Gospel Story Finder

Brothers Terii and Emile Mau enjoy the simple life of fishermen on the tropical island of Moorea, 12 miles from Tahiti. On Sundays they attend the Haumi Branch of the Church, and almost every other morning of the week they awake before dawn, load their nets into outrigger canoes, and travel out to the edge of the coral reef where they spread their nets. Like many other Polynesian islands, Moorea is surrounded by coral reefs that leave beautiful, protected lagoons between the open ocean and the beaches. After Terii and Emile bring their catch in, they put the fish in pole-and-wire corrals in shallow water, so the fish will stay alive until they are needed. The brothers then hang their nets from trees to dry.
And because they love the water and because it is a warm January day, they decide to go fishing again, this time more for fun than food.
After the short paddle across Miti lagoon, they tie their canoes to the reef, don face masks and flippers, and holding their spear guns, slide over the sides of the canoes into the warm tropical waters. A glance in any direction underwater presents a world that looks like an ocean-sized, fully stocked tropical aquarium. Brightly colored fish of every imaginable shape swim everywhere, enjoying the sanctuary of the reef.
Today is a good day for the brothers—the swimming is good, they find some beautiful shells, and Emile catches one of the biggest apai that either of the brothers has ever seen.

During World War II, the Latter-day Saints in Princeton met for church in our house. I learned then that the Church is not a building; the Church isn’t even a lot of people. I felt close to Heavenly Father and knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His Church; it didn’t matter that our little branch met in our dining room. It was fun because when I came downstairs on Sunday, I was in church.
The branch members were my father, the branch president; my mother, who played the piano; my two brothers and me, the only youth in the branch; a few graduate students or servicemen; and a few older women who were converts to the Church and whose husbands were not members. Rarely would there be more than 10 or 15 people attending.
The sacrament was prepared on the dining room table, which also served as the pulpit. During fast and testimony meeting, I always wondered why the older women cried. I later realized that they cried because they were so happy and grateful to be with the Latter-day Saints in that little branch.

When it comes to lifestyle choices, there are some definite areas where Evan stands out. “It’s difficult at times because everyone else swears,” he says. Swearing is quite common there, Evan explains. But there’s a part of Irish culture that Evan says can be an even bigger challenge.
“The lads like to meet up and go out for drinks,” he explains. “I’m always the odd one out.”
He’s talking about school friends his own age. Drinking alcohol at a young age is common where Evan lives. These social outings happen so frequently that Evan says he sometimes thinks of going along so he’s not always left out. But each time, he stays home.
“I think, ‘What’s going to happen if I do go with them?’” he says. “I know that if I choose not to go, I’ll be blessed because of it. The blessings of keeping the commandments are far greater than the pain of being the odd one out.”
“The blessings of keeping the commandments are far greater than the pain of being the odd one out.”
Evan relies on the Holy Ghost to help him through daily choices. In addition, he also has other sources of strength to draw on.
His Irish friends in the Church are only a text away.
Where Evan lives, because the youth in the Church are spread far and wide, they do a lot of virtual meetings. For one thing, they meet in seminary online.
“Weekly seminary is so good,” Evan says. “Not only do we get to learn about Christ and the gospel while we’re doing seminary, but afterwards the teacher leaves the Zoom call open for us.”
In that open call, they get to hang out, joke, play games, and just be friends with others who share their same values. For Evan, some of his closest friendships have formed through these Church contacts.
One of those connections is his good friend Rob. “We find loads of things funny that are similar,” Evan says. “Rob will find something funny on social media that he knows I’ll like, and he’ll send it to me. Then we’ll text back and forth a bit. A few hours later, I’ll find something funny and send it to him.”
Pretty normal stuff, right? But these small interactions are a big help throughout the week. “It’s good because we can share each other’s laughs, but there doesn’t have to be any swearing or anything else involved.” They can also text each other anytime they just need a little extra strength in the gospel.
Even though the Latter-day Saint youth in Ireland are a bit spread out, they still try to get together physically throughout the year—sometimes involving youth from the entire country.
These activities have involved everything from service projects to renting inflatable sumo wrestling suits. “They’re a lot of fun!” Evan says.
Occasionally at the end of the activities there will be a disco (a dance). These are very different from the school and community discos that take place nearby. For example, at a community disco, if a boy asks a girl to dance with him, it’s almost like asking her on a date—or even to be his girlfriend. Again, it’s just part of the culture there.
Things are different at the Church discos, however. There, Evan says, “we can ask someone to dance and they wouldn’t think we were asking them to be in a serious relationship with us. It’s a lot better.”
These get-togethers with other Church youth in Ireland have a lasting effect throughout the year. They continue their friendships by playing online games, sending texts and talking on the phone, and supporting each other until they can gather again in person.
Evan loves spending time with his family, including going cycling together and singing hymns at home.
Evan has a bit of advice for other youth in a situation like his. “If you feel like you’re the only Church youth at your school, don’t change your standards to try and fit in. If you swear, drink, or smoke to fit in, you’ll miss out on a lot. The blessings are a lot better than the satisfaction of trying to fit in!”
And just in case you fear that Evan is lonely at school because he chooses to live differently, think again. He says that people are aware of his beliefs and respect him even though he’s from a different religion. “I’m accepting of their beliefs, and they’re accepting of mine,” he explains. “I’m great friends with everyone at my school.”
In the end, Evan might not be surrounded by Church youth on a day-to-day basis, yet he lets his gospel light shine all the same. Besides, who knows how many gospel seeds he’s planting just by being such a good example? After all, things tend to grow just fine in Ireland!
Evan’s Testimony
“I know that the Church is true. I know that Joseph Smith did translate the Book of Mormon—and Helaman is one of the best bits in all of it! Because I have faith, I know I can live again with Heavenly Father. I know that Jesus Christ will walk the earth again. And I know that if we do as Nephi says, if we go and do, we will be blessed.”

But the most important change for the future, agree Dominican members, has taken place in the home. After Rafael and Miledy Dilone’s family of five joined the Church “even the neighbors congratulated us because of the new closeness they saw in our family,” says Rafael, a high councilor who works as a shoemaker at home and enjoys spending the days near his family. For Miledy, her family’s baptism and a noticeable improvement in her marriage strengthened their family life: “We were such a crazy family before. Now we know how to love each other.”

When I was 15, my family and I took a vacation from our home in Arizona to the central United States. We drove through many states, including Kansas, Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Illinois.
Our vacation went well. We learned to enjoy each other’s company during the long van rides from place to place.
As we pulled into a restaurant one evening, we were all anxious to grab a bite to eat. As we got out of our van, I suddenly had a silent but powerful impression that told me to look at the back tire on our van. I started to walk toward the restaurant, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. I looked back over my shoulder and then stopped. The impression came to my mind: “Check the back tire.” It was so forceful I couldn’t ignore it.
I approached the rear of the van and heard a hissing sound. Sure enough, our right rear tire had a leak and was quickly going flat. I ran to get my dad, who had already gone into the restaurant with the rest of the family.
My father took the van down the road to a gas station before the tire went completely flat. Since the tire wasn’t damaged, the repair was inexpensive and quick. And we were able to fix the flat just minutes before the service station closed for the night. I don’t know what would have happened if I had ignored the prompting. But I do know that because I responded, we were able to continue our trip safely and conveniently.
Since that incident, I’m always reassured of the power of the Holy Ghost and how truly blessed we are as members of the Church to have that special line of communication. I am grateful for that experience, for it will stay with me, forever reminding me that our Father in Heaven loves, cares, and watches out for all of His children.

I heard Elder Matthew Cowley, a twentieth-century Apostle, tell the story of blessing a baby at the request of a Maori father in New Zealand. As he was about to begin, the baby’s father said, “While you are giving it a name, please give it its vision. It was born blind.”

“I was overwhelmed,” Elder Cowley said. “I was doubtful, but I knew that within that Polynesian there was the simple faith of a child, a faith not dimmed by psychology or any of the learning of men but a simple faith in God and the promises he had made through his Son Jesus Christ. I gave that child its name, and eventually I gathered enough courage to bless it with its vision.

“… I saw him a few months ago. He is now six or seven years old, running all over the place, and he can see as well as I can see this day.”

Photographs by Ntebaleng Twala and courtesy of the family
She rides her horse. She stands up on top of her horse. But that’s not all. This 12-year-old from South Africa even sails over jumps with her horse!
It takes a special kind of relationship between horse and rider to pull off such feats safely. And Kelly K. truly is quite close with her horse, Delta. Yet if you ask what her most important relationships are, she’ll probably tell you about her family.
“My siblings are really important to me,” Kelly says. Her parents are important to her as well, of course. Kelly explains that sometimes it’s harder for teens to stay as close to their parents when they get a bit older, but she’s found some strategies that help. “For me, it’s just the simple things, like talking with my parents or spending time with them that has improved our relationship.”
That closeness makes a huge difference in her life.
As Kelly says, staying close as a family starts with spending time as a family. One of the ways they enjoy spending time together is to get up close and personal with some of the biggest animals on the planet! “We go on safari rides several times a year,” Kelly says. Plenty of great memories have piled up during these rides.
“The funniest memory is when it was pouring rain one time,” she says. The safari ride was going full speed, which made those raindrops sting. So her family huddled close together, laughing, to form a sort of human shield against the rain. And it worked! “We made each other warm!” she says.
Sports are another big part of her family, especially among her siblings. It’s another way they spend time together, both in playing together and in cheering each other on. As the youngest of five, Kelly has found that the easiest way to bond with her older siblings is to make the effort to learn more about their sports. “I love watching my older brothers play rugby or golf. And I also try and learn their sports a little so that when they’re practicing we can interact and play together.”
Kelly’s older sister is also into riding horses, so that’s a great and natural way for the two of them to connect. Kelly also enjoys running track, and her siblings love to support her.
In addition, the whole family loves playing cards and other games together. As President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then-Second Counselor in the First Presidency, has said, “In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e, time.”1
With Kelly’s family members being some of her greatest friends, they also help fill in gaps when other friendships hit bumpy patches. For example, there aren’t a lot of Church members where Kelly lives. Sometimes the difference in values between Kelly and her friends has been a challenge for her.
“When I was younger, I kind of got lost in what my friends wanted me to be,” she says. “But reading the scriptures and praying helped. I also turned to my family.
“One time I asked my friends to change their bad music, but that didn’t really work. They just said, ‘If you don’t like it, go home.’ So I prayed and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. He told me to call my parents and go home.”
Come what may, she knows she can rely on her family for help. “My mom and dad, they’re always there.” And so is the rest of her family! One time, two of Kelly’s friends moved away. This was especially tough because Kelly had grown very close to those friends. Once again, her family made the difference.
“My family was there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on or just to talk,” Kelly says about that difficult time. “They always know how to help me and just wrap me up in a blanket when I need it.”
With all she loves about living in South Africa—the weather, the safari animals, the temple in Johannesburg—there are also a few hard parts about living without many other Church youth nearby.
However, she knows the gospel and her faith in Jesus Christ have been her strength. “I don’t know where I’d be without the gospel,” Kelly says. “I am grateful that the Church is there. The scriptures really bless my life. And Heavenly Father is always going to be there. I live my standards because they help me feel happy and safe. And I don’t really want to be like the kids who get into a lot of trouble. I’d rather choose the right, because I know the gospel is true.”
There’s another massive motivation to Kelly for living the gospel—and that’s her love for her family. “I know that I can be with my family forever if I stick to the right path,” she says. “And I want to be with my family.”

A few months prior to the start of my service as a full-time missionary for the Church, I was diagnosed with vocal nodules. Nodules are calluses that develop on your vocal cords as a result of consistent and overwhelming friction. Fortunately, I was still able to start my mission.
Then, three months into my mission, I went in for a checkup. I learned there was a bleed on my vocal cord and that I would be on almost complete vocal rest for the next eight months.
I started my vocal rest immediately. I would avoid talking each day until about 3:00 p.m., using sign language to communicate with my companion. After that, I would talk only when absolutely necessary. We made social media missionary work a much bigger part of our daily schedule, and my companion took the lead in all contacts and teaching appointments.
But as the vocal rest continued, instead of feeling better, I felt even more intense burning in my throat nearly all the time. I had to save the few words I could speak for special occasions, and my world grew very lonely. I hardly felt like myself anymore. The outgoing, bubbly, 20-year-old girl I was just a few short weeks earlier was now quiet, reserved, and struggling to know how she fit in. I found myself crying multiple times a day. As each unspoken thought or feeling was swallowed in silence, I was losing myself.
On one particular occasion, I felt more darkness than usual and prayed for some glimmer of hope. It was then that the words to one of my favorite hymns came to mind:
There is music in my soul today,
A carol to my King,
And Jesus listening can hear
The songs I cannot sing.1
I was immediately struck by the last phrase and overwhelmed with the love my Savior has for me. I knew in that moment that I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t invisible. And I certainly wasn’t forgotten.
One of my favorite phrases from the scriptures is “song of the heart” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12). I realized I didn’t need my physical voice to be heard by Heavenly Father and by the Savior. They are always listening to every thought, prayer, heartache, and question, whether spoken out loud or not. I thought I was losing myself because I couldn’t speak, but without a word having ever been uttered, the songs sung by a silent, struggling young girl—the songs of my heart—rose to heaven and brought peace to my soul.
Although I have yet to receive my healing miracle, I have been empowered by the advice of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to “be patient, do your part, and express gratitude for the smallest improvement noted.”2 With every step in the right direction, I feel reassured that “this too shall pass.” In the last few months, I’ve been able to end my vocal rest earlier in the afternoon and talk with less pain.
I do not know when I will receive complete physical healing, but I have seen emotional healing come in many different ways. I’ve learned that the key to overcoming hardship is maintaining a close and direct relationship with God. This includes not only praying but also being quiet long enough to hear His voice. Instead of asking, “Why?” I started asking, “What did my trial give me today?” As I did, I began to see traces of God all around me.
Because of my trial, I have learned the importance of slowing down and connecting with my heavenly roots. I have also been blessed to appreciate more fully the musical gifts and abilities of others. Not being able to speak has allowed me to listen more to others and deepen my compassion for them. On the other hand, I have been reminded of the strength that comes from letting others help me.
Throughout my physical trials, I’ve come to learn that hope is not crossing our fingers or holding our breath for a desired outcome. Hope is not hanging on until we see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hope is the lantern we carry on our way through. It is what helps us move forward and shows us that we are not walking alone but with Heavenly Father and the Savior every step of the way.

My Grandfather Rose was very ill with heart problems. To help my grandmother with his care, our family decided that we would take turns sleeping at my grandparents’ house to help out. My mother and my aunts went over most often, but one weekend I asked if I could spend the night.
I was reclining in a chair next to my grandfather’s bed. He was sleeping well that night, which was unusual. I was just falling asleep myself when my granddad rolled over and said, “Carl, shape up.” Then he rolled back over and went back to sleep.
I didn’t know what he meant. I wasn’t a bad kid. But I wasn’t able to fall asleep the rest of the night. I stayed up thinking about what my granddad meant by telling me to “shape up.”
I thought about his words for the next few days, trying to figure out what I needed to shape up in my life. A few days later, I went again to my grandparents’ home to rub my grandfather’s back. I finished that and sat down to talk to my grandma. She said, “Carl, Granddad prays that you will gain the desire to serve a mission for the Lord.”
Later that night I was working at my gymnastics exercises. I heard my coach yelling at me to concentrate. I was so caught up thinking about the conversation that I had with my grandma and the decision I had to make that it was hard for me to work out. I was torn between a college scholarship for gymnastics and a mission.
As I was lying in bed later that night, I thought back to my granddad saying, “Carl, shape up.” I thought about whether my priorities were where they should be. They weren’t. I realized that my number-one priority was gymnastics, not the Lord and his work. I finally figured out what my granddad meant. He meant that I needed to shape up my soul and my mind. The only way to do that was to start going to seminary and church.
Not long after I began to “shape up,” I read the Book of Mormon for the first time in my life. As I did, I took the prophet Moroni’s advice and prayed about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. Through these exercises, I not only gained the desire to serve a mission, but I also found the light and life of the world, Jesus Christ.

Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higgenson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higgenson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of “Mother” touched every man’s heart.

It seemed like any other early school morning for the Pleasant Grove (Utah) High School security guard, until he noticed a group of boys crowded around a small car in the student parking lot. It looked awfully suspicious. They must be trying to break in, he thought. But as he neared the scene to investigate, he recognized the boys and knew they were good guys, even though they were searching for a way to break into the empty car. The owner of the car had left the radio blaring, and the boys were trying to get in to turn it off.
Why did these popular guys take the time to rescue the little car? That Volkswagen belonged to 17-year-old Shellee Lundgren, a varsity stunt cheerleader.
Why had she left her radio on? Wouldn’t the loud music have been too much to overlook? Not for Shellee—she’s deaf. But even so, sometimes she likes to feel the vibrations of the music on the radio.
It may not be common for a cheerleader to be deaf, but with hard work and the support of others, Shellee is able to accomplish most everything she wants to. And even though Shellee’s hearing loss is not typical of most teenagers, she sure is. Without talking to her, you’d never even guess she has a hearing disability. She’s usually with friends or talking on the phone, she dates, and her long hair covers the hearing aid she wears behind her left ear. She reads lips, so she can usually understand you, but it can be hard to understand her until you get used to the way she talks. But what strikes you most about her is that she hasn’t let her hearing problem slow her down. She’s outgoing and not afraid to try whatever she wants to do. Her philosophy is “Never say I can’t.”
Shellee wanted to dance, so in grade school she started dance and gymnastics classes. She has been competing and performing ever since. Someone signals Shellee when to begin, and then she counts through the rest of the piece. As a child, oftentimes she was more on beat than the rest of the children because she counted. “Most judges never even know I’m deaf,” she says.
Because Shellee is always trying, people are drawn to her. For example, in ninth grade Shellee wanted to be a cheerleader. When it came time for tryout practices, she went but struggled trying to understand all the instructions. Luckily, her bubbly personality and eagerness to learn won her the admiration of the other girls and one varsity cheerleader in particular.
Michelle Shoell, then a junior, took Shellee home with her every night that week to practice with her. Shellee could do the moves; she just needed help combining the moves with the words. “She is one of the most sparkling people I’ve ever met,” Michelle says, “and I wanted to see her make it.”
Before the final tryouts, Michelle even told the coach, “I don’t really care if I make it as long as Shellee does.” Both girls made the squad.
In no way is this kindness towards Shellee a one-way street. Shellee makes it easy to become her friend. Melissa Despain, a former fellow cheerleader, says when she first met Shellee she was afraid they wouldn’t be able to communicate. “But she was really nice about it,” she says. Shellee is more than willing to talk slower, repeat herself, and she always smiles to encourage you to continue trying.
Raychellene Jasper, Shellee’s best friend and fellow cheerleader, can hear, and the two have been known to be inseparable. Raychellene helps Shellee understand all the instructions at their practices. Raychellene says, “She makes me feel unique and special and like I’m needed and wanted. It’s a mutual dependency.”
Shellee is a friend as well as an example. “A lot of people didn’t think I could make the cheerleading team,” Shellee says. But when she did, some kids took it to heart. They thought, If she did it, maybe I could too.
It may seem like Shellee’s got it made. Being deaf hasn’t kept her from dancing, doing well in school, or making friends. However, it has made the gospel harder for her to understand than it is for most teenagers.
Only in the last year has Shellee attended a deaf ward, so until then she had to fend for herself at church. “I never knew how much she was actually getting,” says Janell Frost, one of Shellee’s Primary and Young Women teachers.
Fortunately, Pleasant Grove High School has a deaf seminary teacher whose class Shellee can attend. “Seminary has helped me a lot,” she says. “For example, I didn’t know I would live again after I die. I was so happy because then I knew I would see Grandma again.” Shellee hadn’t been able to grasp that concept until then, although she has always been an active member of the Church.
Reading the scriptures is hard for Shellee because of the vocabulary. She doesn’t recognize words from having heard them in conversation; she has to learn each word individually by looking it up. Words like nevertheless are hard enough to understand when you’ve heard other people use them. How is a deaf person to understand it without help?
Shellee’s seminary teacher is helping to solve this problem with drawings. She has her students draw pictures in their scriptures that go along with the stories so they can have a better idea of what is going on. “It helps a lot,” Shellee says.
In part, Shellee wants to go on a mission because she has had a difficult time understanding the gospel principles. “I want to go on a deaf mission so I can learn more. I want to help those who are lost.”
Whether they are obvious or not, we all have our barriers to overcome—even smart, outgoing, cheerleaders who accidentally leave their radios blaring. But when we work together and keep on trying, those barriers come crumbling down.

One way we cultivate righteous thoughts is by keeping in mind our purpose in mortality. For example, one woman found that she felt discouraged, particularly when she compared her life with the lives of others who had more wealth and material possessions than she had.

But she decided to control her thoughts, and she made an effort to focus on the kind of person she wanted to become instead of being concerned about the things she did not have. She prayerfully studied the scriptures, concentrating on the Savior’s life and on making her life more like his.

As she did this, she became more sensitive to the needs of those around her. She found that her testimony and her family became more precious to her. She began to admire Christlike character in others more than she had admired worldly wealth. Her new outlook on life helped her feel much happier.

Barbados is a charming island belonging to the Lesser Antilles. On its beautiful beaches, as well as on other Caribbean islands, there are protection zones for sea turtles.
On a mission tour, we had the opportunity to visit the island. One morning, Norma and I went for a walk on the beach, which is in front of the hotel where we were staying. As we did, we saw one of the senior missionaries who was working on the side of the path that separates the beach from the road.
As we got closer, we asked her what she was doing. She told us: “A large turtle had spawned in that part of the beach. The tortoise had found a good place to lay its eggs. She covered them and then left.”
The challenge would be for the little turtles, who, at birth, would search for the ocean and a recently built pedestrian path that had left a slope, would be an impossible hurdle to avoid on their way to the ocean. On the other hand, during the night the little turtles would mistake the lights of the vehicles and the city for stars and when going towards them they would die either by the vehicles or by starvation going in the opposite direction of the ocean.
Inspired by the missionary, we set out to look for baby turtles. Some were trapped among the plants, others had died, and others were struggling to climb the causeway that separated them from the beach and the ocean. We rescued as many as we could. Some people passing by told us that what we were doing was a waste of time.
Later, in a service activity, the missionaries leveled that path so that in the future the turtles that were born could find their way to life.
Personally, I felt an indescribable joy at being able to hold a little turtle in my hands and put it on its way to the sea.

I want to tell you about my little brother, Hans. When he was born, he didn’t seem to like being here on earth. He would wake up in the night, and when he saw that he was still here, he would start crying. He would only stop when Mom fed him. After he got older, he seemed to feel better about being here.
We slept in the same room, and at bedtime we always played games. He would never just go to sleep. After Mom kissed us goodnight and shut the door, Hans would jump up, hold onto the rail of his crib, and begin to bounce. He would wave and yell at me until we both were laughing hard. I really liked sharing a bedroom with him, even if he was a baby.
Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”
Hans was very adventurous. He wasn’t afraid of anything. His best trick was to climb up our big bookcase. He could get nearly to the ceiling. Mom always lifted him down, but I thought that he was better than a mountain climber.
Once I did something terrible to him without meaning to. He was coming up the stairs, steadying himself with his hand on the wall. When he got to the door at the top, his hand poked through where the door hinge is. I didn’t see him, and I slammed the door on his finger. He screamed and screamed. Mom and Dad rushed him to the hospital because the end of his finger was badly cut and he needed stitches. I felt awful. But when he came back home, he gave me a hug, so I knew that he still loved me. He was really brave and hardly ever cried about his finger, and he wasn’t even two years old! I felt awfully proud of him.
When the weather was nice, we used to go for walks together down the street. He really liked to play in the vacant field, running on his little legs along the paths. He liked the flowers and bugs and birds too.
I guess that we had the most fun one day when Mom went visiting teaching. She left Daddy to take care of us. He was busy in his study, so we looked for something fun to do until Mom got home. Hans opened a cupboard and took out a big can of flour. He took off the lid and showed it to me. It looked like something fun to play with, so we took it into the living room, where he poured it all onto the carpet. Then we rubbed it in big circles. If felt soft and nice. Hans rubbed a white circle around one of his eyes. He looked so funny! Mom came home right after that, and she couldn’t get mad when she saw how funny he looked. She just got her camera and took a picture of us.
Now I’m really glad that she took the picture. It helps me to look at it. It helps me to tell you about Hans too. You see, he got really sick last month—Mom said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died, and I don’t ever want to forget him.
We all cried when Hans died. Mom and Dad hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over, and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. Mom and Dad had to be gone sometimes, getting things ready to bury Hans. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Mom decided to make a little white suit for Hans to wear for his funeral. She got the pants made, but when she had trouble with the jacket, one of her friends took it and finished sewing it. She and Dad went to the mortuary to put the suit on Hans.
After Mom and Dad came back, we all dressed in our Sunday clothes. My grandmas and grandpas were there too. We went together to the mortuary to see Hans. The stake president, who is also the mortician, was there, and he put his arm around me. That helped me feel better.
I never saw anyone dead before. I knew that Hans would be different, that he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. I wondered how I would feel when I saw him.
Mom held my hand, and we went into a beautiful room with lots of flowers. There was quiet music playing. The room was just for our family so that we could be alone with Hans.
Hans was lying in a casket. It looked like a little white bed. His eyes were closed. He looked different, but he looked nice.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. All my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too, and we sang “I Know My Father Lives.” Mom and Dad played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Dad says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mom and Dad were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.
Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.
When I die, I won’t be afraid, because I will see Jesus, and I will be with Hans again. I am going to try to be as good as Hans was so that we can live together some day.
When I take the sacrament, I think about how Jesus was resurrected so that we can be too. I love Jesus for doing that. Even though Hans is dead, because of Jesus I can feel happy.

Young Harold learned what it meant to listen to the voice of the Lord from an experience he had with his father. “I think maybe I was around ten or eleven years of age … , trying to spend the day busying myself until my father was ready to go home. Over the fence from our place were some tumbledown sheds that would attract a curious boy, and I was adventurous. I started to climb through the fence, and I heard a voice … calling me by name and saying, ‘Don’t go over there!’ I turned to look at my father to see if he were talking to me, but he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no person in sight. I realized then, as a child, that there were persons beyond my sight, for I had definitely heard a voice. Since then, when I hear or read stories of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I too have known what it means to hear a voice.”
This experience with the watch-care of the Holy Spirit impressed Harold that safe passage to Heavenly Father’s kingdom depends on our willingness to hear and obey that voice. “I have learned something of what the Spirit has taught,” he later reflected, “and I know now that … security can come to Israel only when they keep the commandments, when they live so that they can enjoy the companionship, the direction, the comfort, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit of the Lord.”

“Annie, we need a cabbage for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Mother said. “Please go to the Olsens and trade these potatoes for one. Hurry now. Night’s coming.”
Eleven-year-old Annie sighed, dropping her knitting and picking up the burlap bag of potatoes. It was a tradition in Norway for families to have a cabbage for Christmas dinner, and Annie knew it would be delicious. But she didn’t want to leave the warm fire. “Can Gunnild come too?” she asked hopefully.
“No, she must feed the goats and help your father.”
Annie buttoned her sheepskin coat and hurried outside into the brisk air. The snow crunched under her feet and the sharp wind whipped her blonde braids as she scurried down the path.
A few minutes later she reached the Olsens’ cabin and rapped on the wooden door. Mrs. Olsen peeked out, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Why, Annie! What are you doing out in this bitter wind? Your cheeks are as bright as strawberries. Come in and warm yourself.”
Annie’s fingers and toes tingled as she stood by the crackling fire. “Mother asked me to trade these potatoes for a cabbage,” she said.
“Oh, child, I’m sorry. I have no more cabbages. We ate our last one yesterday.” Mrs. Olsen stirred the big black kettle hanging over the fire. “Would you like some porridge?”
“No, thank you,” Annie replied. “I can’t stay. Do you know where I can get a cabbage?”
“The Petersens may have one. Jens had a good crop this year. But if you go there, you must hurry. It feels like there’s a storm brewing.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Olsen,” Annie said as she hurried outside. Tucking the bag under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets and trudged forward. The icy wind slapped her face, and black clouds rumbled overhead.
After what seemed like hours, she reached the Petersens. Luckily, Mrs. Petersen had an extra cabbage to trade for Annie’s potatoes. Waving good-bye, Annie headed home. Tiny snowflakes fluttered around her, covering the path with a goose-feathery whiteness.
Annie thought of her family’s warm cabin. She could almost smell the savory lutefisk (dried codfish) and potatoes cooking. Perhaps her mother was also making riskrem (rice pudding) and hiding an almond inside. Maybe Annie would be the lucky one to find it.
The snow began to fall faster. Thick flakes coated her eyelashes and buried the path. Annie stared at the landscape ahead of her, struggling to find the trail. “Is that our cabin?” she thought, noticing a dark shape in the swirling snow. But it was only a thicket of trees. Annie was confused. “Where am I?” she wondered. “Why do the mountains look like giants?” She felt like she was in a dream.
Huge snowdrifts seemed like a warm, white feather bed, urging her to stop and sleep. At first she resisted by thinking about home. She plodded forward on what felt like wooden-post legs, clutching her cabbage. But finally her weary legs collapsed, and she lay down, wrapping herself in a soft blanket of snow.
Back at home, Annie’s father stared out into the whirling whiteness. Where was Annie? He bundled up in his heavy coat and grabbed his lantern. He hurried down the trail, shouting into the wind, “Annie, Annie!”
Next to a giant spruce tree he noticed a strange mound. He rushed forward, swinging his lantern. In the dim light, he saw a pale figure in the snow. Was it Annie? He rushed to her, gathering her in his arms and wrapping his fur coat around her.
“Please, God,” he prayed, “let her live.”
A faint breath stirred Annie’s lips as she whimpered, “Papa.”
“Annie, you’re alive! It’s a miracle!” he cried. “God has preserved your life for a special purpose.”

Taylor loved Elder Turley and Elder Junker (Yewn-kur), the missionaries assigned to her ward. She especially loved having them over for dinner.
Elder Turley was tall and slender. His head almost touched the ceiling in Taylor’s living room, and he had to duck when he came through the front door. He had a Book of Mormon with colorful sticker pictures in it. He would flip through the pages, telling Taylor the stories that each picture illustrated.
Elder Junker was short and round. He was always laughing, and Taylor loved his accent. He told Taylor stories about his large family back home. He was the oldest of eight children. He had a brother who was her age and a sister who was just a little younger. Taylor was always glad to see his happy face.
One Sunday, Taylor saw Elder Turley and Elder Junker in church as usual, but she could tell that something was not quite right with Elder Junker. His beautiful smile was missing. And even though he turned up the corners of his mouth when he shook her hand and said hello, it was not the same jolly smile that she was used to.
“Mommy, why did Elder Junker look so sad?” Taylor asked after church.
“Well,” Mommy said, “Elder Junker comes from a faraway country called Germany. His entire family is there, and I think he is homesick.”
“What does homesick mean?”
“When you’re homesick, you miss the people and things of your home,” Daddy told her. “In Germany, the people speak differently. They eat different foods too. Even the sounds and smells are different.”
“Couldn’t we do something to help?” Taylor asked.
“Well, I suppose we could ask the elders to dinner,” Mommy said, “but I don’t know if that would help much.”
“Yes it will,” Taylor practically shouted, “if we eat food from Germany!”
Mommy laughed. “Of course—an authentic German dinner. The Guenters are from Germany. Sister Guenter could give me one of her mother’s recipes. What do you think, Daddy?”
“I think it’s a great idea. and I’ll get a German phrase book so we can learn to say something nice in his native language.”
“Hurray!” Taylor cheered, growing more and more excited. “I know exactly what I’ll do too.”
The next day, Taylor and Mommy went to Brother and Sister Guenter’s house. While Mommy explained to Sister Guenter what she wanted and why, Taylor went to the work shed out back to find Brother Guenter.
She watched him for a few moments until he looked up from his workbench.
“Oh, my goodness,” he said, “I wasn’t aware that I had a visitor. Come in, come in.”
“I’ve come to ask a favor.”
Brother Guenter patted the seat next to him. “Sit here,” he said, “and we will discuss it.”
Taylor told Brother Guenter her idea, and he agreed to help her. All that week she went to his house after school and stayed for an hour or so, learning to sing a special song in German.
On the night of the dinner, Taylor’s house was filled with exciting new smells.
When the elders arrived, a strange look came over Elder Junker’s face. He sniffed the air and smiled. “I smell bratwurst! And sauerkraut!”
Daddy bowed. “Wilkommen zu Hause (welcome to our home). Taylor thought an ‘evening in Germany’ might help you feel less homesick.”
“Oh, Taylor,” Elder Junker exclaimed, “how thoughtful of you! I have been feeling homesick lately. Thank you very much.”
“Bitte schön (you’re welcome),” Taylor said, beaming. “Möchten Sie ein Lied zuhören (Would you like to hear a song)?”
“Ja, bitte (Yes, please),” Elder Junker told her.
“Ich bin ein Kind von Gott (I am a child of God),” Taylor sang in a clear voice. She finished without a mistake while Elder Junker wiped happy tears from his eyes.
Later, he told Mother that the bratwurst and sauerkraut tasted just like his mother’s, and he asked Taylor for an encore of “Ich bin ein Kind von Gott.”
When the missionaries left, the jolly smile had returned to Elder Junker’s face.

A case in point: In 2007, NBC Television came to Salt Lake for an interview with me as part of a piece they were producing on the Church. Reporter Ron Allen and I spent an hour together in the chapel in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We discussed the Church at length. A few days later the story appeared, and in the four-minute segment that aired, there was one short quote of about six seconds from the one-hour interview. That was just enough time for me to testify of our faith in Jesus Christ as the center of all we believe. I repeat, just six seconds were used from a 60-minute interview. Those six seconds are quite typical, actually, for members of the traditional TV media, who think and air in sound bites. The big difference from the old days to today is that the reporter also ran 15 minutes of our interview on the NBC Nightly News Web site. And those 15 minutes are still there. What we say is no longer on and off the screen in a flash, but it remains as part of a permanent archive and can appear on other sites that reuse the content. People using Internet search engines to hunt for topics about the Church will come across that interview and many others.

There are many ways in which we can misuse our opportunities. Some time ago I read a tender story written by Louise Dickinson Rich which vividly illustrates this truth. She wrote:
“My grandmother had an enemy named Mrs. Wilcox. Grandma and Mrs. Wilcox moved, as brides, into next-door houses on … Main Street of the tiny town in which they were to live out their lives. I don’t know what started the war [between them]—and I don’t think that by the time I came along, over 30 years later, they themselves remembered what started it. …
“… This was no polite sparring match. This was … total war. Nothing in town escaped repercussion. The 300-year-old church, which had lived through the Revolution, the Civil War, and the Spanish-American War, almost went down when Grandma and Mrs. Wilcox fought the Battle of the Ladies’ Aid. Grandma won that engagement, but it was a hollow victory. Mrs. Wilcox, since she couldn’t be president, resigned … in a huff. … What’s the fun of running a thing if you can’t force your … enemy to ‘eat crow’?
“Mrs. Wilcox won the Battle of the Public Library, getting her niece, Gertrude, appointed librarian instead of my Aunt Phyllis. The day Gertrude took over was the day Grandma stopped reading library books. [They became] ‘filthy germy things’ … overnight.
“The Battle of the High School was a draw. The principal got a better job and left before Mrs. Wilcox succeeded in having him ousted, or Grandma in having him given life tenure of office.
“… When, as children, we visited my grandmother, part of the fun was making faces at Mrs. Wilcox’s … grandchildren. … One banner day, we put a snake into the Wilcox rain barrel. My grandmother made token protests, but we sensed tacit sympathy. …
“Don’t think for a minute that this was a one-sided campaign. Mrs. Wilcox had grandchildren, too. … Grandma didn’t get off scot free. … Never a windy washday went by [that the clothesline didn’t mysteriously break, with the clothes falling in the dirt].
“I don’t know how Grandma could have borne her troubles so long if it hadn’t been for the household page of her daily Boston newspaper. This household page was a wonderful institution. Besides the usual cooking hints and cleaning advice, it had a department composed of letters from readers to each other. The idea was that if you had a problem—or even only some steam to blow off—you wrote a letter to the paper, signing some fancy name like Arbutus. That was Grandma’s pen name. Then some of the other ladies who had the same problem wrote back and told you what they had done about it, signing themselves One Who Knows or Xanthippe or whatever. Very often, the problem disposed of, you kept on for years writing to each other through the columns of the paper, telling each other about your children and your canning and your new dining room suite. That’s what happened to Grandma. She and a woman called Sea Gull corresponded for a quarter of a century. Sea Gull was Grandma’s true … friend.
“When I was about 16, Mrs. Wilcox died. In a small town, no matter how much you have hated your next-door neighbor, it is only common decency to run over and see what practical service you can do the bereaved.
“Grandma, neat in a percale apron to show that she meant what she said about being put to work, crossed the two lawns to the Wilcox house, where the Wilcox daughters set her to cleaning the already immaculate front parlor for the funeral. And there on the parlor table in the place of honor was a huge scrapbook, and in the scrapbook, pasted neatly in parallel columns were [Grandma’s] letters to Sea Gull over the years and Sea Gull’s letters to her. [Though neither woman had known it,] Grandma’s worst enemy had been her best friend.
“That was the only time I remembered seeing my grandmother cry. I didn’t know then exactly what she was crying about, but I do now. She was crying for all the wasted years that could never be salvaged.”

Driving one of the 40 wagons in the Joseph W. Young wagon train, Zeb rolled out of Salt Lake City around April 23, 1861. Three other trains left too, making 200 wagons total heading east that week.
The Utah trains did not travel empty. “In my wagon,” Zeb wrote, “I had a couple of ladies to take East; they are going to Boston.” But his delight in escorting the ladies was short-lived. A westbound company brought news from “the States” that civil war had broken out, so the ladies decided to return to Utah with that company.