Gospel Story Finder

It started with a discussion about pollywogs, and it ended in a full-scale rebellion.
“Man, it was scary for awhile,” remembers teachers quorum president Ferron Coombs, 14. “They herded us all together and turned on some high-powered fire hoses. That cooled everything down in a hurry.”
The mutiny occurred aboard the USS Manitowoc (LST—1180), which was enroute from the Panama Canal to Ecuador to deliver donated medical supplies and equipment. The LDS young men were part of a group of 27 Canal Zone Explorer Scouts and seven adult advisers who made the voyage at the invitation of Rear Admiral Robert H. Blount.
The cruise wasn’t all work and no play, however. Since the ship would cross the equator on October 10, appropriate initiation ceremonies were planned for the “pollywogs.” A pollywog in the U.S. Navy is someone who has never gone across the equator on a navy ship. Once you’ve been initiated, you’re a shellback. The pollywogs included the Explorers and their adult advisers as well as the majority of the ship’s crew. Roy Meyer, 15, one of the LDS Explorers on the Manitowoc, describes the initiation activities as wild. According to Roy, “The night before we actually crossed the equator, there were all kinds of pollywog uprisings and rebellions. Anyway, since there were only 22 crewmen who had been across before, we outnumbered them more than ten to one. After we knocked off from our chores in the evening, the pollywogs tried to capture the shellbacks and harrass them because we knew they’d get back at us during the regular initiation.
“Boy, we had mutinies going on all over the ship, but they paid us back in full the next day.” In the finest tradition of the sea, the 22 “trusty shellbacks” of the Manitowoc crew insured that all participating pollywogs received their just rewards for various uprisings, rebellions, and other unspecified “crimes.” That’s when the firehoses were used to “control” the unruly pollywogs. Even the adult advisers were found guilty of various offenses.
“Yeah,” laughs a young man whose father is a U.S. Air Force officer, “they really got my dad. I had already been initiated, so I got to watch him be judged. They issued a subpoena for him that accused him of being a ‘High Flying Fowl from the U.S. Hair Farce,’ and the Royal Judge of King Neptune’s Court decided that was a very serious crime. Dad really got sentenced.”
After the initiation ceremonies all the shellbacks—old and new—joined together to give the ship a thorough and much-needed cleaning.
At the completion of the cruise, each new shellback received an official certificate of membership into the Royal Domain of King Neptune.

Danny’s favorite birthday present was his red fire fighter’s hat. It had a light and siren on the front. The light flashed, and the siren rang loud and long. It was the perfect hat for any emergency.
One day Danny went next door to play with his friend Joe. Danny wore his new hat.
“Come on, Joe,” Danny said when Joe answered the door. “There’s a fire in the supermarket, and we have to rescue the people in there!” Danny turned the switch on his hat. The light flashed bright red. “Whirreee … ,” shrieked the siren.
“Here I come, Danny!” yelled Joe as he jumped down the steps two at a time.
They ran to the big tree in Joe’s front yard. Danny reached up and shouted, “Here’s the first victim!”
“Let me help,” said Joe.
After the boys rescued everyone in the supermarket, they sat down to rest.
“That was some fire!” said Danny.
“A real hot one,” said Joe. “Now it’s my turn to wear the hat.”
“No,” said Danny. “I’ll wear it. You pretend.”
“That’s not fair. You have to take turns.”
“It’s my hat, and I say no,” said Danny.
“Then play by yourself,” said Joe. And he turned to go home.
On his way home Danny rang his siren and flashed his light. He put out two fires and saved everyone just in time. But he wanted someone to play with. I’ll get Matt, he thought.
Danny found his little brother upstairs in his room. “Hey, Matt,” Danny said, “come and play fire squad with me. The barn at Green Valley is on fire. We have to get the horses out fast! Hurry!”
“I’m coming, Danny. I’m coming!”
Danny turned the switch on his hat. Matt followed him out the door. They fought the fire and smoke in the hall and down the stairs.
“Over here, Matt. Bring the hose!”
“I have it, Danny!” said Matt.
“Good work, Matt. I’ll go into the barn and lead the horses out.”
Danny ducked behind the sofa. “Here they are—all safe!” he cried as he crawled back out.
“My turn,” said Matt, pulling at the shiny red hat on Danny’s head.
“It’s not for little kids,” said Danny. “It’s my hat, and I say no.” He jerked the hat away from Matt, who ran back upstairs, crying.
Danny put out a fire in the kitchen and one in the backyard. But he wanted someone to play with again.
He went down the street to Sara and Susie’s house. Two friends are even better, he thought. He found them outside, playing ball.
“Want to play with me and my fire fighter’s hat?” asked Danny.
“Sure,” said Sara. “What’s the game?”
“There’s an oil spill on the lake. It’s dangerous. We have to put out the fire and save the crew on the tanker. You two go around this way. I’ll go over there.”
“Let’s hurry!” said Susie.
Danny switched on his hat. Flash! “Whirreee …” it wailed.
“Be careful!” called Sara.
They raced to where the oil spill burned and hosed it down. Sara spotted a sailor in the water. She signaled to Danny.
“Got him!” yelled Danny as he made the rescue.
“OK, now we want a turn wearing the hat,” said Sara, reaching for it.
“That will take too long,” said Danny. “I’ll keep the hat. You can be my crew.”
“That’s not right,” said Susie.
“We want turns, too,” said Sara.
“It’s my hat, and I say no,” said Danny.
“Then you can have all the turns you want without us,” said Susie. They left Danny alone on the sidewalk.
Danny went back home. He flashed his light and sounded his siren along the way. But it wasn’t much fun anymore.
His mom was on the porch when he got home. “Did your friends like your hat?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Danny. “But they all wanted a turn wearing it.”
“Of course they did. Sharing’s the very best part,” she said.
“Well, it’s my hat, and I said no.”
“You’ll have plenty of turns that way,” said Danny’s mom. “But you may have to play by yourself.”
Danny sat on the porch. He heard his friends playing and went to take a look. He could see Sara, Susie, and Joe down the block, playing keep away. Danny ran down the street to join them. “Can I play?” he asked. “I’ll be in the middle with Susie.”
They stopped their game and looked at Danny. They all saw the new red fire fighter’s hat on his head.
“It’s my ball,” said Sara. “And I say no.” She threw the ball over Susie, who leaped to try to reach it. Joe caught it and threw it back quickly, before Susie could tag him.
Danny turned to go home again. He didn’t put out any fires or rescue anybody along the way. When he got there, Matt was in the backyard by the sandbox, crying. “What’s the matter, Matt?” asked Danny.
“I saw a snake,” cried Matt. “I’m scared of snakes.”
“Hey, Matt. Don’t be scared. It’s probably just a garter snake. It won’t hurt you.”
“What if it comes back?” asked Matt.
Danny reached up to his head and took off his new hat. “Wear my hat, Matt,” he said. “If the snake comes back, turn on the siren. When I hear it, I’ll come chase the snake away.”
“You mean it, Danny? Can I really wear it?” asked Matt, managing a small smile.
“Really,” said Danny. “It’s my hat, and I say so.”

“Touchdown! He saved the day!” Chris’s big brother, Evan, whooped as he jumped up from the couch and turned off the television. “Did you ever see such a great player?” Evan asked Dad.
“Not that I recall.” Dad smiled. “He’s quite a hero.”
“I’m going to put his picture on my wall,” Evan said as he headed up to his room.
Chris helped Dad pick up the popcorn bowls and take them to the kitchen. “Why did you say he’s a hero, Dad?” Chris asked. “He didn’t save someone’s life or anything like that.”
“No, he didn’t,” Dad said as he put the bowls into the dishwasher. “I guess I called him a hero because he did something important to help his team. He did something the other players couldn’t do. That’s what makes a hero.”
Just then Chris’s mom came into the kitchen, carrying a big bag of groceries.
“Let me help you with that,” Chris’s dad said and took the bag from her arms.
“Thanks.” Mom smiled. “Just in time—I was about to drop it. My hero!” she said, kissing Dad gently on the cheek.
Chris looked at Dad. “You’re a hero, too?”
“I guess so.” Dad grinned.
“Mom,” Chris’s big sister, Julie, yelled as she came into the kitchen. “Did you remember to get the ingredients I need?”
“Right here.” Mom pulled some items from the sack.
“Thanks, Mom,” Julie sighed. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“A lifesaver?” Chris mused. “Does that mean Mom’s your hero, Julie?”
Julie shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Wow—two heroes in one room!”
“I don’t know about two heroes, but there are definitely too many people in the kitchen,” Julie said. “Everyone out. I need to make cupcakes for a service project.”
Chris wandered up to the bedroom he shared with Evan. Evan was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine. On the wall behind him was a picture of the football player who had made the winning touchdown.
Chris went through his desk and found a photograph of his family. He studied it a while, then asked, “Evan, have you ever done something for someone that he couldn’t do for himself?”
Evan looked up from his magazine. “I guess so.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I shovel Mrs. Bates’s driveway when it snows. She can’t do that for herself.”
“Good. That makes you a hero.”
“A hero? I’m no hero.”
“You are to Mrs. Bates.”
A slow smile spread across Evan’s face. “Yeah. I guess maybe you’re right.” He went back to reading his magazine.
Chris put the family photo into his pocket and went down to the kitchen, where Julie was measuring ingredients into a bowl. Chris sat at the table and watched her work.
“I suppose you want to lick the bowl,” Julie said.
“No. I’m just watching.” Chris watched Julie in silence while she beat the batter and poured it into cupcake pans. After she put them into the oven, he asked, “Who are you making the cupcakes for?”
“We’re celebrating birthdays with the ladies at the nursing home tonight.”
“Can’t the ladies make their own cupcakes?”
“No. They don’t have kitchens in their rooms.”
“Oh. Did you know that that makes you their hero?”
Julie smiled. “Sure. I’m rescuing them from cakeless birthdays.” She untied her apron and whipped it around her neck to her back. “Here I come to save the day!” she yelled. She pretended to fly as she ran out of the room, her apron fluttering out behind her.
Chris laughed. He went back to his room and tacked the family photo to the wall above his bed. He stood back and looked at it. Everyone in the picture was a hero: Dad, Mom, Evan, Julie. Even their dog, Misty, saved the family garden by chasing rabbits out of the yard in the summer. Chris sighed. He wanted to be a hero, too, but what could he do?
Just then Chris heard someone calling his name. He went to the top of the stairs and saw his dad standing at the front door. “Hey, Chris,” Dad said, “want to go on a rescue mission with me? Your mom forgot to get milk at the store and needs someone to get it while she fixes dinner.”
“Sure,” Chris said. This was his chance to do something for someone who couldn’t do it for herself. This was his chance to be a hero.
As they drove to the store, Chris told his Dad about the photo on his wall. “Did you know that we have a house full of heroes?” Chris asked.
“Now that you mention it, I guess we do. But do you know why we have a house full of heroes?”
“No.” Chris frowned. “Why?”
“Because we are all trying to be like the greatest hero of all. Actually, the person I’m talking about was much more than a hero. He did something to save everyone in the world. He atoned for our sins and was resurrected, making it possible for us to return to our heavenly home. That is something that we could never do for ourselves. And He was the only one who could do it for us. Do you know who that was?”
“Jesus Christ?”
“Right.”
Chris thought about this for a minute. “Do you have a picture of Jesus, Dad?” he asked. “I’d like to put it on my wall next to our family photo.”

While I was serving as a bishop, our stake president asked the bishops in our stake to set an example for their ward members by making the sacrifice to be sealed in the temple. At that time, Bolivia was going through a severe economic crisis. Because of hyperinflation, goods would cost one price in the morning and then a higher price in the afternoon.

“How can we afford to go to the temple when we barely have enough to eat?” I asked my wife, Alicia.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “but the Lord’s promise is that He will provide” (see Doctrine and Covenants 118:3).

Despite our financial situation, we both felt an urgency to go to the temple. It was as if the Spirit were telling us, “Hurry, hurry!”

In December 1981, the São Paulo Brazil Temple—nearly 2,000 miles (3,220 km) away—was the only temple in South America. To pay for the weeklong trip, I took out a loan of $1,000. That was a lot of money, but we knew that the sacrifice would be worth it.

After a long bus ride to the border of Brazil, we caught a train to São Paulo. The train had no open seats, so we had to sit in an aisle with our two small children. We ran low on food, but strangers shared with us. When we reached São Paulo, our little son almost got lost on the metro.

After these and other challenges, we finally reached the metro station near the temple. As we exited, we could see in the distance the statue of the angel Moroni on the temple. We fell to our knees and thanked Heavenly Father. When we arrived a few minutes later, the temple president lovingly greeted us.

Early the next day we received our ordinances and were sealed as a couple and family. That evening, unbeknownst to us beforehand, the temple closed for the rest of the year for maintenance.

Had we waited to go to the temple, our trip would have cost more than we borrowed. Had we arrived the following week, the temple would have been closed. We are grateful that the Lord inspired us to hurry to the temple.

Karen Nielson was born in Aalborg, Denmark, in 1844. She was the daughter of a farm family. In her early years she was taught the skills of successful dairy farming at the knee of her father.
In 1861, Karen was baptized and was never able to return to her home because of her father’s opposition to her conversion. She left Denmark and immigrated to Utah with a group of Scandinavian Saints in 1862. She lived for a few years in Utah County where she married Benjamin Franklin Barney, and then they were called to settle the Sevier Valley.
Karen bore ten children and then was left a widow with several of her children still at home. She had no close family to return to, so she drew on the knowledge she had gained on the Danish farm. She improved the dairy herd using the breeding skills she’d learned from her father. Her herd was soon recognized as one of the finest in the area, and she was able to support her family and care for their needs. Until Karen was well into her eighties, she milked her cows night and morning and cared for her farm with the help of her sons and grandsons. Her legacy was one of hard work and the knowledge that our lives are only as good as we make them. She never turned away from hardships—they seemed only to strengthen her.

I decided to practice my faith by praying and asking God for help and guidance. At first I didn’t realize the impact of my prayers, but after a few days I found that we had more peace at home.
But then my faith was challenged. My youngest brother was hurt and had to have immediate surgery, one of my friends was also hurt badly, and my mother got a sore throat with a high fever. All these horrible circumstances expelled the feelings of peace around me. I was very sad but continued to pray. My grandmother’s favorite poem came to mind, which says that God knows all things better than we do and that we should trust Him. So I started to practice my faith even more and do everything I could. Not much later my brother was able to leave the hospital. My friend was not hurt as badly as it had first appeared. My mother recovered.
Now when I pray for others, I pray with more focus and more faith than before. We should have faith in God, especially when believing in Him and His plans is hard, and never complain—because He knows best.
Jarom K., 18, Graz, Austria

That is a question that a lot of us would like to know the answer to. Scientists also are searching for the answer to such a strange phenomenon. To find out what they are learning, two of my sons and I took a trip to Scripps Institution of Oceanography last March. While visiting the aquarium there, we picked up a pamphlet that listed the times of high and low tides for the area around San Diego. Sandwiched in the center of the booklet was an article called “The Grunion Story.” It described the strange habits of a small silvery fish called the grunion that beaches itself upon the sand in very large numbers about twice each month at certain times of the year. These “runs,” as they are called, can be predicted fairly accurately from a knowledge of the tides. The booklet indicated that a grunion run was expected to begin about one o’clock the following morning. Well, you can probably guess what happened when my boys read that!

In the dead of night, Keith’s wristwatch alarm rang to wake us up. We got dressed and headed outside, where we were greeted by a fog so thick that we could only see a few feet in front of us. Undaunted, we climbed into our car and inched our way down the winding street to the ocean’s edge.

Except for us and a couple of sleepy-looking birds, the beach was deserted. Where is everyone? we wondered. We watched wave after wave roll in and break upon the sand and then recede, but no grunion appeared. I stood watch on a rock a little farther out, where a large wave broke over my feet and filled my shoes with water. But still no grunion. After an hour of fruitless waiting, we gave up and wended our way through the heavy fog back to the motel, where we lapsed into sleep.

Suddenly Keith’s alarm rang again, and we saw that it was light outside. It was almost time for the aquarium to open, so we hustled off without eating breakfast. When we got there, however, the aquarium was still closed. Puzzled, we peered through the glass door to see a large clock on the wall with its big hand on six and its little hand between seven and eight. Keith’s watch also had its big hand on six, but its little hand was between eight and nine. Then we realized the reason for the absence of people and grunion at the beach that night. Keith’s watch was an hour fast. We had arrived an hour early and left just before the grunion run was supposed to start!

My fears about commitment took another bad turn when my dad got divorced a second time.
I was heartbroken by the news. I had suppressed my feelings about my parents’ divorce for most of my life out of love for my dad, but this news made all my anger, sadness, resentment, abandonment, and pain come out.
As I prepared to leave on my mission soon after, I counseled with Heavenly Father to help me let go of the hurt and have hope for a future marriage. I learned that healing takes time and continually seeking the Savior.

According to temple president Aledir Barbour, handling such large numbers of temple goers “is now our greatest challenge because so many stakes want to come, but we cannot accommodate them all as we’d like.”
He pauses, then smiles and adds, “But certainly it is a challenge we like to have.”
The white-haired, soft-spoken temple president cites an example of a group of youth and their leaders who came by bus from Belo Horizonte, a large city about 200 kilometers northeast of São Paulo. Members of this stake youth group brought with them the names of 10,000 ancestors, all of whom the teens had identified through their own research. The group stayed from Tuesday through Friday, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to do the baptisms for all their ancestors.
The temple baptistry is so full of youth patrons, individuals can usually only be baptized for four or five deceased persons each time they come to the temple. And this is after many teens and their parents from outlying areas have saved for months to travel to the temple, riding on a bus for days to get to São Paulo (Brazil is larger than the continental United States).
When the São Paulo Temple was dedicated in 1978, it could easily handle the Church membership in Brazil, which then totalled less than 60,000. But membership in Brazil has increased by more than tenfold since then, and now the temple is consistently overflowing.
Fortunately, the rapid growth that has caused such a challenge is also a catalyst that is bringing about wonderful change—change that is already beginning to bless the lives of Brazilian youth.
Peering through the rails of a barrier fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Stake watch intently as men in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” he says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of what will be the Pôrto Alegre Brazil Temple are rising out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estancia Velha Ward adds, “And now that we only have to go 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent an excitement growing all over Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated in the northern city of Recife this summer. As temples are built into the Brazilian skies, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy to go to the temple is anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time T.V. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a week-long festival for which Brazil is famous, immodesty and immorality are paraded in the streets.
But LDS youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas Temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple, and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis (Pôrto Alegre) Ward. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward was thrilled with the prize he’d won. Although he’d only been a Church member for just under a year, he’d managed to win a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart immediately turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo Temple, but is now preparing to go in Pôrto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to be opened, they will be ready to enter.
When the Angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet about the marvelous restoration that was about to take place, quoting from Malachi:
“Behold, I will reveal unto you the Priesthood, by the hand of Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord.
“… And he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (see JS—H 1:38–39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says São Paulo Temple President Barbour.
Take 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas and Suelen Alexandre (15), José Meirelles (18), Priscila Cavalieri (18), Carlita Fochetto (14), and Carolina (16), Christiane (15), and Carlos Rodriguez (12), of São Paulo (pictured above). These young people volunteer in their family history centers for 10–20 hours each week, assisting Church members in their research, entering extracted names into the computer system, and searching for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

Let’s all learn from my friend Mick. One day he was swimming at a party given by the company for which he was working that summer in Nebraska. He dove into the water and hit a shallow spot very hard. A broken neck was his diagnosis, and his whole body was immediately paralyzed. He even lost the capacity to breathe. The doctor said, “He may not make it through the night.”
He had earned a B.A. degree in political science after serving a mission in Japan. At the time of this tragic accident he had just one year left in law school at BYU. He was married and had two children. This tragic accident changed his whole life, as if from day to night. He wasn’t sure whether he would make it until the next day. It was inconceivable, the emotional and physical pain that he must go through as a quadriplegic.
Even though he was in this condition in the University of Utah Medical Center, he was determined to graduate from law school. It was an almost impossible task, but good friends, true Samaritans, brought him notes and taped lectures from Provo. Oh, God bless these true Christians. He turned pages by a mouthstick, and if his book flipped shut, he waited for a long time until someone came to help him.
Finally, he graduated from law school, passed the Utah bar exam, and became a licensed attorney. While he was studying, exercising, and maintaining doctor’s contact to gain strength, his wife took his two sons and divorced him. This was the most “sorrowful and very heavy” period of his life. (Matt. 26:37.) But he never complained and even blessed the leaving loved ones. In his heart he prayed, “Thy will be done, O Lord!” (Matt. 26:42.) It was his own Garden of Gethsemane, and he took his own cup and drank it as his blessing.
My friend Mick met a most beautiful lady, Cheryl. They married and now the greatest joy has come to their lives. His wife is expecting a baby. It is a miracle. The Lord said, “I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless.” Last Friday, they were sealed in the temple for time and for all eternity. It was my privilege to perform the ceremony for this beautiful couple.
His stake president, President Banks, described him as “a most humble person with strong faith,” and his secretary said of him, “Time has always been important to him. A span of a few brief seconds means the difference. He has no wasted time. He has accomplished more than ever.”

Margaret sat on the front veranda and eagerly watched the shimmering blue sky for signs of a small silver plane with The Kookaburra written in red letters on each side. She knew that Kaye would be watching from the plane just as eagerly, straining to see the solitary house and stockyards belonging to Margaret’s family in the vast outback of Western Australia. Margaret had heard Kaye’s voice many times on the two-way radio set that brought the School of the Air into their homes. They had also exchanged letters and pictures. But she had never seen Kaye, and now Father was bringing her from her family’s neighboring station (ranch) over a hundred miles away.
Margaret heard the hum of the plane before she spotted it in the sky. She jumped and ran to their small runway, waving her white handkerchief. Then, when she finally saw Kaye, she felt overcome with shyness and hugged her lean, sun-browned father tightly.
"Well, Marg, I’ve brought you a friend," he said. "This is Kaye." He pulled both girls close to him, one on each side. "I reckon you two can be real mates (friends)."
Margaret and Kaye smiled shyly at each other as the three of them walked to the house. It wasn’t until they lay in bed that night that they began to really talk to each other and make plans for their week together. They decided to go on a walkabout (walking tour) the following afternoon down the dry riverbed.
Right after lunch the next day, the two girls set out on their walkabout. Margaret’s mother had put fruit and biscuits (cookies) into a dilly (mesh fiber) bag. "You’d better take jumpers (sweaters)," she called as they stepped off the veranda. Margaret looked up at the hot November sky and sighed. "It can change," Mother said, handing them each a jumper. "Besides, you can sit on them to eat."
The girls tied the jumpers around their waists and started off. The sun was stifling, and they were glad to walk in the shade of the giant eucalyptus trees that lined the riverbed. Peeling bark hung from the trees, leaving smooth white trunks exposed.
"Look at that," Margaret said. They stopped and looked at a dead gum tree full of galahs. Suddenly the birds took flight, a pink and gray cloud rising and fluttering into the sky.
Kaye stared at the birds. "That was beautiful," she said. "Do you like living in the outback, Margaret?"
"I’ve lived here all my life, so I don’t really know what it’s like anywhere else. It’s very lonely here at times, but there’s a lot to do. Do you like it?"
"We lived in Adelaide until last year, and I miss my friends and all. I get lonely, too, but when I see beautiful things like those birds, then I like it—or when I can be with a friend like you."
The girls smiled at each other and clasped hands as they skipped through the rocks and sand.
Suddenly Margaret stopped. "Listen, I know a place that you’d really like. It has a pool and big red cliffs where lots of swallows have their nests."
"Is it far?"
"Not too far. I went there in the plane with my father, but we were just up and down again. As we came down, we could still see our house. Let’s see …" Margaret looked back to where their house stood among the trees. "I think that if we walk straight north toward that hilly area, we’ll come to it."
"Let’s do it!" Kaye exclaimed happily.
They left the riverbed and struck out across the sand. The afternoon sun beat down on them, and the hills were still quite far away.
"It’s farther than I thought," Margaret said.
"It always is," Kaye answered, "but let’s go on. It can’t be too much farther if you could still see your house."
Just as their search seemed hopeless, they came to the top of a hill and saw the red cliffs. "This is it!" Margaret cried. They ran down the hill and into the small canyon formed by the cliffs, sat down in the pleasant shade of a gum tree, and quickly removed their shoes and stockings. Soon they were dangling their feet in the cool water of the pool. Margaret opened the dilly bag and handed a juicy orange to Kaye.
"It’s as beautiful as you said," Kaye declared, as a busy swallow darted in and out of rock crevices, dipping toward the water and soaring up again.
After they had eaten and rested, they climbed through the rocks and explored the small canyon. Suddenly Margaret looked at the sky and felt her heart lurch within her. "Kaye, look! It’s getting dark."
The girls scrambled quickly and silently over the rocks, both knowing how rapidly night could come. But before they reached the pool, total darkness had fallen—without any dusk at all! With no moon, only the white trunks of the gum trees were visible. Margaret shivered with fear. She had hardly been outside her house after dark, much less alone in the bush.
"What should we do?" Kaye asked.
"Let’s put our jumpers on," Margaret said, trying to sound calm. They pulled on the wool jumpers, grateful for the warmth against the night’s chill.
"Can we make it home in this darkness?" Kaye asked.
"I don’t think so. We could lose our sense of direction in the hills and wander far off or step into a rabbit hole and sprain an ankle." Margaret’s heart pounded harder as she talked. She knew that Kaye expected her to know what to do, and every minute she felt more terrified.
"If we climbed a hill, maybe we could see the lights of your house. You said you could see it from here."
"That was from up in the air. No, the gum trees in the riverbed would block them out," Margaret said.
The girls sat close together on a rock in the dark wilderness. Eerie sounds of night birds sent chills down Margaret’s spine. She didn’t know what to say or do. It surprised her when Kaye spoke.
"The first thing that we should do," Kaye said firmly, "is pray."
"Pray?" Margaret asked. She had never prayed. Her family had never prayed.
"Let’s kneel down," Kaye said.
Margaret felt a little awkward, but she knelt in the sand and listened while Kaye said a prayer. Talking to Heavenly Father the way Margaret talked to her earthly father, Kaye explained how they couldn’t get home, asked for protection, and asked what they should do. When she finished, they both knelt there very quietly for a time. Margaret started to shiver, her teeth chattering, but her friend seemed to be waiting and thinking.
Kaye pushed her hand into the sand. "Feel how warm it is from the hot sun during the day," she said. "Let’s take a rock and dig out a shallow hole. We can lie in it and sleep. In the morning your father will come looking for us in his plane."
Margaret was amazed that Kaye could sound so calm and confident about spending the night in the bush. And it did sound like a good plan.
They felt around for flat stones and dug out their bed. Then they lay down together, their jumpers pulled close around them. Margaret stopped shivering, and she felt rather warm and cozy. Her fear began to leave her too. She was puzzled about Kaye, a city girl rather new in the outback. Yet she had known what to do when Margaret herself had felt paralyzed with fear. She would have to ask Kaye more about prayer. Margaret looked up once more into the dense, star-filled sky, then fell sound asleep.
A loud chorus of hysterical laughter awakened both girls in the morning. When they opened their eyes to the gray light, they saw that the gum trees were filled with kookaburras greeting the day with their strange laughter.
Suddenly, above the sound of the birds, Margaret heard the drone of an engine. They looked at each other and smiled. Then they jumped out of their bed in the sand and waved their jumpers at the silver plane with red letters, circling above them.

Elder Brook P. Hales related the story of Sister Patricia Parkinson, who was born with normal eyesight but by age 11 had gone blind.

Elder Hales recounted: “I’ve known Pat for many years and recently told her that I admired the fact that she is always positive and happy. She responded, ‘Well, you have not been at home with me, have you? I have my moments. I’ve had rather severe bouts of depression, and I’ve cried a lot.’ However, she added, ‘From the time I started losing my sight, it was strange, but I knew that Heavenly Father and the Savior were with my family and me. … To those who ask me if I am angry because I am blind, I respond, ‘Who would I be angry with? Heavenly Father is in this with me; I am not alone. He is with me all the time.’”

I walked into the backyard and climbed a tall, strong tree. I didn’t get very high. Being six feet tall, I figured I was already too far from the ground. I sat in my perch and pondered my fate. I wore glasses, had grown much too tall, and weighed more than necessary.
My roommate, Sally, had just left on her third date with a returned missionary. Tonight was supposed to be the start of a three-day camping trip that Sally and I had been planning for more than two months. I guess you know what happens to camping trips with roommates when a gorgeous, broad-shouldered, car-owning, worthy priesthood holder asks you out.
It wasn’t that I was jealous. I didn’t want to take from Sally; I just wanted with all my heart to know what it felt like.
I looked up into that clear night sky, stars thick and bright, and a prayer left my heart and burst from my lips. “Heavenly Father, please, oh please, I need to make friends with a boy.”
I’m not sure how long I spent praying. I do know it was one of the most heartfelt prayers I had ever offered. When I stepped down from that tree, I felt so good. It was more than just a peaceful feeling. I was excited. I almost expected my new friend to be waiting for me in the backyard!
At first I grinned at each male I met, sure he was going to grab my hand and say, “I’m here!” I got some funny looks and a few smiles, but none of the grocery clerks, paper boys, or mailmen I saw claimed me.
Gradually I simmered down. The excitement left, but the peace stayed. I finished school, got a job I liked, and found myself actively involved with the Young Adults in our stake. I was happy.
One Saturday a few of us went out into the desert to practice target shooting. Jimmy, a country cowboy at heart, took us. I rode in the back seat of his very old, very large car. Jimmy spent time with each of us setting up targets, helping us load, then teaching us to hold the guns properly. I was more awkward than the others, who had been shooting before, but the extra attention I needed paid off. On the way home, I sat in the front seat.
My three roommates were often visited by three boys from our ward, and with Jimmy, now there were four. Jimmy had become a regular. The eight of us had so much fun. We went four-wheeling in Jimmy’s new Jeep. We played football and baseball. We swam. When we went hiking, Jimmy stayed behind me all the way even though I was slower than the others. We had a great summer.
When the weather cooled and the nights lengthened, we spent more time inside. Jimmy and I had long talks. He went with me to visit my grandpa, helped me run errands, came to sacrament meeting with me, even took me to the hospital the day I broke my finger.
He held my hand after the first snowstorm so I wouldn’t fall. He put his arm around me in the movies to keep me warm. One night he wore his best clothes, bought me flowers, and took me to a dance. He held me in his arms when the music slowed, and as we walked home he kissed me.
Eight months later, sitting in our new apartment decorated with our families’ old furniture, I looked up from my book, put my cold feet in my new husband’s lap to get warm and asked, “Jimmy, what first attracted you to me?”
He looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Something told me that I should be your friend.”
My heart jumped. Tears filled my eyes. A smile started on my face and spread clear down to my toes. I put my arms around his neck and held on tight. I was holding in my arms the answer to the help I prayed for that lonely night in an old tree.

Last year the Williamsport Pennsylvania Stake Laurels hiked through the little village of Nauvoo—but not in Illinois. They hiked through Nauvoo, Pennsylvania, and learned about its history. The Williamsport stake covers a large area encompassing 11 counties, and some of the girls are the only members in their entire high school. So learning about once-thriving congregations of early Latter-day Saints within their present-day stake boundaries is inspiring to them.
The young women stopped to talk to an elderly man at the edge of the road on the outskirts of Nauvoo. Earl, age 70, a lifelong resident confirmed that his Nauvoo community was a Mormon settlement during the 1840s and named after the Mormon city in Illinois. “Our borough was named Nauvoo by a prominent Mormon leader,” he said. When asked what he thought the word Nauvoo meant, he was unsure and thought it might be a Native American word. Earl seemed pleased to learn that Nauvoo is Hebrew and means beautiful, a place of rest and beauty.

Some years ago a Reuters dispatch which appeared in the daily press mentioned how an American who wanted to trace his long-lost relatives in Great Britain succeeded—for the price of one airmail letter to London. Mike Archdale, age 25, Miles City, Montana, knew only that his grandfather Lionel Dawson Archdale had emigrated to the United States from Northern Ireland at the end of the nineteenth century. So Mike Archdale wrote to the only address he knew in London—the British Tourist Authority—and asked for help in finding his relatives.
His letter was opened at the tourist authority by a public relations officer—named Gilbert Archdale.
Gilbert Archdale did a little research and replied to Mike: “Hello. I’m your cousin!”
The rest is history.

I would like to say how much it is appreciated in my home when each of us takes our turn to read the New Era. When I first realized I was going to leave Primary soon and go into Young Women, it scared me a little. But then my parents subscribed to the Friend, New Era, and Ensign, and I couldn’t (and still can’t) wait to go to Young Women. When I first read the New Era, I knew Young Women was not something I should be scared of but something I should look forward to.DJ Crisanto, Fairgrounds Ward, Keizer Oregon Stake

Three weeks ago I was at a stake conference in the lovely little mountain community of Prescott, Arizona. Following the delightful events of that weekend a sister silently slipped me a note as she and others came by to shake hands and say good-bye. With some hesitation I share a portion of it with you this morning. Please focus on the doctrine this sister teaches, not the participants in the exchange.
“Dear Elder Holland, thank you for the testimony you bore in this conference of the Savior and His love. Forty-one years ago I prayed earnestly to the Lord and told Him I wished I had lived on earth when the Apostles walked upon it, when there had been a true Church, and when Christ’s voice was still heard. Within a year of that prayer Heavenly Father sent two LDS missionaries to me, and I found that all those hopes could be realized. Perhaps some hour when you are tired or troubled, this note will help you remember why hearing your voice and shaking your hand is so important to me and to millions just like me. Your sister in love and gratitude, Gloria Clements.”

My brother, Colonel Leon C. Packer, was stationed at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. A much decorated B-24 pilot, he became a brigadier general in the Air Force.
While I was at Langley Field, the war in Europe ended, and so we were ordered to the Pacific. I spent a few days with Leon in Washington before shipping out for combat.
He told me of things he had learned under fire. He flew from North Africa on raids over southern Europe; very few of those planes returned.
On April 16, 1943, he was captain of a B-24 bomber returning to England after a raid in Europe. His plane, the Yard Bird, was heavily damaged by flak and dropped out of formation.
Then they were alone and came under heavy attack from fighters.
His one-page account of that experience says: “Number three engine was smoking and the prop ran away. Number four fuel line was shot out. Right aileron cables and stabilizer cables were shot out. Rudders partially locked. Radio shot out. Extremely large holes in the right wing. Flaps shot out. Entire rear part of the fuselage filled with holes. Hydraulic system shot out. Tail turret out.”
A history of the Eighth Air Force, published just two years ago, gives a detailed account of that flight written by one of the crew.
With one engine on fire, the other three lost power. They were going down. The alarm bell ordered that they bail out. The bombardier, the only one able to get out, parachuted into the English Channel.
The pilots left their seats and made their way toward the bomb bay to bail out. Suddenly Leon heard an engine cough and sputter. He quickly climbed back to his seat and coaxed enough power from the engines to reach the coast of England. Then the engines failed, and they crashed.
The landing gear was shorn off on the brow of a hill; the plane plowed through trees and crumbled. Dirt filled the fuselage.
Amazingly, though some were terribly wounded, all aboard survived. The bombardier was lost, but he probably saved the lives of the other nine. When smoke poured from the engines and a parachute appeared, the fighters stopped their attack.
That was not the only time Leon had crash-landed.
As we visited, he told me how he was able to hold himself together under fire. He said, “I have a favorite hymn”—and he named it—“and when things got rough I would sing it silently to myself, and there would come a faith and an assurance that kept me on course.”
He sent me off to combat with that lesson.

Father set the big box of ornaments down by the Christmas tree.
“I want to put the lights and the Christmas balls on the tree,” said Jody’s big brother.
“We want to string the popcorn and put the icicles on the tree,” said Jody’s big sisters.
Jody didn’t say anything. A big tear rolled down his cheek.
“Why, Jody, what’s the matter?” Mother asked.
“I miss Benjamin,” Jody answered. “Benjamin always helps me put the star on top.”
“Benjamin would still want you to put the star on top while he’s on his mission.” Father smiled at Jody. “This year I’ll hold you up so that you can put the star on the tree.”
“Benjamin liked the star the best because it led the Wise Men to the Baby Jesus,” said Mother.
Jody thought about Benjamin while his big brother put the lights and the Christmas balls on the tree. He thought about the star while his big sisters put the strings of popcorn and the icicles on the tree.
Then Father lifted Jody up high so that he could put the star on the tree. As Jody gently anchored the star to the topmost branch, he thought again about the star and Jesus, about the Wise Men and Benjamin.
“Benjamin is like the Christmas star,” Jody said. “Benjamin leads people to Jesus’ church.”
“You’re right!” Father smiled at Jody. “Benjamin is like the Christmas star.”
“I’m going to be like the Christmas star, too,” Jody said. “I can be a good example and tell people about the Church. Benjamin will not seem so far away when I am being like him.”
“We want to be Christmas stars, too,” said Jody’s big brother and sisters.
“We’ll all be Christmas stars,” Mother said with a smile. “That will make Benjamin happy, and it will make Heavenly Father happy too.”

They taught us for a few weeks, and I really believed what they told me. But Mom was brought up in her religion and thought she was sinful thinking any other way. I don’t know if Mama asked them not to come back, or if the missionaries felt like they shouldn’t baptize an 11-year-old girl without her family, but they stopped coming.
I didn’t know where they had gone. I didn’t know where the church met or how to contact the missionaries. They had given me some books, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and The Doctrine and Covenants. I sat down and studied these books carefully.
By then I was in seventh grade. I remember my teacher wanted us to give a presentation on any subject we chose, and I picked Mormonism. I remember studying for it so hard. I then got up and gave my presentation in front of all the students and the faculty, and I wasn’t even a member of the Church. I think I answered every question correctly.
About a year and a half after the first missionaries visited us, another set of missionaries knocked on the door. My family wasn’t home, but they gave me a Book of Mormon. They said they would be back in a couple of days to see what I thought about it. I was baptized the next week and have hardly missed a Sunday since.
I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.
I don’t think it was coincidence that missionaries hocked on my door at 9:25 that night during a storm when missionaries are supposed to be in at 9:30. It was their last house, and with the storm they could have easily rationalized going home five minutes early. Those missionaries never knew that the 11-year-old girl listening in the background joined the Church and became a missionary herself.
That thought made me a better missionary. I would say to myself, “One more door. I was the last door, so one more door.”