Gospel Story Finder

I had seen a picture of President Kimball hanging on the wall of the barbershop, and so I said: “I assume that you cut his hair.” The barber, Ross Pyper, replied: “Yes, I do.” I said: “Does he have to make an appointment also?” He replied: “No, not any more, but he used to. Often when Brother Arthur Haycock, his personal secretary, calls, the person who had an appointment has either called and cancelled the appointment or is late. So I tell Brother Haycock to tell President Kimball to come right over and I will arrange to cut his hair immediately upon his arrival.”
In a few minutes, the telephone rang, and I heard the barber say: “Yes, Brother Haycock, I can take him right now. Send him right over.”
The barber completed my haircut and I stepped out of the barber chair and sat down. I was determined that Melissa and I would not leave until President Kimball came and we could meet him. Melissa, my little daughter, who was spending the day with me, was so excited at the thought of meeting the prophet that she could hardly contain herself.
Soon President Kimball walked in, accompanied by a security man. The president shook hands with the barber, and then walked over and shook hands with us and was very congenial. He then got in the barber chair and the barber proceeded to cut his hair. During this time he conversed very warmly with those in the room. Melissa was so excited and spiritually touched that tears came to her eyes on several occasions. As I looked into his countenance, I knew that he truly is a prophet of God.
“Daddy, do you think we could get a picture of President Kimball?” Melissa whispered to me. I said, “I think it would be all right. Why don’t you rush out to our car and get your camera before he leaves.” I could see that the president was almost ready. In what seemed like five seconds, Melissa rushed in the front door with her camera at the same time President Kimball stepped down from the barber chair.
“President Kimball, I hope you don’t mind, but would you allow me to take a picture of you and my little daughter, Melissa?” I asked. “Not at all,” he said. I then adjusted the camera as President Kimball, with his arm around Melissa, and Melissa, with her arm around President Kimball, posed for the picture. He was then very gracious in allowing her to take a picture of him and me together, with my arm around him and his arm around me.
After this President Kimball bid all of us good-bye and shook our hands again. When he shook Melissa’s hand, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek and he responded by kissing her on the cheek. He then left, and Melissa and I were left marveling at the experience we had been so fortunate to have.

Jim and Helen Gebhard are from Grand Junction, a small town in western Colorado. Jim is an orthopedic surgeon and specializes in treating patients with spinal conditions.
Like the Tarrs, the Gebhards considered volunteering as area medical advisors and since they speak Spanish, they thought they could serve in a Spanish speaking country. However, they were also contacted about coming to American Samoa, where the hospital has not had anyone with a spinal specialty before. Upon arrival, Dr. Gebhard had a long list of patients to see.
“We have been able to help patients that have become paralyzed because their conditions were not recognized in time,” he says. “They will be helped even more when we get our surgery operations going here.”
Sister Gebhard has a master’s degree in child development and taught courses at the local community college in Grand Junction for parents with preschool children. She now teaches those same classes at the American Samoa Community College five days a week.
The Gebhards have already developed some very close relationships with patients. “We’ve even been invited to two weddings!”
Robert Keddington worked in emergency medicine in Utah and retired several years ago. In 2020 he got a call from a senior Church leader in Salt Lake City asking him if had ever thought about serving a medical mission.
“My wife, Sue, and I prayed sincerely to know if this was something we should do and got a lovely answer from our Father in Heaven that we should go.”
“I wasn’t too sure about getting back into practice after being away for so long,” Dr. Keddington says. “I was also concerned about seeing patients with conditions related to the tropics, something I had never seen in my practice in Utah. But before I left, my local church leader gave me a blessing and told me that I would be blessed with recall to help the people here. I found again and again that as I was examining a patient, I could recall something I learned in medical school more than 40 years ago that was just what this patient needed. Truly a blessing from the Lord.”
In July 2022, the Keddingtons completed two years of service in Pago Pago. They loved every minute of their time there.
Former Pacific Area President Vincent Haleck spoke at a farewell event for the Keddingtons. He remembered how difficult it used to be for patients in American Samoa to receive necessary medical attention. “I saw many islanders try to [go] to New Zealand to get treatment but so few were able to . . . I thought how wonderful it would be to have these medical treatments available right here at home in American Samoa.” With encouragement from President Russell M. Nelson, himself a physician, it was Elder Haleck who developed the programme that eventually brought the Keddingtons and other doctors to the Pacific.
In his final remarks, Dr. Keddington said, “I have seen the hand of the Lord in my service to the people here,” he says.
“It’s been a humbling, gratifying experience.”

Clark was deeply touched when, on a typically marvelous Monson fishing experience, his father asked him to reel in his line for a moment. When the lines were in and the rods set aside in the boat, Brother Monson said, “In about five minutes your brother Tom will be sitting down to take the bar examination admitting him to the practice of law. He has worked hard through three years of law school for this and he will be a little nervous. Let’s just kneel here in the boat. I’ll offer a prayer for him, and then you offer one.”
“That was one of the greatest experiences of my life,” Clark later reported. He was also deeply touched years later when his father turned the car around and drove sixty-four kilometers out of his way to let Clark get a good look at a hawk’s nest. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he would do that. It’s exactly the kind of thing he has done all his life for those he sees in need.”

Following completion of the second project, Bishop Abdul Rollings-Kamara of Peckham Ward, received an email from the volunteers programmes manager of Thames Reach. She informed him that the volunteers had been nominated for a Volunteer Hero Award and had won. This was in recognition of the work they had undertaken. This certainly came as a surprise to everyone. A certificate of achievement was subsequently awarded, along with a gift voucher. These were presented by Bill Tidnam, chief executive officer of Thames Reach, on 24 October 2020.

Through their service, the volunteers have exemplified the Rise and Reach motto to ‘go and do’, by going out and doing good for their community. Although their service was unconditional, they received a wonderful and unexpected award.

I remember when I was assigned to give my first talk in church. I was given the liberty to choose my subject. I’ve always liked birds, so I thought of the Seagull Monument. In preparation, I went to Temple Square and looked at the monument. First I was attracted to all the coins in the water surrounding the monument. I wondered how they would be retrieved and who would retrieve them. I shall not confess any thought of taking them.

Then I looked upward at the seagulls atop that monument. I tried in my boyish mind to imagine what it would be like to be a pioneer watching the first year’s growth of precious grain being devoured by crickets and then seeing those seagulls, with their lofty wings, descending upon the fields and eating the crickets. I loved the account. I sat down with a pencil in hand and wrote out a two-and-one-half-minute talk. I’ve never forgotten the seagulls. I’ve never forgotten the crickets. I’ve never forgotten my knees knocking together as I gave that talk. I’ve never forgotten the experience of letting some of my innermost feelings be expressed verbally at the pulpit. I would urge that we give the Aaronic Priesthood an opportunity to think, to reason, and to serve.

Merrell: Well, I gained a feeling of self-worth and determination to do my best. For example, while still in elementary school, I worked long hours in the hayfields, cutting and raking, and sometimes I would run into difficulties that would cut into my productivity. But no matter how many or how few rows I had cut, when my father came out to see my work in the evening, he would say, “Boy, Merrell, you got a lot accomplished! Did you get all that done while I was gone?” I was convinced I was the fastest cutter in the valley! I don’t know if I really was or not, but my father always made me feel that way.

Thirteen-year-old Florence Onyejekwe reached her usual spot in the crowded outdoor market in Onitsha, Nigeria. The street was packed with sellers calling out to busy shoppers. Women balanced bundles on their heads as they walked. School had just ended for the holidays, and Florence knew her friends were enjoying the break from class. But Florence spent her holidays selling bitter leaf here at the market. It was her only chance to earn money for her school fees.
Florence did not complain, though. After all, her mother spent long hours at the market every day selling yams to buy food for the family. Mama worked so hard. Her parents both did. But without an education, there was only so much they could do. Florence was almost finished with primary school. Perhaps if she could continue her schooling, she could get a good-paying job and help her family.
When she returned home, Florence asked her parents, “Do you think I could go to secondary school? And maybe university?”
Mama looked at Nnam (Dad) and shook her head. “University costs so much more than we have,” said Nnam. Florence looked down at her shoes. She didn’t want Mama and Nnam to see how disappointed she was.
A few days later, Florence stopped at the hospital to pick up some medicine. The hospital was almost as busy as the market, though not as loud. Florence stared at the nurses in their crisp, white caps. She pictured herself in a uniform like that, helping the sick and taking care of babies in a big hospital. Perhaps she could become a nurse.
Florence knew her parents were right—getting an education would be hard. But Florence knew how to work hard. She decided to try.
No matter how many chores filled her day, Florence made time to study. She passed the tests for secondary school, and Nnam borrowed enough money for her to go. Later she found out the government would help pay for her nursing school! Her dream was within reach.
But when it came time to begin nursing school, Florence felt a little doubt. What if nursing was too hard? What if she was lonely? Florence bowed her head and prayed, Dear God, please give me the strength to go to nursing school and work hard.
At nursing school, Florence learned to give medicine and keep tools clean from germs. Sometimes her patients got better, but sometimes they didn’t. Florence prayed often for courage. After three long years, Florence graduated with the award for best student. Her dream had come true! She got to wear the white nurse’s cap, and she was able to earn money to help her family.

Andrew turned back and climbed into the airplane’s small cabin. Although his father had taken some of the food on the sled, there was still a lot of canned goods left—much more than he would need. As he ate, Andrew thought of taking some food to the Eskimos, but he decided against it. If his father were delayed for some reason, the boy would need the food for himself.
Near the river the Eskimo boy chopped two holes through the ice. After fishing for several hours Ootah finally caught three small fish. He offered one to Andrew. “For your supper,” he said.
“Thank you, but I have food in the cabin of the plane,” Andrew reminded him.
Andrew felt terribly lonely when he returned to the plane and fixed something to eat. Before eating he prayed for his father’s safety and quick return. And as he prayed he remembered that his father had taught him to treat others as he would like to be treated. Guiltily he thought of the kindness of the Eskimo who had offered to share his fish even though they were all short of food.
Andrew flung open the cabin door and shouted for Ootah. When he came running, Andrew began throwing cans of food down to him.
On the sixth day an airplane mechanic flew in with Andrew’s father. While the mechanic repaired the plane, Andrew said good-bye to his Eskimo friends. He and Ootah solemnly promised to keep in touch with each other.
As the plane soared above the igloos, Andrew felt something pushing against his leg. He reached down and with a rush of joy picked up the little brown and white Husky puppy Ootah and his grandfather had left in the plane for Andrew to take home.

A few years ago Sister Packer and I were returning from New Zealand. We left Auckland at midnight and landed in Papeete in Tahiti. We waited there for a connecting flight. Just before dawn, a plane landed. It was not the one we were to board. We did not know its route; it was just an airliner landing on that small island in the South Pacific in the wee hours of a Monday morning.
I told my wife, “I will know someone on that plane.” I stood near the gate and as the passengers disembarked, four people, none of whom I had met before, approached me. “Are you Brother Packer?” And near the end of the line was one man I knew.
The point is this. It is manifestly impossible, in Huacuyo, Bolivia, or Tierra del Fuego, Argentina, in Kemi, Finland, or Vava’U in Tonga or anywhere else on earth, for an imposter to present himself as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and not be detected by the members as one who has not been regularly ordained by the leaders of the Church.

You students might consider what should be your standard in regard to studying on the Sabbath. I speak from experience, having attended three universities, which included law school and earning an advanced master’s degree in corporation law. During part of that time I served as bishop and worked in New York City as an attorney. I had every temptation and opportunity to study on the Sabbath day but made it a simple matter of faith and principle that I would avoid studying on Sunday. I feel that the Lord honored my commitment. I was able to complete all that I attempted educationally and excelled where I needed to excel.

A few years ago my back started hurting. I was kind of worried, so I went to see our family chiropractor. He took some X-rays, saw something weird going on, and recommended me to a specialist.
I was right. There was something wrong. The specialist told me I have a condition called ankylosing spondylitis. It’s a form of arthritis where your spinal joints get inflamed and your spine tries to fuse itself together.
My prescription was to exercise and stretch four or five days a week for about 20 to 30 minutes. If I don’t, my back starts to hurt again. Ankylosing spondylitis can also lead to other serious health problems.
Someday I may have to treat my condition with drugs, but for now, I stretch every day. I also go to the gym several times a week. Recently, I went for a checkup. The doctor told me that because I was diligent with stretching, my spine is in a lot better shape than many people my age.
I’m thankful for my body despite its limitations. I try not to focus on my health problems and just use my body the best I can. A few months ago, I found out that the lead singer of one of my favorite rock bands also has ankylosing spondylitis. Rather than complain, he said a lot of the great things in his life have come from struggling.
I try to remember the fact that Jesus Christ suffered every pain for us. He knows the mental and physical pain of any condition, including ankylosing spondylitis. He is the most equipped to help us, and He has helped me be grateful for my body and its abilities.
Samuel M., 21, Utah, USA

Prodi sat up in bed with a jolt. His heart was beating fast.
Rain pattered on the roof as he sat in the darkness. He could hear water dripping from the African fig tree outside his window, and the air felt sticky and warm. Prodi took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was just a dream.
He crawled out of bed and peeked at his parents. Mama and Papa were sleeping peacefully. His little sister, Célia, was curled up in her bed too. Everything was OK. His family was safe.
Prodi climbed back into bed and tried to go back to sleep. He tossed and turned, then tossed and turned some more. He knew his dream wasn’t real, but it had been so scary! Even though he was tired, he was afraid to fall asleep again. What if he had another nightmare?
Prodi lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. He tried to think of happy thoughts. Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer? A wave of warmth came over Prodi as he thought of the words of his favorite Primary song. Sister Kioska had taught them that Heavenly Father was always watching over them. They could pray to Him anytime, anywhere.
Prodi knew what to do. He got out of bed and knelt down to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “I’m really scared. Please keep my family safe. And please help me to go to sleep and not have any more bad dreams.”
Prodi finished his prayer and climbed back in bed. His body relaxed, and his mind felt peaceful. Soon he was asleep.
When morning came, Prodi woke up to the warm sun shining through the window. He could hear pots clanging in the kitchen. Célia was at the table eating leftover cassava. Mama was warming some up for him to eat too.
“Bonjour,” Mama said. “How did you sleep?”
“I had a really scary nightmare,” Prodi said. “But then I said a prayer. Heavenly Father helped me feel safe.”
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” Mama said. She hugged Prodi close and didn’t let go for a long time. “But I’m so glad you said a prayer. It sounds like praying really helped you.”
“It did,” said Prodi. “I was able to fall asleep again, and I didn’t have any more bad dreams.” Prodi hugged Mama tight. He was glad to know that no matter how scared he felt, Heavenly Father was just a prayer away.
Go to page 15 to meet the boy from this story!

Late in 1827, Emma learned she was pregnant and wrote to her parents. It had been almost a year since she and Joseph had married, and her father and mother were still unhappy. But the Haleses agreed to let the young couple return to Harmony so Emma could give birth near her family.
Although it would take him away from his own parents and siblings, Joseph was eager to go. People in New York were still trying to steal the plates, and moving to a new place could provide the peace and privacy he needed to do the Lord’s work. Unfortunately, he was in debt and had no money to make the move.5
Hoping to get his finances in order, Joseph went to town to settle some of his debts. While he was in a store making a payment, Martin Harris strode up to him. “Here, Mr. Smith, is fifty dollars,” he said. “I give it to you to do the Lord’s work.”
Joseph was nervous about accepting the money and promised to repay it, but Martin said not to worry about it. The money was a gift, and he called on everyone in the room to witness that he had given it freely.6
Soon after, Joseph paid his debts and loaded his wagon. He and Emma then left for Harmony with the gold plates hidden in a barrel of beans.7
The couple arrived at the Haleses’ spacious home about a week later.8 Before long, Emma’s father demanded to see the gold plates, but Joseph said he could only show him the box where he kept them. Annoyed, Isaac picked up the lockbox and felt its weight, yet he remained skeptical. He said Joseph could not keep it in the house unless he showed him what was inside.9
With Emma’s father around, translating would not be easy, but Joseph tried his best. Assisted by Emma, he copied many of the strange characters from the plates to paper.10 Then, for several weeks, he tried to translate them with the Urim and Thummim. The process required him to do more than look into the interpreters. He had to be humble and exercise faith as he studied the characters.11
A few months later, Martin came to Harmony. He said he felt called by the Lord to travel as far as New York City to consult experts in ancient languages. He hoped they could translate the characters.12
Joseph copied several more characters from the plates, wrote down his translation, and handed the paper to Martin. He and Emma then watched as their friend headed east to consult with distinguished scholars.13
Facsimile of characters from the Book of Mormon plates.
When Martin arrived in New York City, he went to see Charles Anthon, a professor of Latin and Greek at Columbia College. Professor Anthon was a young man—about 15 years younger than Martin—and was best known for publishing a popular encyclopedia on Greek and Roman culture. He had also begun collecting stories about American Indians.14
Anthon was a rigid scholar who resented interruptions, but he welcomed Martin and studied the characters and translation Joseph had provided.15 Although the professor did not know Egyptian, he had read some studies on the language and knew what it looked like. Looking at the characters, he saw some similarities with Egyptian and told Martin the translation was correct.
Martin showed him more characters, and Anthon examined them. He said they contained characters from many ancient languages and gave Martin a certificate verifying their authenticity. He also recommended that he show the characters to another scholar named Samuel Mitchill, who used to teach at Columbia.16
“He is very learned in these ancient languages,” Anthon said, “and I have no doubt he will be able to give you some satisfaction.”17
Martin placed the certificate in his pocket, but just as he was leaving, Anthon called him back. He wanted to know how Joseph found the gold plates.
“An angel of God,” Martin said, “revealed it unto him.” He testified that the translation of the plates would change the world and save it from destruction. And now that he had proof of their authenticity, he intended to sell his farm and donate money to get the translation published.
“Let me see that certificate,” Anthon said.
Martin reached into his pocket and gave it to him. Anthon tore it to pieces and said there was no such thing as ministering angels. If Joseph wanted the plates translated, he could bring them to Columbia and let a scholar translate them.
Martin explained that part of the plates were sealed and that Joseph was not allowed to show them to anyone.
“I cannot read a sealed book,” said Anthon. He warned Martin that Joseph was probably cheating him. “Beware of rogues,” he said.18
Martin left Professor Anthon and called on Samuel Mitchill. He received Martin politely, listened to his story, and looked at the characters and translation. He could not make sense of them, but he said they reminded him of Egyptian hieroglyphics and were the writings of an extinct nation.19
Martin left the city a short time later and returned to Harmony, more convinced than ever that Joseph had ancient gold plates and the power to translate them. He told Joseph about his interviews with the professors and reasoned that if some of the most educated men in America could not translate the book, Joseph had to do it.
“I cannot,” Joseph said, overwhelmed by the task, “for I am not learned.” But he knew the Lord had prepared the interpreters so he could translate the plates.20
Martin agreed. He planned to go back to Palmyra, set his business in order, and return as soon as possible to serve as Joseph’s scribe.21
Joseph and Emma Smith’s home in Harmony, Pennsylvania.
In April 1828, Emma and Joseph were living in a home along the Susquehanna River, not far from her parents’ house.22 Now well along in her pregnancy, Emma often acted as Joseph’s scribe after he began translating the record. One day, while he translated, Joseph suddenly grew pale. “Emma, did Jerusalem have a wall around it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, recalling descriptions of it in the Bible.
“Oh,” Joseph said with relief, “I was afraid I had been deceived.”23
Emma marveled that her husband’s lack of knowledge in history and scripture did not hinder the translation. Joseph could hardly write a coherent letter. Yet hour after hour she sat close beside him while he dictated the record without the aid of any book or manuscript. She knew only God could inspire him to translate as he did.24
In time, Martin returned from Palmyra and took over as scribe, giving Emma a chance to rest before the baby came.25 But rest did not come easy. Martin’s wife, Lucy, had insisted on coming with him to Harmony, and both Harrises had strong personalities.26 Lucy was suspicious of Martin’s desire to support Joseph financially and was angry that he had gone to New York City without her. When he told her he was going to Harmony to help with translation, she had invited herself along, determined to see the plates.
Lucy was losing her hearing, and when she could not understand what people were saying, she sometimes thought they were criticizing her. She also had little sense of privacy. After Joseph refused to show her the plates, she started searching the house, rifling through the family’s chests, cupboards, and trunks. Joseph had little choice but to hide the plates in the woods.27
Lucy soon left the house and lodged with a neighbor. Emma had her chests and cupboards to herself again, but now Lucy was telling the neighbors that Joseph was out to get Martin’s money. After weeks of causing trouble, Lucy went home to Palmyra.
With peace restored, Joseph and Martin translated quickly. Joseph was growing into his divine role as a seer and revelator. Looking into the interpreters or another seer stone, he was able to translate whether the plates were in front of him or wrapped in one of Emma’s linen cloths on the table.28
Throughout April, May, and early June, Emma listened to the rhythm of Joseph dictating the record.29 He spoke slowly but clearly, pausing occasionally to wait for Martin to say “written” after he had caught up to what Joseph had said.30 Emma also took turns as scribe and was amazed how after interruptions and breaks, Joseph always picked up where he left off without any prompting.31
Soon it was time for Emma’s baby to be born. The pile of manuscript pages had grown thick, and Martin had become convinced that if he could let his wife read the translation, she would see its value and stop interfering with their work.32 He also hoped Lucy would be pleased with how he had spent his time and money to help bring forth God’s word.
One day, Martin asked Joseph for permission to take the manuscript to Palmyra for a few weeks.33 Remembering how Lucy Harris had acted when she visited the house, Joseph was wary of the idea. Yet he wanted to please Martin, who had believed him when so many others had doubted his word.34
Unsure what to do, Joseph prayed for guidance, and the Lord told him not to let Martin take the pages.35 But Martin was sure showing them to his wife would change things, and he begged Joseph to ask again. Joseph did so, but the answer was the same. Martin pressed him to ask a third time, however, and this time God allowed them to do as they pleased.
Joseph told Martin he could take the pages for two weeks if he covenanted to keep them locked up and show them only to certain family members. Martin made the promise and returned to Palmyra, manuscript in hand.36
After Martin left, Moroni appeared to Joseph and took the interpreters from him.37
The day after Martin’s departure, Emma endured an agonizing labor and gave birth to a boy. The baby was frail and sickly and did not live long. The ordeal left Emma physically drained and emotionally devastated, and for a time it seemed she might die too. Joseph tended to her constantly, never leaving her side for long.38
After two weeks, Emma’s health began to improve, and her thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript. “I feel so uneasy,” she told Joseph, “that I cannot rest and shall not be at ease until I know something about what Mr. Harris is doing with it.”
She urged Joseph to find Martin, but Joseph did not want to leave her. “Send for my mother,” she said, “and she shall stay with me while you are gone.”39
Joseph took a stagecoach north. He ate and slept little during the journey, afraid that he had offended the Lord by not listening when He said not to let Martin take the manuscript.40
The sun was rising when he arrived at his parents’ home in Manchester. The Smiths were preparing breakfast and sent Martin an invitation to join them. By eight o’clock, the meal was on the table but Martin had not come. Joseph and the family started to grow uneasy as they waited for him.
Finally, after more than four hours had passed, Martin appeared in the distance, walking slowly toward the house, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.41 At the gate he paused, sat on the fence, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He then came inside and sat down to eat in silence.
The family watched as Martin picked up his utensils, as if ready to eat, then dropped them. “I have lost my soul!” he cried, pressing his hands on his temples. “I have lost my soul.”
Joseph jumped up. “Martin, have you lost that manuscript?”
“Yes,” Martin said. “It is gone, and I know not where.”
“Oh, my God, my God,” Joseph groaned, clenching his fists. “All is lost!”
He started pacing the floor. He did not know what to do. “Go back,” he ordered Martin. “Search again.”
“It is all in vain,” Martin cried. “I have looked every place in the house. I have even ripped open beds and pillows, and I know it is not there.”
“Must I return to my wife with such a tale?” Joseph feared the news would kill her. “And how shall I appear before the Lord?”
His mother tried to comfort him. She said maybe the Lord would forgive him if he repented humbly. But Joseph was sobbing now, furious at himself for not obeying the Lord the first time. He could barely eat for the rest of the day. He stayed the night and left the next morning for Harmony.42
As his mother, Lucy, watched him go, her heart was heavy. It seemed everything they had hoped for as a family—everything that had brought them joy over the last few years—had fled in a moment.43

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with our brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I ran up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, eating moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors.
My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! He didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes!
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his large nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my shining paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault because he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I tilted my head in amazement. There were tears in those blue, blue eyes! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that Chinese lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. He did know some Chinese words. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim is my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked.
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, perching myself on a nearby stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of wrinkled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Why did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
I looked at my sister intently. “I don’t know, Mei Lai, but I’m still glad that I gave it to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

Sixta María Martínez of the Aeropuerto Ward, Mérida México Centro Stake, was already 62 when she was baptized in 1974. She quickly learned to love temple work and made several long trips on temple excursions from southern Mexico to Mesa, Arizona, in the United States. She delighted in a later opportunity to visit the temple in Salt Lake City. Over the years Sister Martínez has completed temple ordinances for her own family back five generations. She has lived to see a temple built just a few kilometers away in Mérida. At 92, she tries to go there once a week. “It is my joy. It is my life,” she says.

For a number of years, while I had responsibility for the work of the Church in Asia, I interviewed each missionary one-on-one. I asked each what virtue he or she saw in his or her companion and would like to put into his or her own life.
When I raised that question, almost invariably the missionary, an elder for example, would stop with a surprised look on his face. He had never thought of his companion that way before. He had seen his faults and weaknesses but had not seen his virtues. I would tell him to pause and think about it for a minute. Then the answers would begin to come. Such answers as, “He’s a hard worker.” “He gets up in the morning.” “He dresses neatly.” “He doesn’t complain.”
It was a remarkable thing, really. These young men and women, for the most part, had been oblivious to the virtues of their companions, although they were well aware of their companions’ faults, and often felt discouraged because of them. But when they began to turn their attitudes around, remarkable things began to happen.

My friends and I crept up to the darkened porch. We placed the package in the middle of the welcome mat and pressed the doorbell, setting off a ring inside the house. The three of us ran and hid behind some bushes.
A light went on, and we watched as the object of our “attack” opened the front door and looked around before noticing what lay at her feet. She bent down, picked it up, and stood there on the porch reading the letter we’d written just for her. A smile slowly crept across her face, and her eyes scanned the area. Seeing nothing unusual—we were too well-hidden—she took her treat into the house.
It was just after the school year began. A few of us had wanted to make our senior year extra special. We decided to take our fellow seniors some cookies and a special note, telling them something we admired about them and calling ourselves the “Ram Phantom” because our school mascot was a ram. It took only once, and we were addicted. Soon every Saturday night was spent coming up with people we thought needed a pick-me-up.
That night Andrea (name has been changed) was on our list. I was especially excited because she was also in my ward. Andrea was painfully shy, and I had watched her all week at school, noticing that she seemed even more down than usual. So when we were discussing names, I made sure to bring her up.
The next day during Young Women, the lesson was on service. Our teacher asked for examples of service given and received. The entire class was surprised when Andrea’s hand went up. She said she had been having a really hard time lately. In her prayers she had been asking Heavenly Father to show her that someone noticed her, that someone really cared. Then last night, the doorbell rang, and someone had left her cookies and a note. She told us it was an answer to her prayers to know that someone thought good things about her.
At school the next day I noticed a change in Andrea. She looked people in the eye, perhaps wondering if they were the Ram Phantom. I told my friends what Andrea had said, and a feeling of peace settled over us, knowing we’d made a little difference in someone’s life.

A few years ago, I arrived at the Bountiful Utah Temple to fulfill a late-night cleaning assignment. The turnout for the assignment was impressive, and I wondered for a moment if some would be sent home. I was more than ready to volunteer to leave early. Then I cynically thought to myself, “Of course they won’t let us go early. They will find menial jobs for all of us, thinking it is their duty to keep us here the entire two hours.” I remembered a previous assignment during which I had dusted for more than an hour, only to return a cloth that looked as clean as it had been when it was given to me. I prepared myself to spend two hours cleaning things that didn’t appear to need cleaning. Obviously, I had come to the temple that night out of a sense of duty more than from a desire to serve.
Our group was led to a small chapel for a devotional. The custodian who conducted the devotional said something that will forever change the way I look at temple cleaning assignments. After welcoming us, he proceeded to explain that we were not there to clean things that didn’t need cleaning but to keep the Lord’s house from ever becoming dirty. As stewards of one of the most sacred places on earth, we had a responsibility to keep it spotless.
His message penetrated my heart, and I proceeded to my assigned area with a new enthusiasm to protect the Lord’s house. I spent time with a soft-bristled paintbrush, dusting the tiny grooves in door frames, baseboards, and the legs of tables and chairs. Had I been given this assignment on an earlier visit, I might have thought it ridiculous and carelessly brushed over the areas in an effort to appear busy. But this time, I made sure the bristles reached into the tiniest of crevices.
Because this job was neither physically nor mentally taxing, I was blessed with time to ponder while I worked. I first realized that I never paid attention to such minute details in my own home but cleaned those areas that others would see first, neglecting those known only to members of my family and me.
I next realized that there were times when I had lived the gospel in a similar fashion—living those principles and fulfilling those assignments that were most obvious to those around me while ignoring things that seemed known only to my immediate family or me. I attended church, held callings, fulfilled assignments, went visiting teaching—all in full view of members of our ward—but neglected to attend the temple regularly, have personal and family scripture study and prayer, and hold family home evening. I taught lessons and spoke in church but sometimes lacked true charity in my heart when it came to interactions with others.
That night in the temple, I studied the paintbrush in my hand and asked myself, “What are the little crevices in my life that need more attention?” I resolved that rather than plan to repeatedly clean the areas of my life that needed attention, I would try harder never to let them become dirty.
I remember my temple-cleaning lesson each time we are reminded to keep ourselves “unspotted from the world” (James 1:27).

When he was fourteen years old, Elder Kikuchi was attending night school and arising before four o’clock in the morning to make tofu at a nearby factory. Tofu or bean curd is a staple of the Japanese diet, and he had to prepare the tofu and have it ready by 6:00–7:00 A.M. so that customers could buy it for their breakfast. Finally, he fell ill from exhaustion. While he was resting, and trying to recuperate at his uncle’s house in Muroran, two Mormon missionaries knocked at the door. Elder Kikuchi, in recalling the occasion, said, “In those days missionaries wore hats, heavy rubber boots, and overcoats. They seemed so big compared to me, and yet their eyes were sparkling and pure. I was very impressed by their courtesy and invited them in for a few minutes.”

After this brief introduction to the Church, Elder Kikuchi was baptized thirteen days later. “It was manifest to my spirit” he said, “that the story of Joseph Smith was true. I had really searched for the truth through all the years of my boyhood, but I never had any knowledge about the true church.”

Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”