Gospel Story Finder

I remember a few years ago my wife was the ward pianist, and I was a counselor in the stake presidency. She would manage to sit our children near the piano and from there she would try to control them. One day, one of our sons was fighting with his younger sister. My wife would give them a stern look from the piano. At the end of the services, while we were in the car, my wife told my son that he had been irreverent during sacrament meeting, and that he had not paid attention to the talks. He said that he had paid attention, so my wife asked him who spoke. He mentioned the names of the speakers and explained what they had talked about.
Dear sisters and brothers, our children learn when they attend Church on Sundays. When they are little, they feel the Spirit in Primary through the classes and when they sing the Primary songs.
I testify that happiness in the family has a greater possibility of being achieved if we focus on the gospel of Jesus Christ. The study of the scriptures with Come Follow Me, attending Church to renew our covenants, and attending the temple, among other things, will help us to remain firm in the covenant path.

Sister Amy A. Wright remembers a night several years ago when she was undergoing treatment for stage 4 ovarian cancer. She was in so much pain that she was past feeling. Despite her testimony and her faith in Heavenly Father, the Savior, and the plan of salvation, she was in need.
As a young child, Sister Wright had been taught by her mother and Primary leaders that when feeling afraid, lonely, or in need of the Spirit, she should sing a Primary song.
“But that’s for children,” she thought now. “Does that really apply to me?”
Then came the answer—and the song.
“I am a child of God too,” Sister Wright remembered. “So, in my mind, I started singing, ‘Heavenly Father, are you really there?’1
“That’s as far as I got. Every fiber of my being was enveloped with the love of God. It was tangible, which was strange because I couldn’t feel anything else. I knew He was there, that He knew exactly what I was going through, and that He was a loving God.”

When Quinn was younger, his father, Greg, told him that he would support Quinn in pursuing roping—if he did three things: kept his language clean, kept the Word of Wisdom, and stayed morally clean. Quinn also decided that he would keep the Sabbath day holy by not competing on Sundays. Knowing that he made those commitments early on helps Quinn stay on track. He knows where he stands, and for him doing what’s right is a simpler choice.

Before the trek began, youth and adults spent hundreds of hours building handcarts, welding wagon wheels, sewing clothing, preparing food, and planning. The youth, wanting to make the trek their own, put much of their own effort into the preparations.

Kaylene Forbes, a Laurel of the Soldotna Ward, said, “I did a lot of sewing to prepare for the trek. The skirts and the aprons weren’t very difficult, but the bonnet was hard. After I was finished, though, especially on the trek, I was glad that I did everything myself.”

Each handcart “family” was led by a young man and young woman, called a Pa and Ma, and were also accompanied by adult leaders. The Mas and Pas even arrived early for special training.

“We worked hard,” Brother Forbes, Soldotna’s Young Men president, said. “Hundreds and hundreds of hours, but it was worth 100 times the effort that went into it. It was better than we could have ever dreamed.”

Throughout the trek, efforts to bring to life 19th-century pioneers included a mock Mormon Battalion march and a women’s pull, but no one could plan for one disheartening element they had in common with the pioneers—the weather. One of the original handcart pioneers, John Southwell, who traveled in the Haven handcart company crossing Iowa in 1856, records that they experienced hail, rain, wind, and ankle-deep mud.

One hundred and fifty years later, when the Alaska participants reached the trailhead on the first day of their trek, rain gushed down. The long, muddy trail wandered up tall hills, and the handcart wheels sunk in deep sand.

On the third day, the group awoke to a terrible storm with winds blowing more than 50 miles per hour. Pegs pulled loose, tents collapsed, the rain pounded down, and dark clouds covered the entire sky. Fearing that the weather would stop the trek, the leaders knelt in prayer. President Randy Eberline of the stake presidency asked the Lord to calm the storm. Throughout the camp, trek families also knelt and prayed for relief from the weather. Suddenly, the clouds parted and a bowl of warm sunlight shone down. Kelly Maxwell, a priest from Sterling, described the answer to their combined prayers: “President Eberline prayed for there to be sunlight, and I was also hoping and praying that it would work. Minutes later we saw a break in the sky, and we started to see blue and then the sun just came out of the clouds.”

Kaylene described it this way: “The wind stopped, and you could see the clouds parting and the sun coming out. It was like seeing Moses parting the Red Sea, except this time God parted the clouds for us.”

Brother and Sister Matt and Jodi Clark arrived that evening to speak at a fireside. They reported that on the 100-mile drive from Anchorage it had been pouring rain. As they crested the last hill before reaching the camp, they saw the most incredible sight. Sunlight flooded the camp while the rest of the sky, as far as they could see in all directions, was full of dark clouds.

James Barrett, a priest from the Kenai Ward, said, “It was wonderful to feel the sun again, the warmth and the light that brought encouragement and hope. It was a miracle. It was as if the Lord had stretched out his hand and protected us from the harsh weather by surrounding our camp with sunlight.”

The next day included special devotionals, a memorial fireside, and a testimony meeting, solidifying the spirit of the experience. It started with a devotional in the wilderness for each handcart “family.” At the devotional the youth received a letter written by their parents. Some of the youth later said that during this quiet time they received their first witness of the truthfulness of the gospel. Cyril Zufelt, 17, of Soldotna said, “When I got my letter, I was touched. That was a huge turning point in my life. I’m never going to forget it.”

Then, after walking for several miles, the group was halted by the trail boss who instructed each person to pick up a rock. In a valley between two large hills, they held a special memorial service dedicated to all of the pioneers left behind on the trail, especially those of the Martin and Willie handcart companies, who had lost so many to the early winter weather and starvation. Each person placed their rock on a small memorial of the earlier pioneers. Sister Meyer remarked, “I couldn’t believe how hard it was to walk past that little memorial and think of the families that left loved ones behind. I don’t know how they had the strength to do it.”

As they packed up their tents, put away their bonnets and suspenders, and returned to inside plumbing, the youth took away more than blisters and soggy hiking shoes—they took with them an appreciation for the Saints who traveled 150 years ago and 3,600 miles away. Most of all, they took with them a stronger testimony of the gospel.

Lyssa DaVaney, a Laurel in the Homer Ward, said, “When I left for the trek, I knew that I would be coming back. The pioneers knew they would never go back to their homes again. The trek was such an awakening experience for me. I learned so much about the pioneers, Heavenly Father, and myself. I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything.”

The young men and women of Santa Maria, California, live on the edge of another world, a mysterious, only partly explored domain that covers three-fourths of the earth. They know how to have a lot of fun where the sand meets the sea, and they set out one day in July to have as much of it as they could.
They started with horseplay, acrobatics, and sand surfing on the practically alpine sand dunes of Pismo Beach State Park, within sight of the surf. They had cut small, point-nosed sand surfing boards out of formica and had waxed the smooth surface with paraffin. They can sail down a steep dune as if it were the face of a giant wave.
Later there was frisbee throwing, sand castle building, and clam digging on the beach. Plying the clam forks vigorously, they added the basic ingredient to the clam chowder stock that was already bubbling higher up the beach, thanks to the efforts of the girls. One young man unlimbered his skim board on the wet sand. (A skim board is a round board cut out of plywood and then fiberglassed.) He would run a few steps, holding the board in front of him, then throw it down and jump on it for a slick ride atop the thin film of water left by a retreating wave.
The group couldn’t do any swimming at Pismo Beach because of the rough surf and dangerous currents, so they loaded the chowder and their sandy bodies into the cars and headed for Avila Beach only minutes away. Avila is a swimming beach, and the crowds of people witnessed that the water was fine.
After swimming, sunning, and surfing at Avila, they gathered at a beachside picnic table to enjoy the clam chowder. Afterwards, while most of the group sunned themselves, a couple of young men headed up the beach to a rocky area to explore tide pools, the basins of sea water trapped in depressions in the rocks when the tide goes out. They found starfish and other small sea creatures waiting for the sea to come back and reclaim them.
The next day the group headed back to the sand dunes for some cliff-hanging dune buggy fun and a little more sand surfing. They kept at it till there was nothing left of them but silhouettes against the sky and the sea.

Following my release from my first mission in 1923, I returned home to Whitney, Idaho, on Christmas Eve. It was a joyful reunion with my ten brothers and sisters, and especially with my father and mother in a home that had been as near ideal as a Latter-day Saint home could be.
Father and Mother always made it a practice to hang the stockings, one on each chair, for the children and to place their limited gifts on or under or near each chair. This was quite a task because they made it a practice to hide the presents to be sure that none of the children saw them before Christmas morning.
Father and Mother took me into their confidence that Christmas Eve, which I shall never forget, and we stayed up all during the night. In fact, we didn’t retire at all. We filled the stockings after going to the granary and elsewhere on the farm to get the presents which had been secretly hidden by our devoted and beloved parents. This took a good part of the night. The rest we spent visiting together, with Father and Mother telling me of the progress made by each of the children while I was away, and with me reporting to them and responding to their questions regarding my wonderful mission of 30 months in the British Isles. It was a choice evening. My love for my parents had never been quite so great before as it was that night.
It was agreed that the children could arise early Christmas morning. I don’t remember the hour, but I think it was 5:00 A.M. They were each to go in the kitchen, as I remember it, for a glass of milk and a piece of bread and butter and honey before they came into the living room to partake of the goodies from their stockings and to enjoy the excitement of their presents from Santa. It was a happy morning. I could not hold back the tears as I watched with pride the reactions of my six brothers and four sisters and the loving expressions of my noble parents as they watched their posterity partake of the Christmas spirit and as they felt of the unity which prevailed in our family circle.

Last October my family moved from Minnesota to my grandmother’s house in Utah. My father stayed in Minnesota to fix up the house before we sold it. Things weren’t going as quickly as we had hoped, so my mother traveled to Minnesota to help him. At 17 and the oldest, I was put in charge of my younger sister and three younger brothers until my parents got back. My grandmother was visiting my aunt, so it would be just us kids for a while.
I had been left in charge before, and it would be no big deal to take care of the children for a couple of weeks. It was summer, so I didn’t have to worry about school or homework, and my parents left the minivan so I could bus my siblings around. The first night, we ate a quick dinner, watched some TV, and I finally managed to get them into bed. I was very tired when I crawled into bed, but I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what I was going to do the next day. I heard a creaking sound, but houses always creak at night. Normally, I wouldn’t have noticed, but I wasn’t used to sleeping in this house. Not only that, but I was in charge of keeping my younger sister and brothers safe. After a few more creaks, I convinced myself that someone had opened the door and was walking around inside. I was wide awake now. I said a quick prayer and tried to dismiss the creaking sounds as regular house sounds.
After a few minutes I was on edge again. This time I sat up on my bed to bow my head and fold my arms. I prayed that my sister, brothers, and I would be safe while my parents were gone and that I would be able to feel peaceful that night. Afterward I was calmer, but I still couldn’t sleep.
I prayed again, and this time I received the impression that I should check the house. I got up and went to the door of my room and stopped. I could picture myself opening it and finding a burglar with a gun. I did not want to open the door but, remembering my impression, I went into the hall and turned on the light. I opened every door and checked every room. Then I checked the door locks. Everything was fine. I went back to bed and fell asleep.
Later I realized the reason for my prompting. I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to know that He was keeping us safe. He wanted me to know that my prayer had been answered. I have a testimony that God will answer our prayers, even over little things like being scared at night. He will take care of us if we trust Him.

Some 50 years ago I became an assistant Scoutmaster in a little country town in southern Idaho. What a challenge it was to work with and to lead 24 boys in the first Scout troop in this little rural community. Talk about rewards for effort! Every day of my life has been enriched by that association and service. I wish time permitted me to tell you the satisfying story of those 24 lively, sometimes mischievous, but wonderful boys. I have been rewarded tenfold. I think I will divert just long enough to tell you one little experience.
In those days each ward was expected to have a boys’ chorus, and the bishop would often invite the Scoutmaster to lead it. So it was in our case.
For weeks, before and after Scout meetings, we prepared, and finally the time came when we would meet in competition with the other wards in the stake.
We were successful in winning over the 11 wards, and then we were to meet the winners of six other stakes of the Cache Valley at Logan, Utah. It was a great experience to go down to the great city of Logan, a city of about 10,000 people. Many of those boys had never been 25 miles from home. I shall never forget approaching that great building, the tabernacle in Logan. We went inside and drew for position, and to the increase of our anxiety we drew last place.
Finally the time came for our group to march up to the platform. As the accompanist played “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” those 24 boys went up the aisle and formed a half-moon on the stage, while I crouched down between a couple of benches to try and give them some leadership. I got a great thrill as those 24 boys sang together, and of course, you can well appreciate I would not be telling this story had we not won in Logan.
We went home literally walking on air! We were so happy that our little community of 50 families had won over the other stakes and wards of the valley.
Monday night was Scout meeting, and shortly after the meeting opened one of the boys reminded me that in a moment of great anxiety or weakness, I don’t know which, I had promised that if we were successful in winning the contest, I would take them on a 35-mile hike over the mountain to Bear Lake. Well, of course, a promise made is a debt unpaid.
We began planning our hike, and during the meeting one little 12-year-old raised his hand and very formally said, “Mr. Scoutmaster, I would like to make a motion.” That was a new thing in Scouting, or it was for me. I said, “All right, what?” He said, “I’d like to make a motion, so we will not be bothered with combs and brushes on this trip, that we all clip our hair off.”
I noticed three or four older boys starting to squirm in their seats. They had reached that very critical age in life when they were beginning to take notice of the girls, and a clipped head, they knew, would be no asset to them with the women. We put the question to a vote, and it carried with these three or four older boys dissenting. Then it was agreed that if they didn’t submit willingly, there were other ways of enforcing the rules of the troop, and they submitted. Then, true to form, never forgetting, one of them said, “How about the Scoutmasters?”
It was our turn to squirm. But the following Saturday at the county seat, two Scoutmasters took their places in the barber’s chair while the barber very gleefully went over each head with the clippers. As he neared the end of the job, he said, “Now, if you fellows would let me shave your heads, I would do it for nothing.” And so we started on that hike—24 boys with heads clipped and two Scoutmasters with heads shaven.
Well, it was a glorious three weeks together with those wonderful boys out in the hills and in the mountains and on the lake. I wish I could take the time to relate the life of each one of those boys from that time until the present; I am proud of them. One of the joys of working with boys is the fact that you do get your pay as you go along. You have an opportunity to observe the results of your leadership daily as you work with them through the years and watch them grow into stalwart manhood, accepting eagerly its challenges and responsibilities.

In 1986, I was invited to give a special lecture at a university in Accra, Ghana. There I met a number of dignitaries, including an African tribal king. As we visited prior to the lecture, the king spoke to me only through his linguist, who then translated for me. I responded to the linguist, and the linguist then translated my responses to the king.
After my lecture, the king made his way directly to me, but this time without his linguist. To my surprise, he spoke in perfect English—the Queen’s English, I might add!
The king seemed puzzled. “Just who are you?” he asked.
I replied, “I am an ordained Apostle of Jesus Christ.”
The king asked, “What can you teach me about Jesus Christ?”
I responded with a question: “May I ask what you already know about Him?”
The king’s response revealed he was a serious student of the Bible and one who loved the Lord.
I then asked if he knew about the ministry of Jesus Christ to the people of ancient America.
As I expected, he did not.
I explained that after the Savior’s Crucifixion and Resurrection, He came to the people of ancient America, where He taught His gospel. He organized His Church and asked His disciples to keep a record of His ministry among them.
“That record,” I continued, “is what we know as the Book of Mormon. It is another testament of Jesus Christ. It is a companion scripture to the Holy Bible.”
At this point, the king became very interested. I turned to the mission president accompanying me and asked if he had an extra copy of the Book of Mormon with him. He pulled one from his briefcase.
I opened it to 3 Nephi chapter 11, and together the king and I read the Savior’s sermon to the Nephites. I then presented the copy of the Book of Mormon to him. His response lodged in my mind and heart forever: “You could have given me diamonds or rubies, but nothing is more precious to me than this additional knowledge about the Lord Jesus Christ.”
After experiencing the power of the Savior’s words in 3 Nephi, the king proclaimed, “If I am converted and join the Church, I will bring my whole tribe with me.”
“Oh, King,” I said, “it doesn’t work that way. Conversion is an individual matter. The Savior ministered to the Nephites one by one. Each individual receives a witness and testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”1

The angle iron clanged on the farmhouse porch as an old woman rattled a steel bar around the inside of the triangle. “Even Elias should be able to hear that,” she said.
He did. The old man in the timeworn poncho turned away from the chicken coop toward the house. “Too early for supper,” he said, peering through the haze of falling snow. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he absentmindedly picked up his hammer and started across the snow-muddied yard. Fixing the gate would have to wait until he saw what all the clamor was about. “Nothing worse than stopping a job when it’s half done!” he grumbled to a hen that scooted out of his path and under a motorcar.
He stopped at the porch and spoke to his wife. “What’s so important that I have to stop in the middle of my work? And what’s Ethel Kramer doing here?” he asked, gesturing to the Model A parked next to their house.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have answers to both those questions if you’ll get yourself inside, Elias Palmer Thorton.”
Inside, he gasped at the sight of his granddaughter lying on the sofa, bruised and scraped from head to foot. “What happened to you?”
“Nellie,” she answered with a grunt of pain, turning to see him better as he brushed snowflakes from his often-patched, two-sizes-too-small poncho. “Mrs. Kramer saw me on the road and brought me home.”
Grandpa nodded a thank-you to the stout, red-haired woman. “Much obliged, Ethel.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “What did this Nellie do to get you so banged up?”
Twelve-year-old Melody’s eyes filled with tears. “I was walking home from school. She ran up behind me and took my umbrella. She said that since she was bigger than I was, she should have it. Then she laughed and pushed me hard. I tripped over something in the weeds and fell down the little hill by Sutter’s Bridge.” Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Ever since I came to live with you and Grandma, Nellie’s been making life hard for me.”
Grandpa nodded. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“What can I do about it, Grandpa? I’d defend myself, but Nellie’s a lot bigger and meaner than me. She’d bust me up into little pieces if I tried to fight back. I hate her, Grandpa! I wish she’d never been born!”
Grandpa and Grandma exchanged concerned looks. “Hate is an ugly thing, Melody,” Grandpa said. “It can scar and bruise us inside a lot worse than any hurts we receive on the outside. Your grandma can cleanse and bandage those cuts and scrapes, and in a few days you’ll be good as new. But hateful feelings toward others are another thing. If we don’t doctor them, they grow and fester like a sore. And in the end they consume us, along with our chance of ever being truly happy.”
Melody looked confused. And angry. “So I should say, ‘That feels good, Nellie. Do it again!’?”
“Quite the contrary, Pumpkin,” the old man chuckled, patting her hand. “If it happens again, I’ll get on the phone on that wall over there and raise enough dust to plant a field of corn. But I don’t think it needs to happen again. It’s quite possible that Nellie is feeling bad about what she did.”
“Is that why she laughed so hard when I tumbled down the hill? Because she felt bad?”
Grandpa’s eyes bored deep into his granddaughter’s. “Someone who treats others the way Nellie treats you can’t be happy. My guess is that she’s a very unhappy person. And when people hurt inside, they often take it out on others. Maybe Nellie’s striking out blindly at an easy target because her pain is too big to face. And misery loves company, even if the only way to get it is by being unkind.”
“Maybe this, maybe that,” Melody protested. “All I know is that I’m being turned into a human punching bag, and I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Grandpa said. “So I want you to do something about it.”
Melody looked dumbfounded. “I’m doing all I can, Grandpa. I try to stay away from her and not pay any attention to her. In fact, I pretend that she doesn’t even exist. But she keeps showing up to remind me that she’s real—as real as the bad names she calls me, and—”
Grandpa placed a wrinkled finger gently across her lips. “I want to tell you about an experience I had when I was about your age. Then I want you to apply what I learned, and if it doesn’t make a difference, then your grandpa will.”
Melody sighed and nodded slowly.
There was a long silence. Finally Grandpa stood with a grunt. “Well, I’d better get back out there and fix that gate before the hens are everywhere but in the coop.”
A few days later, he was in the barn repairing a plow when he saw Melody crossing the yard with a bigger girl, who seemed shy, even a bit uneasy, although the two were talking and laughing. As they passed the barn, Melody spied him through the partially open doors. She picked up a rabbit, handed it to the girl to pet, and told her that she’d be right back.
“Grandpa!” she said in a low, excited voice as she hurried inside, “that’s Nellie! She walked home from school with me. I’m going to show her the dress Grandma is helping me sew. Can she stay for supper, Grandpa? We can drive her home in the truck, and—”
“That’s the Nellie?” Grandpa interrupted. “What happened?”
“All she had in her lunch yesterday was half a piece of bread and a stick of candy. So I sat by her on the steps and shared my lunch with her. I gave her some of the blackberry strudel Grandma made, half my jar of goat milk, and—”
“She let you sit by her?” Grandpa interrupted again.
“I guess she was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say, so I just did. While we were eating, her voice got all funny, and she looked away. I think she was trying to wipe away a tear. When I asked her if she was all right, she said, ‘Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye?’ Then today after school she asked if she could walk home with me. And here she is.”
Melody hugged her grandfather so hard that he dropped the wrench he was holding. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, pulling away and half hiding her face with a hand.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?”
Melody brushed a finger quickly across her cheek. “Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye, Grandpa?” With that, she turned and hurried back to Nellie.
Grandpa watched the two girls stroll toward the farmhouse. “Well, how about that,” he said, taking out his handkerchief. “I have something in my eye too.”

How do three lovely young ladies who are profoundly deaf speak fluently with confidence, joy, and Irish accents?
The answer? With patient faith, hard work, and tender help from parents, sisters, teachers, and their Heavenly Father.
The Ferguson sisters, Deborah, 21, Julie-Ann, 16, and Heather, 13, are from Bangor Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, and were born with hearing impairments. Two more sisters, Amanda, 20, and Gail, 18, along with parents Peter and Lillian have normal hearing. The girls’ grandparents were also born deaf and mute.
But communication is no problem for this outstanding family. Trust in the Lord and determination are working miracles in their lives.
Proof of this is abundant in Deborah’s many achievements. Her bubbling personality and eagerness to live life to the fullest have bridged some hearing problems. Since graduating from seminary, she has participated in the Cub Scouting programme, serving in assistant leadership positions.
Among other hardearned awards are trophies of all shapes and sizes for numerous sports, including badminton, squash, swimming, and football.
“When we held the dance festival,” said Young Women president Sister Geddis, “Deborah was the best at keeping on the beat, moving perfectly with the music.” Deborah explains, “Although I can’t hear sound, I feel vibrations through the floor, and with care can dance like the rest.”
Whether dancing or studying, no obstacles will prevent Deborah from enjoying every programme the Church has to offer. “I will be serving as a missionary,” she says. “I love to serve and have a great desire to spread the gospel amongst other people with hearing disabilities.”
Her younger sister Amanda feels the same way. Although able to hear perfectly herself, she has witnessed the aspirations of her family and is determined to open doors for others less blessed with opportunity. She is taking a university course in British Sign Language and after three years will be qualified to interpret and teach.
“I’d like to begin by sharing the gospel with my grandparents, aunt, and uncles who are also deaf,” Amanda explains. “I feel they’re missing so much. I’d love to help them learn the truth.”
Learning plays an important part in sister Gail’s life too—especially seminary. “It’s a great programme. I gain such a lot. Seeing things through the eyes of ancient people has helped me appreciate my own family and their present struggles.”
Gail has an outstanding talent for dealing with children. Acting as “ears” for younger sisters for many years, she has developed patience, kindness, and sensitivity to others’ needs.
Those listening ears are greatly missed by Julie-Ann and Heather for many months each year. These two leave home, family, and Irish stew behind and attend school at the renowned Mary Hare United Kingdom Grammar School for the Deaf in Newbury, England. Due to the rigorous academic requirements, for one pupil to be accepted at this outstanding school is an accomplishment (a bit like being chosen for Oxford or Cambridge), but for two from the same family to attend is something of a miracle.
“Letting the children be educated so far away has been a traumatic experience for us all,” Brother Ferguson says. “But through prayer we found comfort and confirmation that our decision was right.”
“We all send letters once or twice a week,” says Julie-Ann, “and there’s a special telephone at school which allows three-way conversations between pupil, interpreter, and parent, so we don’t have to go too long without help from home on any problem.”
“Brother and Sister Williams from Newbury Branch pick us up for church each Sunday,” says Heather. “We enjoy that. There’s a lovely feeling among the members.”
“I love learning everything I can about the Saviour and his church,” says Julie-Ann. “I do home-study seminary, and it always helps me. I find sacrament meetings a bit frustrating sometimes, especially when I can’t keep up with the speakers. I want to understand every word of their message. People are kind and write things down for me, but often talks go too fast to get the full story.”
Both girls are excellent lip readers, however, and are equipped with the latest hearing aids. So skilled are they becoming that they are even learning another language. Both are coping well with French. “It’s difficult,” says Heather. “I have to concentrate much harder than students who hear.”
Reading music has been part of their lives since infancy. “Our mother used to point out how notes go up and down in hymnbooks at church,” says JulieAnn, “and if the congregation doesn’t drown out the piano, I can pick out the beat and sing hymns.”
“We play recorders the same way,” comments Heather. “I feel pulsation of sound through my feet and legs, and with plenty of practice, we get the tunes right. We have a good orchestra here.”
Although Julie-Ann, Heather, and Deborah use their talents to achieve results in life equal to, and often better than, those of people without hearing impairments, they are sometimes disappointed and hurt by the attitudes of many people towards their disability.
“I prefer to be treated just like everyone else,” Heather says. “It’s really embarrassing when I’m in a crowd and someone starts speaking to me very slowly, with wildly waving arms, acting like I’m stupid or something.”
“Yes,” agrees Julie-Ann, “it’s nice to be accepted as part of the group, spoken to normally, and not stared at as if we’re odd. I often feel like telling people, ‘I’m exactly the same inside as you are.’ It makes me heartbroken and depressed when they are afraid or don’t want to understand me.”
“That’s right,” Heather adds. “I don’t always get a question the first time, and if I ask ‘pardon?’ they often say, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and go away! I’d rather they try again and again, so we can learn about each other. I don’t much like tiny conversations with only ‘Hi!’ or ‘How are you doing?’ I’d prefer to talk properly, long discussions, not too fast or too slow, but real conversations with facial expression and feeling.
Perhaps because of a certain isolation that deafness creates for them, all three girls have developed a close, personal relationship with their Heavenly Father.
“I talk to the Lord in prayer much of the time,” says Julie-Ann. “I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit strongly and am constantly grateful for the promptings I receive. We watched a video of general conference. During remarks about keeping high standards and avoiding friendships with the wrong crowd, I felt so warm inside as the Spirit testified this was important advice. I could have cried. I didn’t want that wonderful feeling to go away.”
“I get a similar sensation when I think of my sister Deborah on her mission. I think she’ll be homesick for a while, leaving Northern Ireland. It’s such a lovely country. I remember how I felt. But we’re all excited for her. I look forward to hearing how she gets on. My patriarchal blessing tells me I’ll also go on a mission when I’m 21.”
The Fergusons seem to be a part of fulfilling prophecy. In Isaiah 29:18, the prophet wrote, “In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book.” [Isa. 29:18] Not only are the Fergusons hearing the truth of the gospel themselves, they are becoming well educated and prepared to share those words with all who care to listen with ears, eyes, hands, and hearts.

Both Elder and Sister Christofferson graduated from BYU in 1969. Elder Christofferson went on to pursue a law degree at Duke University. When he completed his schooling in 1972, he was hired as a law clerk to federal judge John J. Sirica, the judge who would later preside at the Watergate trials. Time magazine named Judge Sirica Man of the Year and called the Watergate affair “the worst political scandal in U.S. history.” The scandal and its legal trials pervaded the U.S. news in 1973 and 1974.
Elder Christofferson had planned to clerk for one year and then work for a prominent Washington, D.C., law firm, from which he had received an employment offer. Elder Ralph W. Hardy, now an Area Seventy, has spent his career as a member of that firm and remembers that in those difficult Watergate days, Judge Sirica called the firm’s managing partner and said, “I can’t let Todd go. He is too valuable. He is the only person I can talk to.” As a result, Todd assisted Judge Sirica throughout the Watergate proceedings.

I was baptized when I was 10 years old, in the city of Oaxaca, Mexico. I remember that a few months after my baptism, some families in our branch went on a trip to the Mesa Arizona Temple, after having managed to save, at great sacrifice, for their travel expenses.
Upon their return, some young people shared their experiences, and the adults also gave their testimonies of this wonderful experience.
I thought that I would never travel to the temple with my family, first of all, because of the spiritual needs we had, that is, my parents were separated; and also, for our temporal needs. We were a large family and in our economic situation, even with all her efforts, my mother could not satisfy our basic needs.
Five years after I was baptized, while I was studying in the Church’s high school, Benemérito de las Américas, the construction of the first temple in Mexico was announced. At school we were invited to participate in an activity that consisted of making partitions for the temple.
At first, I thought it would just be an opportunity to have fun with my friends. After several hours of hard work and with some blisters on my hand, I realized that although it had not been so much fun, I felt joy in my heart for having done my small part in the construction.
When the temple was ready, I also helped with the setup during some of the dedication sessions. In one of them I had one of the most sacred spiritual experiences of my life.
I was asked to help in one of the corridors of the floor where the celestial room was located and just before the dedication session began, I was asked to occupy the only seat that was available within the room. It is difficult for me to put into words what I felt in that sacred place, I can only say that I wanted to keep that feeling of peace and joy for the rest of my life.
Once the temple was dedicated, my mother received her endowment, and two years later, I, too, was endowed before serving a mission.
In 1995, my wife and I were sealed in the temple. Our three children were born in the covenant. Little by little, I have come to understand more and more clearly the sacred covenants that we make in the temple.
In 1998, during a trip with my family through the state of Utah, in the United States, we visited the Monticello Utah Temple. As we walked around the temple, my wife and I discussed the words we had heard regarding the construction of more temples in Mexico. We thought that if one day a temple was built in Oaxaca, it would be in a long time, and we might not see it.
How wrong we were and how short our vision was. Thus, saith the Lord: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”1 Two years later, on March 11, 2000, the Oaxaca Mexico Temple was dedicated by President James E. Faust (1920-2007).
In the past, members traveling from Oaxaca to the Mesa Arizona Temple would travel three days one way and three days back. After 1983, to attend the Mexico City Temple, the trip took only eight hours by bus one way and the same time back. What a great change!
However, as of the year 2000, the members of the Church who live in the city of Oaxaca have a beautiful temple just a few minutes from their homes. I think we have a lot to be thankful for, for this great blessing, and the best way to thank Him is to work hard on our family history and attend the temple to do vicarious work for our loved ones on the other side of the veil.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “As Church members, we do have a divinely appointed responsibility to seek out our ancestors and compile family histories. This is far more than an encouraged hobby, because the ordinances of salvation are necessary for all of God’s children.”2
Some of my siblings and I are now sealed to our parents. Currently, I have been spending more time in family history work. I have visited more family members who are not members of the Church to learn more about my ancestors so that I can perform temple ordinances for them. I have had a few meetings with my siblings to encourage them to participate in family history as well.
President Russell M. Nelson said: “Our message to the world is simple and sincere: we invite all of God’s children on both sides of the veil to come unto their Savior, receive the blessings of the holy temple, have enduring joy, and qualify for eternal life.”3
I testify that this is the Church of our Savior Jesus Christ and that He leads this great work on both sides of the veil. Temples are the house of the Lord on earth. I testify of the joy that comes when we strive to spend time working on family history and attending the temple. If we keep the covenants that we make in that sacred place, we can live together with our loved ones for all eternity.

At one time I worked on the immediate staff of a very hardworking, demanding, misunderstood man who became the father of the nuclear navy that provided great protection for the United States at a critical time in world conditions. His name is Hyman Rickover. I have great respect for him. After 11 years in that service, I received a call from the First Presidency to preside over a mission. I knew I would have to tell Admiral Rickover immediately. As I explained the call and that it would mean I would have to quit my job, he became rather excited. He said some unrepeatable things, broke the paper tray on his desk, and in the comments that followed, clearly established two points: “Scott, what you are doing in this defense program is so vital that it will take a year to replace you, so you can’t go. Second, if you do go, you are a traitor to your country.”
I said, “I can train my replacement in the two remaining months, and there won’t be any risk to the country.”
There was more conversation, and he finally said, “I never will talk to you again. I don’t want to see you again. You are finished, not only here, but don’t ever plan to work in the nuclear field again.”
I responded, “Admiral, you can bar me from the office, but unless you prevent me, I am going to turn this assignment over to another individual.”
He asked, “What’s the name of the man who wants you?”
I told him, “President David O. McKay.”
He added, “If that’s the way Mormons act, I don’t want any of them working for me.”
I knew he would try to call President McKay (1873–1970), who was ill, and that conversation would benefit no one. I also knew that in the Idaho Falls area there were many members of the Church whose families depended upon their working in our program. I didn’t want to cause them harm. I also knew that I had been called by the Lord. I didn’t know what to do. Then, the words of the song we sang tonight began to run through my mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, number 237). While I had never contacted a General Authority in my life, I had been interviewed by Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, so I had a feeling to call him. I explained that the admiral would try to call President McKay and would make some negative comments, but everything was all right and I would be able to accept my call. While doing that, my heart kept saying, “Is this going to turn out all right or will somebody be innocently hurt who depends on our program for livelihood?” The song would come back: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.” True to his word, the admiral ceased to speak to me. When critical decisions had to be made, he would send a messenger or I would communicate through a third party. We accomplished the changeover.
On my last day in the office I asked for an appointment with him, and his secretary gasped. I went with a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hand. He looked at me and said, “Sit down, Scott. What do you have? I have tried every way I can to force you to change. What is it you have?”
There followed a very interesting, quiet conversation. There was more listening this time. He said he would read the Book of Mormon. Then something I never thought would occur happened. He added, “When you come back from the mission, I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”

I received a letter a few days ago from a young man, 19 years old, by the name of Kevin Campbell from Juniper, Idaho. And I’m not going to try to tell you where that is, but you could imagine. And Brother Kevin wrote to me and said: “It has come to my knowledge that you are becoming quite old in your years, and I wanted to write you before you passed on to the other side. How is life in your old age? I have often wondered about it, so I pose the question to you, ‘How is life?’ so that I’ll know what to expect when I get old like you are.”
I would say to Kevin Campbell, bless his heart, life is wonderful. And the only way I can describe it is that I have been blessed all of my life, and I have been blessed with challenges and opportunities and questions and problems that are part of life. But life is wonderful if we live the simple principles that we have been taught and if we live the way that we know we should live. One of those wonderful blessings we have in our old age is the blessing of having more time with our children and their children and their children, to have that opportunity to assemble and to be with them.
Just the other night we had the opportunity to attend a baptismal service in the ward meetinghouse where Rachel, a great-granddaughter, was baptized. A few nights before that, Richard, a great-grandson, had been baptized. I had the opportunity to look at them and talk to them and squeeze them and see that sparkle in their eye and of the light of the gospel that seemed to fill their heart and soul. They were so excited about the idea of being baptized to become official members of the Church. Their families had taught them true gospel principles. I remember when I said, “Richard,” as we shook hands, “give me a real missionary handshake.” And with that little eight-year-old hand he almost squeezed my fingers off. As he did it, I said, “Richard, you’ll be a great missionary, just as little Rachel will be a great member of the Church in her right.”
On that same occasion we had an opportunity to stand in the circle and to have young Peter Jr. receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to hear his father give him the blessings of the priesthood. And those of us who were older had the chance to stand in the circle and to sense the meaning of the occasion and to feel of it and to know that all present were part of our family. I would want our family to know, as it continues to grow and expand, about their fathers. I use that term in the plural as Helaman used it—the great Book of Mormon prophet Helaman—as he taught his sons about their fathers, including Nephi and Lehi, and of their following the word of God and keeping the commandments and how they left Jerusalem and went out into the wilderness, as revealed in the Book of Mormon. Helaman taught his children that their fathers had done many works and that those works were good.
So I would hope that our own children, as the generations go on, would know of their heritage, know who they are and know that they had fathers who believed, fathers who were challenged, fathers who had investigated and who had been out in the world declaring the truth—not just quoting scriptures—but feeling in their hearts and souls that what we do is true.
We’ve had an opportunity to reacquire our old house up in Oakley, Idaho, and to restore it so that our children will know of their ancestry and know that their fathers and their works were good also. I’m able to hold on to a gold watch that my father was given by the Oakley First Ward when he was the bishop, given to him in 1905, the year before I was born. We have a part, a little of the heritage, a reminder that our parents’ works were good and that they helped in the rolling forth of this wonderful work.
In the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord declared that this is “my preface unto the book of my commandments” (D&C 1:6). The Brethren who met there at Hiram, Ohio, 18 months after the Church was organized, were to compile those revelations and to print them and have available to the people the commandments that the Prophet Joseph had received. As part of that first section, the Lord explained how He had given Joseph Smith the power, inspiration, and direction from heaven to translate the Book of Mormon and to bring the Church “forth out of obscurity and out of darkness” (D&C 1:29–30).
Just reflect in your minds today on what is happening with President Hinckley as he travels the world and goes out meeting with people. When we talk about bringing the Church out of obscurity and out of darkness, just think what he is doing out in the world with the press, the media, with people of all types. Think of how they have an opportunity to see God’s prophet and to hear him testify and to explain what has taken place. Many influential newspapers and magazines and other publications have had many favorable stories about the Church.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the world today would have some real understanding of just the simple Ten Commandments, which the Lord cut with His own finger into tablets? Moses came down from Mount Sinai to show the children of Israel, who were riotous, so that they wouldn’t say they didn’t understand what was said. When Moses brought down the tablets, the people would be able to read the Lord’s own statements: “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Ex. 20:3) and “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image” (Ex. 20:4)—something else to worship—but they should love the Lord, love God. The Lord said that we should not take the name of God in vain, that we should honor the Sabbath day and keep it holy, that “thou shalt not kill,” and that “thou shalt not commit adultery” (Ex. 20:7–8, 13–14). Imagine what that would do in the world today and in the United States and with the political spin doctors. And “thou shalt not steal” or “bear false witness” or covet your neighbor’s oxen and farms, his wife, or anything that he has (Ex. 20:15–17).
The gospel of our Lord and Savior has been restored to the earth. God lives. He is our Father. I know. Jesus is the Christ. I have heard His voice because I have felt of that Spirit as He explains to us, “My voice is Spirit; my Spirit is truth” (D&C 88:66). I know that is true. Joseph Smith was the restorer and the one who was found and trained and was obedient and valiant in every way as the instrument of the Restoration. And today we have a living prophet upon the earth who represents us in such a glorious way throughout the world.
Brothers and sisters, live the commandments. Do what is right. Take advantage of this great opportunity in your life to live it well, to be good, to have good works, and to influence other people for good. The gospel is true. I hope that every day of my life I might be able to do some good and to encourage somebody to live a better life and to understand what has been restored to the earth, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Grant was only six weeks old when his father, H. Grant Heaton, was called to preside over the Southern Far East Mission. Unlike most children in the United States, Grant spoke his first words in Chinese. His little sister, Lisa Lee, who was born a year and a half after the family moved to Hong Kong, also learned Chinese first.
The mission home was filled with happiness until March 1958, when Grant was three years old. One day his neck became stiff, and there was pain in his chest. Soon he could not walk on his legs. President and Sister Heaton asked the missionaries to fast and pray for their son, but still his condition grew worse.
Grant’s father gave him a special blessing before taking him to the hospital. After tests, the illness was diagnosed as paralytic polio. The doctors said Grant would soon need an iron lung to help him breathe. Polio is not common among the Chinese, however, and the only iron lung in the country was being used by a British sailor.
By the end of a week in the hospital, Grant was completely paralyzed. Only his eyes moved, and the little body that had seemed healthy just a week before was quickly wasting away.
One morning Sister Heaton was with Grant. It was so hard for him to breathe that she thought surely he would soon return to our Heavenly Father. Two men came to the hospital that morning. They represented the Chinese Saints who had held a special fast and a prayer meeting the day before.
Both men had been members of the Church less than a year and neither held the priesthood, but they wanted to help. They asked permission to pray for Grant. Sister Heaton readily agreed and bowed her head to join them. She felt the faith of these humble Chinese men as they knelt beside Grant’s bed and prayed that this little boy’s health might be restored.
As they rose to their feet and left the room, Grant’s mother followed them down the hall. She thanked them and then went to the refrigerator where special food for Grant was stored.
Just as she opened the door, a familiar little voice called from down the hall and she turned around quickly to see Grant coming toward her.
“Look, Mommy,” he exclaimed with a happy smile. “I can walk!”
The doctors were amazed, but when the polio symptoms did not return, they let Grant go home. President and Sister Heaton and the missionaries gratefully acknowledged the power of the Lord and the faith of the Chinese Saints in behalf of their son.
Grant is now eighteen and lives with his family in Salt Lake City, Utah. He doesn’t remember his illness in China. His strong legs that helped him make the football team and wrestle for his high school don’t remember either!
Not long after the Church was organized in 1830, the General Authorities thought of sending missionaries to China. It was not until October 1852, however, that three elders left Salt Lake and arrived in Hong Kong on April 27, 1853. They had many problems and were not successful in converting anyone. Before long they returned to Utah.
In January 1921 David O. McKay, who was then an apostle, and Elder Hugh J. Cannon visited China. It was at this time that Elder McKay dedicated all of China for the preaching of the gospel. Now there are three missions for the Chinese people: Hong Kong, Singapore, and Taiwan. Although the first missionaries were very discouraged, later ones have had thrilling experiences in China. “I Can Walk!” is one of them that took place in Hong Kong.

Turning 18 is a very important event. Since Eric was away at BYU for his 18th birthday, we decided to send him something special. Every member of the family had an assignment. Jennifer would make cookies, Dad would send money, Brad (also at BYU) would help him spend it, Jeff would draw illustrations, and I would write verses for a spectacular birthday card.
I got very enthusiastic about my assignment. I decided to write a verse about every year of his life. There would be a verse about the time he took his first trial flight off the garage when he was four, and one about the time he self-medicated his cold with half a bottle of cough syrup to save the doctor’s fee when he was five. And it would end with a verse about his latest venture—refusing to withdraw from a spontaneous football squad even after he saw his six-foot-four, 280-pound opponent. (Yes, they carried him off with a broken collarbone.) That was my Eric! Active, daring, and a little mischievous.
I sat down and wrote the first few verses and laughed. And then I thought about Eric when he was six.
“Eric’s got a girl friend! Eric’s got a girl friend!” I remembered how Brad teased as he and Eric made their afternoon entrance after school. I waited for a typical “I don’t!” from Eric and a “You do!” from Brad.
There was none. Eric was silent. I couldn’t detect a smile, a frown, anything on his cherubic face. He just ignored Brad totally and asked, “Can we eat breakfast sooner tomorrow, Mom? I want to go to school early.”
“Yes,” I answered. I was surprised at his coolness. “Yes, of course. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” He shook his head, smiled, and walked out the back door to play.
“See. I told you!” Brad confirmed.
I’m not a nosy mother—well, only a little nosy. I wanted to know why Eric went to school 15 minutes early and came home 15 minutes late for a week. But he volunteered nothing. I didn’t want to turn Brad into a spy (it only entered my mind twice and I got over it), so I learned nothing.
On Tuesday I had to return library books. I decided to go at 1:50 so I would be driving by the school at 2:20 when school was out. (A mother does have to look out for her children.)
I was late and had to drive almost home before I saw Eric. He was with a girl. From the back I could see she had long, blonde hair and a pretty dress. But something was different. She didn’t raise her left leg far from the sidewalk, and as I passed I could see her left arm was limp. Eric saw me. He grinned widely and waved. As I smiled back my eyes surveyed a beautiful little girl with an enchanting smile and blue eyes.
At dinner I decided it was time to be open about the whole thing. I wanted Eric to know it was acceptable to have lots of friends in the first grade—even if one was a girl.
“I saw your friend today, Eric. She’s pretty.”
“She’s nice,” he added.
“So that’s the reason you go to school early?” his father asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, tell me about her. What’s her name? Where does she live? What does she look like?”
“Her name’s Jena. She lives on Vista View. And she looks like … like … uh … like a girl.”
The family laughed. “She’s very pretty.” I explained. “She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a radiant smile.”
“What’s radiant?” Eric asked.
“That’s like a heater,” Brad informed him.
“That’s a radiator,” Father clarified. “But it’s like that. It means warm and friendly.”
“What’s wrong with her leg?” Brad asked innocently.
Eric bristled and raised his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with her leg.”
“Brad wasn’t being mean, Eric. She does have a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy, Eric. That doesn’t change her being pretty or nice.” I taught physically handicapped children and accepted the fact that everyone has limitations of some kind, but Eric was crushed. His fork clattered to the plate, and he proclaimed loudly in his squeaky, first-grade voice, “There’s nothing wrong with her at all,” and ran into his room.
We said nothing further about it. Eric was a normal boy who ran bicycles into garage doors, played Zorro, and chased strange dogs away. He just went to school a little early and came home a little late every day.
In early December I got a phone call.
“Is this Eric’s mother?”
When anybody started a conversation like that I wondered if Eric had just ridden his bike over someone’s flower bed. “Yes,” I replied. After all, I was responsible.
“This is Mrs. Hamilton. I’m Jena Hamilton’s mother.”
“Oh, yes. Hello!”
“I called because I wondered if you were aware of what Eric has been doing for us—I mean for Jena—but really it affects all of us.”
I was puzzled. “No, I guess I’m not,” I replied honestly.
“Do you know Jena?”
“I saw her going home from school. She’s a very pretty girl.”
“Then you know she has a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy.”
“I see.”
“When we moved here last summer and I went to register her, the school said they wouldn’t accept her. Her learning isn’t impaired. It’s just a motor involvement, but they insisted the kids would taunt her until we would be sorry. They asked me to enroll her in the special education program over at Fairhaven. I didn’t want her at Fairhaven. She’d have to ride the bus for over an hour. I insisted they let her try it here. They were skeptical, but I was quite adamant.”
“I understand your feelings.”
“When school started, it was just like they said. Some of the kids wouldn’t quit yelling names and making fun of her. And no one would play with her. After the first week and a half of school, with her coming home in tears every day, I decided to reconsider Fairhaven. Then a little miracle happened—Eric!”
“Eric?”
“He decided enough was enough. He asked Jena if he could play with her at recess. The boys laughed at him and called him names too. But he ignored them.”
“That’s not my Eric,” I thought.
“He walked home with Jena to the accompaniment of jeers. From that day on he has walked her to school, played with her at recess, and walked home with her. The third week of school some boys started throwing rocks at Jena. Eric challenged them to a ferocious fight if they didn’t stop.”
That’s my Eric. He was two inches shorter than anybody, but he was never afraid of a fight if it was necessary.
“I guess he said it so firmly they decided to leave her alone. Jena is doing so well now. Other children are playing with her, and no one seems to be paying attention to her problem.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“There’s more,” she continued. “Yesterday I stopped Eric out in front—I was so happy how things are going—and I said, ‘You’re such a nice boy! How did you ever get to be such a nice boy!’ It was a comment, not a question of course, but he spoke right up and said, ‘Our church teaches all the boys to be nice boys.’”
“Well, I was so surprised, I said, ‘And what church do you belong to, Eric?’
“And he said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church. Would you like to have the missionaries?’ He’s quite a boy!”
Well, do you want the missionaries? I was hoping my voice would say. But it didn’t. “Yes, I guess he is. I really appreciate your calling me.”
Jena Hamilton didn’t need Eric much after that. They were friends, but he went back to playing with the boys and calling all girls “dumb.” In a year or so Jena moved, and we moved.
I looked down at the birthday card I was making. I decided not to write a verse about Eric when he was six. It was too special.
Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and savored the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Did you wreck the car? Did you …”
“Mom! I’m fine. Just listen a minute.” His voice was exuberant.
“Oh, yes. Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! And put Dad on the other phone. Okay? Brad and I went out to dinner with the money. We were just sitting around here in the dorm reminiscing when the phone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this Eric Miller who used to live on Hillview Avenue in San Sebastian?”
“Yes! Who is this?”
“Oh, you probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Sure I remember you. Hey, what are you doing here in Provo? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the Y just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago Mom and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mom said, ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ Mom looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ There was an unstated courtesy we would extend to someone from Eric’s church. We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?”
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Earth to Matt! It’s your turn, big guy. Is something wrong?Well, you said that when Mandy and I get baptized, we’ll promise to always remember Jesus.
That’s right.Does that mean I can’t think about baseball or riding my bike anymore?
Of course it doesn’t.Then how can I always remember Jesus?
t’s that word always, isn’t it? Tell me, when you’re playing baseball do you forget whether or not the sun is shining?Well, no. I don’t always think about it “out loud,” but I know.
Jesus is the light in our lives. If you love Jesus and think about Him often, you’ll live in His light, whatever good thing you’re doing.
Then when you face a tough decision, you’ll remember Him “out loud” and obey His commandments.Thanks, Dad. Now I’m ready to beat you at croquet.

Some years ago I received a notification in the mail regarding a testimonial and special recognition being given to a man I had known at an earlier time in a community where I had once lived with my family. The man and his wife were leaving the community where they had spent most of their lives. The local citizens were organizing a special event to honor him for the service he had given and the influence he had had in so many of the lives of the people. My life was one that he had touched. Receiving the announcement brought a rush of recollections to my mind about ways in which I had been benefitted, encouraged, and guided by this man’s concern and kindness for me.
Almost at once I decided I would make an effort to attend this event, even though it was the winter season and the weather was threatening. The community was a good distance from the place where I lived at the time, and I knew it would not be convenient for me. I had been given no part to play in the planned proceedings, and I suspected I might not even be recognized in the throng that would likely gather. But I felt compelled to go and join the others in paying him his honor.
The community in which the man had lived was a small one. He had never drawn about him much of the world’s goods. The little business he had operated could have been profitable enough, but he was too interested in people to be much concerned with embellishing his standard of living. He was always available to people, but he never demanded anything of them. Most of us had learned to take him very much for granted. It is unlikely he would ever have been given any public recognition until his burial day, had not his unexpected departure from the community prompted this effort to honor him.
On the evening the special event occurred, I entered the place for the meeting and was immediately intrigued by the arrangements that had been made. All who entered were asked to sign their names on slips of paper that were then folded and dropped into a cardboard box. When the large crowd was seated, and the honored guest had taken his place on the stand, there was a song and a prayer, and then the chairman arose to announce the proceedings. No speakers had been assigned for the evening, he said. He pointed to the cardboard box that was now on the rostrum. Names would be drawn from the box, he explained, and those who were chosen in this manner would be asked to represent all who were present in making expressions of appreciation and love for our friend.
One by one the names were drawn. As the hour passed, a procession of unrehearsed speakers filed to the podium and revealed the story of selfless service that our friend had given to members of the community.
As the meeting drew to a close, the name of a local physician was drawn from the box. For many years the good doctor had lived as a neighbor to our honored friend. He had recently returned to his home following treatment in another state for what had proved to be a near-fatal illness. As he spoke, he explained that for many years he had contemplated how his own life and that of our friend had been devoted to serving others. He told of leaving his home to make professional calls at hours both early and late, and of frequently encountering our friend departing on what appeared to be responses to the call for help from someone with a problem. At these times, the doctor said, he felt particularly close to his neighbor in the fellowship of service that they shared.
At this point in his remarks, the doctor paused, and his voice became touched with emotion. Making reference to his recent illness, he related how he had left this same community several months before, not knowing whether he would ever recover and return. No farewell testimonial had been held in his honor. He confessed that he had been disturbed by the obvious difference in the feelings of the community toward himself and our friend, especially in view of the service that both of them had given. Tonight, he said, he had learned why this was so.
With all of the apparent parallels between his life and that of his friend, there was one very important difference that had set them apart from each other in the eyes of the people in the community. For all of his services, the doctor pointed out, he had collected a fee. That was the difference. He had not realized until tonight how much his fees had cost him.
All of us who knew the good doctor and had benefitted from his kindly ministrations realized that he was being too critical of his own compassion and charity. But he succeeded, in those dramatic circumstances, in teaching all of us a lesson that we would not soon forget.
Most of us demand fees for the service that we give. It is not always in the form of money or some material reward. Sometimes we feed upon the recognition and notice that our good acts have earned. Of such the Savior said, “Verily I say unto you, They have their reward” (Matt. 6:2).
It is only when we learn to serve for the sake of service and to do good in order to bless the lives of others that we begin to know the inner peace and satisfaction that come from caring for others. Then we are not concerned about whether our service shows on the reports, or whether we qualify for badges and ribbons and medals of recognition. The sweetness that comes into our lives when we learn to give for the sake of giving is far more precious than all of the public attention that we might otherwise receive. Most importantly, when we learn to serve with no thought of reward or recognition for ourselves, we begin to develop one of the most desirable traits that the Savior himself possesses. We draw closer to him.
I encourage you to think about this principle and to explore ways that you can begin to develop the joy of service in your own life. In the final outcome of things, it will probably be one of the most rewarding things you can do.

Being an intern for the New Era magazine is definitely a thrill. I get to discuss the exciting future of the youth of the Church, learn about how the Church magazines operate, and write to my heart’s content.
Of course the job does have a few snags—I have to wear dresses every day, I have to be here at practically the crack of dawn, and riding the elevator up to the 23rd floor of the Church Office Building after lunch makes me queasy. But the benefits by far outweigh the costs.
The only thing missing from this opportunity of a lifetime is an office with a window. Of course, I’m a bit out of line wanting one—I think you have to work here about 20 years before you get that blessing. But one day one of the editors called in sick. I knew what that meant. I’d get to use her office for the day, and I’d have windows.
For about the first 15 minutes, I didn’t get anything done; I was too busy enjoying the view. The office faced west, and I had before me an unsurpassed view of Temple Square and its surroundings. Moroni was sparkling in the sunlight, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him without getting a crick in my neck.
I watched the ant-sized people milling about the grounds. I saw a wedding party trying to organize itself for the photographer, flower beds aglow with spring blossoms, and magnificent structures built to give glory to the Lord.
Then I looked beyond the temple grounds to the surrounding city. Somehow, it paled in comparison. The grass wasn’t as green, and the people didn’t seem quite as buoyant. I saw grim asphalt parking lots, dusty train yards, and a tan layer of air covering the valley.
Then I looked up at the sky, and a thought popped into my head. This must be what it’s like for Heavenly Father. I wondered what he thinks as he observes his children from on high. I found the answer in the scriptures.
In Psalms 14:2, David says the Lord “looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did understand, and seek God.” [Ps. 14:2] and again in Jeremiah 31:28, the Lord speaks of watching his children, saying, “As I have watched over them, to pluck up, and to break down, and to throw down, and to destroy, and to afflict; so will I watch over them, to build, and to plant, saith the Lord.” [Jer. 31:28] The Lord watched over the children of Israel during times of joy, sorrow, obedience, and transgression—just as he watches us now. And although we aren’t always as righteous as we should be, he is always there.
It’s reassuring to know that the Lord is always watching and will not forsake us.
Tomorrow, I return to my storage-closet-turned-intern-office. I’ll still envy others’ windows, but I’ll have quite a different perspective on the world than I did before.