Gospel Story Finder

I like sharing the gospel by joining the missionaries in their lessons, visiting Church members with my branch leaders, and encouraging my friends to come to church. My brother and I went on visits with the branch president once, and we heard yelling.
We ran to see what was happening and found a member’s son-in-law passed out and hurt. We called an ambulance, and the branch president gave him a priesthood blessing. That taught me that even though we don’t always know when hard things will happen, we can always stay faithful.

After Skip had told the children the story about how Brigham Young had heard Joseph playing for the pioneers and had arranged for him to learn to play the big organ in the Tabernacle, he told them another story about his great-grandfather.
“In those days,” he began, “there was no electricity to run the organ. To force air through the bellows so that the organ could be played, the builders connected the bellows to a treadmill that men ran on. Before Joseph started a concert, he would look down through a little trapdoor and ask the men if they were ready to start. The men that pumped the organ were strong. Their only job was to climb down under the organ, run on the treadmill, and keep the air pressure up so that the organ could be played.
“People came from all over to hear Joseph play. One day after he had played a wonderful concert, the audience clapped and clapped. He played several encores. Then he sat down to play one last piece. He pulled out the stops and arranged everything perfectly. But when he touched his fingers to the keys, nothing happened! He tried again—still nothing.
“It finally dawned on him that he didn’t have any pumpers. He opened the trapdoor and asked the men to climb out. They were all sweaty because they had been running so long and hard on the treadmill. Joseph had them take a bow. Then they crawled back down to the treadmill, got it going, and Joseph played his final encore. After the concert, everyone clapped, realizing that it wasn’t only Joseph who made the organ work.”

Brigham was the ninth child of the family. His mother was not well, and all the children learned to work in the home as well as on the farm. Later in his life Brigham said that as a boy he had “no opportunity for letters,” but “I had the privilege of picking up brush, chopping down trees, rolling logs and working among the roots, getting my shins, feet and toes bruised. I learned how to make bread, wash the dishes, milk cows and make butter. … Those are about all the advantages I gained in my youth. I learned how to economize, for my father had to do it.”
When Brigham was fourteen, a great sorrow came to him. His mother, for whom he had felt a special love and closeness, died. It brought sadness in another way too, for Brigham was “farmed out” among the neighbors, and he missed being at home almost as much as he missed his mother.
The story of Brigham Young’s conversion to Mormonism in 1832 and how he became president of the Church after Joseph Smith’s martyrdom is well known to Church members. Many other people, however, acknowledge his greatness in leading thousands of pioneers across the plains to Utah and are familiar with his words, “This is the place,” which he spoke when the first party arrived in the Salt Lake Valley. Children throughout the Church have come to know Brigham Young as a prophet and a colonizer, but less known are stories that reveal him as a kind and loving man.
Clarissa Smith had two best friends. Both of them were daughters of Brigham Young. One day when the girls were together, shortly after Salt Lake Valley was settled in 1847, Josephine and Maimie Young were called from their play and told to meet their father. Clarissa was given permission to go with them. This was an exciting experience for Clarissa, because the meeting place was ZCMI, the biggest store in the little pioneer city. She could hardly wait to look at the beautiful piece goods she had heard about. She had often dreamed of a new dress or coat she might someday be able to have.
Brigham Young warmly greeted his two daughters and their friend. He ushered them through the store until they reached the counter where fabrics were sold.
“Let me see that brown velvet, please,” he asked the storekeeper. The bolt of cloth was lifted down from the shelf and the material was spread out on the counter.
“Please measure off a piece long enough to make cloaks for Maimie and Josephine,” their father directed the storekeeper. Then he looked down at the other little girl, whose eyes reflected her longing to at least touch the beautiful cloth.
“And cut off another length for Clarissa,” he said. Brigham Young smiled down at the girl, whose face shone with surprise and delight. “And please make it a very generous one,” he added.

Lorraine Booth of the Ottawa Second Ward, Ottawa Ontario Stake, was born with a birth defect leaving her partially paralyzed from the waist down. But that hasn’t stopped her from competing in athletics.
Lorraine won two firsts in the Regional Ontario Games for the Disabled in the 25-metre breaststroke and the 25-metre freestyle in swimming. She went on to the Provincial Games for the Physically Disabled in Toronto and entered two 50-metre races and received gold medals in both.
Lorraine also enjoys horseback riding and tennis.

David Eves discovered life can change quite quickly when, on 20 September 1997, he and his friends were riding an off-road vehicle in southern Utah.
“We hit a bump and lost control,” explains David. “I remember flying through the air, then waking up in excruciating pain. When I saw my friends looking down at me and I told them I couldn’t feel my legs, I knew I would never be the same.”
David was flown to a hospital in Salt Lake City and underwent eight hours of surgery. He spent the next three months fighting for his life.
David, a member of the La Verkin Second Ward, La Verkin Utah Stake, had been a sports star, but now he faced new challenges. He couldn’t keep food down or speak, and he was in extreme pain. His weight dropped from 170 to 100 pounds (78 to 45 kilograms) in two months.
The days and nights were long and hard to endure. “I wanted to get off the painkillers, but the pain was unbearable,” David recalls. “I asked my dad to read to me from the Book of Mormon, and as he did a miracle happened. The spirit of that book brought so much peace, I was able to rest.”
But David was not improving. Jill Eves became alarmed at her son’s severe weight loss. She prayed for inspiration and felt impressed to call a specialist. The new doctor repaired a hole in David’s esophagus. Two weeks later, David came home from the hospital.

Kiyoko hurried as fast as she could. The wind was strong today and the feel of a storm was everywhere. But she didn’t think about the storm. Winds like this meant spring and spring meant the kite contest and the contest meant Otosan (Father) and Kenji would be busy building a kite. And this year Kiyoko was determined to be part of the kite making and kite flying. Then she ran into the house.
“What is the hurry?” Okaason (Mother) asked.
“There is a wind today!” Kiyoko called back.
“And you are making it all yourself.” Okaasan laughed. “Slow down or you will start a typhoon!”
Kiyoko went into her bedroom and opened her book. Homework must be done, everything done, so there would be no excuse for her not to help. After dinner she helped Okaasan with the dishes, then she went to the table where Kenji and Otosan had started working.
“Don’t bother us!” Kenji said half-seriously. “We are busy.”
“I came to help,” Kiyoko said, undaunted.
“Girls do not help with the kites. This is for otosans and sons,” Kenji laughed. “Go arrange your flowers.”
Kiyoko felt a sting inside her throat. “I can help! I even have a good idea for a fine kite.”
Kenji laughed even harder. “Girls do not build kites!”
“Why not?” his sister asked.
“Because only the boys and their otosans make kites,” Kenji insisted.
“It is no rule,” Kiyoko said as nicely as she could.
“Kiyoko is right and so are you,” Otosan said to Kenji. “For many years it has been the otosan and his son who made and flew kites, but it is no rule.”
Kenji started to protest, but Otosan gave him a quick look that Kenji knew meant, “It is enough!”
He said no more, but Kiyoko could tell that her brother was upset.
Father and Kiyoko worked all evening, drawing plans and deciding which materials and colors would make the best kite for the contest. And while they worked they laughed and talked, but Kenji only listened and watched. Then, even before they were finished he left and went to his room.
“What is wrong with Kenji?” Okaasan asked. “He is not sick is he? He did not act well tonight.”
“He does not think a girl should help with the kite,” Kiyoko said. “But he will see. I can build and fly a kite as well as any boy.”
The next week was filled with work on the kite, but every time Kiyoko and Otosan started working, Kenji would find an excuse not to help.
Soon the kite was finished and Kenji had not helped on it at all. It was a beautiful catfish kite with a huge mouth and scary teeth and big eyes painted on its sides. Kiyoko was sure it was the most beautiful kite in the whole world, but Kenji said that it was just ordinary and that it probably wouldn’t even fly.
“You will see!” Kiyoko almost shouted. “It will win the prize for the best design and for the most beautiful and the highest-flying kite in the contest.”
Kenji only laughed and Kiyoko felt hurt. She hadn’t meant to make her brother so resentful. She had only wanted to help, not to take over, but Kenji would have nothing to do with the project.
It’s not my fault, Kiyoko decided as Kenji left the room. He could have helped make the kite. But her thoughts made no difference. Inside she was not happy. She knew how important the annual kite making was to Kenji.
The next day a gentle wind came so Kiyoko and Otosan took the kite out for its first flight. The park was crowded with boys and otosans and kites.
“Where is Kenji?” Makoto asked as they passed him.
“I don’t know,” Kiyoko answered.
“He said he would rather work in the garden,” Otosan added.
“But he hates to work in the garden!” Makoto exclaimed in surprise.
“I only know what he said,” Otosan replied.
Makoto laughed. “Hiroshi, did you hear?” he shouted. “Kenji has been replaced by his sister! A girl flying a kite!” Many boys laughed and even a few otosans.
Kiyoko’s face grew hot as the anger rose inside of her. “This is my kite. There is no rule that says a girl cannot enter the contest!” she defended.
“No rule, but poor Kenji!” Makoto laughed again.
“Poor Kenji,” Hiroshi repeated.
The boys walked on, leaving Otosan and Kiyoko alone.
“What do they mean, ‘Poor Kenji’?” Kiyoko asked.
“You do not know?” Otosan asked, looking at her closely.
“No,” Kiyoko answered. Otosan shook his head but made no reply.
Kiyoko was more determined now than ever that their kite would be the best. “I will be the first girl to win the kite contest. I’ll show them,” she declared.
“There are more important things than just showing others,” Otosan said quietly.
Kiyoko was startled. “What?”
“For many, many years otosans and sons have built kites and flown them in the contest. I did so with my otosan and he with his.”
“But I thought you said it was all right and you let me help!” Kiyoko exclaimed.
“It was not for me to say yes or no. As you say, ‘it is no rule.’ If flying in the kite contest is that important to you, then you should do it. It is your decision, not mine. But tell me, Kiyoko, what is more important to you—the contest or your brother’s happiness?”
Kiyoko was sad. “I guess you did not want me to help you either.”
“No, that is not so. I have enjoyed your help, but just as you and Okaasan look forward each year to the flower-arranging contest, Kenji and I look forward to the kite contest.”
Kiyoko felt a little heartsick. She had never considered that part of it. I would feel terrible if Kenji tried to help with the flowers. And it would not be because he was a boy, but because that’s a special time for me and Okaasan to be together.
“I think I understand now,” Kiyoko said softly.
“There are many things we do together as a family,” Otosan said, “but there are also times when not everyone of us is included.”
Kiyoko had only wanted to fly her kite, but she had hurt Kenji. What should I do now? she wondered. It was a hard decision, but finally she knew what she must do.
“I have some homework,” she said. “I’d better go do it.”
“You can stay if you really want to, Kiyoko,” Otosan said.
“I thank you, but I must go.” Quickly she ran home, making lots of noise as she walked through the garden.
Kenji looked up and laughed. “You couldn’t get it up? See, a girl cannot fly a kite.”
For a moment Kiyoko was hurt by his words, but now she understood why he spoke as he did.
“It is up,” she said.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m tired of kites,” Kiyoko said, trying to sound convincing. Then she turned and ran into the house so Kenji would not see her tears.
Kiyoko watched out the window as her brother ran to join Otosan. “It is a good kite.” she said. “Kenji and Otosan will win many prizes. I know now that it does not matter if a boy or a girl flies it. Otosan and I will do other things together—now it is their time.”

“There it is,” I whispered to Randy as we watched the magpie glide through the air and land in the poplar trees just this side of Jed Franklin’s place. We clutched our rocks and glared at the shiny black bird with the white tips on its tail and wings. Dad had said that he didn’t like magpies eating our vegetables, so Randy and I had chased it out of the garden. Chasing magpies was lots more fun than weeding.
“Do you think we ought to follow it over there, Russell?” Randy asked.
I thought about going back to the garden to finish weeding. I scratched my head. “Dad said that if they’re not chased miles away, they just come back.”
Randy swallowed. “But it’s on Mr. Franklin’s place now.”
I shuddered just a little. Jed Franklin was the meanest man I knew. He lived alone on a little run-down farm just down the road from us.
“I figure we can sneak over there through the trees without him seeing us,” I whispered.
Before Randy could answer, I started down the dirt lane toward the Franklin place. I heard Randy scramble after me. The magpie was still in the poplar tree when we got there. We each threw a rock.
“We didn’t throw close enough to it,” I muttered as I watched the magpie fly away, then perch itself right on top of Mr. Franklin’s new light pole. “We can chase it a lot farther away for sure from there,” I said excitedly.
“But, Russell,” Randy gasped, “we can’t go into Mr. Franklin’s yard!”
I stared ahead and suddenly grinned. “He’s not even there. His pickup’s gone.”
A few moments later Randy and I were hunched down by the corner of Mr. Franklin’s barn, looking almost straight up at the magpie. “Aim good,” I said.
I don’t know which rock went where. All I know is that we shattered Mr. Franklin’s new light! Glass flew everywhere.
We sprinted for home—past the poplar trees, across the dirt lane, and to the garden, where we should have been all afternoon. We grabbed our hoes and started chopping weeds as fast as we could. Even when we were finished, we kept looking for weeds where there weren’t any. And every few minutes we glanced toward the Franklin place.
It was almost suppertime when we heard Jed Franklin’s old pickup rumble down the road past our place to his. We didn’t dare stay in the garden after that. We put our hoes away and went into the house.
That night after we’d gone to bed and should have been sleeping, I lay on my pillow with my eyes wide open and a thousand things going through my mind. When I’d said my prayer that night, the words didn’t go anyplace. They just stayed in the room with me. “Are you awake?” I whispered to Randy, who was on the bottom bunk.
Randy kicked his covers back and muttered, “Yes. I can’t go to sleep. I keep thinking.”
“We didn’t mean to do it,” I argued. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Randy came back, “but Mr. Franklin still lost his light.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” I muttered.
The next morning, Randy and I were helping Dad fix a sagging barn door, when Mr. Franklin pulled up in his pickup. I took a step backward, bumping Randy and spilling a sack of nails on the ground. Mr. Franklin leaned out of his pickup and glared at us. “Well, they’ve done it again,” he snapped.
Dad straightened up. “Who did what?” Dad asked.
Mr. Franklin stared at Randy and me. I gulped, wondering how he’d found out. “They broke my new light,” he growled. “It hasn’t been in a week, and they knocked it out yesterday while I was away.”
“Who did it?” Dad asked.
I got ready to turn and run. I just knew Mr. Franklin was going to jab a finger at Randy and me and bellow, “They did!”
“Kids!” Mr. Franklin snorted. “Probably those kids on the three-wheelers. They’re always racing through my yard and driving up into the hills. They leave gates open, tear things up, and scare my stock. Now they’ve gone and knocked my light out. If I ever get my hands on them … !”
“Those guys on the three-wheelers sure saved us,” I muttered after Mr. Franklin had left and Dad had gone into the barn. “And we didn’t even have to lie or anything,” I said, smiling, but still feeling dark and sick inside. I kept thinking of something Mom had told us once. She had said that you could tell a huge lie just by being quiet when you knew the truth.
“Why does Mr. Franklin have to be such a mean old guy?” I asked Dad when he came back.
Dad thought for a moment, then answered, “Oh, he’s not mean. Just lonely.”
“He sure seems mean to me,” Randy said, “always running around with that ugly frown.”
Dad scratched his head. “Sometimes Jed looks mean and angry with everyone because nobody ever seems very nice to him.”
After we had finished the door, Randy and I sat in the barn and talked.
“I wish we hadn’t done it,” Randy said.
I nodded. “We ought to pay him for the light.”
Randy gasped. “But then we’d have to tell him we broke it in the first place.”
“Well, maybe we could work for him. We wouldn’t tell him why, and that way we could pay for the light without him even knowing it.”
It was the best idea we had had. We hated to hoe corn, but we knew Mr. Franklin had a little patch that needed hoeing, so we headed for it. The sun was hot, bugs buzzed around us, sweat trickled down the sides of our faces, our backs ached, and I even wore a blister on my hand. But for the first time since Randy and I had broken the light, I felt good because we were making up for what we had broken.
“What are you kids doing?” a voice boomed out at us as we were finishing the last two rows.
We whipped around, and there stood Mr. Franklin leaning against a fence post.
I gulped and licked my lips, “We’ve been hoeing your corn.”
“Why?”
“The corn needed hoeing,” Randy said.
“We wanted to,” I added. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind.” He almost smiled. “Mighty fine work.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn brown wallet. “I guess you boys could use a little spending money.”
“We didn’t do it for money,” I burst out.
Mr. Franklin looked at me, then at Randy, who was nodding in agreement.
“But I’d like to pay,” Mr. Franklin said, counting out some money. “I don’t remember any kids ever helping me before. Sometimes kids come over and knock my lights and windows out, but this is the first time any showed up to help.” He held the money out. “I insist that you take it.”
We couldn’t make ourselves tell him about the light, so we took the money and headed for home, feeling worse than we’d felt before we hoed the corn.
“Why don’t we feel good, Russell?” Randy asked me. “I thought you were supposed to feel good after you did something good. I just feel rotten.”
“I guess it’s because we did something good just to cover up something bad.”
For a long time we stayed in the barn, thinking. We both knew that there was only one thing we could do to make us feel better, but we were both scared to do it.
“I’m going back,” I finally announced.
“Going back!” Randy gasped.
“I’m giving the money back.”
“But what will you tell him?”
I took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just tell him the truth. That’s what we should have done to start with.”
It was hard going back to Mr. Franklin’s place, one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. I would rather have hoed a dozen fields of corn than explain what we had done to his light.
We found him by his old pickup. The hood was up, and he was hunched over the engine, banging and tugging with a wrench. His hands were greasy, his face was red, and he was chewing hard on a soggy toothpick.
As soon as he looked up and saw us, I pulled the money from my pocket and set it on the fender of the pickup. Then I stepped back and looked directly at him. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Randy was doing the same.
Mr. Franklin looked at the money. “What’s this for?” he demanded gruffly.
I swallowed hard and looked down at the ground. I watched a tiny ant tug and pull at a piece of straw that was ten times bigger than it was, “We didn’t hoe the corn for money,” I explained in a raspy whisper. “We did it to pay for your light.”
“My light?” He straightened up and wiped his hands on his pants.
My heart was hammering so hard in my chest that I thought it was going to burst. I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn’t have any breath to speak. I sucked in some air. “The kids on the three-wheelers didn’t break your light,” I wheezed. “We did.”
“But we didn’t mean to,” Randy got out. “We weren’t trying to be mean or anything. We were just trying to chase away that old magpie.”
“Did your dad make you come over here?” Mr. Franklin asked.
We shook our heads. “We’re sorry,” I mumbled. “That’s why we wanted to hoe your corn. To make things right.”
For a long time he just stared at us without saying anything. I could feel little drops of sweat trickle down my back. And a fat, pesky fly kept buzzing around my head, but I didn’t slap at it or anything.
Finally he took his toothpick from his mouth, flipped it into the dirt, and said, “Thanks, boys.” He even sounded nice. “I appreciate what you’ve done. Telling me about the light is more important than hoeing my corn.” He actually smiled. “Everybody makes mistakes, but only those who are really grown-up take the blame for them and make up for them.”
When Randy and I finally left the Franklin place, that dark, ugly feeling inside us was gone. I knew that that night I wouldn’t have any trouble saying my prayers or going to sleep.

The other day at recess I was playing football with some of my friends. A girl from our class came over and asked if she could play with us. Some of the boys told her no because she was a girl. They said girls can’t play football. She looked really sad and started to walk away.
I remembered when the older boys wouldn’t let me play with them because I was too little. It made me feel bad. I told her to come back and that I would play a different game with her. Then the other boys said it would be OK if she played. She was so happy, and she turned out to be a better player than a lot of the boys. Now she plays with us every day. I feel good inside knowing I helped her to be happy. It makes me happy when I help others.

I was in the ninth grade. I had friends, and I was on the yearbook staff. Things were going my way. Everything except gym class. My problem wasn’t exactly the class—it was the teacher. She was new, just graduated from college. She was strict and never smiled. It wasn’t that I didn’t try during class; it was just that my athletic ability wasn’t the greatest.
I remember the day we practiced basketball layups. The gym teacher taught us how to place our feet and shoot the ball. I tried to follow her directions, but my ball just wouldn’t go into the basket. She growled at me.
Another day we played dodgeball. When the ball hit me squarely in the shin, she yelled at me. I felt humiliated and upset. I started to dread gym class because I was afraid I would be yelled at in front of everyone. I wanted to place the blame on her. But one day I had a realization that changed everything.
I was sitting in line waiting for roll call. I watched my teacher moving up and down the line, marking her clipboard as she checked our gym uniforms. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me: “She’s your sister!”
“My sister?” I thought. How could that be? I wouldn’t claim her for all the world. But the thought came again: “She’s your sister.” And then it occurred to me. She is my sister. We are spirit sisters. We have the same Heavenly Father. We both chose to follow the Savior in the premortal world. We are both here on earth to gain a body and learn and grow. This realization was startling. It was as if someone had slipped a pair of spiritual glasses over my eyes. I began to see my gym teacher with a whole new perspective. She is a child of God.
I started to smile at the thought. What if we had actually been friends in the premortal existence? What if she had tried to teach me basketball there and we had laughed together?
I watched her make her way down the line. Soon she was in front of me, marking her chart. I couldn’t help but smile at her in a genuine, friendly way. She seemed a little shocked at my new friendliness.
The rest of the class period I thought about what I had discovered. If she really were my sister, I would want her to be successful as a teacher. Maybe there were some things I could do to make her day go better. To begin with, I could change my attitude.
The next day as I entered the gymnasium and looked at my teacher, the old distasteful feeling started to come back. “Wait,” I thought. “That’s your sister over there. Love her.”
I confidently went and sat in line. Throughout the class I tried to listen respectfully and show real interest in what she was saying. No matter what my teacher did or said to me, I appreciated her. Soon I felt genuine friendship toward her.
She must have sensed my change of attitude because she actually smiled at me a few times. I knew she could tell that I was sincere in my efforts. The rest of the semester went smoothly, and by the end of the year I had even earned an A. But the miracle of the class was not my grade; it was my change of heart.
Now sometimes when I find myself feeling dislike toward someone, I stop and mentally slip on my spiritual glasses. I try to remember that we are all brothers and sisters. My corrected vision makes all the difference. I can reach out in love to people I would otherwise turn away from. After all, that’s what we are here to learn—how to love one another. And that’s much more important than an A in gym class.

It was Sunday morning, and Lissa was nervous. Her ward boundaries had been changed. That meant she would be going to a new ward today. Dad and Mom saw that Lissa was worried.
What’s wrong?
I won’t know anyone in the new ward. Why did they have to change our old ward?
It’s actually a good thing. The Church is growing. That means more people have accepted the gospel.
Will I ever see my friends from the old ward again?
We will make sure you do. You can invite them to our house for your birthday.
At church Lissa walked into the Primary room. She saw some of her friends from her old ward, but there were a lot of new faces too. In class Lissa and the other children played a game to help them learn each other’s names. The new children seemed nice.
After class Lissa found her parents and little brother waiting for her in the hall.
Mom, do you think I can invite the new children to our house on my birthday too?
That’s a great idea.
That week Lissa and Mom made invitations for children in their old ward and for children in their new ward.
On Lissa’s birthday, all the children arrived. They played the game she played in Primary so everyone could learn the names of everybody else.
Did you have a good time?
Yes! Now I have old friends and new friends!

During the difficult year of 2021, the number of refugees and asylum seekers seeking a better life increased. Thankfully, the Oasis Cardiff centre stepped in to help them integrate with our communities and provide them with the necessities that were not otherwise easily available to them.
For most of us, there is much to look forward to over November and December, but for others it is a time of despair and going without. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Cardiff wanted to try and change this and make a difference.
During this time, members of the Cardiff Stake, with the help of local communities around the stake and a donation from LDS Charities, gathered toiletries and teddy bears for approximately 150 people to help them enjoy the festive season more than they might otherwise have done.
The willingness of volunteers from local communities to help was amazing. Several shopping trips were required to acquire items, including over 350 packs of nappies. Many members, including full-time missionaries and youth, came together to pack 150 toiletry packs for the refugees. Even the South Wales Police helped by providing a large van to transport the nappies and toiletries collected.
The packs were donated to refuges on December 10—the response was phenomenal. Volunteers were very grateful to be able to give to people in need.
Jacci Peach from Oasis Cardiff said, “The generous donation of nappies and toiletries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have so far been given to 95 families and individuals. Additionally, 51 children aged up to 8 have also received a teddy. Most of these children would not have received anything for Christmas. In fact, most would’ve had no toys at home at all.
“What seems like a little thing to so many can mean the world to an asylum seeker. Being able to stay clean is a simple ‘luxury’ that ensures dignity and some sense of normality. Thank you so much for your kind donations, they are much appreciated!”

Toriki Chung Tien, 16, from Tubuai, said, “My little brother and I painted our grandfather’s graveyard house and helped our mother decorate his grave with pride and joy. Every time we talked about him and the blessings he performed, I felt his presence and my tears flowed. Thanks to the gospel and the Resurrection, I know that one day we will meet as a family and that I will find my grandpa who I miss so much.”

When she was 17, she crossed Lake Ontario to visit her sister in Detroit. On the voyage she met the tall, dark-eyed pilot of the ship, Frederick Granger Williams. Their frequent visits quickly transformed affection into love, and the two were married in late 1815. The Williamses moved around the great Western Reserve of Ohio, USA, before finally settling in Kirtland around 1828. Her husband took up the practice of medicine and became rather well known for his abilities, and Rebecca learned to help him with procedures. Together they had four children.

Elder Samuel Barlow from the Shetland Islands, Aberdeen Stake, has been a deckhand on a deep-sea fishing trawler for the past two years. He decided to leave his boat and fishing career to serve the Lord as a full-time service missionary.
Serving the Lord on a mission has been a lifelong desire of Elder Barlow. That the opportunity to serve from home has been made available to young men and women outside of the US and Canada, filled Elder Barlow with great joy and happiness. He arranged to meet with his stake president to discuss applying.
President Lee McLeman of the Aberdeen Stake felt that Elder Barlow would make a wonderful service missionary and helped him to complete and submit his mission papers. Elder Barlow said, “It filled me with great happiness that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and makes it so everyone can serve as a missionary.”
Elder Barlow also serves as the elders quorum president in the Lerwick Branch. His mission allows him to continue serving in this calling while also reaching out to help many others in the Shetlands. His setting apart required him and his family to travel to the Aberdeen chapel, a 29-hour round trip by ferry in some rough weather. He had already done that to be set apart as the elders quorum president, such is his dedication to serving the Lord.
He started his mission by serving in the British Red Cross charity shop in Lerwick, by doing Family History indexing with his father and working on the BillionGraves project (see billiongraves.com). He is looking forward to the warmer weather when he will be able help with the Scottish Wildlife Trust and the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. He has also been asked to be the mission expert on BillionGraves and train new missionaries.
He is an excellent example to his family and to those around him. The district leader was pleased when he found out that Elder Barlow was a fisherman and exclaimed, “Jesus worked with fisherman, and now we can work with a fisherman, just like Jesus.”
Elder Barlow takes the opportunity whenever he can to tell other young single adults and youth about service missions—there are now two opportunities to serve, either as a teaching missionary or as a service missionary; the prophet extends the call for both types of missions.

Gary and Tommy were building a bridge. It had rained that day, and the rain had made a little brook through Gary’s backyard.

“I’m going to be an engineer when I grow up,” declared Gary. “I’m going to build bridges just like the ones my daddy builds.”

“I’m going to be a truck driver,” announced Tommy. “I’m going to drive a great big trailer truck. I’ll bet my truck will be the biggest in the whole world!”

“It better not be too big,” said Gary, “or it can’t go under or over some bridges.” Then he ran over to the garage to get another board. His family had just moved in, and there were plenty of boards from the empty furniture crates. Gary’s toys hadn’t come yet, so the boys were playing with Tommy’s big blue truck.

“I’m going to load my truck with rocks,” Tommy said, “and drive it over the bridge.”

“The bridge isn’t ready yet,” said Gary. “Wait till I get this board in place.”

But Tommy wouldn’t wait. “Here I come,” he said, and started his truck along the road toward the bridge. It was a muddy road, but Tommy pushed and pushed till he got his truck up onto the narrow bridge. Then one wheel went off the edge, and the whole truck with its load of stones fell into the brook.

“I’ll help you pick them up,” said Gary.

“You leave them alone,” said Tommy. “They’re my rocks. If you’d built your old bridge better, my truck wouldn’t have gone off the edge.”

Tommy started picking his rocks out of the water. When he turned around, Gary was backing the truck down so he could help put the rocks back in. Tommy dropped the rocks and grabbed his truck. “That’s my truck!” Tommy said. And away he ran, leaving Gary all by himself.

Gary looked puzzled, but after a minute he began to work on the bridge again. “It’s going to be a four-lane bridge,” he said to himself, “just like the one Daddy is building.”

Tommy ran into the kitchen as soon as he got home. “Mom,” he called, “Gary pushed my truck into the water.”

“That’s too bad,” Tommy’s mother said. “How did it happen?”

“We were building a bridge, and Gary didn’t make it wide enough, and my truck fell off into the water and got all wet.”

“Oh,” said Tommy’s mother. “I thought you said Gary pushed it.”

Tommy didn’t say anything for a minute. His mother took a pan of cookies out of the oven. Reluctantly Tommy said, “I guess he didn’t really push it. But it’s my truck and Gary didn’t have any right to play with it.”

“Whose bridge were you driving it over?” asked Tommy’s mother.

“Well,” said Tommy finally, “we both started to build it, but I guess the boards were Gary’s.” Then he turned and started to go back outdoors. “I don’t care,” he said. “He can’t have my truck. I’m going to play in my sandbox!” Tommy slammed the door.

Tommy made a road in his sandbox, but when he tried to run his truck on it, the road wasn’t big enough for the truck to turn the corners. He looked for some boards to make a bridge up to the sandbox, but he couldn’t find any. Tommy tried pushing two trucks to make believe he was two truck drivers, but that wasn’t much fun. He sat down on the back steps to think.

At last Tommy got up and went slowly into the kitchen. “Mom,” he asked, “may I go back over to Gary’s yard to play?”

“What would you play with?” asked his mother.

“I’ll take Gary one of my trucks,” said Tommy. “Then we’ll each have one.”

Tommy’s mother smiled. “Would you like to load some cookies onto your trucks? I’ll wrap them in waxed paper for you.”

“Thanks, Mom!” said Tommy.

Two minutes later Tommy was back in Gary’s yard, holding a truck carefully in each hand so as not to spill the cookies. “Gary!” he called. “I brought you a truck.”

“That’s neat,” said Gary. “See, I’ve built the bridge wide enough so that we can both go over it at the same time.”

“That’ll be fun,” said Tommy. “I guess bridge builders and truck drivers have to work together.”

“I guess ’most everybody does,” said Gary.

Recently a dear friend of mine passed away from cancer. He and his family are people of great faith. It was inspiring to see how their faith carried them through this very difficult time. They were filled with an inner peace that sustained and strengthened them. With their permission I would like to read from a family member’s letter written just days before her father passed away:
“The last few days have been especially difficult. … Last night as we gathered at Dad’s bedside, the Spirit of the Lord was palpable and truly acted as a comforter to us. We are at peace. … It has been the hardest thing any of us has ever experienced, but we feel peace in the knowledge that … our Father in Heaven has promised that we will live together as a family again. After the doctor told Dad in the hospital that there was nothing left to be done, he looked at all of us with perfect faith and boldly asked, ‘Does anybody in this room have a problem with the plan of salvation?’ We do not and are grateful for a father and mother who have taught us to have perfect trust in the plan.”

As time passed and we both matured, we started to talk to each other about school, teachers, friends, and all the other things that concerned us. Tommy and I actually became friends. In high school, Tommy was a senior when I was a sophomore, and it was nice to receive advice from an experienced student. We were both in the marching band, and even though we had our own friends, Tommy was always willing to talk to me or help me in any way. He had developed a real sense of humor, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
I remember nights when we would be the only ones up, doing our homework, and Tommy would serve us both some ice cream. We would talk late into the night. Tommy was a wonderful example to me, and I was always learning something from him. He chose good friends, and I never saw him hesitate to choose the right. I especially respected him for how well he treated my parents. Whenever we came home from school, Tommy would go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and we would sit down and chat with Mama about the day. Somehow, the conversation always drifted to things deeper than school. I will always cherish those times.

When do we teach this principle? When we become alert to situations which point the need for its application. On an occasion when a small boy got angry at a playmate, he came into the house stating that he would never play with that boy again and would not ever let him into the house. The mother—a wise woman—stopped what she was doing, not later, but that very moment, and said: “Son, we need to go into the bedroom and kneel down and talk to Heavenly Father.” There she explained that the boy needed to learn how to forgive and told him he should pray about it. She prayed first and then helped him to start. When they came from the bedroom, the boy looked up at the mother and said: “I guess I’ll play with him again. I think he can come here.” You might say, answer to prayer. Yes, but it was also the beginning of that boy’s hearing the voice of the Lord, and that’s important.

Elder Peterson was born in Roy, Utah, on 6 October 1939 to Rulon and Naomi Skeen Peterson. He and his wife of 39 years, Joan Jensen Peterson, have reared six children, which has been a rich and rewarding experience. A year after he and Sister Peterson were married in the Logan Utah Temple, their first child, Linda, was born with spina bifida. The experience rapidly brought the couple a deepened maturity. Their faith increased as they saw prayers answered and small miracles occur in the life of this daughter. Today Linda has served a mission, taught at the Missionary Training Center, graduated from Brigham Young University, married in the temple, and is the mother of two.

When I was a new ninth-grade high school student, my English teacher announced that we were going to watch a movie as part of our study of Shakespeare and his works. She told us the movie was R-rated and asked if anyone had any objections. I built up the courage to raise my hand and told my teacher that I did not watch R-rated movies. My face felt like it was about to burst and my whole body felt like it was sweating, but inside I knew I had done the right thing. My objection seemed to silence the class, and I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Later, my teacher questioned me further on the subject, and I told her that I would not watch the movie. My teacher left it up to me to choose between watching the movie she selected or accepting a lower grade for the assignment.
On the day before the movie was scheduled to be shown, I thought I was going to have to walk out of class and take the grade penalty. When my teacher announced that she had decided to show a different version of the movie, I felt relieved. There was plenty of moaning and whining from many of the students because of the change in plans. I thought everyone would be mad at me.
Instead, the students quickly quieted down, and my friends called me over to sit with them. Their support made me feel great. After class, I thanked my teacher for her decision to show an appropriate version of the movie.
I’m thankful for the standards of the Church. I know that when we keep high standards, we can make a difference in the world in our own small ways.