Gospel Story Finder

“What’s wrong, Bryan? You look pretty disgusted,” Grandpa said, coming out of his house next door.
“I am disgusted, Grandpa,” Bryan grumbled. “Today we were assigned a subject for our reports, and Mrs. Hall gave me leaves. Who cares about leaves? And how can a teacher expect me to find any of them in the winter? I counted twenty-seven trees and shrubs in your yard and ours, and every one of them is bare! The only green things I found were some needles on pines and other evergreens. But no leaves!”
“You aren’t trying, Bryan,” the pleasant gray-haired man said. Reaching down, Grandpa plucked a three-leaf clover from a tiny patch of grass between Bryan’s feet.
“The best place to look for leaves in the right season is on trees, because they have so many of them. But look at this tiny leaf. It’s a bit of green, but each leaf is a miraculous little factory gathering sunlight to make a chemical called chlorophyll.
“A leaf can be any size, but because of its distinctive shape, you can tell whether it once grew on a towering oak, an elm, or a maple tree. No two leaves are ever exactly the same.”
Bryan examined the clover leaf with new interest as his grandfather talked.
“All most people know about a tree is that it is pretty, makes property more valuable, gives birds a nesting place, and has leaves that make cool shade,” Grandpa continued. “But one single well-watered tree does a lot more than that. The daily evaporation from one tree can produce the cooling effect of hundreds of air-conditioners.”
“Wow!” Bryan said with new interest. “Then trees should be preserved instead of being bulldozed down. No wonder the ladies from the garden club worked to save those big trees in front of the library!”
“Those trees were large even when I was a boy,” Grandpa told Bryan. “Did you know that leaves protect the soil from raindrop impact that erodes the soil away? Leaves also stabilize water tables in the ground so wells don’t go dry, and they have the ability to absorb polluted air and throw off air rich in oxygen,” he added.
“Leaves are essential to life. They help muffle noise and moderate temperature, wind, and water. Some maple leaves will turn upside down, exposing their lighter sides, to warn of approaching rain!”
“I wonder if the people interested in ecology know all that,” Bryan said thoughtfully. “All I knew was that we find millions of leaves on the ground in autumn. I knew that leaves hang onto trees until fall, when they turn many beautiful colors and then fall off.”
“Dead leaves can still serve man,” Grandpa explained. “Plants can be covered with them to survive in the winter. When ground up or shredded, leaves make a good mulch to fertilize the lawn, or they can be turned into rich compost for the garden.
“Certain leaves also represent different things. The laurel leaf is a symbol of victory. Olive leaves have been symbols of peace and hope ever since the time of Noah when a dove brought an olive leaf back to the ark to show that the flood was over. Oak leaves stand for strength, glory, and honor.”
Bryan stared at the three tiny leaves wilting in his hand. “My report on leaves will be much more exciting than I thought. But I wish I had some leaves to tape into my notebook.”
“What do you see filling all of Grandma’s windows over there?” Grandpa asked.
“Plants! Her house plants,” Bryan answered. “Grandma must have lots of different kinds of leaves! Thanks, Grandpa.”
I’ll bet no one else was given a subject as important as mine, Bryan thought as he started across the yard to ask Grandma for some leaves for his notebook. Now he could hardly wait to get started on his report!

On one occasion when I spoke to a number of young ladies, questions were handed to me before the meeting. And one of the questions read something like this: “What happens when you’re going on a date with somebody, and you know”—underlined in red—“and you know there’s going to be trouble?”
Let’s think about that for a minute. The first time I received that question, I said, “Young lady, you’re going to wear a very comfortable pair of shoes, because when he goes by the dormitory and up the canyon road, you’re going to tell him to stop, and you’re going to get out and walk home.”
As I was driving home and feeling very good about myself and being very clever, my wife, as every sweetheart does, leaned over and put her head on my shoulder, and I expected her to tell me how well I’d done that night. But she said, speaking as a woman, “You know they expect more of you than that.”
The second time I got the question, I think I answered it better from a mother’s point of view, from a woman’s point of view, when I said, “You aren’t going to go on that date.”

But then my husband passed away. Besides dealing with grief, I was pregnant and worried about how I would provide for my children. Yet I knew the Lord would continue to help me.
One of the ways He helped was to comfort me. While in the temple, I came to know that my husband was fine, that there was a reason he had to leave the earth, and that he would be helping us from the other side of the veil. I also felt strongly that I needed to return to the temple soon. I wanted very much to return in three months, but I knew that finding both time and money to return would be difficult. I attend the Bern Switzerland Temple, which is a long way from my home in Italy.
As I was walking out of the hostel near the temple, a member of the Church stopped me. He handed me an envelope and said, “This is for you.”
I opened the envelope and found money inside. “I can’t take this,” I said.
“Please take it,” he told me. “While I was in the temple, I felt the Spirit prompting me to give this to you.”
When I counted the money, I found that it was what I needed to cover the cost of driving from Italy to the temple and back. Three months later I returned to the temple.

I would like to express my deep gratitude for the New Era. Though I am 35 years old, it is my favorite reading each month and is a great asset to my teaching at Solano College. Last Christmas our family gave nine gift subscriptions to young nonmember friends and students. Now six of them have joined the Church. Brother Leavitt’s articles on the very special people and land of Chile have opened doors for missionary work with friends we have in Chile as well as with former Chileans living in California. What a joy to know the gospel of Jesus Christ is true and that the New Era has a part in publishing the good news.
Stephen DavidsonVacaville, California

Many years ago while serving in the United States Infantry in the South Pacific, my outfit was making a dry run on a seemingly deserted beach in the Admiralty Islands.
When my particular unit went ashore and scattered around on patrol, we came by chance upon a small native village. I will never forget one of the most interesting sights I have ever seen. All of the natives who appeared on the scene had dyed, reddish-orange hair, and every man, woman, and child—in fact, every living creature that I could see: dogs, animals of all sorts—wore a string of large green beads to the end of which were fastened three tiny shells. We learned upon inquiry from a Baptist minister who had labored amongst these natives that these beaded ornaments were used to ward off the bad results of an “evil eye” and bring good luck to the person or animal that wore it.
In this strange little village so far removed from our own culture it was believed that bad luck, sometimes even death, would follow if a mere glance from the evil eye of an enemy fell upon a person or animal. Hence, practically all of the animals and people wore such a string of beads as I have mentioned.

While recently reading the Book of Mormon, I came upon the following admonition: “Why do ye … suffer the hungry, and the needy, and the naked, and the sick and the afflicted to pass by you, and notice them not?” (Mormon 8:39).
Instead of feeling the peace and comfort I usually find in the scriptures, I was overcome by a lingering feeling of sadness. I had long recognized that I am not a particularly observant person. I had allowed myself to get so involved in my life, my callings, and my family that I just didn’t notice the challenges other people were having.
I knew I wasn’t doing all I could “to bear one another’s burdens, that they [might] be light; … to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9). I wanted to change; I wanted to be better. I simply didn’t know how. I prayed that the Lord would help me.
My answer came in an unexpected and unwanted way when I contracted a chronic illness. It slowly took away all my cumbersome busyness. As the disease progressed, I had to give up my outside activities, my callings, and my Church attendance. I’m housebound, I’m lonely, and I feel unnoticed.
I pray that someday the Lord will heal me. When He does, I promise myself that I will never be so blind again. When I arrive at church, I will look to see who is sitting alone and who is not attending that day. I will take time each week to overcome my shyness and visit somebody who is sick or afflicted or just in need of a friend. I will love my brothers and sisters every day—not just on Sunday or during Church activities.
I will remember and, I hope, be worthy to hear the Lord’s approbation: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

Christmas takes on an extra dimension in the Wolfgramm home. Sure, with 14 kids, the holidays are bound to be exciting. And when eight of those kids are members of the well-known musical group called “The Jets,” you can imagine that there might be a little extra sparkle in the season.
But Christmas has a special significance for the Wolfgramms for a deeper reason. They know that on the first Christmas day their ancestors in America were receiving the glad tidings that they would be freed from physical death, while shepherds near Bethlehem listened to angelic choirs telling them they would be freed from spiritual death.
The Book of Mormon is not just a history book, nor just a book of scripture, for the Wolfgramm kids, whose parents migrated from Tonga to Salt Lake City nearly 20 years ago. It’s the story of their family—their relatives. Its sacred pages help them trace their genealogy back to Adam, through their 88th great-grandfather, Nephi.
You’d be hard pressed to find a family more devoted to the study of the Book of Mormon, or to the values it teaches. Now that may sound hard to believe when the family is so deeply involved in the world of entertainment, a world that seems gaudy and corrupt to some. But it’s the Book of Mormon and the family unity that they say keeps them apart from the seamier side of the industry.
“It’s a temptation to succumb to all that,” says Eugene, 19, who sings and plays percussion for the Jets. “But when you have good parents and make sure you have family home evening, you pay your tithing, read the scriptures, and do all the things the prophet says, you’re blessed.”
And blessed they have been. Right now, the Jets, their group that consists of eight family members ages 12–20, has two hit singles to their credit, and a third is on its way up the charts. Both their albums, one that contains fresh, clean dance music and another of Christmas songs, are doing well, and their lively music videos are favorites all over the world.
“But the key to us getting this far is what Gene just said,” Leroy, the eldest and leader of the group affirms. “It’s a long story of obedience and hard work.”
Their story parallels that of their ancestors in the Book of Mormon to some degree. Their parents, Mike and Vake, left their homeland and crossed the sea for religious reasons. Back then there were no temples in the South Pacific, and they came to Salt Lake City to be sealed together. They didn’t have the funds to make it back to Tonga, however, so they stayed in the States and began adding to their family.
Like the family of Lehi, the Wolfgramms had to work hard to carve a place for themselves in their new country. In addition to other jobs, the parents were involved in Polynesian performing groups in the Salt Lake area. As soon as the children were old enough to walk and talk, they were taught to play, sing, and dance in the Polynesian tradition. They eagerly took to the stage, and soon the family had a Polynesian group of their own.
They never did take professional music or dance lessons. What their parents couldn’t teach them, they picked up by ear. Today they admit to getting some professional pointers on warming up their voices before concerts. But for the most part they are self-taught musicians, which seems quite amazing when you watch them manipulate synthesizers, guitars, and a number of percussion and brass instruments.
The Wolfgramms took their Polynesian show on the road and traveled all over the United States and Canada. When they got a full-time offer from a Hawaiian hotel chain in Minneapolis, they packed their bags and moved. Minneapolis was about as far removed from Tonga as it could possibly be, but the Wolfgramms liked it there and contributed to the local ward as well as to the local entertainment industry. The missionaries in the area could always find a willing member of the family to go on splits with them, and their refreshing performances stimulated a lot of questions from the audiences about “what makes them so different?”
They were devastated, then, when the hotel chain they were working with folded. For several months the family of 15 lived in the hotel owners’ basement. They decided that it would be more profitable to switch from Polynesian to pop music, and they began traveling in an old, uninsulated van, to whatever engagements they could scrape up. “The van didn’t have any seats,” Leroy recalls, “and we sat in chairs against the sides. Sometimes we traveled in 40 below temperatures, and there would be ice on the roof—on the inside. We had no money, but Dad knows how to survive. When we didn’t have any place to stay, Dad would say ‘Let’s try camping in the snow—it’s different!’”
“Those were crazy days,” Eugene adds. “We’d live on balogna sandwiches, stop at a gas station to wash our faces, then go in and perform.”
Finally, however, their efforts and dedication payed off. Don Powell, an entertainment industry expert who had managed some top groups in the 60s and 70s, heard them play. He had retired from entertainment because the industry had become “so bizarre,” but when he heard the Wolfgramms, his interest was rekindled.
“The reason I reentered this business was literally because of this family,” says Don, who had had very little contact with the LDS church before he met the Wolfgramms. “They’re just too good to be true. Not only are they tremendously talented, but they have an unusually strong work ethic for their age. The whole family is so loving and bright, I couldn’t help getting involved. And we’ll never have problems with drugs or alcohol or anything like that, as you do with so many entertainers. It’s absolute heaven to manage them.”
That was two years ago. Today, although their careers have meteored, the Jets have still stayed pretty much the same. Now, instead of a van with no seats, people send limousines to chauffeur them around, but the kids prefer the family bus. “Riding around in limos is like a dream,” says Kathy, 15, who sings and plays the keyboards. “But it gives me a headache, and everyone stares at you.”
Thousands of fans may collect in an arena to hear the Jets play, and they may clap and shout and cheer for their music, but the Jets are most excited when they can get backstage to see the newest addition to their family, the tiny baby brother their mother has brought out on the tour to see them. They also prefer the homemade chocolate chip cookies Mom brought along to the exotic food provided for them in their dressing rooms.
And although every minute of every day is packed full of performances, appearances, interviews, tapings, and photography sessions, a Monday doesn’t go by without a family home evening. If they happen to be on the road on any given Monday, the road crew is invited, and a lot of missionary work is done at these times.
Sometimes, when the Jets are traveling, it’s a bit difficult to find chapels for Sunday services, so the family has received special permission to hold their own sacrament services. With each boy bearing the priesthood, all the ordinances can be taken care of. “Besides,” laughs Leroy, “the people in our home ward are probably happy to see us gone on fast Sundays. When the whole family bears their testimonies, there isn’t much time left for anyone else.”
And they still wear homemade clothes. Their costumes, which are bright, exciting, and rival anything else you’ll see on stage without betraying LDS standards, are designed and sewn by their mother, who learned tailoring when she worked at the Beehive Clothing Mills in Salt Lake City.
Their days are hectic, but like other kids, they take time out to study, see their tutors, and complete their home-study courses. Most important of all, however, is the time they always find for scripture study.
And they don’t just read the scriptures. They memorize and ingest them. It is at this point in their lives when they hope they can benefit from their ancestors’ mistakes and not fall victim to the “Nephite Syndrome” of becoming prosperous and forgetting the Lord. “The scriptures that mean most to us right now are in Helaman, chapter 12,” says Rudy, 15, who plays percussion, sings, and does the choreography for the group. The rest of the boys say that he is the Nephi of the family, and his sensitive nature reflects that. “That chapter talks about the nothingness of man, and how we must rely on the arm of the Lord in all things,” he says.
The Wolfgramms take the lessons they learn from the Book of Mormon seriously, as they do their church attendance. “A lot of people think we’re so serious when we go to church,” says Haini, 16, who is probably the quietest of all the Wolfgramms but is energetic in spite of it, especially on the football field and basketball court. “But church is not a social thing on Sunday for us. It’s worship.”
Although Eugene is considered to be the jester of the family, he adds, “When we go to church, it’s for real. It’s no joke.”
The music the Jets play is upbeat, positive, and lively, but there’s a serious side to that, too. “Our church classes teach us about the power of music, and how it can destroy the mind,” explains Leroy, “but we know from the hymns that music can also build and uplift, so there are two sides to the power of music. We try to lift people with our music in a contemporary way. Satan has always got his crew pulling one way, and the Lord has always got his crew pulling the other. We’re on the Lord’s side, pulling as hard as we can.”
It’s a close-knit family, and at least one of the parents tries to be on the road with the group all the time. The six younger members of the family, including a set of twins, take turns traveling with the group and are excited about the day they’ll be able to perform too.
“I like to be with them as much as I can,” says Sister Wolfgramm, who looks and feels almost as young as her children. “But even when I can’t be there, they look out for each other. We stick together as a family. The brothers look out for their sisters, and we know that if we all work together, it will be all right.”
But doesn’t she worry about outside influences seeping in and affecting her children? “No,” she says. “They read the scriptures. There’s nothing else that will help them as much to resist dangerous temptation. It’s what their father and I have taught them all their lives.”
The scriptures have played an important role in the lives of the Wolfgramms, and this Christmas they help remind the family of the prices their ancestors payed in the past so that they might be in their unique position today. And the Wolfgramms try to repay their ancestors by telling others about them. “This talent we’ve been given is a vehicle to spread the gospel,” says Leroy, and his brothers and sisters nod their heads enthusiastically. “We carry a lot of copies of the Book of Mormon around so we can give them away.”
That’s the Wolfgramms for you. Through song and through scripture, they’re bringing glad tidings wherever they go.

About a year later, Heber’s only living son became sick with a hip disease. One night Heber dreamed that the boy’s mother was waiting to take him to heaven. Heber’s brother woke him from the dream.
Brother: Come quickly, Heber. Your son is dying.
Heber: Was my dream real?
When Heber went into his son’s bedroom, he could feel that his wife’s spirit was there.
Heber: I feel such peace in this room that I can watch my son pass away without shedding a tear.
As President of the Church, he told the Saints of the Holy Ghost’s power to comfort us.
Heber: As I saw my little boy die, I experienced a sweet, peaceful, heavenly feeling greater than I had ever felt. The joy of the gospel robs the grave of its sting.

One time I was conducting a conference in Salt Lake City and President George F. Richards of the Council of the Twelve was there. I invited him to speak, and he said, no, he didn’t care to speak but to go ahead. So I began to speak, and I told them that if they ever told a story about anybody, that story would stick to that person no matter how long he lived, and it would be believed by most people, and therefore they must not bear false witness.
While I was speaking, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there stood President Richards right behind me, and he said, “I’ve changed my mind. I want to speak.”
He said words about like this: “Once upon a time I was a high councilor in a stake, and somebody made a serious accusation against a man. We debated whether to have him in and try him. Finally, the stake president decided he would talk to him privately, and apparently he did, and the man proved to the satisfaction of all of us that not only was he not guilty of the accusation, but he hadn’t even been in the country when it was supposed to have taken place. He was away somewhere, and he couldn’t possibly have done it.”
He said, “Forty years went by, and that man’s name came up for a very high appointment in the Church. In spite of myself, I caught myself wondering if the story told about the man was true, even though it had been proven false.
I had to get hold of myself to keep from voting negatively against that man on a false story told forty years before that was proved false.” Then he sat down, and I continued speaking.

When I reached my teenage years, people started calling me “ugly” and “fat” at school. My confidence and feelings of self-worth were very low. I doubted the Church, Heavenly Father, and the whole plan of salvation. I didn’t want to go to church, Mutual, or firesides. I felt depressed and unworthy.
My mom, wanting me to try and make friends, helped me attend a youth camp when I turned 14. During the first session of scripture study there, I had a prompting to start reading the Book of Mormon. As soon as I read the first few words, I felt peace. The Holy Ghost was with me once again.

I saw that miracle of revelation in the aftermath of the breaking of the Teton Dam in Idaho in 1976. Many of you know the story of what happened. But the example of continuing revelation that was passed through a stake president could bless all of us in the days ahead.

Thousands of people were evacuated as their homes were destroyed. Directing the relief efforts fell to a local stake president, a farmer. I was in a classroom at Ricks College just a few days after the disaster. A leader from the federal disaster agency had arrived. He and his chief assistants came to the large room where the stake president had assembled bishops and even some ministers of other local religions. I was there because many of the survivors were being cared for and housed on the campus of the college where I was the president.

As the meeting began, the representative from the federal disaster agency stood and began to say with the voice of authority what needed to be done. After he listed each of the five or six tasks he said were essential, the stake president responded quietly, “We’ve already done that.”

After a few minutes, the man from the federal disaster agency said, “I think that I will just sit down and watch for a while.” He and his deputies then listened as bishops and elders quorum presidents reported what they had done. They described what direction they had received and followed from their leaders. They talked as well about what they had been inspired to do as they carried out the instructions to find families and to help them. It was late that day. They were all too tired to show much emotion except their love of the people.

The stake president gave a few final directions to the bishops, and then he announced a time for the next report meeting, early the following morning.

The next morning the leader of the federal team arrived 20 minutes before the report and assignment meeting was scheduled to begin. I stood nearby. I heard him say quietly to the stake president, “President, what would you like me and the members of my team to do?”

What that man saw I have seen in times of distress and testing all over the world. President Packer was right. Continuing revelation comes to stake presidents to lift them above their own wisdom and capacities. And, beyond that, the Lord gives to those whom the president leads a confirming witness that his commands come from God through the Holy Ghost to an imperfect human being.

Our family was very involved in community and political efforts in support of the family, so we talked about these things often and had many robust conversations where opinions were shared and debated. As a result, each of our children grew confident in their own beliefs and their ability to express them.
For example, my youngest son took a biology class from a teacher who had been openly hostile to our beliefs. The teacher challenged him, “Does your mother know you’re in my class?”
“Yes, sir,” he responded.
About a month later I asked my son, “How is your biology class going?”
“Mom, the teacher challenges me every day,” he responded.
I was upset. “We can pull you out of that class immediately!” I said.
“No way, Mom,” he replied. “Every day he challenges my beliefs, and every day I repeat what I believe in,” he explained. “And almost every day someone comes up to me after class and thanks me. They say they believe like I do but are too afraid to say anything.”
I was so proud of him for being strong in the face of such direct challenges and questions.
At the end of the semester, the teacher approached him. “Well, I have to give you credit,” he said. “You have done a great job of standing up for what you believe.”
Having all of those family discussions had prepared him well.

But the man himself—what was he like? The following incident will provide some insights. As a young Apostle, Elder Taylor went to speak to a number of Saints near Columbus, Ohio. Shortly before the hour arrived, some of the Saints reported to him that most of the townspeople were planning to gather at the open-air site. They expected that Elder Taylor would be tarred feathered—and advised him not to go. After a moment’s reflection, he replied that he would go, and that if his friends chose not to go with him, he would go alone.

When he arrived, he began by informing those gathered that he had recently come from Canada—a land under monarchal rule: “Gentlemen, I now stand among men whose fathers fought for and obtained one of the greatest blessings ever conferred upon the human family—the right to think, to speak, to write; the right to say who shall govern them, and the right to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences. … I see around me the sons of those noble sires, who, rather than bow to the behests of a tyrant, pledged their lives, fortunes and sacred honors to burst those fetters. …

“But, by the by, I have been informed that you purpose to tar and feather me, for my religious opinions. Is this the boon you have inherited from your fathers? Is this the blessing they purchased with their dearest hearts’ blood—this your liberty? If so, you now have a victim, and we will have an offering to the goddess of liberty.”

At that point, he tore open his vest and said: “Gentlemen, come on with your tar and feathers, your victim is ready; and ye shades of the venerable patriots, gaze upon the deeds of your degenerate sons! Come on, gentlemen! Come on, I say, I am ready!”

No one moved or spoke. Elder Taylor stood there, drawn to his full majestic six-foot height—calm, yet defiant. No one came.

After a pause he continued to preach for three hours! At the conclusion, leaders of the community approached him, expressing displeasure at any hostile intentions of their fellow citizens. (See Roberts, pages 53–55.)

I have a friend down in Honolulu. He was called one day to the hospital by one of our native sisters who had a child there with polio. She said, “Bishop, hurry up to the hospital and give my child a blessing.” That was one morning. He never showed up all day. The next afternoon he went up, and she started giving him a tongue lashing. “You, my bishop, your own boss. I asked you to come and bless my child seriously ill, and you didn’t show up.” He waited until she had finished and then he said, “When I hung up the receiver yesterday I started to fast. I’ve been fasting and praying. Now I’m ready.” That was early in the afternoon. He blessed the child. The child went home that evening, released from the hospital. “This kind cometh not out save by fasting and by prayer.”

When I was three, my Uncle Jim was serving a mission. Uncle Jim was impressive to me. He was two meters tall and a good man. I wanted to be just like him.
I decided I would serve a mission so I could be like Uncle Jim. There was never a question in my mind about serving a mission after that. And that single decision had a great impact on my life. Once I knew the direction I was headed in, I took advantage of opportunities that came along to help me prepare myself. With a future mission in mind, I had a greater desire to learn the gospel throughout my Primary years and my youth, and I enjoyed many experiences that helped me prepare.
My grandfathers served missions at a time in Church history when not all young men were urged to do so. That has always impressed me and made me proud of my heritage. My whole family was interested in missionary work. When I was very young, my parents helped instill in me a desire to serve a mission, and other people helped me toward that goal as I grew up.
However, as a young teenager, I began to question whether I would be allowed to serve a mission. World War II had kept my father from serving as a missionary, which he had badly wanted to do. In my case, the Vietnam War was raging; only two young men from each ward in the United States were given exemptions from military duty to serve missions. The rest had to hope for high draft lottery numbers in order to serve missions. I worried and wondered if I would actually be able to fulfill my childhood dream.
A few years before I was old enough to serve a mission, I attended a stake conference in which Elder Thomas S. Monson was the visiting General Authority. After one session, my mother and I went to meet him. I shook his hand, and we talked. I don’t remember any of the conversation except for one sentence. He looked right into my eyes and said, “You will be going on a mission.” I never worried after that; all my doubts were removed.
Throughout my teenage years, I prepared for my mission. When a loving priests quorum adviser, David Poulsen, offered to teach any of the priests the missionary discussions, a few of us took him up on his offer. We faithfully attended 7:00 A.M. classes each Sunday.
We studied the missionary discussions, and I had most of them memorized before I ever entered the mission home. We even went out a few times and taught ward members who pretended to be investigators. Most of them were a lot tougher than any real investigators with whom I worked! In 1971 I was thrilled to accept a call to serve in the Argentina North Mission.

Paul loved to save dimes. He saved shiny new dimes and tarnished old dimes. He saved the dimes he received for his birthday.
Grandma would give Paul dimes after he pulled the weeds in her flower garden. Grandpa would give Paul dimes for helping him herd the cows into the barn for milking.
Father would give Paul dimes for helping with the yard work. Mother would give him dimes for watching his little brother.
Paul had a lot of dimes, but no place to keep them. He put dimes in his sneakers, but they hurt his feet when he walked. He put dimes in his pockets, but they fell out when he ran and jumped. So Paul took all his dimes and put them on his dresser. He kept putting more and more dimes on his dresser. Soon the top of the dresser was full of dimes.
One morning at breakfast Mother said, “You have so many dimes on your dresser that I can’t dust it.”
“And I have no place to set my new goldfish,” said his big brother.
“I have an idea,” said Father. “I’ll show you when I come home from work today.”
When Father came home, he was carrying a box. He handed it to Paul. Inside it were many green paper tubes, an envelope with the bishop’s name on it, and a small jar.
“How will these help me with my dimes?” asked Paul.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” said Father.
They went to Paul’s room. Paul made lots of piles by counting ten dimes into each pile. Father had him put one dime from each pile into the envelope. Then Paul recounted the remaining dimes the same way. Every time he had five piles of ten dimes, Father put them into a green tube and closed it. When no more tubes could be filled, Paul put the leftover dimes into the jar and put it on the dresser.
“What do we do now?” Paul asked.
“Let’s see how much money you put in the envelope so that we can fill out the tithing slip,” said Father. “Then you can take your tithing money to the bishop on Sunday. Tomorrow after work I’ll take you to the bank, where you can turn in your rolls of dimes. The bank will keep your money in a savings account.”
The next day Father took Paul to the bank. The lady behind the desk took all of Paul’s neatly wrapped dimes. She gave him a small book with his name printed on it. Inside, the book it told him how much money he had given the lady.
On Sunday Paul went to the bishop’s office. He proudly gave his tithing envelope to the bishop.
“Thank you,” said the bishop. “I’m sure that the Lord will bless you for paying your tithing.”
Paul felt very happy. He knew the Lord had already blessed him.

Throughout the years as an adult, dad, and Young Men’s leader, I have been part of and witnessed new adventures. One such adventure was a 54-mile white water rafting trip. This trip was my oldest son (Kaden’s) second and my youngest son (Gage’s) first. As you can imagine, they both showed different levels of excitement and courage. On the afternoon of day two and the morning of day three, we encountered a few obstacles.

The first new obstacle for Gage was the largest rapid on the river. Although this rapid is relatively short compared to the total length of the entire trip, it seemed to pass slowly for him. It may be hard to see in the picture, but we have just passed between two larger rocks and if you look closely, you may see the fearful look in his face. After passing between the two rocks, Gage was, for a time, a little uncertain. By the time we reached the middle of the rapid, the water creates waves you ride out. Once on the waves and with a little encouragement from me that we had made it through the hardest part, I could see him relax. He once again regained his courage because he had experienced similar waves before on the previous day. As we had finished the rapid, he then had his courage and exclaimed, “Success! I am still in the boat.” After experiencing this rapid, he did not fear the remainder of the trip.

In late 2020, a group of women from the Como Ward Relief Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints organised a collection of various items to donate to the Lifehouse project. The Relief Society motto—charity never faileth—invites women to seek out and help those in need, so the members gathered suitable contributions over a period of two months.
Steve Klomp, the president of RTLWA expressed his appreciation to Relief Society member Geri Campbell for the donations which were delivered in “bootloads” via her car. He said he was “particularly impressed with how the Church has the ability to organise and mobilise its members when there is a community project or a need to be filled.”

Elder James E. Faust
“A very special young friend of mine served as a missionary of this Church in Japan. His dedication to missionary work and the Japanese people was so complete and full that, rather than spend all of the money his parents sent to him, he unselfishly made a regular contribution of part of his money to help another local Japanese missionary. … In time, as with most missionaries, the clothes of my young friend became threadbare and thin. In order for him to be able to come home, it was necessary for him to buy a second-hand suit from one of the other elders. His regular denial of himself, in order to share his substance with the local Japanese missionary, was a very closely guarded secret. He is a good example of the young elect of God of this Church, as are hundreds of thousands of others.”

I would like to share with you a story of my home life and my growing up years. To set the stage, you need to know that I am the youngest of three children. In fact, my siblings and I were separated in age by several years, so by the time I was a teenager, my parents had been married for several years and were well-seasoned in this thing called marriage. Growing up, I had never seen my parents argue or even raise their voices at each other, so you can imagine how I felt the first time my husband and I had a disagreement. Thoughts crossed my mind that I must be a poor wife, or that I may have picked the wrong guy to spend eternity with. After all, I was sure I was right and he was wrong.

It was not until later in life when I spent some tender time with my mother. This is when I learned how mad my dad had been when mom cut her long hair off. She said he wouldn’t even talk to her for days. I also came to the realization that all those times when my mom would go missing and I would find her sitting in an idle car out in the garage, this was her time spent communicating with her Father in Heaven, praying that He would help her get through those less than perfect days. It was then that I realized what I had hoped for at the beginning of my marriage was something my mother and father had worked many, many years to develop.