Gospel Story Finder

Even Angel’s father, Liu Chuen Hsin, isn’t completely convinced the time his daughter spends learning the gospel is all that productive. He often questions if Angel’s time wouldn’t be better spent studying or going to the library. When Angel’s mother, Catherine, joined the Church in 1984, Angel was only seven. Although Liu Chuen Hsin didn’t object to his wife’s baptism, he had no interest in joining the Church with her. However, he did allow Angel to be baptized when she turned eight.

“My father is interesting,” Angel adds. “Sometimes he will say, ‘Since you have an exam coming up, maybe you shouldn’t go to church.’ But there are other times when he’ll tell me to hurry up because he doesn’t want me to be late for church.

“My parents have high expectations of me. My father thinks I can have a great impact on our family by continuing my education and doing well,” Angel adds. Angel is quick to point out she can also have a great impact on her family by staying active in the Church.

“In Taiwan, parents who are members of the Church set examples for their children,” says Kent Liang, a former regional representative and stake president. “They go to church and perform their callings, and the children are able to see this. But some kids whose parents aren’t members are often tempted to rest and not go to church on Sundays. And the school competition is so high that school is sometimes all they see. They think, Should I go to church or go to the library? Sometimes they don’t worry that much about church things because they don’t see that far into the future. Right now, many of the kids in Taiwan are worried only about school.”

And that is what is so amazing about Angel. She graduated near the top of her high school class, yet she doubts she could have done it had she not had the gospel’s guiding influence in her life. “The Church was especially helpful to me during my senior year of high school. I noticed a lot of my schoolmates were easily depressed because of school,” she says. “But I knew if I did my best, Heavenly Father would help me. Usually, my grades were better than I expected.”

Today, college life keeps Angel busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her scriptures, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she is doing well in school, and, more importantly, she is finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

For me, my greatest mentor happens to be my mom. She will be turning 80 years old this year. She is a woman of few words and one that knew how to train up children to work and be self-reliant. She raised all twelve of us children to live the Chamorro value of “fan afao maolek yan fan aayuda” translated it means to get along and help each other. She is the very reason why I learned to get along with people and why I am who I am. This Chamorro philosophy coupled with gospel teachings has benefited my life’s journey thus far.

Growing up in Guam, I was your typical teenager. Let me elaborate. My father retired early from his government job as a gantry operator at Guam’s Commercial Port. He took on farming to help grow his large family of twelve children. To help subsidize the food at home, he would go fishing. One day, my father came home with a huge catch of reef fish which he caught using his one-man fishing net. At our home in Guam, we have an outside kitchen with a galley-size sink. The sink was a couple feet deep and proved to be very difficult to work from being that I am only five feet in height. I happened to be having a bad teenage attitude that day and the tall but deep sink plus the big catch didn’t help any. I was grumbling about all the fish I had to scale and clean up. At first I was just angry why I had to be the one to clean the fish. Where were the boys? Couldn’t they clean it? All my bellyaching didn’t render me aid. By this time, I had cleaned three fish and had another twenty to go. My mom and dad were just quiet and went about other things. Then it came into my mind, “I should be grateful.” My father caught enough fish to last a couple of meals. I knew then to set aside my selfishness and think of the blessing of the big catch and the mouths it will end up feeding. The instant I applied what the Apostle Paul said that by love serve one another; my burden was lifted and my work in scaling and cleaning the fish became light.

In other words, to always abound in good works requires a heart filled with love for others.

I grew up on a small farm in Idaho, and I remember raising rabbits. They were soft and friendly and wonderful to snuggle with. But sometimes they would gnaw a hole in their little compartments and escape. This was very dangerous because dogs or cats could hurt them.
When I was about seven years old, a rabbit I especially liked got out. I looked all over our little farm, but I could not find it anywhere. I was worried. I remember walking back behind an old barn and praying that I could find the rabbit.
Immediately after the prayer, an image came into my mind of a spot beneath some boards. I had a feeling that I would find my rabbit there. And sure enough, I went to that spot and found my rabbit.
This experience taught me that the Lord responds to the small and simple prayers of all of us. In D&C 8:2 He says, “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart.”

All the way down the long hall, Susan held on to her mother’s hand. She tried to hang back and keep from going into the Primary room.
Her mother gently pulled her along, then opened the door and tugged her into a room filled with children. They were seated with their arms folded, listening to the quiet music. Susan hid behind her mother’s skirt.
A woman came up and talked to Mother. Susan peeked around and up into the woman’s face. It looked nice. The woman smiled at her, and Susan ducked back. Then the woman beckoned to another lady, who came forward. Susan hid again.
The three women talked together, but Susan couldn’t tell what they were saying. She peeked out again at the new lady, who had gray hair and a merry face full of wrinkles. Susan knew that her smile was a permanent part of her, because all the wrinkles curved upwards.
With a flutter of her skirts, the woman knelt beside Susan so quickly that Susan didn’t have time to hide. She looked away, but the lady turned Susan’s face back toward her. Then her hands began a graceful dance.
Susan stared in amazement. Then a warm feeling began to grow inside her.
The hands were talking to her! “Hello, my name is Sister White. I am your Primary teacher. Welcome to our ward.”
Susan’s hands moved. “How do you know sign language?”
“My son is deaf. I learned so that I could talk to him.”
Susan nodded. That was good.
“Come,” her teacher’s hands insisted. “Let’s sit with your Primary class. The Star-A class is over here.”
Susan disappeared behind her mother again. She was afraid. Sometimes children made fun of her because she couldn’t hear.
Mother drew her gently out. “It will be all right,” she signed. “They will take good care of you.”
Susan put her hand into Sister White’s and walked over to her class. Her head hung down so that she couldn’t see the other children’s faces. Then she watched her teacher reverently talk with her hands, signing the scripture and the prayer. Then Sister White added, “We need to stand and sing the song.”
Susan was bewildered. She looked at Sister White, who beamed and nodded.
The children stood, and Susan watched in amazement. They were singing with their hands! Soon she recognized the song. Her hands joined in too.
As I have loved you, Love one another.
This new commandment: Love one another. … *
When the song was finished, everyone sat down. Then one by one children turned around and smiled shyly at Susan. She held her head high and smiled back. No one in this ward would laugh or make fun of her. They all welcomed her, just as Jesus welcomed everyone.

After the last tree was decorated and the last card was signed, the youth set out to show the hospice patients how much they cared through their actions. They spent the afternoon doing yard work, scraping and painting houses and sheds, even doing housework.

“Helping people at their homes can be awkward at first,” says Priest Justin Saunders. “But they really appreciated it and seemed glad to have us. It turned out to be fun.”

Apparently, people were more than appreciative. They were ecstatic. One woman, whose husband had been bedridden for some time, took pictures of the youth scraping and painting the shed outside their home. She wanted him to see them in action, even though he couldn’t get outside.

In the Philippines today we have more than 20,000 members of the Church. We have two strong missions and a stake of Zion; it is one of the more productive areas in the entire world. When the history of the work in the Philippines is properly written, it must include the story of Sister Maxine Grimm, whom some of you may know—a girl from Tooele, Utah, who served with the Red Cross in the Pacific campaigns of the Second World War. She married an American army officer, and after the war they established their home in Manila. She did all she could to teach the gospel to others; she pleaded that missionaries be sent. Her husband had legal work done and did many other things to make it possible for the missionaries to come. It would have been much easier for them to have simply gone along their way, making money and enjoying the fruits of it; but Sister Grimm was unceasing in her efforts and in her pleas.

I had responsibility for the work in Asia at that time, and I carried her pleas to the First Presidency, who, in 1961, authorized the extension of formal missionary work to that land. In May of 1961 we held a meeting to begin the work. We had no place to meet and received permission from the American Embassy to do so at the American Military Cemetery on the outskirts of Manila. There, where are solemnly remembered the sacrifices of more than 50,000 men who gave their lives in the cause of freedom, we gathered together at 6:30 in the morning. Sister Grimm played the little portable organ she had carried through the campaigns of the Pacific war, and we sang the songs of Zion in a strange land. We bore testimony together and invoked the blessings of heaven on what we were to begin there. Present was one native Filipino member of the Church.

That was the beginning of something marvelous, the commencement of a miracle. The rest is history, discouraging at times and glorious at others. I was there for the area conference held a year and a half ago with President Kimball and others. Some 18,000 members of the Church were assembled in the great Aranetta Coliseum, the largest indoor meeting place in the Republic. I wept as I thought of the earlier years, and I remembered with appreciation the woman who largely forgot her own interests as she relentlessly pursued her dream of the day when the Church would be strong in the land in which she then lived, bringing happiness of a kind previously unknown to thousands of wonderful people.

Another entry by Elizabeth Huffaker, reflecting back, said:
I remember our first Christmas in the Valley. We all worked as usual. The men gathered sagebrush, and some plowed; for though it had snowed, the ground was still soft, and the plows were used nearly the entire day. We celebrated the day on the Sabbath (Christmas was on Saturday), when all gathered around the flagpole in the center of the Fort, and there we held a meeting. And what a meeting it was. We sang praises to God, we all joined in the evening prayer, and the speaking that day has always been remembered. . . .
. . . Many who were there for that first Christmas in the Valley later remarked that in the sense of perfect peace and good will, they never had a happier Christmas in all their lives. [Madsen, Christmas, p. 26]

Their Christmas spirit was really the peace, comfort, and sense of well-being they felt from a Heavenly Father who knew they had done their part, that they had given their all—literally—to the furthering of the kingdom on earth. He blessed them, not with material rewards, but with gifts of the Spirit.

Vanessa—Bless these walls, so firm, and stout. Keeping want and trouble out. That’s what my Great Grandmother Gillman would pray for as a young mother living in the Midwest. They were right in the middle of “tornado alley” and she was absolutely terrified of any storm that would blow through. To the point where she would gather her girls under her bed and hide and cry. It’s probably no surprise that my grandmother, her daughter, grew up to be afraid of storms too. But when she had children of her own, she didn’t want to burden her kids with that same fear, and so as storms came in, she would bravely take her kids to the window to ooh and awe at the wonder of nature and sometimes even run outside with them to play in the rain. I’m so grateful for her wisdom and courage because as a result my mother grew up loving thunderstorms and so did I. I’m especially grateful for the lesson learned, that our outlook and actions can completely change how we experience storms in our lives.

The need for happiness is a paramount need—lasting happiness, not fleeting happiness. True happiness comes from knowing one’s purpose in life and in fulfilling it. When I served as a mission president in Scotland, two of our fine sisters taught a man in his 80s, and he was baptized. In a testimony meeting soon afterwards, he stood and gave thanks that he now had purpose in life. “I was waiting to die when the sisters knocked on my door,” he said tearfully. Before long, he was called as counselor in the ward Sunday School presidency, and later as Sunday School president. He had great joy and happiness in his church service and made many new friends. A year or so passed and he visited Salt Lake City, made more friends, and gained more experiences, including going to the temple for the first time. When he did step from this life a few months after his return to Scotland, what a full and purposeful life he had had—and all within two years.

“Now, listen up, guys. This is the last game of the season,” Coach said. “We’re tied for first place with the Grizzlies. If we win today, we’re in first place. We can do it! Just go out there and play the kind of baseball we’ve been playing all season. OK now, let’s go!”
We huddled around the coach, listened to his pep talk, then broke with a big yell—it always gives me gooseflesh.
We were scoreless for the first two innings. Then the other team got two in the bottom of the third and one in the fourth, and it stayed 3–0 through the fifth. We were really down.
But in the sixth inning my dream came true. The Grizzlies pitcher was tiring, though I don’t know why—we certainly hadn’t overworked him—and walked the first batter. Then Tubby hit a line drive for a base hit. Tyler hit a long fly ball to center field, and the guy out in the daisies dropped it. I couldn’t believe it!
So the bases were loaded with no outs, and I was up.
“Stee-rike!”
I pushed my hair back up under the batting helmet and crouched lower.
“Stee-rike two!”
I hadn’t made the strike zone small enough.
“Ball.”
That was better.
“Ball two.”
“Ball three.”
The three-two pitch was on its way. I connected with a crack you could hear two blocks away! The roar from the crowd was like nothing I’d ever heard before. They knew it was a home run before I got to first base. I flew around those bases, almost catching up with Tyler. Thanks at least partly to me, we’d won four to three! We were the Bridgeville Little League champs!

After he had served as a missionary in Tahiti for a year, the basketball federation asked if he could return to the team for just one month to participate in the games.
Bleck’s mission president, concerned about the effect the experience would have on Bleck’s ability to return and serve, felt inspired to tell him, “You can leave if you want, but you can’t come back.”
Bleck wanted that medal, but he no longer wanted it more than anything else. His mission had been amazing. He wasn’t willing to give up his last year, even for basketball.
Bleck stayed.
The team won gold.
After Bleck honorably completed his mission, he married Myranda in the Papeete Tahiti Temple, and they began a family. He also resumed playing for the national team.

Tongan Saints testify that faith in the Lord’s protection against the forces of nature has saved not only them, but also, as in the case of Tevita Taimani’s experience, those they tried to help. Brother Taimani remembers taking a sick woman to the hospital in Ha‘afeva aboard a boat powered by a fifteen-horsepower motor in the midst of massive waves and a terrible storm. Unbeknownst to him, however, the gas tank of his boat had tumbled overboard when a wave hit, taking with it the connecting hose to the engine:
I can hardly believe that when I started the engine after the patient had boarded, I did not notice the missing gas tank and hose. But the boat did start, and we made our way through the channel with the engine struggling in the huge waves, but never sputtering. Had it died, we would have been in a disastrous situation—drifting into the open sea or being dashed against a reef somewhere.
Only when we safely anchored in Ha‘afeva did I discover that the gas tank was not in the boat, that we had come through those rough waters without any gasoline feeding our tiny outboard engine. This is surely an example of how we are protected as we serve the Lord.

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that faraway country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of 50 stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word for word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.

I was blessed with a marvelous friend through the years of my youth. His example saved me in many precarious moments. Just ten years ago an untimely and tragic airplane accident snuffed out this dynamic and productive life. A short time ago I was thrilled by the visit of his handsome young returned-missionary son, who had traveled many miles to ask me to write a chapter for the biography of his father. What a joy that task was—to tell his family, among other things, that my greatest wish for them was that they find friends possessing the qualities their father had possessed and that they strive to be that kind of a friend to those with whom they associated.

Karl G. Maeser’s conversion to Mormonism is a most interesting story. It is said that he read a book about the Mormons which interested him very much, whereupon he and Edward Schoenfeldt decided to see what more they could learn about the religion. A letter of inquiry written by Brother Maeser eventually reached my grandfather, Franklin D. Richards, who was at that time president of the European Mission with headquarters in Liverpool, England. Grandfather appointed an Elder William Budge, who knew German, to visit Dresden and act as a private instructor to the family of Professor Maeser inasmuch as there was no religious liberty in Saxony at that time. Elder Budge carried out his instructions, and soon the word reached Liverpool that several persons in Dresden were ready for baptism and desired to be organized into a branch. Later, when President Richards and an Elder Kimball set out for the continent, one of their objects was to attend to these matters. Accordingly, on the fourteenth of October, 1855, eight persons were baptized in the River Elbe, one of whom was Karl G. Maeser. On the following Sunday at the Maeser home they were confirmed and organized into a branch. The LDS Biographical Encyclopedia (page 708) relates the incident as follows:
On the night of October the fourteenth, 1855, the three elders (Franklin D. Richards, William Budge, and William H. Kimball), Dr. Maeser, Edward Schoenfeldt, and some others, repaired to the banks of the historic Elbe, in which river Dr. Maeser was baptized by Apostle Richards. It was the first baptism in Saxony in this dispensation. After performing the baptism the party started back toward the home of Dr. Maeser. The only elder who could talk German was William Budge, and the conversation was carried on between Apostle Richards and Dr. Maeser with Elder Budge acting as interpreter. The colloquy had not proceeded far, however, when Apostle Richards told Elder Budge that it was not necessary for him to interpret any more, as he and Brother Maeser could “understand each other perfectly.” Brother Schoenfeldt relates that it was a very dark night, and when he first realized that the two men were conversing together with perfect facility, yet neither understood the native tongue of the other, his feelings were indescribable, for he knew that it was a divine manifestation.
Dr. Maeser in later years testified that when he emerged from the water he prayed that his faith might be confirmed by some manifestation from heaven, and he felt confident that his prayer would be answered.

Children living in orphanages or refugee camps need simple educational toys that teach them basic skills and help occupy their time. File folder games** teach simple matching skills and are fun for the children. Each kit contains a file folder that includes matching games with shapes, colors, or numbers and an envelope to keep them in.
The girls in the Waynesboro Virginia Stake had the opportunity to make file folder games for the humanitarian center when they were at their stake young women’s camp.
On the day of the project, the girls were excited to be doing something that would help others. Danielle Beidler of the Waynesboro Ward says, “I learned that there are many ways to serve others, and it felt good to be able to help them. I realized that I have been so blessed.”
Chelsea Herring of the Rivanna Ward adds, “It made me think of how fortunate I am to be able to go to school.”
Martha Dudley, who was in charge of craft projects for their stake’s young women’s camp, went to ProvidentLiving.org for ideas on how to get involved with humanitarian kits. She says, “I went to the section that lists the current humanitarian needs and found that one need was for the file folder games. I thought that this would accomplish both of my goals: a humanitarian service project that would let our young women help others, as well as being fun to do at camp.”
The activity was so successful that many girls came back later that day and helped finish the folders that needed additional work and talked about their feelings of helping others. Tiffany Dudley of the Rivanna Ward says, “I learned that giving is easy when you are having fun and thinking of someone else.” In the end they assembled 60 file folder games for the humanitarian center.

Tomás looked at the money in his hand and sighed. Two hundred pesos—not nearly enough. There were three fifty-peso pieces, two twenty-peso pieces, and one of the five-sided coins that Tomás called “cuadrados” (squares). The ten-peso coin wasn’t really square, of course, but Tomás liked the way the word sounded. He looked around him. The streets were almost empty now; soon it would be dark. With another sigh, Tomás picked up his shoeshine box and started home.
Tomás lived in Santa María, a small town in northern Mexico. Every day after school, he walked up and down the dusty, unpaved streets looking for shoes to shine or odd jobs to do. He had to help his mother; his father had been killed two years ago in an accident at work. Tomás had four sisters and a brother, and his mother didn’t make enough money doing washing and sewing to feed everyone. But Tomás never complained. He was proud to be considered the man of the house at such an early age!
“Hello, Tomás.” Doña Eva was standing beside her gate, holding a soda bottle. “Will you do me a favor? Would you buy me a drink at the store? You may keep the change, but please don’t be too long—I am very thirsty.”
Tomás put down his box and took the bottle. “I’ll be right back,” he called as he raced down the street.
Santa María was so small that only the school and one store had electricity. Most of Santa María’s people didn’t even want electric lights. Here and there, oil lamps made strange, dancing shapes on the street.
Tomás was almost at the store when he stopped in astonishment. Two huge, shiny trucks were in the tiny plaza. Surrounding the trucks were villagers, some of them with armloads of clothing or blankets. With surprise, Tomás saw his own mother handing a brightly colored serape to a man in the truck. The long, narrow blanket was his mother’s favorite, a gift to her from his father. “Mamá! What are you doing?” he cried, running over to her.
“Remember how we heard of a great earthquake farther south? There are many who have lost both loved ones and homes. I cannot give much, but I want to send something that will help.”
“But you love that serape! Papá …”
Tomás’s mother smiled. “Your father would want to give something, Tomás. And I love my sisters and brothers, too. Remember that as children of God, we are all family, son. I want to send a little love and comfort to someone who needs it more right now.” She saw the soda bottle. “That must be for Doña Eva,” she said. “She is always impatient for her soda, Tomás. Run; do your errand for her.”
Tomás did as he was told, but not happily. He felt guilty about his very selfish thoughts, but he couldn’t help them. “How can anyone have less than we do?” he asked himself. “My mother never has anything new. We eat only beans and tortillas. Someday I will have much money, and then I will give. Not now!”
In the store, Tomás paid for the soft drink. He counted his change to be sure it was right. He was very proud of his reputation for integrity.
“Send Tomás,” Doña Eva always said when someone needed an errand run. “He’s a good, honest boy.” Remembering that the change was his, Tomás carefully put it into his empty pocket. He was about to go, when he noticed the newspaper on the store counter.
There were pictures of the earthquake damage—fallen buildings and huge cracks in the streets. In one corner was a picture of a tiny child. Tears filled Tomás’s eyes as he read the caption: Brave Boy Loses Life to Save Baby Sister. Tomás thought of his younger brother and sisters. They were often noisy little pests, but he was glad that they were there, filling the small house with happiness. Tonight he would tell them that he loved them!
When Tomás passed the plaza again, all the villagers were gone. The trucks were still parked there, and Tomás stared at them. The coins in his pocket were heavy and cold. He had planned to put aside ten percent of his money for tithing, a few pesos for his savings, and give the rest to his mother. The money was important to his family, and it wasn’t enough to help anyone, anyway.
He couldn’t forget the picture in the paper, though. Why had he looked at it? But his mother was right—he had a lot. He had her, his brother, and his sisters. Tomás smiled a little. He even had dreams, big dreams. What was it his father used to say? “If you have dreams, and if you have faith, you have much.” He turned and walked back to the nearest truck. “It’s only a few pesos,” he said, holding out all except his tithing money.
The man took the coins and smiled at Tomás. “Thanks, son. It’s more than you know. There are people in need of medicine, even babies without food. Believe me, every peso will help someone live. Thank you!”
Tomás thought of the baby in the picture. Maybe his money would help her. But the important thing was that it would help someone. He said good-bye and hurried on toward Doña Eva’s house. “Thank thee, Father, for giving me so much!” he prayed aloud.

I pressed a criss-cross design on the last ball of peanut butter cookie dough and placed it on the baking sheet. Another pan of cookies was ready for the oven. My girlfriend, Michelle, and I had eaten a dozen before carefully arranging a plate of the best-looking cookies. Ever since our Beehive lesson on giving service without being asked, Michelle and I had been motivated to give service to one of the widows in our ward. We chose Sister Andrews. She had been a widow for at least 20 years and had no children.
Michelle and I organized a plan. Once a month we would take something over to Sister Andrews. We didn’t let anyone know of our plans. After all we wanted to serve without being told. The cookies were our first gift. We jumped on our bikes, with me balancing the plate of cookies on the handlebars, and rode over to Sister Andrews’s tiny home.
When she answered the door, Sister Andrews was wearing a plain blue house dress with a crocheted collar. Proudly, I held out the plate.
“We brought you some peanut butter cookies,” I said.
“Oh, you girls are so sweet, but I can’t have any sugar on my diabetic diet. Why don’t you take these home and share them with your families.”
Surprised and a little confused, we stood wondering what to do next. There were plenty of cookies at home, and Michelle and I could not possibly eat one more ourselves. We left a little discouraged.
We tried to think of another idea. Flowers were a sure thing. All women love flowers, we thought. My mother’s rosebushes were in bloom. We picked red, yellow, and pink roses and placed them in a mason jar.
Again Michelle and I rode our bikes to Sister Andrews’s home. “We brought these for you,” Michelle said and held out the flowers.
“Thank you so much. They are beautiful. But I get hayfever, and I can’t have flowers inside the house,” was her reply. We visited with her for a few minutes and left.
Michelle and I were quite discouraged now. Flowers and treats were off the list. We decided Sister Andrews would like some fruit. We filled a bowl full of the prettiest ripe raspberries we could find. Pleased with our gift, we got on our bikes a third time and rode to Sister Andrews’s home.
“We brought you some fresh raspberries,” I said.
“My, they look delicious. I used to love eating raspberries when I was your age. I can’t eat them anymore. The seeds get caught under my dentures. Why don’t you girls eat them with your supper tonight,” she replied.
I couldn’t believe it. We had struck out. Finally, we told our parents of our failed attempts to offer service. They helped us learn a little more about Sister Andrews. She had a great talent for crocheting and loved to spend her time making items for her friends and neighbors such as baby afghans, hot pads, and slippers. She had a small income which limited how much she could crochet for others. Because of her poor circumstances, she hated to see things wasted. That’s why she turned down our gifts rather than just taking them and discarding them after we left.
Michelle and I pooled our baby-sitting money and went to the store and purchased skeins of yarn for Sister Andrews. This time our gift was perfect. She delightedly showed us some of the things she was working on. And we learned a valuable lesson about service. True service is not just giving what we choose to give, but giving what is really needed.

In August of 1977, Sister Barrett and I were invited to the home of Dr. Abraham Ziv Baron, head of the philosophy faculty at Hebrew University. He invited in a number of colleagues and their wives. The evening was spent in discussing our belief in God. After telling them the character of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of his fathers and the God of ours, that he has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s, Dr. Baron said, “The rabbis teach that God is a spirit.” And then he added, “I do not believe the creature can ever become like the Creator.”

His wife spoke up and said, “When God appeared to Moses, he was a flame of fire.” Another gentlemen in the group observed that when Moses and seventy of the elders saw God, they saw his back parts.

“Indeed they did,” said I, “because God is a divinely exalted man in whose image we are created. Have you not read in Exodus 33:11, ‘And the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend’?”

“This is a new idea about God,” said Dr. Baron, “but I like it. I have never before understood the true character of God.”

And then I quoted to him the words of the Prophet Joseph, and I think we can all observe them and meditate on them, even the missionaries in the high multitudes up there:

Ask yourselves, turn your thoughts into your hearts, and say if any of you have seen, heard, or communed with him. This is a question that may occupy your attention for a long time. . . . What kind of a being is God?

Then I said to Dr. Baron, “He answered his own question. He is a prophet, and here is a man who knew whereof he spoke because he had seen God.” Joseph said:

God himself was once as we are now, and is an exalted man, and sits enthroned in yonder heavens! . . . If you were to see him today, you would see him like a man in form—like yourselves in all the person, image, and very form as a man; for Adam was created in the very fashion, image and likeness of God, and received instruction from, and walked, talked, and conversed with him, as one man talks and communes with another.

A few days after our evening with Dr. and Mrs. Baron, we met them coming from a large auditorium near David Markus Street. (When you go to Jerusalem, you can pick that out.) They had attended and participated in an international gathering of philosophers, and Dr. Baron had given the keynote address. He smiled all over as he said, “My lecture was on the nature and character of God. I thought you’d like that.”

And Sister Barrett asked, “Did you give it right?”

Another time, Harold was standing in the open doorway, watching a thunderstorm outside.
Suddenly his mother shoved him away from the door.
Mother: Move, Harold!
Harold: Ouch!
Seconds later, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove. It shot out the front door and split a tree trunk outside!
He was thankful his mother listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Several times she protected the life of the boy who would become the eleventh President of the Church.