Gospel Story Finder

“Brother Lee”—a simple, yet somehow exalted title. Laying aside his title of president of the Church, he chose to represent himself in his most important role—that of a spirit-child of God, a true brother to all of us. His deference to others was continually displayed in the way he courteously assisted his wife at all times, even when it was inconvenient for himself. At one meal, while we were eating fish, President Lee arose from his place—leaving his own meal to cool—and carefully took the bones from her fish.
During their visits to sites where Jesus had lived and taught, both President Lee and Elder Hinckley were occasionally seen sitting in silent meditation, often with tears in their eyes, as they contemplated the mission of the man who had called them into his service. On several occasions, President Lee tried to play down the activities of the noisy crowds of tourists who poured into the holy places.
We found the President both firm in his convictions and willing to listen to the ideas of others. Brother Galbraith drove the car for President and Sister Lee and Elder and Sister Hinckley, explaining to them many things of interest along the way. On one occasion Sister Lee said, “Dear, I haven’t heard you say a word for the past forty minutes.” To this the President replied, “Darling, I learn much more by listening than by talking.”
Such a great lesson it was, and he taught it not by word but by example, as a true disciple of Christ should. He set the example for us in many ways. One evening, after a long tiring day, President Lee was so bothered by an ailment that it was difficult for him to go to sleep. He called upon Elder Hinckley and President Cannon to give him a blessing, which resulted in great relief. Here indeed is a man who takes the priesthood for what it truly is—a blessing from God to be put to use and not merely hidden away until Sunday morning.
Most impressive to us members was our meeting with three presiding brethren in the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem on September 20. Their strong testimony of Jesus, given in this sacred spot from whence he arose from the dead, moved us to a greater determination to do good. And this being one of the essentials of the calling of a prophet, we can thereby further testify that Harold B. Lee is deserving of that title.
At that time the small group of Saints was officially organized as the Jerusalem Branch, President Cannon calling for the sustaining votes. Brother Galbraith was set apart as branch president by President Lee, and Elder Hinckley set me apart as first counselor. I have received numerous blessings in the Church at the hands of the priesthood but none so inspiring as that given to me on this occasion. Elder Hinckley’s words concerning matters that he could not have known without revelation from the Lord, and the subsequent fulfillment of two specific promises given in that blessing, are additional evidence of the Spirit that guides the leaders of the Church.
I made a deliberate attempt to gain some idea of the reaction of the brethren when the call was made for sustaining votes, and hence looked in President Lee’s direction. I have often sat in conferences of the Church and raised my hand to sustain the prophet of the Lord. But this was the first time I had ever witnessed a prophet raising his hand to sustain me. It was something I’ll never forget, something which, embedded in my memory, will remind me of my responsibilities if ever I hesitate to do that which the Lord requires of me.
Words cannot really express my feelings at spending these several precious hours in the presence of God’s chosen spokesman and his close associates. But somehow I have felt the need to try in order that others may profit in some small measure from the Spirit that was and has remained with us since the Prophet of God visited. I hope that all who read these words will come to appreciate the sincere love and concern of President Harold B. Lee for each member of the Church and for all mankind—a love that makes him most fitting as the channel through which God extends to mankind the means whereby salvation and exaltation may be attained.

Not only will your circle of friends greatly influence your thinking and behavior, but you will also influence theirs. Many nonmembers have come into the Church through friends who have involved them in Church activities. I share with you a treasured family experience which had its beginning back in 1959, when I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto.

Our daughter, Ann, turned five shortly after we arrived in Canada. She saw the missionaries going about their work, and she, too, wanted to be a missionary. My wife demonstrated understanding by permitting Ann to take to class a few copies of the Children’s Friend. That wasn’t sufficient for Ann. She also wanted to take with her a copy of the Book of Mormon so that she might talk to her teacher, Miss Pepper, about the Church. I think it rather thrilling that just a few years ago, long years after our return from Toronto, we came home from a vacation and found in our mailbox a note from Miss Pepper which read:

“Dear Ann:

“Think back many years ago. I was your schoolteacher in Toronto, Canada. I was impressed by the copies of the Children’s Friend which you brought to school. I was impressed by your dedication to a book called the Book of Mormon.

“I made a commitment that one day I would come to Salt Lake City and see why you talked as you did and why you believed in the manner you believed. Today I had the privilege of going through your visitors’ center on Temple Square. Thanks to a five-year-old girl who had an understanding of that which she believed, I now have a better understanding of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Miss Pepper died not too long after that visit. How happy our daughter, Ann, was when she attended the Jordan River Utah Temple and performed the temple work for her beloved teacher whom she had friendshipped long ago.

READER 6: How do we know that God really cares?
READER 1: Mrs. Houstalis, I’m sorry, but the examination shows that your baby has no vision in one eye and just partial vision in the other.
READER 4: How much vision? How much?
READER 1: Well, very little.
READER 4: No, it can’t be. Surely there’s enough to see. He’s got to see.
READER 1: Now, Mrs. Houstalis, I’m going to tell you something. It doesn’t matter whether your son can see or not as to what kind of a person he’s going to be. If he is going to be a healthy human being, it will be your doing. And if he is going to be an emotional cripple, it will be your doing. The fact that he can see or not has nothing to do with it.
READER 4: We took Steve home, and it was something to adjust to … frightening. We were very grateful for the tiny bit of vision—something like 3 percent—that Steve had in his right eye. Not much, but next to total blindness it meant everything. One afternoon when Steve was seven, he came home from school, and I gave him a plateful of his favorite cookies that I had just finished baking.
READER 3: Mommy, there must be something wrong with the lights in the classroom because they kept flashing off and on today.
READER 4: I absolutely froze. My heart started pounding. I had refused to face the possibility that Steve might lose the little vision he did have—although the doctors warned me that he might. And now the doctor confirmed. There was no hope. The retina had detached. He had no sight now. But I will never forget a most beautiful experience at the end of a Church meeting. I had been deeply moved, and I turned to Steve and said that anything he would ask in prayer would be granted.
READER 3: Anything? Anything, Mom?
READER 4: Immediately I realized what a foolish thing it was to have said. But I had to stand behind my words. “Anything, Steve.” After the service Steve wanted to tell me what he had asked for. I didn’t really want to hear. I was nearly afraid to. “What did you ask for, Steve?”
READER 3: Well (pause), do you think God would help me get some music in braille for my flute?
(Music interlude.)

Ombeni frowned down at his lunch tray. The food at his new school was way too sweet. He wished he could just eat his mom’s homemade rice and beans.
Ombeni and his family had only lived in the United States for a few weeks. Their home country was too dangerous to live in, so they had to move to the USA as refugees. Moving was hard. Getting used to his new school was hard too.
Ombeni found an empty spot near a group of boys and sat down. They all turned to look at him. One boy said something, but Ombeni couldn’t understand him. He didn’t know much English yet.
Ombeni tried to say something back. “Jambo,” he said. (“Hello.”)
The boy looked confused. He frowned at Ombeni and turned away. Ombeni felt like curling up into a little ball, but he just sat quietly at the end of the table. Sometimes it felt like he was on an alien planet in this new school.
When school was finally over, Ombeni hurried and zipped up his coat. Back home, he never needed a coat, no matter what time of year it was. But here it was cold in the winter. The other children put on fuzzy gloves and hats, but Ombeni didn’t have any of those things.
Ombeni could see his breath in little white puffs of air as he walked. He started to run so he could get home faster. He burst through the front door and almost ran into Mama.
“Ombeni! Punguza mwendo!” she said. (“Slow down!”)
“Sorry, Mama,” he said, shivering.
Ombeni sat down and tried to warm up while his mom cooked dinner.
After a few minutes, Ombeni couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “Mama, I don’t want to go back to school! It’s scary and lonely, and I can’t make any friends. I miss my friends back home.”
Mama stopped stirring and knelt down next to Ombeni. He quickly wiped away his tears. He didn’t want Mama to see how sad he was.
“I know things are hard right now.” Mama gave him a warm hug. “But they will get easier.”
Ombeni looked away. “But how are things supposed to get easier if I can’t understand anyone?”
Mama frowned. Ombeni could tell she was thinking hard.
“Remember when we were in the refugee camp?” she asked. “Whenever I felt really lonely, I would look for people I could help. It always made me feel better.”
Ombeni nodded. He remembered how Mama would always find people who came to the camp alone and show them where to go.
Mama smiled. “And think about Jesus! People were often mean to Him. But He always looked for people to help.” She wiped another tear from Ombeni’s face. “Sometimes when we’re sad, the best thing we can do to help ourselves is look for ways to help other people.”
Ombeni nodded. That sounded like a good idea. He wanted to be like Jesus.
The next day at lunch, Ombeni looked for someone to help. Lots of kids were sitting with big groups of people. Then he noticed a girl who was sitting at a table by herself.
He walked over to her and set his tray down. He waved and said, “Jambo!”
“Hi,” she said.
Ombeni smiled big. The girl smiled back. Then they quietly ate their food together.
Ombeni felt happy. Things at this new school were still going to be hard. But he was glad to know there were people here he could help.

“I can’t take another day of the rowdiness and disrespect of those young people on our tour!” The American woman introduced herself as she sat down across the table from me.
“I don’t know what has happened to this younger generation. They have absolutely no regard for the beautiful or the sacred. We have some teenagers in our group who sit in the back of the bus smoking, drinking, and disrupting our whole tour with their rowdiness.”
We arose and walked through the rose garden behind the hotel, viewing the Holy City across the Kidron Valley. She continued: “Only yesterday in Bethlehem the obscenity and vulgarism of their language was a desecration of those sacred shrines.”
As she spoke, I thought of the eight young people who made up nearly a fourth of our tour group.
“What do you do with all those teenagers you have with you?” she asked. “I noticed that you have quite a number of them with your group. How do you control them?”
I thought of the way Melvin Bushman and Bonnie May Hiatt had been so concerned about Mrs. Foster as we all ascended the narrow, age-polished stone steps to the “Upper Room,” which tradition identifies as the site of the Last Supper. And wasn’t it Carolyn Bushman and her cousin Virnell Bushman who had made sure that Mrs. Turley wouldn’t miss the view from the minaret? Diane Hess was the very essence of sunshine and cheerfulness, always a bright spot in our group. And Shelley Crane, quiet and somewhat shy, was always concerned for others before herself.
Then there were Jerome and John Horowitz. Jerome was a typical 17-year-old and as typically unpredictable. I was a little annoyed when he appeared so zealous to board the plane that day when we didn’t have seat assignments, but a few moments later I realized that he was trying to reserve seats for some of the older members of our group.
“What do you do about them when you are visiting these sacred sites?” she asked.
“We take them with us, or rather they take us, and we share in their enthusiasm. You see, we’re Mormons, and—”
“Oh yes, I’ve heard about your church and the marvelous programs you have for young people,” she interrupted. “You have some sort of youth activity program, don’t you?”
I explained that the quality of our young people is the result of more than just activities and programs; the gospel is a whole way of life. It is the influence of the gospel of Jesus Christ and his priesthood in the lives of Mormon young people that makes the difference. Because of their own feelings for their Savior, their own spiritual strength and testimonies, and in many cases, their own sacrifices, this journey to the Holy Land meant as much to the young people of our tour group as it did to the adults.
My conversation with this lady came back many times during the subsequent events of our tour, events that vindicated my defense of LDS youth.

The Pukalani Ward, Kahului Hawaii Stake, has an early-morning seminary class eagerly participating in a genealogy project. The nine students were given family group sheets with names extracted from a ward member’s genealogical sketch. After an introduction and instructions, the group filled out individual and marriage entry forms. The class submitted 57 names to be cleared for temple work. The youth enjoyed the actual hands-on experience of learning about genealogy.

The Lord’s light helped Shelly Ann Scoffield face a frightening trial in her young life, but she faced it with great faith and love for Heavenly Father. One day Shelly began to feel sick. She saw a doctor, who determined that there was something seriously wrong. Shelly said: “I was scared. I had huge masses on my lungs, and the doctor began to say things like cancer and chemotherapy and radiation.” But Shelly didn’t give in to her fears. True to her training in Personal Progress, she got busy and set a long list of goals to accomplish while she couldn’t go to school because of her treatments. She busied herself with accomplishing good things. She was mindful of her blessings, including a father with the priesthood who had administered to her, a wonderful family, super friends, and great doctors. “Best of all,” Shelly said, “I have a testimony of my Heavenly Father, that He loves me and will help me through this struggle.”

Shelly recorded her thoughts for her young women friends, and I would like to share with you some of what she said:

“I want you girls to know that now is the time to grow close to your Heavenly Father. Work to show Him you can do all that you promised you would do. I am trying. I am learning more now than I have ever in my life known about the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father is with me. When I’m feeling pain and sorrow, He is too, and He just wants me and every one of you, when you’re feeling those things, to get down on your knees and pray for His help, because He is so willing. He loves you so much. I pray that throughout your life, throughout your struggles, that you’ll learn from them and stay close to Him and have faith. Gain a testimony and stay true to what is right.”

Shelly Scoffield passed away November 3, 1998, strong in the faith.

The day was not even close to Christmas. It was a summer day. My mother died in the early afternoon. My father, my brother, and I had gone from the hospital to our family home, just the three of us. We fixed ourselves a snack; then we talked with visitors. It grew late, dusk fell, and I remember we still had not turned on the lights.

Dad answered the doorbell. It was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill. I could see that Uncle Bill was holding a bottle of cherries. I can still see the deep red, almost purple, cherries and the shiny gold cap on the jar. He said, “You might enjoy these. You probably haven’t had dessert.”

We hadn’t. The three of us sat around the kitchen table, put some cherries in bowls, and ate them as Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine cleared some dishes. Uncle Bill asked, “Are there people you haven’t had time to call? Just give me some names and I’ll do it.” We mentioned a few relatives who would want to know of mother’s death. And then Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill were gone. They could not have been with us more than 20 minutes.

Now, we can understand my theory best if we focus on one gift: the bottle of cherries. And let’s explain the theory from the point of view of the person who received the gift: me. That’s crucial, because what matters in what the giver does is what the receiver feels.

As nearly as I can tell, the giving and receiving of a great gift always has three parts. Here they are, illustrated by that gift on a summer evening.

First, I knew that Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had felt what I was feeling and had been touched. I’m not over the thrill of that yet. They must have felt we’d be too tired to fix much food. They must have felt that a bowl of home-canned cherries would make us feel, for a moment, like a family again. Just knowing that someone had understood what I felt meant far more to me than the cherries themselves. I can’t remember the taste of the cherries, but I remember that someone knew my heart and cared.

Second, I felt that the gift was free. I knew Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had chosen freely to bring a gift. They weren’t doing it to compel a response from me; the gift seemed to provide them joy in the giving.

And third, there was an element of sacrifice. Someone might say, “But how could they give for the joy of it and yet make a sacrifice?” Well, I could see the sacrifice. I knew that Aunt Catherine had canned those cherries for her family. They must have liked cherries. But she took that possible pleasure from them and gave it to me. That’s sacrifice. But I have realized since then this marvelous fact: It must have seemed to Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine that they would have more pleasure if I had the cherries than if they did. There was sacrifice, but it was made for a greater return to them—my happiness. Anyone can let the person who gets a gift know of the giver’s sacrifice. But only an expert can let you sense that sacrifice brings joy to the giver because it blesses the receiver.

Recently I heard of a far-sighted home teacher in an elders quorum who was given the name of an inactive member. On his way to priesthood meeting early one Sunday morning, he called at the home of this member.

“I’m on my way to priesthood meeting and thought you might like a ride.”

This man, startled and somewhat angry at this early Sunday morning disruption of his sleep, said, “No. I’m not interested,” and slammed the door. He wondered how the Church got his name.

The following Sunday morning again the doorbell rang. The member opened the door and saw this same individual, bright and smiling, on his way to priesthood.

“Just dropped by in case you had changed your mind. We would like you to join us.”

He got an unfriendly reply of, “Go away! Leave me alone!” and slammed the door shut.

A week later the events were repeated. The home teacher added, “We have a great group of men. We need you. You’re a member of our quorum. Would you mind if I stop by next Sunday?” This man, who wanted to get lost from activity, decided the only way to stop his early-morning caller was to go to the meeting and prove he was not interested.

The next Sunday when the home teacher rang the doorbell, he was not greeted with a “Go away! Leave me alone!” but with a man dressed and ready to prove his disinterest. But the spirit of the priesthood meeting, the friendly handclasps, the sincere interest changed his attitude and awakened the conscience of a man who needed a gentle push.

As a small boy on the farm during the searing heat of the summer, I remember my grandmother Mary Finlinson cooking our delicious meals on a hot wood stove. When the woodbox next to the stove became empty, Grandmother silently picked it up, refilled it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and brought the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so interested in the conversation in the kitchen that I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen woodbox. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission all my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.

As a matter of fact, their love for Christ is so big that they wanted to share it with all their friends, LDS or not. They wanted to host an activity that would bring LDS kids and non-LDS kids closer to the Savior and closer to each other. They also decided that such an activity would be the perfect way to cap off the year’s seminary study of the New Testament.
Both youth and adult leaders were called to help organize the event. They decided that since football is such a big sport in Texas, former BYU and Houston Oiler quarterback Gifford Nielson would help attract a crowd. They invited Tim Ross, a Church member well known in the area for his wacky TV weather reports, to speak, figuring he would draw people out too. The conference would include slide presentations, testimonies, prayers, workshops, and of course, there would be some serious, heartfelt talks about the Savior—how much he means to the youth of Texas and to people everywhere. There would be lighter activities, as well, like a dance and a Texas barbecue.
Equipped with an irresistible agenda, they went out to contact various youth groups in the vicinity and invite them over for the big day.
That’s when a big problem came up.
“I contacted several youth groups, and they were really excited at first,” said Anna Francis, 17, a member of the youth planning committee. “But when it got to their ministers, they decided they didn’t want them to come to a Mormon activity. Some of them seem to think that Mormons aren’t Christians, so they said we had no right holding a conference on Christ. It’s sad, because we were trying to help them see that we really are Christians.”
At that point, Plan B went into effect. Since all the youth groups invited declined the invitation, the LDS kids were encouraged to invite their nonmember friends from school. “All the Mormon youth fasted and prayed that everything would work out, and that more people would want to come,” said Tomasyn Harlow, another member of the planning committee. “We invited our friends and talked to people all over the stake. It worked. We ended up with over 225 people.”
Actually, that was quite an impressive turnout. “On a beautiful Saturday like this, they could have been in a million other places,” said Bob Ferguson, a member of the stake high council who was assigned to coordinate the conference. “They could be out waterskiing, fishing, hitting all the new movies. They could have been out working and earning some money. But they wanted to come here to get closer to Christ.”
And the event turned out to be a big success after all.
“I think this is the best we’ve ever done,” said Johnny Apel, 16. And that’s a pretty big compliment. After all, this is a stake that sponsors memorable activities at the end of each seminary year that correspond with the book of scriptures they’ve been studying. They’ve put on things like a “Nephite Festival” that was their version of a county fair in the land of Bountiful, complete with a realistically simulated earthquake and storm, followed by a beautiful talk on Third Nephi.
Then there was the big “Wander in the Wilderness,” where the seminary students were taken to a desolate area, divided by their birth months into twelve “tribes,” and required to complete 12 Old Testament-oriented tasks like rescuing Daniel from the lion’s den, building a tower of Babel, and building an ark. At the end, they were treated to a big feast, similar to that of the Passover.
With activities like that, rating the “Come unto Christ” youth conference number one really says something.
What made the event such a big success? The location wasn’t out of the ordinary—much of the program was held in the chapel, and the workshops were held in church classrooms. Meals were brought in and either eaten outside in the Texas sunshine or inside, picnic-style, on blankets on the gym floor.
So it was the theme itself and the attitudes of the kids involved that made this such a big event. “What could be more important than to come unto Christ?” said Tisha Perry, age 16. “I hoped that this activity would help me to get closer to him, and it did.”
You could actually see some changes taking place right before your eyes as the day wore on. “I really don’t know where it started, but lately I’ve had a real problem with listening to what my parents say and following the counsel they give me,” Greg Harkrider, 16, told the entire group. “I just want them to know that I’m glad that I listened to what they said and came today to learn more about Christ. That’s what I need to be here for. I’ll try to be better because of this.”
And responses from the 30 or so non-LDS kids who did come were positive as well. Rick Moore and Eric Bradshaw, two 16-year-olds who met on the set of a movie they were both involved in, came to the conference because the subject was of great interest to them both. Rick is LDS. Eric is Presbyterian. “Pretty much everything that’s been said here today I’m 100 percent with,” said Eric. “This is really encouraging for me.”
Darla Marburger, 16, who came with her LDS friend Milli Egger, 14, had a response similar to Eric’s. “This has really helped me to grow spiritually,” she said.
“I’m just glad someone has taken the time to teach us more about Christ,” added Milli. “It’s important to learn now, when we’re young and impressionable, so we have a better chance of turning out right.”
Richard Cromwell, a very popular high school teacher and an ordained Methodist minister, also paid big compliments to the event. “This is great!” he said. “I’m all for anything that helps bring the kids closer to Christ.”
The spirit of the day was not diminished when the lights in the gym went down low and the music was turned up for the dance that finished off the conference. A stake music committee, made up mostly of youth, had previously selected all the music that would be played, making sure it was fun to dance to, yet didn’t contain inappropriate lyrics.
While the music played inside, the youth on the organizing committee wandered outside for a breather. They inevitably began discussing the big subject of the day. “Being a part of all this really makes me want to work harder to be better—to be more like Jesus,” said Mark Davies, 17. “That would be so great.”
“We heard a lot about Christ today, and his spirit was here,” added Anna. “That’s exactly what we wanted.”
“Oh yes,” Thomasyn agreed. “Even though it didn’t turn out exactly like we’d planned at first, it was a big success.”
There it was. Still another big to add to the Texas list.

The organ music was solemn and low, and a reverent silence fell over the congregation as the pallbearers entered carrying the simple pine box. A few garden flowers had been lovingly placed on top, and nestled among them was an old mandolin, its worn but polished finish gleaming dully in the dim light. The flickering candles made the large room seem gloomier, although sunlight reflected in here and there between the rough-hewn logs.
The organ seemed out of place in this rugged wilderness. There were few luxuries in this early western settlement, and the small organ, brought all the way across the plains on a wagon, was highly treasured.
Amanda watched little puffs of dust rise from the floor as the pallbearers walked slowly down the aisle.
“The coffin is so small,” she whispered to her mother.
“Your great-grandfather may not have been very tall in stature, but he was a giant in spirit,” Mother whispered back.
Amanda nodded, and bitter tears stung her dark brown eyes. Grandpa’s death was hard for her to understand. He had been light-hearted, always spreading laughter wherever he went. And music. How he loved music!
“Manda, the world would be a sad and sorry place without music,” he had said to her often. “It’s helped me more times than I can recollect, both before and after I left the old country.”
“Tell me a story about the old country, Grandpa. Please?” she used to plead.
“All right, but you know you’ve heard them all before.” His eyes would twinkle as the tale would unfold. “When I was a young lad, my family took care of sheep in the fields surrounding the town. The country was lush and green in the daytime, but at night everything was veiled in shadows. I had the evening watch alone. Sometimes the sheep were restless, so I always took along my old mandolin. I’d sing a quiet song, and it would settle them down. It would ease my mind a bit too. Tending sheep can be mighty lonely. My mandolin has always been a comfort to me, Manda. I’m glad you have learned to play it. Someday I want you to have it.”
A sharp nudge from her older brother brought Amanda back to the present. Bishop Madsen stepped up to the tall box that served as a pulpit and announced the opening song and prayer. Then Amanda’s mind wandered again as the service began. She could see herself bumping around in the back of the covered wagon, gazing longingly behind them as the trail disappeared into dust. She’d missed her home and the friends she’d left behind. Grandpa hadn’t seemed to, though. He’d sat in front, constantly looking ahead.
“Let’s sing a song,” he’d suggest. Amanda would be the first to join in.
Their voices had been carried by the warm Nebraska wind, and soon all the settlers in their company had began to sing along.
The most precious moments had been at night around the campfire. The wagons had been pulled together into a circle, and the moon had looked large in the prairie sky, softly shining on tired, sunbaked faces.
The trek to Utah was long and hard, Amanda thought. Grandpa had made it then. Why did he have to die now?
The bishop had finished speaking, and he turned toward Amanda.
“Amanda, we all know how much you and your great-grandfather loved to sing together. Do you think you could come up here and sing one of his favorite songs for us?”
Amanda froze in her seat. I could never sing without Grandpa, she thought. She looked at the mandolin lying among the flowers. It had helped Grandpa while he tended sheep. Maybe it would help her now.
She rose slowly and walked over to the casket. Her hands trembled as she lifted the mandolin from its bed of flowers. Several people in the crowd nodded encouragement. Amanda cleared her throat, placed her fingers on the strings, and began: “Come, come, ye Saints, …”
The song went beautifully until she came to the last verse. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice started to quaver.
Bishop Madsen stepped quickly to Amanda’s side, beckoning the congregation to join in. Instantly the little log church was filled with music.
And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day! all is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell! …
Amanda sat down, still holding the mandolin. Mother put her arm around Amanda’s shoulder and said, “Grandpa’s mandolin can become as much a part of you as it was a part of him. Take good care of it.”
Amanda smiled. It was already a great comfort to her.

In 1992, just three years after Naume and I were married, we were struggling with the basic necessities of life. A friend?—Jerry D. Hymas from San Diego, California, USA?—taught me a self-reliance principle that has made a difference in our lives, even in times of Zimbabwe’s economic meltdown, which we experienced from 2000 to 2008. Jerry said to me, “Eddie, here is a formula for financial success that has worked for me over the years and has enabled me to retire early. When you receive your paycheck, you (1) pay tithing, ten percent; (2) pay ten percent to yourself; and (3) save ten percent for emergency purposes.” Then he looked at me and said, “Never spend money you do not have.”
Naume and I have always paid our tithing and enjoyed the promised blessings, but we did not know about the other 20 percent he shared with me. Since then, Naume and I tried to the best of our ability to follow this model, and it has blessed us tremendously.
I recommend this to anyone, especially young adults and young couples. Navigating through life may seem daunting, but moving forward with faith and with a vision will help you reach your full potential. One has to have a financial plan. President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, promised, “When one learns to master the principles of setting a goal, he will then be able to make a great difference in the results he attains in this life.”1
For purposes of simplicity. here is what I would teach my grandchildren: I would teach them what to do with a dollar. I would teach them that their financial ability depends on what they do with a dollar. From the onset they would need to understand two challenges of life:
The development of their full potential.
The wise use of all their resources.
Most people, including myself, have gone through life saying, “If I had more money, I would have a better plan.” What I failed to grasp is that if I had a better plan, I would have sufficient money. While Jerry Hymas in 1992 taught me the plan of financial prosperity, this plan actually was taught by our loving Father in Heaven, in the Old Testament when He said, “Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth” (Genesis 1:28).
If you have a dollar never spend more than 70 cents. If my grandchildren—wherever they may be, or in any circumstance they may be in—if they could just grasp this principle, never spend more than 70 cents of each dollar which comes their way, through gifts or labor they will prosper. They will understand what the Lord said, “the earth is full, and there is enough and to spare” (D&C 104:17).
These principles will bless all of us: those who are currently employed need to plan for the future as well as those of us who are struggling in life and surviving hand to mouth. This concept would be a great blessing and help in being self-reliant. My suggestions on where to begin would be this:
Ten cents is for the Lord. Pay tithing. President Russell M. Nelson taught: “To develop enduring faith, and enduring commitment to be a full-tithe payer is essential. Initially it takes faith to tithe. Then the tithe payer develops more faith to the point that tithing becomes a precious privilege.”2 This life-changing teaching from the Lord’s prophet is very true.
Ten cents is forcapital. Put it somewhere where you cannot access it or use it. This could be for 10, 15, or more years. When I think of this ten cents, I am reminded of my mother. She would sift through very good ground nuts and maize and put some aside for seeds. She would fumigate—or we were made to believe, so that we would not be tempted to roast that maize and eat those ground nuts when we were hungry. Mother never used the seeds, even in the dire situations. She would rather have us go without than to eat those seeds. They were to be planted in the following rainy season and have them multiply. She would do the same in each harvest. She was never dependent on government handouts.
Ten cents helps to make sure that you would not buy anything in credit—except for a house. When one invests this ten cents, its having someone else use it with an interest to yourself. It’s not the amount that counts, it’s the PLAN!
Do this and watch the numbers change and fulfill your Heavenly Father’s blessing to you, be fruitful! In reality it is not more of what we will get, but what we are becoming. Our forebearers saw what they would become.
During the Great Depression in the United States of America, the Lord’s prophet, seer and revelator declared: “Our primary purpose was to set up, in so far as it might be possible, a system under which the curse of idleness would be done away with, the evils of a dole abolished, and independence, industry, thrift and self-respect be once more established amongst our people. The aim of the Church is to help the people to help themselves. Work is to be re-enthroned as the ruling principle of the lives of our Church membership.”3 This principle has blessed lives inside and outside the Church throughout the world.
My humble invitation to you is to rise and be fruitful.

I missed seeing the first British Pageant as we live five hours from Chorley, and my husband isn’t keen on musicals. Although drama is my passion, I didn’t push him as I didn’t really know what the pageant was about. Our daughter signed up to be in the 2017 pageant, so I insisted that we went to support her as a family. It was so amazing. The size of the theatre, the expanse of the stage, and the number in the audience was breathtaking. Once the production began, I was captivated. The whole evening was inspiring, emotional, and so incredibly well presented that I went every night to see the pageant that week. We have since found early pioneers on both sides of our family and realise that the pageant stories are about our ancestors. This production touched our hearts so much and made us so grateful for the struggles of early pioneers so that we could have the gospel today, that it made us want to give something back. This year my husband and I, along with our three grandchildren, will all be appearing in the pageant family cast.

A week after Bishop Stone was sustained as the new bishop, his executive secretary arranged for an interview with Kevin Blake. Kevin was about to turn 14 and needed to be interviewed about his worthiness to be ordained a teacher.
Kevin waited after church to see the bishop. He didn’t expect it would take long, so Kevin asked his family to wait for him.
“Hello, Kevin,” said the bishop. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to be interviewed to be ordained a teacher,” Kevin said.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Let me ask you a question. Do you know where we find the duties of the office of a teacher?” Bishop Stone asked.
“I don’t know. In the teachers’ manual, I guess.”
The bishop smiled and opened his scriptures and handed them to Kevin. “Read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53–54 [D&C 20:53–54], please.”
Kevin began to read. “The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always and be with them and strengthen them; And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking.”
“You can stop there,” Bishop Stone said. “That seems like a tough job to me. How are you going to do it?”
Kevin sighed. “Well, I know that teachers go home teaching.”
“That’s true; they do. Good answer. That does help us to watch over the Church, and be with them and strengthen them. But let me ask you another question. As a teacher, how are you going to see ‘that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking’?”
Kevin was stumped. “I don’t know.”
The bishop smiled. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know either. But we both need to find out. I’d appreciate it if you’d think about it this week and then come back next Sunday and give me some of your ideas.”
On the way home, Kevin’s mother asked him how the interview had gone.
“I can’t believe it. I have to go back next week.”
His 12-year-old sister, Emily, picked up on that. “I’m not surprised,” she said.
Kevin rolled his eyes.
“Would you like to talk to your mother and me in private?” asked his dad.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. The bishop just asked me to come up with a plan about how I was going to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking in our ward.”
Just before they ate, Kevin’s friend Todd called to tell him about the teachers quorum activity for the week.
“I’m not a teacher yet,” said Kevin.
“No, but you will be, right?”
“I have to go back and see the bishop next week.”
There was a long pause and then Todd said, “Oh.” Todd made a quick excuse that he had to eat and hung up.
Kevin wasn’t very hungry, but he ate a little and excused himself and went to his room. A few minutes later his dad knocked on his door and asked if he could come in. He pulled a chair up to Kevin’s bed and said, “Kevin, I don’t think the bishop is down on you. I think he is just asking for your help.”
“I don’t see how I can help him,” Kevin said.
“Well, the Lord did give teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood the responsibility to see that there’s no backbiting or evil speaking. Maybe the bishop is just honoring the responsibility you have as a teacher. We have a good ward, but we’re not perfect. There is some backbiting. Not much, but some. Why not honor the bishop’s request and see what ideas you can come up with?”
Kevin reluctantly agreed to do what he could.
At first he couldn’t think of anything, but then things started to change. On Monday after family home evening, he swallowed his pride and went to Emily. “Do you ever see any backbiting or evil speaking in our ward?”
“Sometimes.”
“What causes it?”
“Not every girl comes from a family with enough money for expensive clothes. That can cause people to talk.”
“I don’t see how I can stop that,” said Kevin.
“I try to stop it,” Emily said. “Whenever anyone starts saying bad things about a girl, I try to say good things. You could do that too.”
“That’s not going to stop it.”
“It will if more people look for the positive instead of the negative.”
Kevin felt a twinge of conscience. One of the boys in the deacons quorum was Justin Evanston. Everyone else in the quorum liked sports and camping, except Justin. The boys sometimes made fun of Justin, especially when he tried to play basketball. He was uncoordinated and awkward. Kevin himself had made fun of Justin. He felt bad about it now.
At school on Monday, Kevin saw Jon Dunford in the halls. Jon lived in their ward but didn’t come anymore. He’d gotten into drugs in the seventh grade and a few months later was arrested. He spent six months in a juvenile correction facility and then came back to live at home. Kevin had seen him the first day after he got back. “I’m going to start back to church,” Jon had said.
“Right,” Kevin had replied sarcastically.
Jon came to church once but never returned. Eventually he went back to his old friends. Kevin figured it was only a matter of time before Jon would be put away again.
Kevin decided to talk to Jon.
“Jon, that time you came to church after you first got back, what was it like for you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you,” said Jon, an edge in his voice. “A lot of cold stares, a lot of whispering behind my back, and nobody my age talking to me. A lot of the adults said they were glad I was back, but nobody my age did. Not even you.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
“When I first came back, I really wanted to change my life,” he sighed. “But it’s too late for that now.”
“Give us another chance,” said Kevin. “Come to church with me next time. I’ll do better.”
Jon looked at Kevin for a long time. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Maybe sometime,” Jon said, starting to walk away.
“What about tomorrow night? We’re going to a TV studio to see how they do the news.”
Jon pursed his lips. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I’ll go.”
The next day before school Kevin found Jon in the parking lot behind the school with the guys he partied with. “Is tonight still okay?”
Jon smiled. “I’ve never seen you out here before.”
“What about tonight? We could pick you up a little before seven.”
“That’d be okay.”
When they stopped by later that night, Jon wasn’t home, but Kevin wasn’t discouraged. He’d just have to keep asking until Jon gave in and went with him.
The next Sunday after church, Kevin waited to see the bishop. He no longer felt bad that the bishop had asked him to come back; in fact he was glad. This time, when the bishop asked him what a teacher could do to see that there was no backbiting or evil speaking, Kevin had some things to say.
He could hardly wait to see the bishop.

Now my wife and I are in the service of the Lord and have been assigned to labor in the islands of the Philippines, Micronesia, and Guam. We are only one month old in our service and our lives have been completely turned around. We went from winter to summer in just twelve hours, and from New Zealand lamb to a delightful fish called lapu lapu. We met a typically slender, dark-haired Filipino stake president who quietly responded, “I am the same age as you, Elder Martin.”
Soon after our arrival in the Philippines, we left for our first stake conference some one hundred kilometers north. Along the way, we saw the evidence of poverty among so many of those lovely people. This also was a new experience, and our hearts were heavy as we drove. We checked in at a small hotel in a distant town and soon discovered that it lacked many of the facilities we considered normal and were used to. Then suddenly, as we entered the immaculate chapel grounds, our spirits lifted. We were greeted by sunny, smiling faces and outstretched hands, spotless dresses and shirts of dazzling white. We were not strangers or foreigners, but fellowcitizens with these Saints and of the household of God. Soon to follow was my most unforgettable Philippine experience thus far.
As we moved along the line exchanging handshakes and greetings, one slight young woman shyly extended her arm. As I took it, I realized that she had no hand on it or on her other arm. We exchanged smiles and moved along.
I next encountered this young sister after she and her husband were invited to speak as a young couple married within the last eighteen months in the Manila Temple. When she arose to speak, I noticed that in addition to being born without hands, this young woman had an artificial leg. As first she and then her husband spoke, there unfolded a most remarkable story about their lives.
The stake president was her father. Despite what to others may have been a handicap, but what to her must have been only a difficulty, this young sister had completed a full-term proselyting mission. She described in beautiful terms her feelings about going to the Manila Temple to be married. Hers was a talk of such maturity in gospel understanding and humility that it would have been difficult to equal anywhere in the Church. Then her husband stood and told of how he had written to his girlfriend after being in the mission field two months and later toward the end, of how he wanted to marry her in the Manila Temple when he returned home. There were no second thoughts, no change of heart when far removed, but instead, a growing understanding of the meaning and blessing of temple marriage for them both.
As they proudly showed us their baby after conference, and when we considered the splendid achievements of this young husband and wife, we recalled the Savior’s words, “Blessed are they that hear the word of God, and keep it” (Luke 11:28).
Since then, we have been to different places in the Philippines. Everywhere we meet missionary couples, a number of whom are older than ourselves. The Johnsons, a couple from Fremont, California, labor in distant Vigan. They have been in the Church only a handful of years since their baptism. In Vigan, the carabao, or water buffalo, and motor tricycles are almost the only mode of transport. The Johnsons have a beautiful attitude.
Whenever I meet and talk with missionary couples, I am filled with love and respect for their humility and desire to help the Filipino Saints. They regard their missions as one of the great opportunities to serve the Master in their lives. They always ask, “How many grandchildren have you?” Our response of eight is quickly overshadowed with “We have sixteen,” or “twenty-three,” or maybe “twenty-seven,” and almost always with “And there are two we haven’t seen yet.” They miss their family and grandchildren, but don’t complain. Instead, they look forward to that great homecoming reunion. Meanwhile, they are given all the love they can absorb from devoted Filipino Saints.
Like us, all these missionary couples are finding new purpose and fulfillment in their lives. Section 4 of the Doctrine and Covenants is taking on new meaning.
“Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work;
“For behold the field is white already to harvest; and lo, he that thrusteth in his sickle with his might, the same layeth up in store that he perisheth not, but bringeth salvation to his soul” (vs. 3–4).
I pray that couples whose families are grown may indeed listen to and obey the Spirit that prompts the call to prepare and serve the Lord in the mission field. I know that this is the Lord’s church, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that President Benson is God’s prophet on earth today. I am grateful to be a member of the Church and for all the blessings it has brought into my life and the lives of my family. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“I’m not afraid to go to bed,” Billy told the baby-sitter. Mrs. Jones smiled and tucked in the covers.
“But I like to see where I am sleeping,” Billy said.
Mrs. Jones turned on the small night-light.
“And my bear would be warmer if it was under the covers with me,” Billy said.
Mrs. Jones brought the teddy bear to Billy.
“If I had a glass of water near my bed,” Billy said, “I wouldn’t have to bother you in case I got thirsty.”
Mrs. Jones went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water.
“You must be tired,” Billy said. “Would you like me to read you a story?”
“That would be very nice,” Mrs. Jones said.
Billy read a picture story about Jesus Christ.
“I would read you another story,” Billy said, “but my eyes are getting sleepy.”
“You can read it to me the next time I come,” the baby-sitter said. She kissed him good night.
Billy nodded. He was very, very sleepy. He was also happy that Mrs. Jones knew that he was not afraid to go to bed.

We are all familiar with the life and work of the late Mother Teresa, who spent most of her life laboring among the world’s poor and impoverished and did much to relieve sorrow and suffering. Once when she was in Australia, she offered to clean the hut of a lonely Aborigine man. In his hut was a beautiful but unlit lamp. When asked why he didn’t light it, he replied, “Nobody comes here.” She made him promise that he would light the lamp, and she promised to have the sisters visit him. Later the man sent word to Mother Teresa: “Tell my friend, the light she lit in my life is still burning!”

The Mia Maids of the Academy Park Ward in Kearns, Utah, recently held a combined Young Women activity called a PJ’s party. The idea was to help the young women think about three important things to remember before going to bed each night: Prayer, Journal, Scriptures. Each girl wore a pair of pajama pants they had made the previous month. They put together folders with scripture-study and journal-writing suggestions, and then each girl painted a prayer rug to place by their beds.
“My prayer rug is inspirational,” says Holly, one of the Mia Maids. “Every night my prayer rug is there reminding me to say my prayer before getting into bed. It really has changed my praying habits.”
Photograph courtesy of the Academy Park Ward

Recently an attractive young woman came to my office with her parents. She came from a good family, but she had lost her way and now was in serious difficulty. She was unmarried and expecting a child and wondered what she should do. My heart went out to her. I think she loved the Lord. She had forgotten that those who love the Lord keep in contact with him and keep his commandments. She had control of her emotions until I asked her if she said her prayers. Then she began to cry.

How important it is that we communicate daily, and more often if necessary, with our Heavenly Father. He always loves us whether we are good or bad. It takes effort on our part, however, if he is to bless us.