Gospel Story Finder

Consider the experience of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. When he graduated as an ensign, he was given an old, decrepit destroyer as his first command. It was named the Decatur. It was all he could do to put the old destroyer in shape, and on one of its maiden voyages, Ensign Nimitz ran the ship aground. It resulted in a summary court martial. Had Chester Nimitz not been made of the stuff he was, that defeat could have ruined his career. But what did he do? He put that defeat behind him and went on to become the commanding admiral of the greatest sea force ever assembled in this world—the Pacific Fleet. He showed one and all that one defeat could not keep a good man down.

Recently, I spoke with a Laurel from the United States. I quote from her email:
“This past year some of my friends on Facebook began posting their position on marriage. Many favored same-sex marriage, and several LDS youth indicated they ‘liked’ the postings. I made no comment.
“I decided to declare my belief in traditional marriage in a thoughtful way.
“With my profile picture, I added the caption ‘I believe in marriage between a man and a woman.’ Almost instantly I started receiving messages. ‘You are selfish.’ ‘You are judgmental.’ One compared me to a slave owner. And I received this post from a great friend who is a strong member of the Church: ‘You need to catch up with the times. Things are changing and so should you.’
“I did not fight back,” she said, “but I did not take my statement down.”
She concludes: “Sometimes, as President Monson said, ‘You have to stand alone.’ Hopefully as youth, we will stand together in being true to God and to the teachings of His living prophets.”

My siblings and I, as kids, grew up not knowing and feeling what it means to enjoy the real spirit of Christmas centred on the life and mission of the Saviour, Jesus Christ. We celebrated Christmas as just one special day. In many ways my Christmas experience was mixed with childish wishful thinking. To me, Christmas day meant one thing: a Christmas gift. No gift, no Christmas.
Despite our childhood hearts focusing only on our Christmas gift, we knew this period between when school let out and Christmas day wasn’t going to be an easy ride. It would be a tough time which I will call “time to behave”. Our loving parents didn’t accept any excuse and made sure everyone had something to do. Each evening after dinner, the work plan for the next day was briefly discussed and individual or group assignments appropriate to our age were given. It was during this time to behave that we were taught the value of work, family unity, bearing one another’s burdens, teamwork and other valuable life skills. Just before Christmas, our parents would judge how well we conducted ourselves on all these household chores and farming activities, and they would decide whether we were to receive or miss out the Christmas gift. I am profoundly humbled and thankful for such a self-disciplining time to behave childhood experience which molded my life with everlasting character.
Many years have gone by. We have grown from childish to adult pursuits, being caught up in the business of busy life. I vividly remember some of these wonderful, happy moments when I got my Christmas gift. On the other hand, it is hard to forget a few unpleasant Christmas days when I missed out on my Christmas gift after failing to live up to my loving parents’ expectations during the time to behave period. It was through these childhood experiences that I came to love and treasure the Saviour’s birth and the Christmas season.

Last summer, the Olympic Games were held in Sydney, Australia. Certain rules and disciplines were attached to the various Olympic events: runners and swimmers had to stay in their lanes, shot-putters had to stay within the circle marked on the playing field, wrestlers had to stay on the mat—or the athletes would be disqualified. In addition, the use of performance-enhancing drugs was forbidden.
One young man from Denver, Colorado, who won an Olympic silver medal later was awarded the gold because the gold-medalist in his event was disqualified for using a banned steroid. In his response, he referred to his unfortunate competitor’s loss of the medal:
“I do feel sorry for him. But we all have choices. … He made his choice, and I made my choice. …
“I believe God was watching out for me. I believe he watches out for all of us. I’ve learned so many lessons from how this has taken place. I experienced the agony of defeat before the thrill of victory. That made me so much more of a stronger person, mentally and spiritually.”

Upon returning home, Ellis moved her family into a house near her office. “Thus began the happiest hours of my life,” Ellis wrote. She was now with her sons and daughter. Her boys helped clean the house, tend the baby, and deliver messages. On one occasion, Ellis was on calls for a period of twenty-four hours, during which time she delivered five babies. When she returned home, her two boys were waiting for her; they immediately rushed her off to bed and made sure she was not disturbed while she rested.

My life changed forever when my husband and I went to the doctor to check the gender and development of our unborn baby. I cried with joy when we discovered that I was expecting twins. But my tears turned to ones of despair as the doctor explained that a series of complications made it unlikely that the twins would survive until birth. The doctor suggested terminating the pregnancy. She said proceeding would be risky and that I would have to be hospitalized at some point.
Despite the dangers, we decided to continue the pregnancy.
On the drive home I realized the severity of the situation. I wondered how I could leave my husband and our three children and stay for an extended period in the hospital. Knowing that our babies would likely be delivered prematurely—and might not live—became overwhelming for me. I wasn’t sure I could endure this trial.
Only after I received a priesthood blessing from my husband and father-in-law did I feel peace. I realized that no matter what the outcome was, my family and I would be all right. I felt my Savior’s love and knew that He would be with us in joy or in sorrow.
Some time later, I said good-bye to my family and entered the hospital for an indefinite stay. The babies’ heart rates were monitored constantly to make sure the babies were safe. It was difficult for me to see their heart rates drop, and I wondered if they would make it to the delivery goal of 34 weeks. At 25½ weeks, one baby’s heart rate dropped to a critical level, nearly stopping. The doctors decided that if his heart didn’t start beating normally, both babies would be delivered by emergency cesarean section within minutes. I panicked when I heard the nurse call my husband and tell him that I was being prepared for surgery and that the neonatal team was standing by.
I knew that to get through this trial, I needed Heavenly Father’s help. I prayed silently, pleading that our baby would recover, thus allowing both twins the much-needed time to develop in utero. I also prayed for comfort. Once again I felt peace, just as I had when I received the priesthood blessing. I didn’t know if our babies would live or die, but I knew that no matter what, if I turned to the Lord, He would help carry my burden. As it turned out, the baby’s heartbeat returned to normal, and surgery was no longer necessary.
My stay at the hospital continued for the next two months, and there were many times we worried about our babies’ fluctuating heart rates. But fortunately, neither of the twin’s heart rates dropped as low as before. Our sons, John and Jacob, were born at 33 weeks. Their cords were intertwined with eight knots, and John—the son whose heart rate had dropped so low—had his cord wrapped around his neck twice. Our twins stayed in the hospital’s intensive care unit so their body temperatures and breathing could be regulated. Despite the potential problems associated with premature births, John and Jacob were able to come home after only 19 days.
Our twins are now toddlers, and they have no negative effects from being born prematurely. I am grateful that what began as a trial became one of the greatest blessings of my life. I was given two healthy sons, and my testimony of the power of priesthood blessings and prayer was strengthened. I am also grateful to be able to recall the peace and love I felt in knowing that the Lord was aware of my situation. I learned then that, with the Lord’s help, we will have the strength to endure our trials.

There are so many great young people. One who comes to mind was a well-dressed, good-looking young man, sharp, well-spoken, and contemporary in every constructive way, but he was obviously deeply distressed as he rose to offer a greeting in behalf of the university student body of which he was president. His audience was made up of regents and trustees of institutions of higher education meeting in conference at his school. The group had listened to a series of speeches from educators, noting with approval the abandonment on college and university campuses of the doctrine of in loco parentis, a term that means, as you may know, “standing in the place of a parent.” The schools, the speakers said, no longer accept the responsibility of standing in the place of a parent to the students who attend them. Knowledge, intellect, reason—these are the goods with which these institutions deal; the private life of the individual is not their proper concern.
The young student president said what many of us were thinking:
“I’ve listened to your announcement of the abandonment of the principle of in loco parentis,” he said, “and feel there is something you should know. If in fact the school is no longer interested in or willing to fill that role—if it doesn’t care about us as persons, as good parents would care—then that leaves a great many of us with no parents at all anyplace.”
No further explanation was made, and none was needed.

It was morning, muggy and buggy. I sat in the mulberry tree, thinking about the July carnival two weeks away. Daddy had promised us if we did our chores daily, no nagging, we’d each get $2.00 to spend. Otherwise, we’d have to pay our own way. I was 12 years old, and since my access to money was limited in those days, I’d taken his warning to heart and done all my work early. Now I had nothing to do, except sit in the mulberry tree, think about the “Fourth,” and eat mealy mulberries.
“Hello there, Birdie.” Grandpa walked over under the tree and chuckled. I’m named Roberta after my Uncle Robert, but everyone calls me Birdie. Grandpa was laughing because Birdie was in the tree. He and I had many jokes together, most so familiar we didn’t have to say them aloud.
“Hello there, yourself. Back from your walk already?” I jumped down and rubbed my hands on my pants, trying to remove the purple stain.
“Yup. I guess I’m still alive.” We laughed again. Every morning except Sunday, Grandpa went for a walk. “A man who stays in the house may as well trade his bed for a coffin,” he’d say.
He was really my great-grandfather, but we called him Grandpa because that’s what my mother called him. He lived with Mom’s family when she was a girl. Now he lived with us. His wife, Marie, died in 1932. He never remarried.
I was the youngest and only daughter, so my family had a tendency to treat me like I was still in Sunbeams. But Grandpa was my best friend. He didn’t treat me like a little kid. And I didn’t treat him like an old man.
“Are you ready for the fair?” I asked, squinting in the sunlight. “Great gray grizzlies couldn’t keep me away,” Grandpa replied. But on carnival morning Grandpa felt sick and couldn’t go with me. Dad gave each of us our $2.00. Don, Ricky, and I left early so we wouldn’t miss anything. Ted, however, was 23, home from his mission, and too old to go to the fair in the daytime. He and his fiancée, Katie, would go that evening. Nights at the carnival were romantic. Even I knew that.
I liked Katie. She always smiled and said, “Hi Birdie,” just like I was her best friend. Once she tried to fix my hair like hers, after I told her how much I admired her hair style. Since her hair was long and blonde and mine was red, short, and mop-curly, the results were disastrous. But we giggled the whole time. None of Ted’s previous girl friends ever acknowledged my existence, so I was glad he was marrying Katie—except they were moving to Utah to finish school. So I had to think of something extra perfect for a wedding present. And I had to get it before August.
The carnival was in the town park. There were twister rides, bumper cars, a double-decker Ferris wheel, and more. Rows of game booths stood around the rides. And the food booths smelled so good I got hungry just smelling them, even though I’d eaten breakfast less than half an hour before. Since Grandpa hadn’t been able to come I tried to print the entire scene in my memory. I walked slowly and separated sights, smells, and sounds. I wanted to tell it to Grandpa so lifelike that he’d close his eyes and the kitchen (where I’d be telling it over buttermilk and fruit) would magically change into a fairground with sawdust on the ground and birds flying to your feet, pecking up popcorn and hot dog bun crumbs.
I was just about to have one of my dollars changed for some ride tickets when I saw it.
Usually I don’t waste my time on game booths, since Grandpa says they’re all rigged against you. Sometimes I stand back to watch people try their luck, but not for long. So many people walk up with hope in their faces and walk away grumbling how they were gypped. The old men running the booths never seem to care. But the operator at this booth wasn’t an old man “carnie.” He was young with bright red hair and a faceful of freckles, and he wore a fluorescent yellow shirt that read, “James.” And his booth didn’t have big faded stuffed animals hanging from it, like they’d been waiting for years. This booth had all sorts of glassware stacked up in the middle—and you threw dimes. Whatever your dime landed in, you took home.
Normally, a bunch of glasses, even pretty ones like these, wouldn’t interest me. But near the middle was a tall, dark, red-rose vase. Flowery and frilly, with the sun glowing through.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” The red-haired “James” said. I jumped. I was used to people ignoring a 12-year-old.
“It sure is. It would be the perfect present for Ted and Katie.”
“Just one dime, and it’s yours. I’ll even put it in a box with tissue paper. You can take it home,” James said.
“I, I don’t think I could,” I stammered.
“It’s easy.” He picked up one of the many dimes on the floor and flipped it casually between his thumb and middle finger. It made a clear “ping” as it dropped into the vase. At the same time a boy on the other side threw a dime into a red and blue Spiderman bowl.
“I won! I won!” He screamed.
“Everyone’s a winner here.” James handed him the bowl. When he turned back to me I held out one of my dollars.
“I’d like change, please.”
He put the dollar in his pocket and picked ten dimes up off the floor. “Just remember, it’s all in the wrists.”
I looked at the dimes in my hand. One of them was going to land in the red vase. Maybe it would even be my first try. I wiped my sweaty left hand on my shirt and pitched a dime at the vase. It missed by a foot.
“Oh, a south paw,” James said. I nodded. “We always give lefties two first tries.” He picked up a dime and pressed it into my hand.
Embarrassed by so much attention, I hurriedly threw the dime and missed again. Only I missed much closer. Again and again I threw my dimes until I only had one left. Disillusioned, I started to leave. Then I thought. “What if this is the dime that will go in?” That thought got stronger and stronger. I still had one dollar left. So what was one dime? My heart thumped. I tossed it. It slid around the frilly edge, off the side, and landed in a jelly glass.
“A winner!” James cried out. He handed me the stupid jelly jar I didn’t want or need. Now I only had one dollar left. The whole day and fair were before me. I walked over to a food booth.
“How much for a hot dog?” I asked.
“Twenty cents. Mustard or plain?” The woman looked at me and waited. I wanted a hot dog, but I couldn’t spend any money. If I spent two dimes for a hot dog, I might spend the dime that would win my vase.
“Will you take this for a hot dog?” I asked, holding up my jelly jar. She glared at me. I walked back to James and the vase.
“Ten more dimes, please,” I said, shivering. Here it was, a hot Nebraska summer day, and I was shaking like it was zero degrees.
One by one I tossed all my dimes. One by one, they all missed. I kicked at the dirt and turned to go.
“Hey, Red!” It was James. “Come on back!”
“I don’t have any more money.” I jammed one hand in my pocket and gripped the jelly jar with my other.
“Us redheads got to stick together,” he grinned. “If you go get more money, I’ll help you get the vase, okay?”
“Okay!” I shouted, then frowned. Where was I going to get any more money?
I searched frantically until I found Ricky and Donald. “You spent the whole two bucks already?” Ricky gasped. “Isn’t that just like a girl.” Donald shook his head in disbelief. “Can I borrow a dime?” I begged. But they laughed and ran off. “I’ll sell you this jar for a dime!” I followed them but soon gave up. I shoved the jar on top of an overful trash can. I kept my eyes on the ground, looking for pennies, because I didn’t have any more money at home.
“Yes, you do.” I thought. “In the vitamin jar on your dresser is 37 cents.”
“But that’s tithing money!” I couldn’t believe I’d thought such a thought.
“You can pay it back,” I told myself. “And James promised to help. You’re sure to win the vase for Ted and Katie this time.”
“But it’s not my money. Anything in the vitamin jar is already tithing.” I argued with myself as I walked. When I looked up I was home. I felt like a thief as I walked into my room.
“What’s the matter, Leftie?” James asked when I returned. “I only have 37 cents and I have to win the vase this time.” He gave me four dimes and winked. I threw the first three. They all missed.
“I can’t do it,” I whined. “I try and I try, but they all either bounce off the rim or miss completely!”
“Give me your last dime.” He pointed to his palm. I handed it to him. “I’ll throw your last dime for you.” A flip of his hand and the dime went into the vase.
“You’re a winner!” He picked up the vase, put it in a box, and handed it to me. I smiled at the people clapping for me, but I didn’t feel like a winner. I felt like a real loser.
I ran straight home to my room, put the box up in my closet behind some dirty clothes, and lay down on my bed.
Grandpa knocked at the door. “Home already, Birdie? It’s only 2:00.”
“I don’t feel well,” I answered.
“Would you like some buttermilk?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I just want to be alone.” He left, and I lay there, more alone than I’d ever felt before, thinking all sorts of terrifying thoughts. I’d stolen from the Lord. What if I died before I could pay back that tithing?
August came, sunny and hot in the daytime, dark and hot at night—and sticky. The sweat stuck in the creases of your arms and knees. Katie was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the weather. She was over all the time, talking and laughing with Mom about the reception and married life.
I was feeling good again, too. I hadn’t died. I’d earned enough money and repaid the Lord. And I had the best present for Ted and Katie. To ease any remorse, I’d convinced myself that maybe the fact that I’d spent tithing money to win the vase made it more special. Guilty people can be real stupid.
Two days before the reception Grandpa and I were sitting in my bedroom drinking apple juice and club soda. Grandpa told me again about the day he married Great-grandma Marie, the civil ceremony in Fremont, and then, the train ride to Salt Lake City.
“Ted and Katie can fly to Salt Lake and get married tomorrow. But it took us three days by train,” Grandpa explained. “So we were married before, to make the trip respectable. It was an expensive marriage for me, but it was worth it.” He smiled at me. “The right things are difficult sometimes, but they’re always worth it.”
“Do you want to see what I got them?” I bounced up off the bed. “I haven’t shown it to anybody. I haven’t even looked at it since I got it. But if you want, I’ll show it to you.” I was already to the closet.
“What did you decide on, Birdie?” he asked.
“Wait until you see it. It’s the most beautiful present in the whole world.” I uncovered the box. He held it while I removed the lid and folded back the tissue paper. Somehow it looked different.
“Very nice,” he said.
“No, it’s not.” I turned away and looked out my window. “It looks like junk.” The vase, which had been the most exquisite object I’d ever seen at the carnival was now, in the afternoon light of my bedroom, all flawed. One side was much thicker than the other. Air bubbles marred the entire surface. “I don’t understand. It was so pretty at the carnival.”
“Is that where you bought it, the carnival?” Grandpa put his arm around me.
“I’m so ashamed,” I sobbed, and hugged him.
“You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” he comforted.
That made me feel worse. “Oh yes I have.” And between crying and blowing my nose I told him the whole regrettable story. “I’m so sorry.” I sniffed.
“I know,” he sighed. “I’m sure the Lord knows it, too. I wish I could have gone with you and spared you all this. But it seems to me, Roberta, you’ve learned a hard lesson.” He patted my back.
“When do I get to start learning easy ones, Grandpa?” I asked. Then, without waiting for him to reply, I stuffed the vase back in its box and gave it to him. “Please, do me a favor and take this to the trash. I never want to see this ugly vase again.”
When Ted, Katie, and the parents left for Utah, Grandpa stayed home with me and my brothers. We got the happy couple a gift certificate. Grandpa paid for it; I made the card. That was eight years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it.
Grandpa’s funeral was during finals week. When I came home from school there was a box on my dresser wrapped in plain brown paper. I carried it out to the living room. Mom was doing some mending.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I found it in Grandpa’s bedroom when I was cleaning up,” she said. “It had your name on it.”
“Did he leave any others, for the boys or you?” I asked.
“No. That was the only one,” she answered. I felt kind of important as I opened the package. But the feeling didn’t last long. When I took off the lid I felt the same nausea and embarrassment I’d felt at age 12. Grandpa had left me that ugly red vase.
“It’s even worse than I remembered.” I felt like crying.
“What made him give you that?” Dad asked.
“There’s a note, Roberta.” Mom picked it up and looked at me. I was straining not to cry. “Would you like me to read it?”
I nodded.
She read:
“Dearest Little Birdie,
“I want to give this to you. It is the most important thing I can leave you. Do you remember how bad you felt the day you first showed me this vase when you told me the story behind it? I want you always to remember how bad you felt, because someday it may help you from feeling much worse.
“In life there are a lot of red vases: power, fame, beauty, money. And here on earth these things look so good to some people that they do anything to obtain them. They do far worse things than spending tithing money. When these people die, they will see with new eyes the goals they worked so hard to attain during their mortal existence. Those will seem as cheap and worthless as this vase seems to you. Only they will have spent a whole life on their red vases, while you, if you learn, will have only spent one hard lesson on yours.
“If you read the scriptures and heed the words of the prophets, ancient and latter-day, you won’t need to worry about whether the things you strive for in this life will be worthwhile in the next. You’ll know.
“So throw this ugly vase in the trash, if you must. But I would hope instead, you’ll keep it nearby at all times. So any time you’re tempted to lower your standards for money, worldly praise, or a man who is not worthy of you, anything you will have to compromise yourself for, you can take out this old vase, look at it, and remember how you felt that hot summer day. Then, ask yourself if it’s worth it.
“All my love, Grandpa.”
After crying for a while and explaining the vase story to my mother and father, I picked up the gift from my wise grandpa, carried it into my bedroom, and placed it on my dresser. And I’m going to take it back to school with me, too. I don’t know if my roommate’s going to think much of my taste, but I’m going to display it proudly in a prominent place in our apartment.
That red vase was a more expensive present than I ever dreamed on that carnival day. I will never let anything cost me that much again.

One day I was playing with my friend who is a member of a different church. We began talking about the ways my church and her church are the same. I remembered hearing a talk in general conference by Elder Gary J. Coleman about how we are Christians. Because I had listened well to his talk, I was able to explain to my friend what it means to be Christians, and that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are Christians.
You can find Elder Coleman’s talk on page 92 of the May 2007 Ensign, and at www.lds.org.

When I was growing up in Japan, I was given a Bible at school. It had English and Japanese words next to each other. Our principal told us to use it to study English.
As I read it, I learned about Jesus. Who is this person who is so full of love? I wondered. The words He said made me happy. I wanted to know more about Him.
A little while later, I met the missionaries. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. I loved reading about Jesus in the Book of Mormon too. I prayed and felt it was true.
No one in my family wanted to learn about the Church. Jesus taught that we should honor our parents, but my parents didn’t want me to join the Church. That was hard.
I told my parents how I felt. I told them about my prayers. They didn’t understand. They wondered why I wanted to leave our religion behind.
I kept trying. Eventually my parents said I could be baptized. Many years later, my mother was also baptized.
I know that I was blessed for wanting to follow Jesus. I love learning about Him, and I know following Him brings blessings.

I spent hours playing computer games every day for years. I found friends, and I felt important. But after playing, I would feel empty, like something was missing. I wasn’t fully happy.

I wanted to focus on things that would actually make me happy and help me improve. I started praying often. When I expressed what was in my heart to Heavenly Father, I felt a strong feeling of love.

I wanted to do things that would keep me coming closer to Christ, so I focused on simple things like daily scripture study and prayer, spending time with people who had the Spirit, and trying not to get distracted by things that would make the Holy Ghost leave. My life changed. It’s more joyful for me.

When I come closer to Christ, I know that there are more important things than computer games if I want to be truly happy. There are things that are eternal.
Alina U., 18, Lithuania

Some years ago, a friend of mine was doing some work one morning on his garage roof. He looked down and saw a load of cement being delivered to his nonmember neighbor. He could see that the neighbor could use some help. My friend came down from his roof and, without being asked, carried his own cement finishing tools across the street and began helping with the job. Because he had experience doing cement work, his help turned out to be most welcome. Although the neighbor had expressed a dislike for members of the Church, he showed genuine appreciation for this one by the end of the day. This was the beginning of a long and lasting friendship.

When I was a little older, I went with my dad on a business trip for his manufacturing company. We were to meet with a purchasing (buying) agent from a large company. My dad had always wanted to do business with them, but he had never been offered the opportunity.
When we met with the agent, he told us that we could have the project they were offering—if we increased the price and secretly sent him the extra money. My father said that we would call him later with our decision, and we left.
“What do you think we should do?” Dad asked me. He pointed out how much this project could benefit our company. He said that we could give more people jobs and accomplish much good.
Then he taught me something I have never forgotten. He said that if we were to be dishonest in even this one business dealing, we could seriously damage a reputation for honesty that took years to build. He turned the offer down. I am happy that he showed the courage to be honest at all times, even when the temptation was great.

Matthew put his head down and walked faster. He tried not to see the white stucco house ahead. He knew he should stop. Mother would probably ask him, “Did you see Grandma today?” He sighed. He used to stop almost every day on his way home from school.
Then Grandpa died.
Matthew hadn’t known what to say to Grandma since Grandpa died. She was sad now. Sometimes when she talked about Grandpa, she cried.
Other people seemed to know what to say to Grandma. They put their arms around her and told her not to cry. But Matthew never knew what to say or do. He just stood there feeling uncomfortable.
Matthew walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. Grandma opened it. Her eyes were red. Matthew’s heart sank. He wished he had walked on past her house.
“Come in, dear.”
Matthew went in. He saw a box on the floor in the hall. Inside was a small rosebush, its roots wrapped with burlap and packing.
Every year Grandpa ordered a new rosebush for his garden. He must have ordered this one before he died.
“Take it home with you, Matthew. I can’t bear to look at it,” sniffed Grandma.
“No,” said Matthew. He gulped, surprised at himself, then plunged on. “Grandpa would have wanted you to plant it. He loved the garden, especially the rosebushes.” Matthew had spent many hours helping Grandpa in the garden.
Grandma was silent. Matthew thought she was angry with him. He wished he hadn’t said anything.
“You’re right, Matthew. Grandpa would have wanted that rosebush planted in the garden. I’ve never planted a rosebush before, though.”
“I’ll help you, Grandma,” Matthew offered. “I helped Grandpa lots of times.”
Grandma changed into old clothes while Matthew went to the garage to get a shovel.
Soon the two of them had a big hole dug in one corner of the garden. It was hard work. By the time the rosebush was in place, they were panting. The afternoon sun was almost behind the hills.
Grandma stood for a moment and looked at the rosebush. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes sparkled. “Is it all right, Matthew?”
“Yes, Grandma. It’s fine. It’s where Grandpa would have wanted it.”
Matthew put the shovel away. When he went inside, Grandma was in the kitchen. “I’d better go home, Grandma. Mom will be worried.”
“It’s all right. I called her. She knows where you are. Matthew, I want to show you something.” Grandma reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a box of seed packets. “These came in the mail last week. I was going to throw them away. I was just thinking … maybe I’ll try to plant them after all. Would you help me? I’ve never been much of a gardener.”
“I sure will, Grandma,” said Matthew. “I’ll stop by tomorrow after school.”
Matthew went out the door and down the sidewalk whistling a happy tune.

My father loved the leaders of the Church and was very faithful in doing what anybody asked him to do, but he battled a problem with the Word of Wisdom throughout his life. As a young boy, my father’s problem embarrassed me. Later I realized that if I could be as good a man as my father, then things would be all right. However, I knew that I couldn’t have my father forever unless he could qualify for the ordinances of the temple.
My father didn’t always attend Church meetings because of his Word of Wisdom problem. It was hard for Mother to take my brother and me to church alone, but she was always faithful and she always held callings in the Church. She was a wonderful example. We were taught well in our home.
Many other leaders helped me throughout my life. One of my Primary teachers gave me extra help to finish my requirements to graduate from Primary. She also taught my class the Articles of Faith, and she taught us about the lives of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Little did my teacher know that one day she would be my mother-in-law—I married her youngest daughter!
I grew up with a wonderful group of friends. No matter where we were, we had the support of our friends. I also had wonderful bishops. I remember one bishop who decided that we should go to general conference, so he invited my father, my brother, and me to go to the general priesthood meeting. After the conference the bishop positioned us where we could shake hands with most of the General Authorities. I have always remembered that experience. I have also always remembered the warm love of that bishop. He was a great friend to me, my brother, and my father for the rest of his life.
About 10 years before my father passed away, he overcame his challenge with the Word of Wisdom. How happy I was when my father became worthy to go to the temple! He went to the temple regularly before he died. When he went to the temple, I realized that if I lived right, I could be with my father and mother in the life hereafter.
Children, learn to love and be obedient to your parents. Also learn to respect authority in the Church and to respect your leaders. When we follow our leaders, we’re not going to go wrong.

A weary Indian family stepped out of the cool green forest and stood for a moment, savoring the incredible beauty of the place they had discovered. There before them sparkled a placid blue lake, cupped by gently sloping hills. A dense cover of stately evergreen trees protected the water from high winds and scented the clean air with their spicy fragrance. A medley of joyful birdsongs echoed about them. Ferns and delicate wild flowers carpeted a forest that was splashed with blooming trees.
The family watched a large silvery fish leap out of the water; then it shimmied down, sending circular ripples over the calm surface. Across the lake a doe and her spotted fawn quenched their thirst. The doe stared curiously for a few moments and then ignored the human intruders.
The man and woman smiled at each other and unstrapped their heavy backpacks. They helped remove smaller ones carried by the boy and girl.
“It’s the perfect place for our summer home,” Yellow Wolf said with satisfaction. “Game is plentiful and this bountiful land will supply all our needs if we treat it kindly.”
“Yes,” Brown Deer agreed, smiling. “I saw a bee tree for honey and stands of berry thickets. There are also herbs for medicine and cooking. After surviving such a hard winter, the children will grow sleek and well fed in this peaceful, happy place.”
Yellow Wolf and his son Long Pine set snares for small game, then fished for their supper while Brown Deer and Red Squirrel unpacked their belongings. The speckled fish were hungry and could have provided a mighty catch, but the fishermen stopped after catching four large ones for their evening meal.
After their tepee was erected, Brown Deer scooped out a pit for her cooking fire. The pit was safe from breezes that might blow embers into the forest and start a fire that could devastate the area and wildlife.
Red Squirrel was drawn to clumps of brilliant orange flowers growing near the trees. The watchful mother stopped her work momentarily. “Choose only one flower to pick,” she cautioned, “but you may gather many dried seedpods. We will sow them in other spots around the lake, to spread their beauty for those who may come here after we are gone.”
All summer the family lived in the beautiful place they would always remember. Careful to take only what they needed, they nurtured the land. Then the leaves began to change color and the air turned crisp and cold. A heavy frost wilted the orange flowers. “The creatures have reared their young. Bears are fat for their winter sleep, and the birds are winging south. We must leave, too, before the deep snows come and trap us here,” Yellow Wolf said sadly.
Brown Deer nodded and sighed with regret. The family had been very happy here. She and Red Squirrel began to pack for the long journey south where winters were not so harsh. It was sad to think that they would probably never see this place or ever camp here again.
Brown Deer filled in and smoothed her cooking pit last, but the fresh soil looked like an ugly scar in the earth. Yellow Wolf and Long Pine waited patiently as mother and daughter planted sod and ferns to cover it. When the Indian family vanished into the forest, there was no sign to show they had lived here for a whole summer.
Almost 200 years later another family came to Blue Lake. They backed their shiny trailer over the buried cooking pit. “Ugh! The water is so ugly and brown. Why is it named Blue Lake?” Debbie asked her brother, as they read the sign warning that the water was not safe for swimming.
“Who cares?” Robert retorted. He was eager to finish helping his father unload the boat so he could race his new trail bike up and down the barren hills. Soon the noise of it shattered the stillness. Clouds of yellow dust hung in the air as he rode tight circles where a lush forest once grew.
Other trailers pulled in and the area was soon overcrowded with campers.
The air bristled with the noise made by humans. There were no happy birdsongs, and no animals came to the lake to quench their thirst. Safe drinking water had to be carried from faucets many yards away.
Boat motors churned the smelly brown water into foam. Later the lake would be dappled with the white, floating corpses of unwanted fish caught for “sport” and then thrown away.
Trash cans overflowed, and other rubbish had been tossed or blown into the lake.
A small patch of spindly orange flowers bloomed under one of the few remaining trees. Debbie yanked up a handful by the roots, strewing fragile petals and leaves. She broke off the roots and crushed delicate stems as she forced them into a paper cup. Her mother smiled and placed them in the center of a scarred picnic table.
The wind gusted, making a low moaning sound—or was it the haunting sorrow of Yellow Wolf and his family?

I have fond memories of the day of my baptism when I was eight years old. It was performed in the Liniers Branch, the first chapel of the Church built in South America. After my baptism, as I was returning home along with my family, my oldest brother started wrestling with me, as he often did. I exclaimed, “Do not touch me! I cannot sin!” As the days passed, I realized that it was not possible to remain sinless for the rest of my life.

Dear Reed,
Cub Scouts is awesome! We do lots of fun things. This week our den put on a Thanksgiving play for the pack. Rollin was Myles Standish, Sam was Governor Bradford, and I was Squanto. Other Clubs played other Pilgrims and Indians. We learned that the first winter was very hard and that many Pilgrims died. Then the Indians helped the Pilgrims plant corn and catch fish. The next fall they had lots of food, so they had a feast for three days and invited the Indians to it. The Pilgrims thanked Heavenly Father for the food. They were glad that they could worship Him the way they wanted to. That was why they had come to America.
Then we had our feast. First we put five kernels of corn on each plate because that was all that the Pilgrims had some days that first winter. Then we had turkey and potatoes and cranberries and punch! I’m glad that we have a nice home and good food and clothes. I’m glad that I live today and not back then.
What will you do on Thanksgiving?
Love,Buddy

Let me share with you a modern-day miracle which occurred several years ago at Murray High School near Salt Lake City, where every person was a winner and not a loser was to be found.
A newspaper article highlighted the event. The article was entitled “Tears, Cheers and True Spirit: Students Elect 2 Disabled Girls to Murray Royalty.” The article began: “Ted and Ruth Eyre did what any parents would do.
“When their daughter, Shellie, became a finalist for Murray High School homecoming queen, they counseled her to be a good sport in case she didn’t win. They explained only one girl among the 10 candidates would be selected queen. …
“As student body officers crowned the school’s homecoming [royalty] in the school gym Thursday night, Shellie Eyre experienced, instead, inclusion. The 17-year-old senior, born with Down syndrome, was selected by fellow students as homecoming queen. … As Ted Eyre escorted his daughter onto the gym floor as the candidates were introduced, the gym erupted into deafening cheers and applause. They were greeted with a standing ovation.”
Similar standing ovations were extended to Shellie’s attendants, one of whom, April Perschon, has physical and mental disabilities resulting from a brain hemorrhage suffered when she was just 10 years old.
When the ovations had ceased, the school’s vice principal said, “‘Tonight … the students voted on inner beauty.’ … Obviously moved, parents, school administrators and students wept openly.”
Said one student, “I’m so happy, I cried when they came out. I think Murray High is so awesome to do this.”
I extend a heartfelt “thank you” to one and all who made this night one ever to be remembered. The Scottish poet James Barrie’s words seem appropriate: “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the December of our lives.”

Sister Sandra Rone of the Hatillo Branch in the San Cristobal Dominican Republic Stake was baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as a young single adult. After her conversion, she continued to live with her parents and pursue her studies. Sandra shared her beliefs with her parents, but they were not interested. Despite their lack of interest, Sandra continued with unwavering faith and dedication to the gospel. She later started her own family but maintained a close relationship with her parents. She continued to teach them by example, living her life dedicated to the Savior and teaching them principles through family conversations.
Over time, Sandra’s mother died, and her 85-year-old father, Manuel Antonio Rone Puello, was left without his wife, the only love of his life. He was lonely and missed her very much. From that moment on, Sandra taught him that being with his wife again was possible through the sealing ordinances in the temple. Manuel asked, “How is that? Explain more to me.”
Sandra taught him that through the temple ordinances, family and couple relationships do not end when we die. If Manuel was sealed to his wife in the temple, he could be with her after he passes from this life. She went on to explain that to receive these blessings, he must first be baptized. Manuel replied, “I want that. I’d like to be baptized. I want to be with my wife.”
After 20 years of being taught and shown the gospel of Jesus Christ by his daughter’s example, Manuel was baptized.