Gospel Story Finder

I preached a sermon down in Quitman, Georgia, on the eternal duration of the marriage covenant and the family unit. At the end of the meeting I stood at the door, and a man came up and introduced himself as a minister of the gospel. Since I had quoted what the major churches had to say about that principle, and not one of them believed in the eternal duration of the marriage covenant and the family unit, I said to this minister: “Did I misquote you tonight?”

“No, Mr. Richards, but it is just like you say, we don’t believe all the things our churches teach.”

I said, “You don’t believe them either.”

Then I said, “Why don’t you go back and teach your people the truth. They will take it from you, but they are not ready to take it from the Mormon elders yet.”

He said, “I will see you again,” and that was all I could get out of him that night.

The next time I went there, about four months later, he was standing out in front of the church. We shook hands. I said, “I would certainly be interested to know what you thought of my last sermon here.”

He said, “Mr. Richards, I have been thinking about it ever since. I believe every word you said, only I would like to have heard the rest of it.”

Here was a man occupying a pulpit in his own church who believed every word I said, and yet he couldn’t teach it to his people.

When area conferences first began, the meetings were held in only one city at a time, such as Manchester, Mexico City, or Munich. Traveling to the conference and then back home again was a relatively simple schedule for the Brethren to follow. As the idea of taking the conferences to the people expanded, particularly under President Spencer W. Kimball’s leadership, it came to mean scheduling five or six area conferences back to back. This made the travel schedules more than hectic—they became absolutely strenuous.
When the area conference plans were announced for Asia in 1975, I became a little concerned and felt that someone should go along as a physician to the General Authorities, their wives, and other members of the group. There were quite a few people traveling together, and it seemed appropriate to have medical help available if needed. A recommendation was made and accepted to have a physician accompany those traveling to the various area conferences. In 1976 I was asked to go to Europe in this capacity.
From the very start of our journey, I was moved by President Kimball and Sister Kimball’s concern for the others traveling with them. When my wife and I boarded the airplane in Salt Lake City, we took seats to the side and in back of President Kimball. A few minutes after the plane took off and the seat belt sign was turned off, President Kimball turned around and said to us, “Are you comfortable?” I was there to serve him and the others traveling with him, and yet he showed this concern for us. Throughout the entire trip this great, kind, friendly man was always interested in the welfare of the people around him. We felt so comfortable traveling with him because of his warmth and graciousness.
After the first area conference in Paris, we traveled to Helsinki, Finland. President Kimball had been going strong now for three days. He was up early every morning, worked a very heavy schedule throughout the day, and then went to bed late at night. His responsibilities were greater than anyone else’s.
His jobs included not only presiding and conducting, but he spoke for long periods of time using a translator. He had held an exhausting press conference and had interviewed and set apart many local Church authorities. We boarded an airplane late in the evening for Helsinki. It was necessary to change planes in Copenhagen, and as we walked through the hallways of the airport, President Kimball carried a travel bag with his suits in it. I had a free hand and walked up and said, “President Kimball, let me carry that.” He turned and said, “No, thank you, I have to have a reason for being here.” He was almost serious in humbly expressing his desire to carry his own weight; he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I was impressed with that same beautiful attitude during the entire trip.
In Dortmund, Germany, during the last area conference on this trip, we stayed in an older, beautiful hotel. The manager was an austere, tall, straight, gray-haired Prussian gentleman. He looked as if he could have been an officer in the army. On the second day after arriving at the hotel, the manager commented, speaking of President Kimball, “Every time that man walks through this lobby, I feel goose bumps all over me.” He felt the spirit that radiates from President Kimball. After making that remark he was introduced to the prophet. President Kimball spoke with him briefly and gave him a family home evening manual. Arrangements were made for him to receive the missionary discussions.
The hotel manager was vividly influenced by that very brief contact with the living prophet. On the day we left, we boarded a bus in front of the hotel and drove around the block, passing the hotel again because of the one-way streets. As we passed the hotel, this handsome, stately gentleman was standing outside on the sidewalk waving good-bye to President Kimball with his white handkerchief. It was significant that the hotel manager could feel the Spirit of the Lord just by watching our prophet walk through the hotel lobby. You know, President Kimball looks like any one of the rest of us. Some may not think that there is anything unusual about his appearance—but there is an unusual spirit that he carries with him.
After the Dortmund conference, while most of the group returned to the United States, President Kimball, President Tanner, and their wives, and a few others traveled to Bern, Switzerland. Here the two members of the First Presidency were busy for an additional day and a half in the Swiss Temple. They had been traveling now for 14 days while participating in the five area conferences. They had been going unceasingly when we boarded a bus at Bern to go to Zurich where we were to catch our flight to New York and then on to Salt Lake. I saw President Kimball’s exceptional enthusiasm in action again.
There had been 14 days of going, going, going, and in the 30 hours ahead there would be no opportunity for the prophet to go to bed or really relax. On the bus most of us leaned back in our seats and began to nap. I was seated behind President Kimball and expected that he would use the next hour for some well-deserved rest. We had not quite reached the autobahn when President Kimball stood up and made his way up the aisle to a jump seat next to the bus driver. As I sat in my seat feeling almost exhausted, our prophet, who had reason to be more tired than anyone else, couldn’t rest because there was a person on that bus who hadn’t been taught the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As I watched what happened, I had a feeling of guilt—I had been content to sit back and relax, but the prophet, realizing the transcending importance of missionary work, didn’t let weariness dampen his burning desire to share the gospel with others.
I wondered how he was going to talk with the bus driver who seemed to speak little English. President Kimball doesn’t speak German. Initially there was some difficulty as they tried to speak to one another. After only a few minutes, however, the two of them were obviously quite able to understand each other. Now my worry was transferred from how they would communicate with each other to whether the bus driver, while glancing frequently at President Kimball, would be able to keep the bus on the road. It was clear that he understood and was interested in President Kimball’s sincere message. Their conversation continued until we reached the outskirts of Zurich when President Kimball returned to his seat.
When the bus pulled up at the Zurich airport, President Gary E. O’Brian, president of the Zurich Switzerland Mission, was waiting on the curb. President Kimball went to the door of the bus as it opened. He asked President O’Brian to step on the bus, and while shaking hands with him, said, “President O’Brian, this is Mr. __________. Will you promise me you will teach him the gospel?” President O’Brian said, “Yes, President.” And then President Kimball said, “Mr. __________, this is one of our mission presidents. Will you let him teach you the gospel of Jesus Christ?” The bus driver nodded his head and said he would.
This experience really taught me the importance of sharing the gospel. Our prophet is in close communication with our Heavenly Father and sees beyond the veil much more clearly than I do. He puts this degree of urgency on missionary work. Even when he has every reason to be tired, when sitting back and resting would seem to be a valid excuse for passing up a missionary opportunity, President Kimball continues to be a vigorous missionary. How can you or I do less than share the gospel with our families, our neighbors, our friends, and everyone else we meet?

It’s been many years since Greg [names have been changed] was in junior high school, but he can still vividly remember how it felt when his tormentors would chase him as he tried to walk home from the school bus. If they caught him, sometimes they would grab his trombone case and throw it into the snow, or they would toss his homework into the pond by his house. Other times they would become more violent, pushing and hitting him, even knocking him to the ground.
“I felt powerless and scared,” he says now. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Today, both Greg and Emily agree that the damage caused by bullying doesn’t have to last forever. Both have gone on to have successful careers and families of their own. And while neither would wish for such a painful experience again, they agree that in some ways they are better people as a result: they are more understanding of those who are struggling and are more anxious to reach out and help. And they know that their worth does not depend on what others think of them, for the worth of every soul “is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).

My mother’s name is Tatiafogaega Tausagafou Brown-Fuimaono.
When she was young, Tatia lived in a small faleo’o (house) with her family in Matautu Lefaga, Samoa. Her father, Palauni Brown, was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but he had not been active in the Church for a while. Tatia remembers that her dad would still encourage his wife and five children (at the time) to attend his church, even though he didn’t.
Tatia’s mother was a devout member of the Congregational Christian Church of Samoa. When missionaries from her husband’s church would visit their home, she never wanted to have a proper conversation with them, but she did accept their challenge to read the Book of Mormon. This book intrigued her, and before long—even though she still refused to take the missionary lessons—Tatia’s mother was reading from the Book of Mormon daily.
One day, her mother instructed Tatia to collect large, flat stones to hold down the edges of their mosquito nets. Tatia obediently headed out the front of their house, but before she could pick up one stone, she mysteriously collapsed.
Her mother rushed out to her, and then screamed. Tatia was already cold and pale and wasn’t breathing. The very next thought that came to her mother’s mind was to call for the elders, the missionaries from her husband’s church.
By the time the elders arrived, Tatia has been unresponsive for several minutes. The missionaries immediately gave her a blessing of healing, and as she began to wake up, Tatia remembers hearing one elder’s voice saying, “Mother, do not worry. She will be well. Heavenly Father has work for her to do. You and your children will also be blessed because of your faith.”
From that day forward, Tatia’s mother would testify that this event—the miraculous healing of her child—confirmed to her the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and indeed, the priesthood of God. She was baptised in 1959 and spent the rest of her life dedicated to the Lord’s work, especially the gathering of Israel on both sides of the veil.
Before she passed away in 2019—at the age of 90—Tatia’s mother was blessed to witness the elder’s prophecy come true. She would eventually have nine children and they all became strong, active members of the Church, with six of them serving missions of their own. They in turn are raising their own children in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and another generation of Latter-day Saints can thank a faithful grandmother for giving the Book of Mormon a chance.

I was taking photos during a family vacation when a beautiful melody popped into my mind. I love music and composing, so I quickly hummed the song into my camera to remember and work on it later.
That afternoon, I was looking through the cool photos on my camera. I decided to check how much memory my camera had left. It was 67% full.
I clicked OK, not realizing I had just said OK to reformatting my memory card! In a matter of seconds, all my photos and my recording were erased. I was sad about losing the pictures, but I was especially sad about losing the melody.
I tried telling myself it would be okay, but I was devastated. That night, I prayed that the photos and melody could be retrieved.
After returning from the vacation, I kept tinkering with the camera and most of the pictures finally appeared. I was overjoyed! It felt like a direct answer to my prayers.
However, I was crushed when I couldn’t find the recording of the melody. I kept praying and hoping that the song would come back.
Many weeks later as I was doing chores, a strangely familiar melody came into my head. It was the song! I couldn’t believe it! I quickly recorded it on the piano.
I have no doubt Heavenly Father answered my prayer. It was something so small, but He answered. I know He can bring hope into our lives when all seems lost.
Benjamin G., Utah, USA

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 am every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

A story I heard years ago has helped me recognize and then act on promptings from the Holy Ghost. Sister Bonnie D. Parkin, former Relief Society General President, shared the following:
“Susan … was a wonderful seamstress. President [Spencer W.] Kimball lived in [her] ward. One Sunday, Susan noticed that he had a new suit. Her father had recently … brought her some exquisite silk fabric. Susan thought that fabric would make a handsome tie to go with President Kimball’s new suit. So on Monday she made the tie. She wrapped it in tissue paper and walked up the block to President Kimball’s home.
“On her way to the front door, she suddenly stopped and thought, ‘Who am I to make a tie for the prophet? He probably has plenty of them.’ Deciding she had made a mistake, she turned to leave.
“Just then Sister Kimball opened the front door and said, ‘Oh, Susan!’
“Stumbling all over herself, Susan said, ‘I saw President Kimball in his new suit on Sunday. Dad just brought me some silk from New York … and so I made him a tie.’
“Before Susan could continue, Sister Kimball stopped her, took hold of her shoulders, and said: ‘Susan, never suppress a generous thought.’”

If you’ve ever been through the checkout line at a grocery story, you can relate to Chelsea Goodrich. Chelsea, from the Mountain Home Idaho Stake, was tired of the sexually explicit words and images on the magazines lining the checkout areas in stores.
“My little brother would say, ‘What does that mean?’ and I felt uncomfortable trying to explain.” Chelsea says the children who go through the checkout lines are exposed to inappropriate images and words, along with many adults who would prefer not to see that kind of material.
So she decided she could do something to help her community. Writing to the American Family Institute, Chelsea requested a kit that helped her learn how she could get something to put on the racks to block the magazine covers. She worked hard and got many people to sign petitions, which she then took to store managers to help her state her case.
She expected the managers to be hard to convince, but they were all agreeable to her idea and ordered covers to place over the magazine racks. Chelsea’s Laurel project was a success, and she feels like she really did some good in her community.

It was dusk as my mother and I drove to my grandparents’ home. I stared out the window, lost in my own thoughts.
“Pretty sunset,” my mother commented.
“Mmmm,” I mumbled in agreement, seeing the glorious sunset for the first time.
“Do you know what Davy says?” she asked me. I turned toward her, suddenly interested. Eloise, my mother’s best friend, had died two years earlier after battling cancer. She left behind four children. The youngest was seven-year-old Davy.
“He says sunsets make him think about his mother,” she said, choking back tears. “He says it’s just like she’s smiling at him.”
I turned my attention to the evening sky. Davy’s words brought me a new perspective. The sunset was now more than a swirl of reds and yellows making intricate and beautiful patterns in the sky. It was a reminder of Eloise and others who had passed on and their love for those they had left behind.
As we drove on in silence, I watched the sunset fade into night. I was suddenly more aware of the beauty of the trees, the stars, the moon, and the clouds. I am thankful to Heavenly Father for the beautiful gifts he gives us every day. And I am thankful for a wise young boy who can see Heavenly Father’s love in something as simple as a sunset.

Illustration by Allen Garns
One Christmas years ago I had too much on my mind to savor the season. My husband, Andy, had developed a cough that, following medical tests, briskly evolved into lung damage, surgery, reconstruction of his esophagus, and biopsies—“just to be safe.” His surgery occurred a week before we moved to a new home.
A few weeks before Christmas, I visited with my neighbor Janae. She asked if I was ready for Christmas. I managed to reply that I was as ready as I would be. I mentioned that we’d always made Christmas cookies with my grandma just before Christmas, and that I’d wanted to make aprons for the girls but probably wouldn’t get around to it.
A week later I settled in the overstuffed chair beside our Christmas tree. The girls were in bed, and Andy was working in his office when I heard the doorbell. I opened the door to find Janae on my doorstep, holding three packages as snowflakes fell behind her.
“Come in,” I said, certain that she could sense my surprise.
“Thanks, but I need to get back,” she said. “These are for your girls.”
Janae handed me the packages.
“They’re aprons,” she said. “They’re not the best, but I was able to finish them tonight.”
In a moment of humbled astonishment, I breathed a thank-you. We hugged, and I watched her make her way home.
As I sat again in my chair, I carefully unfastened the white satin ribbon of one box. Upon opening it, I found a homemade apron fashioned from Christmas fabric. I ran a seam between my thumb and forefinger as I thought about Janae. She had four small children, including twins who were just over a year old. She taught piano, and she held a busy and important calling in our ward.
I tried to figure out when she would have had time to make aprons, and I knew at once that she didn’t have time. She made time.
Tears fell as I felt the love of Heavenly Father extended through Janae—a measure of warmth and comfort as I was encircled about “in the arms of [His] love” (D&C 6:20).
It has been many years since we received the aprons. My daughters have long since outgrown them, but I keep them in my pantry, hanging by their strings from a polished hook underneath newer ones. Each time I see Janae’s gifts, I’m reminded of the comfort and love I felt that night. They remind me of what I want to be—a disciple of Jesus Christ worthy of revelation and willing to give service.

Fortunately, there are still those who observe such principles of personal rectitude. I recall riding a train from Osaka to Nagoya, Japan. At the station were friends to greet us, and in the excitement my wife left her purse on the train. We called the Tokyo station to report it. When the train arrived at its destination some three hours later, the railroad telephoned to say the purse was there. We were not returning via Tokyo, and more than a month passed before it was delivered to us in Salt Lake City. Everything left in the purse was there when it was returned.

When the Kirtland Temple was almost completed, Truman was ordained a seventy. Eagerly he prepared for another mission. But shortly before he was to go, Joseph Smith asked him to stay and build a store. Truman told the Prophet that he was now a seventy and wanted to serve a mission. The Prophet simply said, “Well, go ahead.”

After Joseph Smith left, Truman struggled with his thoughts: How could he bear testimony of a prophet of the Lord if he, Truman, was not willing to heed that prophet’s counsel? Truman remained in Kirtland and built the store and many other buildings that were needed. Joseph Smith prophesied that the joiner would have enough work for twenty men, and he did.

An account of an unnamed Scandinavian Latter-day Saint father whose young son died on the journey from New York to Utah in 1866:
“With the help of a friend the little grave was dug and the remains placed therein. The child dying from a contagious disease, there were no assembled mourners, no formal ceremony, no floral emblems, no spiritual song, no word of eulogy. But ere the bereaved father departed he uttered a brief dedicatory prayer in his native language (Danish) as follows: …
“‘Heavenly Father: Thou gavest me this little treasure—this darling boy, and now thou hast called him away. Wilt thou grant that his remains may lie here undisturbed until the resurrection morn. Thy will be done. Amen.’
“And rising from the ground his parting words were:
“‘Farewell, my dear little Hans—my beautiful boy.’ Then with drooping head and aching heart he stoutly bent his way to his camping ground.”1

My name is Rachell. I live in a little town called Frannie, Wyoming. It is a farming community. There is a small grade school here, a post office, and a few small businesses. Frannie has a gas station that also sells a few groceries and other things.
I am the only girl in my school who is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My closest friends at school are good people, but none of them belongs to the Church. Sometimes I have to stand up for what I know is right. Usually my friends respect me for it.
One Saturday about three months before I turned eight, I was playing with a classmate at her house. We played with dolls and then put in a movie to watch. I could soon tell that the movie wasn’t one I should watch because it had swear words in it, so we turned it off and decided to go to the gas-station-store for some bubble gum. I didn’t have any money with me, but I thought my friend had some.
When we got to the store, my friend took a package of gum, handed it to me, and whispered, “Take this.”
That’s when I found out that she didn’t have any money. “No!” I said.
“Just take it,” she insisted.
I tried to put the gum back, but again she said, “Take it!”
I felt nervous and scared and confused. I took the gum, and we left the store, pretending that we didn’t have anything.
I felt bad inside. What I had done was wrong. My friend wanted me to go back to her house, but I felt like going home. When I walked in the door, my mother was there, and I told her what had happened.
We talked about honesty and repentance and what Jesus Christ would want me to do. I wanted to make things right. Mom offered to go back to the store with me so that I could correct my mistake. I was a little afraid to go back, but the feeling that I needed to right my wrong was stronger than my fear.
When we got to the store, I told the lady who worked there what I had done, apologized, and paid for the gum. With tears in her eyes she thanked me for being honest. I was still shaky when I left the store with my mom, but I felt much better.
When it was time for me to be baptized a few months later, I felt good about the bubble-gum experience. I knew that even though my action had been wrong, I had done what Jesus Christ would want me to do by correcting my mistake. I felt clean inside.

I’ve been a loyal reader of the New Era for some time and have always intended to write and say thanks and to send subscriptions to friends who are starved for such delicious spiritual food. However, the procrastination bug seemed to prevent me. Now I have even more to be thankful for. I finally sent a subscription to my dearest friend. I was really apprehensive about sending it to her because I didn’t know what she would think. Being almost 10,000 miles away from someone makes it a bit hard. But after waiting anxiously, I received a letter that said this: “I received the May issue of the New Era, and I read the whole thing in about two hours. I love it! It’s so down to earth, personal, and real. You’ve really shed some light on my life through that magazine. I’m eagerly looking forward to the next issues.”
Can you imagine my excitement to read that from a daughter of God who probably doesn’t even realize who she is? This magazine has helped shed light and love on my life in many ways.
Kathleen PaynterSpeers Point, New South Wales Australia

Before school let out for the summer, the club members put their muscle into helping a local care center for abused children store its stock of winter clothes and unpack its summer supplies. The club also spent a creative afternoon making scrapbooks for children.
With so much planning and organizing, everyone in the club became better team players. Carrie and Rebecca contributed service ideas from their youth group while Victoria found other service opportunities in the community. “The club helped me learn how to let other people share their ideas and do things their way,” Rebecca reflects. “I’ve learned how to better interact with others.”

The assignment to the Huntsville Second Ward road show committee was a challenging one: In just a few weeks, put on a great road show. And don’t spend a lot of money doing it.
“Our total budget consisted of $20 to $30,” said Becky Worthington, who was called as ward road show specialist.
It seemed like an impossible assignment. Costumes can cost a lot. Lumber and hardware for sets can cost a lot. Even tempera for painting cardboard can cost a lot. Some wards spend $30 or more just for a cast party.
“But we knew that if the youth of the ward got involved, they could make it work,” Sister Worthington said. She called a meeting to discuss the road show theme, “Future Fantasy.”
Someone suggested that the story take place in a city underneath the sea, and the idea caught on quickly.
“We could use strips of old sheets to look like waves.”
“At the space museum they’ve got a light that shines through water so you see waves projected on the wall. Maybe we could do that.”
“You could have a sea horse and an octopus.”
“We still need a plot. What’s the conflict?”
“How about pollution?”
“You could wear slime suits or something like that.”
“Here comes the slime! You could run off all the Primary kids with that.”
Sister Worthington had to whistle to get everyone to stop talking and pay attention.
“Okay. We’ve got some good ideas for the script. We know who the characters will be. Now let’s talk about costumes. We’ve only got $20 to spend.”
After more discussion, the group dismissed. But based on their ideas, costume making began right away. And by the time the script was finished and rehearsals were underway, costumes were ready. A Chicken of the Sea wore scuba fins, goggles, and a beak made of cardboard. Starfish dressed like movie stars and carried sunglasses with paper stars pasted on them. Girls with cardboard oyster shell hats carried white balloons for pearls. Cast members dressed like cowboys rode brooms with poster board sea horses taped on them. A fish net and some shells, borrowed from members who used to live in Hawaii, were pinned to curtains as a backdrop.
But perhaps most ingenious of all were the octopus costumes, made from black plastic trash bags and paper egg cartons.
“Everyone helped out and donated paper, fabric, paint, tape, and time,” Sister Worthington said. “But mostly the costumes were made out of things we had on hand. We tried to keep it simple. You can do a lot with a little if you think and plan.”
When the stake road shows were presented, the Second Ward won a superior rating, an award for best actor, and the award for best costumes as well. And the price tag? Just 23 dollars and 50 cents.

Fireworks and firecrackers, brightly colored nativity scenes, and feasts featuring stuffed tamales—that’s Christmas in Guatemala. As a full-time missionary I found the traditions very different from my own traditions in the United States. I was homesick and thought my Christmas would be miserable.
My companion, Sister Anaya, said we would find joy on Christmas by serving others. She suggested that we spend the morning singing at the hospital, and we invited other missionaries to join us.
As we approached the entrance, I watched the people waiting in line to see their loved ones. Their faces were sad, their sandal-clad feet dusty, their clothes faded. We waited with them. When we were finally allowed to enter the building, we walked down narrow halls with flaking green paint and cement floors. The smells of medicines and sickness overwhelmed me.
In the dim light I could see sick patients on beds in a large room with little ventilation or privacy. They lay there, some with bandages, some with IVs, some hooked up to machines to help them breathe. Some moaned quietly. Others slept. I wondered why we had come. Most in our small group of missionaries stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do.
But not Sister Anaya. She went to each bed, greeting those who were sick, asking them how they felt, and wishing them a merry Christmas. Her boldness reminded the rest of us why we had come, and we started to sing Christmas carols, softly at first but more confidently as we continued. Some of the patients smiled, some just lay there and didn’t seem to notice, and some hummed along.
Sister Anaya, singing with a hymnbook in her hand, approached a woman who was wrapped in bandages. The woman began to cry quietly, and my companion lovingly stroked her hair. Through her tears the woman spoke, “You are angels. You are angels.”
I will never forget Sister Anaya’s response. “No, you are not hearing angels,” she replied. “You are hearing Latter-day Saints.”
But I also think of Sister Anaya. I remember her encouraging us to sing at the hospital and how we found joy by spreading joy. I remember her stroking the hair of that sick woman. And I remember that I don’t need to be an angel to serve others. I can serve them as a Latter-day Saint.

One of my visiting teachers, who had no idea what turmoil I was experiencing, called and made an appointment to see me. During her visit she shared a story about Emma Somerville McConkie, who had served as a Relief Society president during the early days of the Church in Utah. A woman in Sister McConkie’s ward had several children, including a new baby. Because the woman’s family was poor, Sister McConkie went daily to the home, taking food and helping the mother care for the child.
“One day [Sister McConkie] returned home especially tired and weary. She slept in her chair. She dreamed she was bathing a baby which she discovered was the Christ Child. She thought, Oh, what a great honor to thus serve the very Christ. As she held the baby in her lap, she was all but overcome. … Unspeakable joy filled her whole being. … Her joy was so great it awakened her. As she awoke, these words were spoken to her, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”1

Sister Eileen Taylor of the Oldham Ward, Ashton Stake, lives in an area which has many back-to-back terraced houses, with some being built between 1900-1929. Between the streets are alleyways with the original cobbled stone.
Some residents began throwing furniture and rubbish bags into the alley, turning it into an eyesore. This is when Sister Taylor and her friend Maureen decided to do something about it. They began to have meetings with councillors and environmentalists to make changes and improve the state of the alley.
After two years of concerted efforts, they obtained enough money to make an amazing transformation. Solar lamps were added to lighten the alley at night, specially made fold up benches were attached to the walls, printed and framed photographs of Oldham’s cotton industry and other local historical events were displayed. Frames were made and painted for hanging baskets, and the wooden back gates were painted to add colour to the area.
Eileen and Maureen were awarded a certificate from “Britain in Bloom” and became involved with the Greener, Cleaner Environment Exchange Programme. They were invited to speak in other areas, such as Preston, regarding the environment and its impact on health and well-being.
The alley became a colourful vibrant place where children could play safely and adults could sit and chat. The children who lived here said, “It makes us happy seeing the flowers!” and they enjoyed helping to water them.
When Covid-19 kicked in, things sadly reverted. In November 2023, this changed when one of the Oldham councillors encouraged the friends to apply for a small “Love Where You Live” grant, enabling the renewal of flowers and worn items. This meant many hours spent over several months, buying and transporting the items needed to re-create a beautiful environment.
They both enjoy sitting in the alley with their neighbours, watching the children play. It has created a special communal feeling. Two people changed the alley, and it became a beacon for other areas. A true success story.