whole winter.” His brown eyes glisten with pride he knows is well-earned.
Steve’s expertise with wood burning stoves has unexpectedly come in handy at other times too. When the kitchen stove was on the blink one morning, he stoked up the basement stove so his mother and sisters, huddling in their parkas, could cook hotcakes for the family in the pitch black 32-degree basement air. Some of the younger brothers and sisters were assigned to run the hotcakes upstairs before the chill reached through and through.
As the days wear on, it seems that work has a way of turning into fun for the Crandall family. Family home evening, a chore for many families, is as easy as the summer rain on the flower-dotted flat lands for Steve’s family.
One night when it was time for home evening, Steve suggested, “Let’s do something exciting tonight—like kickball or something.”
So Becky and Julie went outside to set up bases while the older girls stayed to clean up the dinner dishes. It wasn’t long before eight-year-old Becky flew through the door, her face ashen and her voice trembling in fright. “There’s a bear out there! There’s a bear out there!”
Suddenly everyone was bumping shoulders on the porch trying to catch a good view of the bear. There he was, foraging through the bushes, pausing for a moment to watch the commotion on the Crandalls’ porch. Suddenly, a neighbor pointed his rifle out the side window and fired at the bear several times. The injured bear began to lumber away. Quickly Dad and Steve grabbed their guns to help out. “You don’t leave a wounded bear up here. They can get vicious,” Dad explained.
They never caught the bear that night. But when Mom asked, “Was that enough excitement for you, Steve?” laughter filled the tiny house.
Excitement and laughter seldom leave Steve’s house. The Crandalls live life to the fullest, with an intensity that shows even in their recreation. Steve and 11-year-old Danny once entered a local 26-mile marathon cross-country race. When Steve gave out early and quit the race, Danny kept going. He finished third in his category, the youngest of the contestants. “One of us had to finish,” he said with his head bowed.
By far, Church work is given the most serious attention by the Crandalls. Everyone has at least one Church job, and so the gospel is a cooperative effort. With Dad in the branch presidency, Mom a teacher in the Relief Society, B.J. a teacher in the Primary, and Steve a member of the planning committee for the all-Alaska youth conference, the family car is kept hopping. During spring breakup, when the snow melts and the road to the highway becomes as muddy as the sludge from a gold miner’s pan, attending church services becomes a challenge. The four-wheel drive jeep is the only vehicle that can navigate the muddy stretches of road to the air force base chapel.
“There’s the whole family in that little bitty 1943 jeep,” Mom laughs. “We all get into our grubs; everybody climbs into the jeep. We strap a suitcase full of our good clothes onto the hood along with Daddy’s briefcase, and off we go to church. It’s funny!”
Church meetings are worth the effort, though. The closeness of the Crandalls seems to be shared by other families in the branch. And it spills over into the greater branch family. A willing hand is always outstretched. Making the most of each moment is their byword. One day Steve forgot his shirt for meeting, so another boy loaned him one of his. Although two of Steve could have fit into the shirt, one very relieved Steve could attend his meetings. B.J. tells of one experience she had with the Young Adults in the area:
“One night after I had not been to Young Adults for three weeks, they all came to my house for a party!” She shook her head in wonder.
The pioneer spirit shows in little ways. At dances, beneath the elegant gowns, girls wear mukluks, sealskin boots. After a shipment of fabric comes into the general store, everyone shows up at church and school with shirts, dresses, and skirts of the same fabric. And this spirit shows in big ways, too. When the hay is ready to harvest, everyone comes to help. Eggs and milk are shared by all.
“The whole branch is close.” Dad sums it up well. With little else to hold onto, that gospel love is like an iron rod in the vast wilderness. “The people up here have to live like the Mormon pioneers. They share. They work together,” Dad explains.
Steve agrees. His life is painted in pioneer panorama, but with strokes that show a Master’s gentle touch. Last year when winter was fierce, the whole family gathered in the front room, some of the smaller members in Dad’s arms. They read from the scriptures by the flickering light of kerosene lamps. Through the front window, Steve could see the bright lights of the Aurora Borealis dancing silent approval over the warm scene. This is life at its best—a candle on a very cold hillside.

Learning how to work hard is essential while in your youth. Hard physical work is a part of life. I learned that lesson early when I was called on a special Church-service mission to help build meetinghouses. I was only 16 years old and had just graduated from my school. I was assigned to the bricklaying crew. It was hard work, but I loved it.
We were put in groups and traveled from Sweden, where I lived, to several other countries close by. At each location we would make arrangements to stay with a member from the local ward. I was struck by the willingness of good, solid Church members to open their homes and contribute whatever they could. Even if their own finances were not in abundance, they desired to serve.
When I received the call to serve this mission, I was a little bit nervous, but I did not hesitate to accept it. I had been taught from a young age to say yes when asked to serve in any capacity for the Lord’s work. So, more than nervousness, I felt excitement. It had been a great experience to help build meetinghouses for the Church.

It was soon to be Christmas. My twin brother and I had reached the age when we knew the “truth” about Christmas. Our family’s humble circumstances had always provided little help for Santa Claus. Max and I had decided between us that we would ease Mother’s concern about it and so confided in her our knowledge. She merely replied, “Well, is that so?”
Christmas Eve came. The family decorated the tree, made candy and popcorn balls, and placed our homemade presents beneath the tree. Dad sent us boys downstairs to bed, indicating that we were to stay there until he called us in the morning. Still laughing and giggling from the fun and excitement, Max and I followed our older brother, Lynn, down the stairs. With some effort on our part and some added encouragement from our father, we finally quieted down. Sleep came at last.
It seemed I hadn’t been asleep long when Max awakened me with the news that it was 7:15 A.M.—time to hurry up to the living room. Remembering that Dad had instructed us to await his word, we hesitated at the top of the basement stairs and spent a few moments debating who would go to Dad to ask for permission to turn on the lights. Max lost the debate. He had to ask. I heard our father’s somewhat irritated voice saying it was only 25 minutes before 3:00 A.M. (we had read the clock backwards) and we were to get right back into bed and wait as we had been told earlier!
Max tiptoed his way back through the dark livingroom toward the stairs. It was then that he saw it! Even in the very dim light it was beautiful! He hurried to where I was waiting in the dark of the stairwell, slipped excitedly down beside me, and described a most unexpected surprise—a Hiawatha Streamer bicycle! The fact that there was just one, that there were 10 inches of snow outside and no place to ride, or that he couldn’t read which of the children it was for somehow didn’t matter.
It seemed that we lay there on the stairs for hours, counting each tick of the clock and anxiously awaiting the call of our father. Finally we heard Dad’s heavy footsteps as he walked from the bedroom toward the stairs. He hardly needed to beckon us to come.
There it was—“TO THE TWINS FROM SANTA”—the most beautiful bicycle we had ever seen. It was cream-colored, decorated with a bright red stripe and shiny chrome fenders, and completely outfitted with headlight, tool compartment, fender rack, reflector, and spring seat. We could hardly believe it was ours! Soon my brothers and I were clearing a pathway in the snow (shoveling the driveway had never seemed so easy) and were riding the sleek new Streamer. Cold hands and toes were ignored. What a wonderful time we had!
In my excitement and almost total preoccupation with our wonderful Christmas gift, I had failed to notice that there were few other gifts beneath the tree for other members of the family. Christmas stockings contained an orange in the toe, a few nuts, and some hard candy. Hand-wrapped pieces of honey candy and homemade fudge completed Santa’s treat.
That evening as we went to bed, Max and I talked about the day’s event—the bicycle. We planned how we would use the bike. We would get a paper route. We would have transportation to work during the summer, and we would be able to ride to school during the winter. It could be put to so many uses! Then our wonderment returned. Where had the bicycle come from? We knew Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to buy it. We were also aware of the wartime shortages. Who had made this prized gift possible?
It wasn’t until several years later that we learned the beautiful, heartwarming truth. The sacrifice and concern of a loving mother, brother, and sister had made possible that unforgettable Christmas. Our brother had worked extra hours at a creamery after school. Our sister had done housework for a neighbor. Our mother had saved money from her early morning work at the cannery during the harvest months. Each of them had worked extra hours and had sacrificed his time, his earnings, and his own Christmas gifts to provide a special Christmas for the young twins. The happiness of that Christmas was surpassed only by the discovery of their secret and their love and sacrifice for us. Here was the true spirit of Christmas—an older brother and sister lending unselfish support to parents, desiring to give anonymously that which they’d never had themselves, seeking no credit or praise for their act, expecting no reciprocation. This example of the love of children for parents and brothers I shall always cherish and value as a priceless gift.
The bike is gone, long ago worn out by two robust boys. Its shininess soon faded through constant use and enjoyment. The years, however, have only increased the glow of true Christlike love between family members. This act of love, and others like it, created ties that have brought our family members to the aid and support of one another many times and under every circumstance.

I felt strongly to share with you an experience of one of our missionaries of our New York City, New York Mission. It came from Elder Powell as he went to leave the mission and he shared a special experience that he had had. He had noticed wonderful shoe-shining stations in subways, on street corners, and was determined to get his shoes shined sometime when he came to New York City.

Near the end of his mission, while in the Bronx, from around a corner, Elder Powell and his companion heard someone calling, “Shoe shine? Shoe shine? Anyone want your shoe shined?”

Elder Powell’s ears perked up at the sound and he realized he hadn't yet gotten his shoes shined while on his mission in New York. He rounded the corner and came face to face with the peddler offering a shoeshine. The first thought blurted from his mouth as you would expect from any missionary struggling with finances: "How much does it cost?"

"As much as you're willing to pay!" came the reply.

"Done deal!” Elder Powell had once gotten a tie in Harlem for 25 cents. Change rattled in his pocket and he thought, "Okay, I can handle this," so he agreed.

He knew there wouldn't be a red leather chair on a stand for him there like he might expect in Manhattan, but in looking around there wasn't even a chair. That's when he noticed the man had knelt at his feet. He had pulled from his pocket and opened a soiled, black-filled baby food jar, and having dipped his fingers in the oily ooze, he began to work dark polish into Elder Powell's worn missionary shoes.

Elder Powell then noticed how dirty the man was. His ragged shirt was heavily stained as the man on his knees sought to find a single clean spot on his soiled shirt to buff the shoes after the wonderful polish had been applied. The shirt provided what it could to the process of the shoe shine, but it wasn't enough for the humble shiner of shoes. His forearms finished the task of buffing, his skin taking on the dark ink, which sunk in deep, allowing those he served to walk away with shiny shoes.

As Elder Powell watched the selfless work being carried out, he thought of another who descended below us all and took upon Him the stains of mankind, that we in turn could walk away clean and unspotted from the stains of mortality and sin. With such a scene before us, wouldn't we not turn to think of our risen Lord once mocked and beaten, even bleeding from every pore in giving the ultimate and complete sacrifice to pay justice's price for sin and eternal life?

Overwhelmed by the visual reminder of the Savior's humanly unbearable Atonement, his shoe shine completed, Elder Powell's heart had changed, and he willingly paid the debt owed with all that he had. And then he reached into his companion's pockets for all that he had. Not sure his companion had caught the vision yet.

As a 15-year-old boy, I needed a friend, especially when my family moved hundreds of miles away from my home community, my high school, my ward, and my best friend. Entering San Luis Obispo High School in California as a junior, without a friend, I found that friend. He wasn’t my age. There were no Latter-day Saint young men my age in the San Luis Obispo Branch. Looking back, I know that the friend who, perhaps more than any other, influenced my life for good, was a man the age of my parents.

Arthur Godfrey was president of the San Luis Obispo Branch of the Church and a teacher of agricultural science at the high school. Positive and sincerely interested in all of us, he became our friend. When I needed a job, he helped me find one in the community cannery. When I arrived late for work one afternoon, he forcefully taught me the absolute necessity of being on time, of how essential were duty and keeping promises.

A 15-year-old boy benefits when a friend believes in him. President Godfrey did that for me. He understood me, knew my weaknesses, yet believed that I could accomplish something with my life. Such trust imparted new confidence in me.

“How was the party?” Mom asked as I ran into the kitchen.
“Amazing! We made sparkly headbands.” I pirouetted so Mom could admire my work. “And Arianna got the best gift ever! A doll.”
“Didn’t you say you were too old for baby dolls?” Mom asked as she measured flour for brownies.
“Not a baby doll, Mom. This doll has long braids, and she wears Scandinavian clothes. Mom … ?”
“Yes, Maddie?”
“Can I have a doll like that?”
Mom mixed in the oil. “Christmas isn’t for a while, honey, but you can put it on your list.”
Put it on my list? But Christmas was months away! “Can I just have it now? I’ve been extra nice to Elise lately, and I clean the bathroom sometimes.”
Mom smiled as she stirred the batter. “Being nice to your sister and cleaning the bathroom are part of being in our family, Maddie. But you could always work and earn money.” The phone rang. “I need to answer this, but we can discuss it more at dinner.”
I stomped off to my room. Work for it? That wasn’t fair. None of my friends had to work for anything! How much did the doll cost anyway?
I found the doll in a catalog, and I blinked at the price. She was pretty expensive. I could never earn enough to buy her. Maybe I could ask Dad for her, or Grandma Ruth.
“But how would they pay for it?” a small voice asked in my head. “They’d have to work.”
I thought of my family—Dad doing paperwork, Mom cleaning the attic, and Grandma weeding the garden. All of them worked really hard. Maybe it was my turn. Still, I’d never saved that much before.
Inspiration struck. I glued a picture of the doll onto some heavy paper then carefully cut it into puzzle pieces. The doll looked silly with her eyes, nose, and mouth spread all over the carpet, but I just grinned. As I earned money for the doll, I could put the puzzle together and keep track of how much more I needed!
When Mom came to get me for dinner, she was impressed. “Great idea, Maddie! Now it’s time to put you to work!”
I had leftover money from my birthday, so I put that in a special jar for my doll money. That was a few pieces of my puzzle. The rest of the pieces came together more slowly. I did extra jobs for Mom—sorting books, sweeping the garage, and organizing her junk drawer. One weekend, I went to my grandma’s and planted flowers till my shoulders ached. I even watched my neighbors’ dog while they were on vacation. Each time I earned money, I put ten percent in my tithing jar and the rest in my doll jar.
It wasn’t easy to save. Sometimes I wanted to spend my money on candy or games. But I always thought of my goal, looked at my puzzle, and kept working.
Finally I put the last dollar into my jar and the last piece in my puzzle. I couldn’t believe I had done it! I just stared at the completed picture and let satisfaction wash over me.
“How do you feel, my working girl?” Mom asked from the doorway.
“Great!” I said with a smile. I was excited to get my doll, but the knowledge that I worked hard to earn her was the best feeling of all.

Neil raced down the front steps, his boots crunching on the snow. Wow! he thought, tucking his sled under his arm. What a great day for sledding. If he hurried to Andover Park, he’d be there before anybody else.
He rushed down the street, pulling his woolen hat so tightly over his ears that he almost didn’t hear Mr. Hoffman calling to him. Oh no! Not now, Neil thought, reluctantly turning back.
Old Mr. Hoffman stood by his door, a sweater thrown over his shoulders. Mrs. Hoffman is probably sick again, Neil decided. Mr. Hoffman didn’t like to leave her alone when she was ill, so sometimes Neil went to the store for him. He liked helping out, but did it have to be today?
“Neil, could you please get me a loaf of bread and some strawberry jam?” Mr. Hoffman smiled wanly and held out some dollar bills.
Neil was about to object, but when he saw the old man’s face, he just said, “Sure. Isn’t Mrs. Hoffman any better today?”
“No,” said Mr. Hoffman. “She won’t get much better, I guess. She’s old and worn-out.”
Neil propped his sled against the fence. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He hurried to the grocery store, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. All the way there he wondered, How can Mr. Hoffman live like that? He’s healthy. Why doesn’t he put Mrs. Hoffman in a nursing home where other people can take care of her?
At the grocery store, Neil picked up a loaf of bread and a jar of jam, plunked the money down, put the change in the grocery bag, and went back out into the snow. By now everyone will be at the park, he thought miserably.
When he got to the Hoffmans’ house, Mr. Hoffman opened the door immediately. “Thank you, Neil,” he said. “Come in and have some hot chocolate.”
“No, thank you,” Neil said. “I’m sort of in—“
“Henry,” a high, thin voice called from a back room.
“Coming, Eleanor,” Mr. Hoffman answered. As he hurried off, he said to Neil, “Just put the bread and jam on the table.”
“There’s change, too,” Neil called after him. Neil stamped the snow off his boots and stepped inside. He’d never actually been in Mr. Hoffman’s house before. He saw that the furniture was old, with doilies on the arms of the chairs. Magazines were stacked neatly on a side table. When he set the grocery bag down, he noticed an unfinished model ship next to the magazines. Small pieces of the ship lay on an open newspaper, but the ship already had masts, a flag, and intricate webs of thread for ropes. And on shelves around the room were many ships, all different types and sizes!
“Thank you again, Neil,” said Mr. Hoffman, coming back into the room.
“Mr. Hoffman,” said Neil, forgetting about sledding, “did you make all these?”
Mr. Hoffman chuckled. “Yes, I did. Not quite like their real counterparts, but I like them.”
“Have you been on any of the real ships?”
“Not on old sailing vessels like this one, of course,”—Mr. Hoffman pointed at the unfinished model—“but I was a navy submarine captain in World War II, and I’ve been on a few ships in my life.”
“Submarines! Wow!” Neil exclaimed. “I’ve only been in my dad’s rowboat.” Then he wondered, How does a submarine captain feel about being stuck in a house, nursing someone?
Mr. Hoffman looked out the window and noticed Neil’s sled. “Going sledding?” he asked. “It’s a good day for it.”
“Yes,” said Neil. “At Andover Park.”
“That’s where I used to go,” said Mr. Hoffman. His eyes became misty. “I grew up in this town. Many a snowy day I spent in Andover Park—Eleanor too.” He nodded his head toward the bedroom where his wife was. He chuckled. “I remember once I threw Eleanor’s hat up into a tree.” He added, winking, “But then I got it down for her.”
Neil looked up, surprised. He had never thought of Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman being children together.
Mr. Hoffman scratched his head, still smiling at the memories. “Neil,” he said, “if you’d like, you can come back sometime, and I’ll show you how to build these.” He pointed to the ships.
“Thanks,” said Neil. “I’d like that.”
Approaching the hill in Andover Park, Neil saw children laughing and pelting each other with snow. His eyes shifted to a tree atop the hill, and for a moment he imagined Mrs. Hoffman’s hat dangling from a branch. Mr. Hoffman’s not stuck, he thought. As long as Mrs. Hoffman is alive, he wants to be with her because he loves her. So he’s exactly where he wants to be.

When I moved from Peru to the United States to be a live-in nanny, everything felt so foreign. The language, culture, food, and weather were all so different.
It was also the first time I’d been on my own. Growing up, attending church was simply part of my family’s life. I loved it, but it was easy to rely on my family to stay spiritually strong.
It wasn’t until I moved that I began to understand what it meant to be spiritually self-reliant.
When I moved, I didn’t know anyone and couldn’t speak English. I felt lost, disconnected, and alone. It was terrifying.
When I’d shared my concerns about living in a different country with my mom, she’d advised me, “Wherever you go, look for the Church.”
So that’s exactly what I did: I located the nearest chapel and found my ward. Little did I know that this simple step would be a turning point in my journey of spiritual self-reliance.
My first Sunday in this new country was overwhelming, but being welcomed by the members of my new ward was a true miracle. One sister invited me to attend institute, and through that, I not only improved my English but also expanded my circle of friends.
Thanks to institute, I attended a nearby conference for young single adults in the Church and connected with other young adults who were striving to live the gospel.
I truly felt my spiritual self-reliance growing as I prayerfully lived my covenants, took the sacrament each Sunday, and served others.

Once upon a time a husband and wife who loved each other very much wanted to have a child of their very own to hold and to cuddle and to love. As time passed and they had no children, they prayed to their Heavenly Father to send them a special child. Heavenly Father heard their prayers.
One day this husband and wife received a telephone call to go to a distant city to meet with some people who said they had a tiny baby that this man and his wife could adopt. Excited and filled with anticipation, they made the journey in their car. When they arrived at the city, they went to a certain home and there they were taken into a room where they saw a tiny baby lying in the middle of a big bed waiting for them. There really is such a thing as love at first sight, for when this husband and wife saw that little boy lying there all alone, they immediately fell in love with him. They took him home with them and loved the baby so much that they talked about him as their own beloved son.
Yet in spite of their great love for that little baby, they had a fear in their hearts that they might not be able to keep him as their very own child. They first had to see a judge and ask him if they could adopt this baby according to law. Because the judge wanted to make sure the little boy would be properly cared for, he first had to find out if the husband and his wife loved each other, if they had a good and happy home, and if they had enough money to feed and clothe the baby.
It took time for the judge to decide all these questions and all the while the love of the husband and his wife for the baby grew and grew. Finally, the judge gave legal consent for the couple to adopt the baby and this was done. Now the baby was their very own special child and their fear was gone that he would be taken away from them. Still, the judge could only give them permission to have the child during their lifetime on this earth. But they loved that baby more than that! They believed in Jesus and knew that Jesus had more power than the judge. Jesus could give them the child forever and ever and not just for this life only.
After the adoption papers had been signed and the baby had been given a name, the couple took their son with them to a temple of God. There they dressed in white clothes and dressed the little boy in white clothes too. Then they all knelt down at an altar in the temple. A man who held a special priesthood sealed that little boy to his new father and mother so that the family could be together forever. Now this boy really was their own special child, not only during this life, but even after death. If they all did what was right and loved one another, they could all live together with Jesus in heaven. Now that baby really was their special child!
Now, back to my story. When the father and mother had their little adopted baby boy sealed to them, the man who performed the ceremony told the father and mother to hold up their little son so he could look into the mirror. There was a mirror in the front and in the back of the room so that when the little boy looked he could see a long line of fathers and mothers holding little boys in their arms. Now he knew that he had a whole line of mothers and fathers who loved him with all their hearts and who would love him always. Then that little boy really did feel he was a special child. All children of our Heavenly Father are special, but the little boy knew that he was a very special child with parents who loved him.
I know that this story is true, because I am that father who loves his very own special child more every day and, as mothers do, my wife loves him even more. Every child who lives in such a family where love is can also feel he or she is a very special child.

Seeing you reminds me of when I first met my husband, James. We met in a political science class at the University of Utah. This class was held in a large auditorium like this one, and I always sat in the front row because that is where the A students sit. Right? Towards the end of the quarter, James finally got the courage to ask me out. He decided that he would ask me out at the beginning of class because that way if I said “no” I would have to sit through the rest of the class feeling uncomfortable. Great strategy!
On one of our first dates, he realized that his grandparents were returning from serving as temple president and matron at the Manilla Philippines Temple. Not wanting to cancel our date, he invited me to go with him to the airport to welcome his grandparents’ home from their assignment. There ended up being over fifty family members in attendance, and James was the only one who showed up with a date. It was a little awkward. As Grandma and Grandpa McConkie walked out of the gate, grandma stopped and began hugging family members. Grandpa on the other hand, walked right past everyone and straight towards me. He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a great big hug, kissed me on the cheek, and then turned to James and asked, “So, when are you getting married?” I thought James was going to pass out. One year later we were married in the Salt Lake Temple and grandpa was our sealer. It was the best advice I have ever received. So, if there is someone that you are interested in dating, make sure you ask them out at the beginning of class and get your grandparents involved. As you know, grandparents are incredibly inspired!

One Missouri ward reports: “The bishopric and elders quorum presidency fasted and prayed to know the names of men whom they should activate and invite to a meeting the following Sunday. That week they each invited a man to a meeting the next Sunday. Four of six brethren came to a special meeting. During this meeting the bishop asked for comments. One brother stated that on the previous Sunday (at the same time their names were being considered) he felt a great desire to straighten out his life, and made a commitment to go to church that day. Another brother said that on the previous Sunday he, too, had felt a similar desire to straighten out his life. He had not been to church for forty years, but he made a commitment to attend. A third brother sought the bishop out after the meeting and pledged himself to full activity.”
Within that stake thirty inactive families were selected, with sixteen immediate, positive results.

Even before the reunification of Germany, while members in the GDR were still cut off from the rest of the Church, Brother Richter of Chemnitz (then Karl-Marx-Stadt) did not feel removed from his fellow Saints.
While serving as a member of the Dresden mission presidency during this time, Brother Richter had to request permission for a Church meeting; religious gatherings needed official sanction before they could be held. The government authority in charge refused permission, saying he disliked the Church because it was American and because its members no longer needed the government due to the care and support the Church afforded them. He believed the Church had no place in the GDR.
“Our Church is international,” said Brother Richter in reply. “You can put me on a parachute and just drop me somewhere—anywhere in the world—and I will be perfectly at home in the next LDS chapel. Can you do the same?” The official didn’t know how to answer and ended up giving permission for the meeting.

As a special gift for her dad, Carolyn learned to play one of his favorite hymns, “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today.” It is a difficult piece for a third-year piano student. “I worked and worked on it until I could do it,” she said. It is a special song for Brother Fox. Before he joined the Church, his father passed away. The next Sunday was Easter, and he went to the Methodist church. They sang “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” It caused him to think about the Savior and to realize that he really did believe in Christ’s resurrection and that his father would be resurrected. Since then, that hymn has always made him feel close to the Savior and to his father. Carolyn’s efforts to learn to play it make the hymn even more special.