Gospel Story Finder

Each morning, these volunteers gathered to receive marching orders.
“The crew captain would give us the number for somebody who had asked for help,” says Nels S., 14, from Georgia, USA. “Then we would call and schedule a time to show up.”
Groups soon drove off to find their work sites. But the sight that greeted them was shocking.
“We started driving and after about 30 minutes we started seeing huge piles on the sides of the road,” says Hannah H., 14, from Alabama, USA.
“It was all of their personal stuff,” says Alana C., 15, from Alabama. “That was really sad. They were throwing it all out because it had gotten destroyed.”
“I was scared at first,” says Andrew H., 13, of Alabama, “because I saw all of this and thought it was going to take forever to clean up. But then I was happy because I realized this stuff wouldn’t stay sitting inside the house collecting mold. It would be easier for them to start new and get their lives back.”
And that was just what the Helping Hands hoped to do—help people start to get their lives back. So they set to work.
Teams tore out drywall, ripped out floors and ceilings, broke down walls, pulled out soggy insulation, removed furniture, and helped homeowners sort through their belongings. Then they gathered what was ruined and piled it by the road for sanitation services to haul away.
“Everyone did a small job,” says Meghan K., 12, from Georgia, “but it all ended up equaling a big work effort.”
Hallie R., 17, from Georgia, agrees. “It may not seem like you’re making a huge difference, but every little bit counts. When so many people come together and help, you can make a big difference.”
The Helping Hands weren’t alone in their work. Neighbors, other church groups, and larger organizations also joined the flood of service.
“There were rescue teams from other areas in Louisiana,” explains Anna J., 13, from Alabama. “I don’t think we would have been able to even get close to where we got with one house without those rescue teams and a few of the neighbors.”
“It was cool to see different churches working together under God’s name and to see God’s children working together even if they are from different churches and places,” Landon R., 14, from Georgia says.
Homeowners pitched in when they could too. Many of them worked side by side with the Helping Hands and others.
“You would think that they would all be absorbed in their own pain, and you wouldn’t blame them for that,” says Nels. “But most of them were positive and looking for ways to help their neighbors. They weren’t caught up in their emotions; they were just working to rebuild their lives.”
Working with one homeowner was especially memorable for Hallie. “He had been in an accident years ago, so he wore a back brace, and yet he was still helping with us,” she says. “It was an amazing experience.”
And “amazing” was just one way to describe it. Many youth also explained why the opportunity was memorable for them.
“The people we helped had gone through some rough times,” says Derek T., 13, from Alabama. “I felt warm inside doing service for other people.”
“Talking with the people, you couldn’t even tell that their houses were just destroyed. They were so thankful and smiling and positive,” says Gavin R., 14, from Alabama. “When you’re serving these people, the love you feel for them is definitely memorable.”
“You can see these things on the news, but you never really know what people are going through until you go out and help,” says Luke G., 13, of Georgia.
Many volunteers also felt that the hard work and service helped them gain new understanding.
“I realized that everyone has problems, and sometimes people need help because they can’t help themselves,” says Lindsay K., 14, from Georgia. “It was hard. It was really hard. But I am grateful that I am in a good situation so I can help others.” Madison C., 13, from Alabama says, “Service helps you understand that bad things happen to people and that they can get over it, so you know you can get over hard things too.”
“It was a great way to prepare for a mission,” says Jared R., 15, from Alabama. “You were tired, you woke up early, and it was hot. But you went in there and got it done. Once you got into the swing of things, everybody was talking and having a good time.”
Gloria G., 16, from Georgia, says, “I realized that there might be big problems in the world, but God will always be there. He’ll always find a way to help you even though you might think that you lost everything and there’s no hope. He’s not going to abandon you.
“I’ve been having issues with my testimony, but what He did for these people showed me that He really does care, He really is there, and He’s going to make sure we’re OK.”
“I learned that I should give my all and not give up when I’m tired or bored,” says Landon. “I think in some ways the man we helped blessed my life more than I blessed his. I know God gave me this opportunity to serve because He loves me and He knew I needed it.”
“I was able to serve as the hands of Christ,” says Julia C., 15, from Georgia. “It was humbling, and I was grateful that I was blessed to go. I loved the experience.”

I once attended a meeting in Leadville, Colorado. Leadville is situated at an altitude of over 10,000 feet (3,000 m). I remember that particular meeting because of the high altitude, but I also remember it for what took place that evening. There were just a small number of priesthood holders present. As with the branch in the Canadian Mission, that branch was presided over by a missionary and always had been.

That night we had a lovely meeting, but as we were singing the closing song, the inspiration came to me that there ought to be a local branch president presiding. I turned to the mission president and asked, “Isn’t there someone here who could preside—a local man?”

He replied, “I don’t know of one.”

During the singing of that song, I looked carefully at the men who were seated on the first three rows. My attention seemed to be focused on one of the brethren. I said to the mission president, “Could he serve as the branch president?”

He replied, “I don’t know. Perhaps he could.”

I said, “President, I’ll take him into the other room and interview him. You speak after the closing song until we return.”

When the two of us walked back in the room, the mission president concluded his testimony. I presented the name of the brother to be the new branch president. From that day forward, Leadville, Colorado, had a local member leading the unit there.

“Want to try again?” Elder Higgins asked as we approached a group of houses next to a church.
I knocked on the door and stood back waiting. A tall man wearing a clerical collar opened the door and smiled at us like the cat about to eat the canary.
“What can I do for you boys?” he said with a very proper British accent. He obviously knew who we were.
I glanced at the mailbox as I swallowed and stepped back. “The Reverend Richard Cutts, Ph.D.,” it said.
What could I say to this man? How could I challenge what he believed? I whispered a quick prayer. I could see Elder Higgins getting ready to jump in.
It’s funny how much can go through your mind in a few seconds. I thought of my first Primary teacher, Oma Santos, telling the story of Moses and the burning bush; my Sunday School teacher, Cloe Davis, explaining the importance of Joseph Smith’s first vision; Velda Dalton teaching about the Sermon on the Mount; and my Uncle Elton talking about the restoration of the priesthood in deacons class. I grew up in a small town in southern Utah. None of my teachers had Ph.D. behind their name. None of them read Greek or Latin like Reverend Cutts most likely did. But it didn’t matter. What they knew was much more important.
“I’m Elder Roberts,” I said, feeling for the first time the strength and importance of what I’d been taught, what I was here to teach. “This is Elder Higgins, and we’d like to tell you about the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The expression on Reverend Cutts’s face changed. He looked a little surprised. “Come on in,” he said, smiling.

In 1982, we moved to Hemel Hempstead (Hertfordshire). The meetings were now consolidated, and I stayed for the whole three hours. I was called as the elders quorum president. An elderly missionary couple were assigned to visit my home, and for the first time Rajinder said a prayer and felt the Spirit. I subsequently baptised her. We were later sealed in the London England Temple with our children.

During the night of 13–14 February 1945, in the waning weeks of World War II, raids by Allied bombers destroyed the central part of Dresden. Somewhere among the rubble lay the chapel of the Altstadt Branch of the Church. It was yet another blow to what was left of the Church in Germany.
As soon as the streets were cleared, members of the bombed-out branch made their way across the only remaining bridge over the Elbe River to meet with members of the Neustadt Branch, whose meeting place had been spared. This chapel, however, was soon converted into a dormitory for hundreds of homeless refugees, so Church members had to meet in two small rooms. The branch consisted mostly of children, young mothers, and older couples. Nearly all of the young and middle-aged men of the branch who had not been killed in the war were still in the German army or in prisoner-of-war camps.
“There was no electricity. … We had to walk two kilometers to get water. … After three days a truck came with bread. … We were permitted to dig the canned goods out of the rubble [of a cannery]. … The young people organized service projects to get food to the older people. We visited the members of the Branch in their homes and held devotionals and firesides. We sat in our meetings in our coats and wrapped in blankets. … We were thankful and full of hope, because we knew the Lord would not forget his people. … It was a time of strong faith and inner harmony” (Letter to the authors from Edith Krause, 21 February 1990).

“A soldier is often in a poor environment. It is unfortunate, but the worst of mankind seems to reveal itself during war. And maybe this is the reason returned servicemen don’t feel equal to returned missionaries. Missionaries are in a situation to see the most beautiful and uplifting parts of mankind; military people see the opposite. This naturally created a state of inequity in my mind; I didn’t feel as good as if I had been serving on a mission. And, of course, I wasn’t treated the same as a returned missionary. But the most important difference to me was that difference inside of me.
“For the first while it was natural for me to be hostile and suspect that people were not sincere because this is what I had been conditioned to expect. But finally I had to get hold of myself and say, ‘Look, these people are trying to help you, and they want to be your friends.’ It took me a while to realize this, but when I did, the change started happening to me, and I began to come around,” said Warren Mallen, a Vietnam veteran.

It was just a normal Sunday morning until we entered the classroom. Our new Primary teacher, Brother Smith, was waiting for us.

“We’re going on a field trip today,” he announced after Sue gave the opening prayer. He put on his coat, grabbed his cane, and walked out the classroom door. “The bishop has given us special permission.”

Brother Smith had a twinkle in his eye, but he’s old and walks with a cane, so we didn’t have a hard time keeping up with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we went out the foyer doors and started down the walk.

“To a very special library,” explained Brother Smith, the twinkle in his eye getting brighter.

Our town had just opened a new library, but I hadn’t been to it yet. This was going to be fun! Then I remembered something. “The library is closed today—it’s Sunday!”

Brother Smith smiled as we reached the parking lot. “This library is open whenever someone wants to read and learn.” We all looked at each other with surprise; nothing in our town was opened that often!

“What kind of library is it?” asked David. David’s father was a lawyer, and he knew that lawyers had their own libraries full of law books.

“It’s a sacred library,” Brother Smith answered.

“You mean the meetinghouse library?” asked Sue, looking back. Her mother was the meetinghouse librarian, and she knew that it had lots of books and pictures and tapes about gospel subjects.

“No, not the meetinghouse library.” Brother Smith took out his keys and opened his van. “Everyone in!” We all piled in, jockeying for the window seats, as Brother Smith explained more about his mysterious library. “It has two rooms—an ‘old’ room and a ‘new’ room.”

“Our new city library has two rooms just for children’s books!” Jared piped up.

“This sacred library doesn’t have many books,” Brother Smith said. “In fact, it has only sixty-six.”

“We have more books than that at home!” exclaimed Justin.

“In the old room there are thirty-nine books,” Brother Smith continued with a smile.

“What kind of books?” asked David.

“Well, the first five are often called ‘The Law.’”

“My dad uses law books,” David bragged.

“These law books teach us God’s laws. They teach us about the Creation and about Adam and Eve. They also teach us about Moses and the laws God gave to him.” Brother Smith paused, but none of us said anything, so he continued, “There are twelve history books that tell us how the people were blessed when they obeyed God and how they were punished when they didn’t obey.”

“Is there any poetry?” Michelle asked. “I like poetry.”

“Yes,” Brother Smith replied, “there are four poetry books and another of wise sayings.”

By now I’d noticed that Brother Smith hadn’t started the engine; we were just sitting in the van, talking.

“And the last collection of books in the old room of the sacred library is seventeen books written by prophets.”

“What do they say?” Justin asked.

“They teach the people to obey God, and they tell us about future events.”

By now most of the class realized we weren’t going on an ordinary field trip. But we still wanted to know about this sacred library.

“Now, in the new room of this library,” Brother Smith continued, “there are only twenty-seven books.”

“Yes,” said Sue, “and four of them are history!”

Unlike me, Sue seemed to know what Brother Smith was talking about.

“Actually, there are five history books,” he told her, “but in four of them, sometimes called the Gospels, four different authors tell the story of Jesus and his life and teachings.”

“What are the rest of the books?” I asked.

“They are letters from church leaders to church members who lived in different places,” Brother Smith explained, pleased to see that I was interested.

“Where is this library?” I asked.

“In my hand.” Brother Smith held up a book.

“The Bible!” David announced.

“The Holy Bible,” Michelle added.

“The Holy Bible,” Brother Smith agreed. “In the Greek language, bible came to mean ‘divine library.’”

“The Old Testament and the New Testament are the two ‘rooms’!” I exclaimed.

“What did you learn today in Primary?” my mom asked later that day. She always asks, and in the past, I didn’t remember very often.

“We learned that we carry a whole library to church,” I answered proudly.

Mom gave me a funny look. But then Dad whispered, “Brother Smith’s his new Primary teacher,” and her puzzled look changed to one of understanding.

I can’t wait to go to Primary next week. Brother Smith says he’s going to take us on another field trip.

As Melissa turned her attention back to the ward council meeting, she thought, “If only everyone could be surrounded by such loving friends and leaders as they progress toward the temple.”
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the Relief Society president comment on a sister in need: “She wasn’t at church last Sunday. I’ll make sure her visiting teachers let her know about the upcoming temple trip.”
“They’ve got some hard things going on right now,” added the elders quorum president. “I’ll follow up with their home teachers and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“The young women could help with babysitting,” said the Young Women president.
As Melissa looked at the faces of the members of the ward council, she saw genuine affection and concern. A smile spread across her face. “The Lord has prepared ways for His children to be protected and loved,” she thought. “The ward council!”

As I surveyed the elderly people assembled for the nursing home sacrament meeting, I was worried.
Several patients appeared to be asleep. One woman cried, over and over, “I want to go home.” Most of those who were awake stared vaguely through clouded eyes. I wondered why our Young Men and Young Women had even come to present this sacrament meeting. Other than giving them the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, why did we bother?
One of the Young Men conducted the service. It would be like any other sacrament meeting with an opening hymn, opening prayer, sacrament hymn, the passing of the sacrament, speakers, and a closing hymn.
As we sang “Come, Come Ye Saints,” I noticed that one frail sister who, until this moment, had remained perfectly still, staring off into space, sang every word from memory. When the sacrament was passed, almost every patient partook. I began to realize that the patients knew what was going on.
Following the sacrament, Shawna, the Laurel president, spoke on enduring to the end. I wondered how her words would affect people who had endured more than we could possibly imagine.
I was distracted from my thoughts by a very real presence in the room. I felt the Spirit as strongly as I’ve ever felt it before. Then I noticed that nearly every elderly brother and sister had their eyes focused on Shawna. The Spirit had linked us together as brothers and sisters, children of our Heavenly Father.
A scripture came to my mind: “And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (1 Cor. 13:13).
There may have been many reasons for that sacrament meeting, but the greatest of them was charity, the pure love of Christ.

Let me relate a personal experience to show the importance of keeping your future continually in mind. When I was in the Aaronic Priesthood, I and one of my friends attended general priesthood meeting in this tabernacle and found ourselves over here by the stairs where we didn’t belong. President George Albert Smith, in his kindly way, saw our plight and invited us to sit on the stairs. As we sat there and watched the proceedings of the meeting, I did not believe that I ever again would get that close to this pulpit. I remember saying to my friend as we left the Tabernacle, “It would sure be nice to be a General Authority; then you would have one of those seats on the stand to sit in.”

I know now by personal experience that, in some ways, brethren, the benches you are sitting on are much more comfortable than these on the stand. Now the point: As an Aaronic Priesthood holder, I had no idea that the time would come in my life when I would serve as a bishop, a mission president, a Seventy, and now as an Apostle. We cannot foresee what the Lord has in mind for us. Our only course of action is to be prepared and worthy for whatever he requires. We must govern our actions every day with our future in mind.

More rescue teams came and helped the wagon trains into Utah. Referring to his nightly camps Barnard said: “We would clear away the snow and pile some logs up and set them on fire. They would burn all night and helped to keep us from freezing.” Ascending Big Mountain he found snow drifted 20 feet deep in places. “We had to cut channels as much as ten feet deep,” he said. But what made this final part of the trip so difficult for the teenager was that “I had no shoes or boots on; my feet were in rags.”
On December 13 at 4 P.M. Barnard and his family stepped from Brother Newman’s wagon into the tithing yard in Salt Lake City. Barnard felt both pleased and humiliated—pleased to be safe and alive but humiliated to walk down the city’s streets dressed in ragged clothes and with flannel rags wrapped around his painful feet. No doubt he recalled then the fancy broadcloth suit and silk hat he donned 18 months before when leaving England for Zion. Utahns, he noticed, “wept like children to see our pale, emaciated, and careworn bodies, for we were quite worn out and had but little strength left.”
What had happened to Barnard’s work boots? They had succumbed to his appetite! While trapped by Wyoming snows Barnard had cut off strips from his worn-out boots and chewed the leather to ease the sharp hunger pains in his stomach—for as his biographer points out, “who can be hungrier than a 16-year-old trying to do the work of a man?”

Something for the Teacher
All of us have dreams—things we’d like to do—but how often do you hear about people helping each other achieve their own individual dreams? That’s why the actions of the Laurel class of the Smithfield (Utah) Ward are so heartwarming. Said their teacher, Patricia Cannell: “Ever since I was a child I have loved to draw and paint. Now that I’m married, we have no room for my hobby in the house. Sometime during the MIA year when we were sharing dreams, I mentioned my desire to buy an old train caboose and make it into an art studio.”
That’s when the girls took over. A caboose was found. The cost to move it was $106. Unbeknown to the teacher, the girls sold window-cleaning fluid door-to-door at 35¢ a pint. At a recent birthday party for the teacher, guess what she received as a present from her Laurels?
A caboose.

One such family with four young children writes: “We decided to start small because of our children’s short attention spans. Our oldest child was not yet reading, but she could repeat our words, so we began reading the Book of Mormon, just three verses each night. My husband and I would read one verse each, and then Sydney would repeat a verse. We progressed to four verses and then five verses as the boys began to repeat their own verses. Yes, it was tedious, but we kept going. We tried to focus on consistency instead of speed. It took us three-and-a-half years to finish the Book of Mormon. It was a great feeling of accomplishment!”
The mother continues: “Daily family scripture reading is a habit in our family now. Our children are comfortable with scriptural language, and my husband and I take opportunity to bear testimony of truths. Most important, the Spirit has increased in our home.”

After working in department stores selling men’s clothing for several years, I became quite proficient at coordinating shirts and ties with the suits I sold. It was rewarding to pick the perfect assortment, and my customers were usually pleased with the choices I presented them.
However, in one particular store, the suits were in an area illuminated with fluorescent lighting while the shirts and ties were displayed in another area under incandescent bulbs. This difference in lighting proved to be quite challenging.
It often happened that after a customer had decided upon a suit or two, I’d go select an array of shirts and ties that I thought would work well. But once the shirts and ties were moved from one section to the other and placed next to the suits, the result was surprising—the colors “changed” in the new light and did not match at all.
Taking a suit to the area that displayed the shirts and ties worked better. But even with this approach, customers often became confused, noticing that the suits we had in hand didn’t look like the ones they had just selected. A suit that looked olive green under the fluorescent lighting now appeared gray, taupe, or brown when viewed under incandescent lights. Black, charcoal, and navy suits underwent similar transformations.
More often than not, I had to solve the problem by taking customers out a nearby door to look at their selections in the daylight. By seeing with the light of the sun, we could quickly discern true colors and make appropriate choices.

This past month the Canada Toronto Mission held a mission-wide seminar. I was asked to sing a song but couldn’t find one that fit our mission program, which we call SOAR (S—sacrifice; O—obedience; A—attitude; R—rededication). I prayed about my problem, and I was directed to the August 1976 New Era, which was buried in a pile of magazines. There I found the song “Let Me Soar.” I sang this for the seminar. It was a definite answer to prayer.

Atami, Japan, is an attractive city located on the east coast of Honshu, about 100 kilometers south of Tokyo. It is a famous vacation resort with comfortable hot springs, splendid sunsets, and high cliffs overlooking the sea.
The main attraction of the cliffs of Atami is the beautiful view, but they also attract people for a different reason: from their edge, many have plunged to their death.
On a May evening in 1987, I was driving toward Atami. I couldn’t stop crying, and I didn’t want to see the sunset. As I drove, the memories of the past few years ached inside me.
I had worked hard while I was serving in the Japan Sapporo Mission, on the northernmost island of Japan, with its cold, snowy winters. I felt that the Lord accepted my service, but I did not anticipate what awaited me when I returned home. I didn’t understand why, after all the hard work, there didn’t seem to be any rewards.
Specifically, I felt unfulfilled in my search for an eternal companion. I had found few opportunities to date, while others seemed to be finding eternal happiness easily. Any relationship that I thought might be lasting ended. Though my family was worried about my depressed state, I received strength from my Heavenly Father, which helped me through this difficult time.
Then questions began to arise. Why did I have to suffer so much? Did Heavenly Father still love me? As a returned missionary, I could not deny that the Lord lived or that his Church was true, but I began to question his love for me. Then, one night, thinking that I would never have the opportunity to get married, I lost all hope, and Satan took control. I decided to take my own life rather than face any more heart-breaking experiences. I wrote a farewell note to my parents and began driving to Atami.
Then, two miracles happened. First, as I got closer to the coastline, prepared to drive my car off the cliffs into the ocean, I noticed that a wall had been built to prevent cars from going over the edge. Second, the Lord cleared my mind long enough so that I could stop the car and think about my actions. I realized I could never take my life.
Sobered and much calmer, I drove home to find my bishop at home with my parents. They are not members of the Church, but they knew they could trust Bishop Kashikura. He gave me a blessing, and it seemed the nightmare was finally over.
But a week later, I again had second thoughts about my purpose in life. I didn’t know what to do. On that same day, I received a letter.
The letter was mailed from the United States, which was no unusual because I have friends there. But this letter was different—there was no return name or address. All I knew was that it was mailed from Flushing, New York, the day after I had driven to Atami to try to end my life. However, I did not know anyone from Flushing, New York.
When I opened the letter I found, “To You!” written at the top. Enclosed was a copy of the song “Going Home,” written in both Japanese and English. As I read the words, tears filled my eyes. The words told me that when I found myself alone, my memories could keep me strong. With those memories, I could never forget there is a place where I still belong, a place I can always turn to for comfort: “Home.”
I cried and cried and finally felt assured that Heavenly Father does watch over me. He loves me! Until I had this experience, I thought heaven was very far away, but the song helped me understand that God is very near. When we are faithful, we are already in our heavenly home here on earth.
That was the first and last time I ever heard from Flushing, New York. Perhaps I will never know who sent me those words. The experience reminded me of something President Spencer W. Kimball said, “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs” (Ensign, October 1985, page 3). I am eternally grateful for the person who had ears to hear and acted upon the prompting from the still, small voice from heaven.
I will never forget this experience, and, no matter how great the trials I shall have, I will never forget the place where I want to be—home, my heavenly home.

Even today there are those preposterous stories handed down and repeated so many times they are believed. One of the silliest of them is that Mormons have horns.
Years ago, I was at a symposium at a college in Oregon. Present were a Catholic bishop, a rabbi, an Episcopalian minister, an Evangelical minister, a Unitarian clergyman, and myself.
The president of the school, Dr. Bennett, hosted a breakfast. One of them asked which wife I had brought. I told them I had a choice of one. For a second, I thought that I was being singled out for embarrassment. Then someone asked the Catholic bishop if he had brought his wife.
The next question came from Dr. Bennett to me: “Is it true that Mormons have horns?”
I smiled and said, “I comb my hair so that they can’t be seen.”
Dr. Bennett, who was completely bald, put both hands on the top of his head and said, “Oh! You can never make a Mormon out of me!”

One evening my missionary companion and I knocked on the door of a young man who was an international student studying at one of London’s many universities. He invited us in, and we explained that we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He seemed eager to learn more about the Restoration of the gospel, so we testified of the Prophet Joseph Smith and told him about a sacred book from our Heavenly Father called the Book of Mormon. We emphasized that it was sacred because it testifies of Jesus Christ.
We explained that he could know for himself of its truthfulness and offered to give him a copy. As I handed the Book of Mormon to him, he got up from his chair and left the room without saying a word. I held the Book of Mormon in my hand momentarily, and my companion and I looked at each other in puzzled silence, wondering what to do. I put the book down on the table.
We could see our young friend in the kitchen washing his hands and drying them on a fresh towel. He came back into the room and picked up the Book of Mormon from the table and simply said, “My people always wash their hands before they touch something sacred.” Tears came to my eyes as I watched this young man open the Book of Mormon for the first time and turn its sacred pages with his clean hands.
I was sent on a mission to teach the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, yet I was the one being taught by this young man with his clean hands. In many cultures—including my own—it isn’t necessary to wash our hands before reading the scriptures, but his simple gesture of respect was a reverent and powerful reminder of the sacredness of the Book of Mormon.

“Wider, please.”
Lane was reluctant to show the tartar on his teeth to the cute, new dental assistant, but he had no choice. She pulled the overhead light closer. He admired her green eyes, all he could see of her face. The rest was hidden behind the surgical mask. He watched her gloved fingers juggle the little dental pick and mirror as she scraped at his teeth.
Lane was relieved to see that Rhonda, the regular assistant who had worked there for years, was not there. She was an older woman who had always been very nice to him, but she had a horrible case of dandruff and he could see the flakes all too clearly whenever she bent her head over his open mouth.
“You must be new,” he managed to say to the assistant. It was obvious, but it was all he could think of to say. “I’ve been coming to Dr. Hodges since I was a little boy, and I’ve never seen you here.”
“Mmmm,” she said, concentrating. “Just moved here. How often do you floss?”
“Uh, well, maybe a few times a month. I kind of forget to do it every day,” he admitted. Now he regretted being so lax with his flossing. He was probably not making a very good impression. He would have to hurry to change that. Once Dr. Hodges injected the anesthetic, his mouth would go numb. It would be impossible to impress her with a lopsided smile and garbled speech. He wondered how he could let her know that he had made the winning basket last year in the high school playoffs without seeming arrogant.
He missed his chance. The assistant squirted his mouth and suctioned the water out, dabbed his face with the paper bib pinned around his neck, then left. He heard his little brother Evan talking to her from the cubicle next to his. Evan would talk her leg off. Dad had predicted that Evan would grow up to be either a police negotiator or an auctioneer.
“Hey, my brother has to get his teeth fixed, and he already had a whole bunch of shots. I don’t think he cried. He’s getting a short haircut, and my mom and dad bought him a bunch of suits and ties.”
“Wow,” was all the assistant said, in a dull-sounding tone. She told Evan, “I’m putting some of this cleaning stuff on your teeth. It’s a little gritty, like sand, but it tastes like cherries. I’ll use this little tool and scrub your teeth with it, okay?”
“Oh, that’s like the cleanser I use on the bathtub on Saturday when I do my Saturday jobs. Except it tastes better.” There was a pause, and then Evan said, “Not that I ever ate cleanser. Yuck!”
It was quiet while the assistant scrubbed his teeth, but as soon as Evan’s mouth was free, Lane could hear him talking again.
Dr. Hodges came in. For a moment, Lane was distracted while the dentist examined his teeth and got ready to give him the anesthetic.
Lane could hear Evan as he continued to talk. “I’m getting baptized next Saturday. I’m eight, so I’m old enough because I mostly know how to tell right from wrong. Baptisms are in a big font like a warm swimming pool. I guess it’s like a bath for my spirit. Hey, you can come if you want. It’s at seven on Saturday night at Westbrook chapel, just a couple blocks from my house.”
Lane was thinking, Come up for air, buddy, even as his eyes squinted in pain as Dr. Hodges nestled the needle into the back of his mouth.
Evan kept talking. “My brother’s going on a mission. It’s for our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some people call us Mormons because we have the Book of Mormon. It’s kind of like the Bible, but we read the Bible, too. Anyway, my brother will go to Argentina and baptize people there after he teaches them about the gospel. They put on white clothes and go under the water too. Nobody drowns,” he added.
Then Evan said, “He’ll be gone a long time. Two whole years. And nobody pays him. He usually doesn’t do things for free.” Lane could hear a smile in Evan’s voice when he said, “And I get his room.”
Dr. Hodges chuckled and said, “Your little brother’s quite a talker.” All Lane could say, with his mouth full of anesthetic, was, “Tell me about it.”
In the next cubicle, the assistant said, “Evan, we’re all done. If you want, you can wait for your brother here.”
“Okay,” Evan answered cheerfully. “I brought my Friend with me. Do you get the Friend?” Without waiting for her to answer, he continued, “I don’t think the dentist gets it because I didn’t see it with the magazines in the waiting room.”
Lane didn’t think the assistant understood Evan because she said, “Your friend, huh? What’s his name?”
Evan patiently explained, “No, the Friend isn’t a person; it’s a magazine for kids about my church. There are magazines for big people, too. You can look at mine and see what’s in it. There are stories and games. I was trying to find all the stuff hidden in this picture.”
Lane could hear the assistant putting instruments away and moving around in the cubicle. Lane’s attention quickly became focused on his own mouth as Dr. Hodges carefully drilled out his cavities and applied the fillings.
Evan was still talking. “My brother is going to explain about the Church on his mission to people like you who don’t know about it. You’d really like it. We learn about Jesus and how to be like him. I have my own Book of Mormon, but my grandma will give me a brand-new one with gold on the edges and my name on it when I get baptized. I think the dentist needs one in his waiting room. He can have my old one. I brought it to read the part about Jesus coming to America. My dad marked the place for me.”
Finally, the appointment was over. Lane tried one last time to talk to the assistant. “Sorry about my little brother,” he said, flashing his clean teeth in what he hoped was a brilliant smile, though he could feel only half his mouth curve upward. “He’s really a chatterbox.”
“No problem,” the girl said. “I think he’s cute.”
Lane refrained from asking what she thought of Evan’s older brother, though he was tempted. He hoped she thought he was cute, too.
She said, “Going to Argentina, huh?”
“Yes,” Lane said, quickly adding, “I’ll only be gone for two years. Do you plan to work here for a while?” She smiled and left to clean more teeth.
Evan picked out a toy dinosaur from the dentist’s treasure chest, then told Dr. Hodges, “I’m leaving you this book for your waiting room.” He held out his Book of Mormon to show him. “It doesn’t cost you anything.”
Dr. Hodges looked puzzled but nodded his consent and then went to attend to a patient.
On the way home, Evan suggested they stop at the store for some candy, but Lane said no. “You want to undo all the work we just had done? That’s how you get cavities! You keep it up and the only thing you’ll be able to eat will be soup.”
They rode in silence for a split second. “Is that how you got all your cavities?” Evan asked.
After the baptism, Evan changed into dry clothes and was talking to his grandpa when he looked to the back of the room and started waving furiously. “Hey! You came!”
Lane was startled to see Dr. Hodges standing near the back. Evan called out, “Hey, he’s my dentist!”
The boys and their parents made their way to Dr. Hodges and told him they were glad to see him. Dr. Hodges smiled at Evan and said, “You were right, Evan. You didn’t drown.”
To Evan’s parents, he said, “I hope you don’t mind my coming. My sister has been writing to me about the Book of Mormon, and she has been talking about getting baptized. Evan invited us to come to his baptism when he was at the office last week, and I wanted to see what your church was about. I’ve known your family for years, and I know you’re good people, but I didn’t realize you were Mormon until Evan brought in his Book of Mormon and told us about your church.”
He spoke to Evan again. “I hope you don’t mind that I took your Book of Mormon home with me. I’ve really enjoyed reading it.”
After they got home, Evan came into Lane’s room, where Lane was packing his suitcase. Lane had been quietly getting ready to go to the Missionary Training Center, thinking about Evan’s baptism. He was feeling ashamed. He had had plenty of opportunities to talk about the Church at the dentist’s office and didn’t. He was too busy hanging onto the last shred of his social life before leaving. He had thought it would be hard to be a missionary because he didn’t know what to say to people. But wasn’t missionary work just getting the word out and being happy about having the gospel, like Evan? It was that simple.
“Hey, buddy,” Lane said, hugging his little brother, “you are one terrific missionary. Think you might fit into my suitcase? I could be your junior companion.”

During our daughter’s first few months of treatment, our time and energy were filled with the daily grind of our children’s health-care needs. Normally, I like to give people thank-you notes but didn’t make the time for that. Instead, I kept a list on my computer of some of the gifts and acts of service we received, both to remember to thank later and to remind us of the wonderful people watching out for us. This is a list I hold dear to my heart, and it serves as a reminder on how I can help those around me.