Gospel Story Finder

One morning a call was received at the Kendall chapel. A lady explained that she understood the Church had a group of people who were going out to patch roofs and windows to keep the rains out. She was told that this was true, and she left her address. She was told that volunteers would be out soon to do whatever they could to assist. She then asked if she had to come and pay first and also whom should she pay. She was told that there would be no charge, at which she began to cry uncontrollably, finally managing to say, “I can only thank God for you people, for I have no means of paying anything.”

On Saturday mornings Mama and I get up early, put on our clothes, and eat a quick breakfast. Then Mama half-fills a tall glass with water, and we walk real fast to Tony’s flower stand.
“Hello, Mrs. Nelson. Hi, Emily,” he says and sells us a dozen of his brightest daisies.
Mama puts the daisies into the glass, and we walk even faster to catch the bus. Mama lets me sit by the window. It’s a very long ride.
When we get off the bus, we’re in a small town instead of the big city. As Mama and I walk along, we see people working in their yards and boys and girls riding their bikes. One time we saw three silly chickens running in circles and squawking.
Finally we reach Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandma kisses us and hugs us as though we haven’t seen each other for a year. Next she exclaims, “Daisies! They’re Papa’s favorites! You go upstairs and see him while I put them in a vase.”
We climb the high, wide stairs, make a half turn on the landing, and open the door at the top. Grandpa is the same as he was last week. He lies on his back. Sometimes his eyes are open; sometimes they are shut. Sometimes he breathes normally; other times he makes poof noises. He never moves.
Mama kisses him and says, “Hello, Papa.”
I say, “Hi, Grandpa,” and kiss him too.
It used to be that when we came to visit Grandpa he would be all over the house and the yard. He’d untie Grandma’s apron, then chuckle when she pretended to scold him. Sometimes he’d lift me onto his shoulders and prance through the house, and he always remembered to duck when we went through the doorways. He’d give me rides in the wheelbarrow, or he’d push me in the rope swing as high as the leaves in the old tree. Then we’d sit on the steps while he told me stories about long, long ago when he visited his grandpa. Sometimes we’d go downtown for ice cream or some other treat for Grandma.
That was how it used to be. Now Grandpa’s hands don’t move, and his feet don’t move.
Today Mama sits on the chair by his bed and picks up the thick history book from Grandpa’s table. Finding the right place, she begins to read aloud. Grandpa loves history.
Mama turns the page and smiles at me, and I know that it’s all right to go play, so I do. Downstairs, I talk to Grandma while she makes cookies. Then I go outside and around the house to the gravel walkway. There, hanging from the biggest old tree, is the rope swing that Grandpa put up before Mama was born. I swing and wonder what the world was like before Mama. I can’t imagine it. And once there was a world without Grandpa! That’s even harder to imagine.
Later Grandma calls me inside. “I’ve made oatmeal scones,” Grandma says, “and I have hot soup ready. Where shall we eat, Emily?”
“Out here,” I answer.
She puts food on the picnic table, and I carry out bowls and things. Then she calls upstairs to Mama.
Mama stops reading, and she comes down. As we eat, she and Grandma talk about something that Grandpa did when Mama was as young as I am now. It helps me remember when Grandpa still acted like everybody else.
One time, early in the morning after Mama and I had spent the night with him and Grandma, Grandpa and I went to buy a morning newspaper because the funnies are the best thing to read before breakfast. On the way, he found a big broken branch that made a good walking stick. He pretended to hobble with it, then did a silly hop, skip, and jump. We had more fun than anything!
When we got home, Grandma took one look at Grandpa’s stick and said, “You get that dirty old thing out of the house!” Grandpa just laughed. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around.
“Put me down!” she screeched, but she was laughing too.
Grandpa kissed her before we went into the living room to read the funnies to each other.
That’s the way it used to be.
After we finish the soup and scones, we all go upstairs again. The daisies sit beside Grandpa’s book. Grandma pats his foot. “I’ll bring your lunch up,” she says.
Mama kisses him goodbye. “I’ll come next Saturday,” she promises.
“I’ll be back, too,” I tell him.
And then the greatest thing happens: Grandpa blinks!
All three of us see both his eyes slowly close and open. We look at each other and laugh. Then we pat Grandpa’s shoulder.
Downstairs, everybody kisses and hugs. Even Mama and I kiss and hug each other as if one of us is going and one is staying behind. When we leave, Grandma stands on the front steps to wave. As we turn the corner a block away, we see her still lifting her arm high.
We catch the bus. Mama puts our glass for daisies into her purse and her arm over the back of my seat. We look out the window. It’s getting late. We see lights here and there. At last we are in the city. Lights and noise and people and cars are everywhere.

It sounded simple. For two weeks I was to choose a family member and every day give something small to the person to express my love. I chose my little brother because we usually did not get along very well, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to draw closer to him. I decided to do it anonymously, and for the first week I bought him small bags of candy and various trinkets, leaving them by the side of his bed or under his pillow. After the week was over, I was thinking, Wow, this has got to be the easiest Personal Progress goal ever!
The second week, however, fell during our family camping trip, and the absence of convenient stores seriously complicated things. But I soon found that all it took was a little more creativity. Instead of buying things, I started doing things. I helped him roll his sleeping bag, whittle a marshmallow stick, and untangle his fishing line. Thinking constantly of ways to serve my brother strengthened our relationship incredibly, and I could see clearly the promise being fulfilled: “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light” (1 Jn. 2:10).
The last day of camp I lay in the dark tent, deep in the woods, listening to the soft calls of the birds and the gentle splashing of water from the nearby lake. The wind rustled through the tree tops, and I felt a cool breeze across my face.
“Someone tie up the window,” my brother mumbled sleepily. I felt him shiver beside me and suddenly realized that I had not done anything for him that day. I tied up the window, but since it was the last day, I felt I should give him something extra special. Maybe when we get home, I can buy him something especially expensive, I thought. No, that won’t do. It has to be today, and he is almost asleep. I lay quietly, thinking for a moment, and then rolled onto my side to face my brother.
“Warren,” I whispered.
“Hmmmm?”
“I love you.”
He was quiet for a second before he clearly responded, “I love you, too.”
I lay on my back and looked through the “sun roof” at the clear, dark sky and smiled.

“Before we went to the temple, it was like we had cut an apple and it was apart. But then when we went through the temple, it was like the apple went together.”
That’s how nine-year-old Amanda Baum described her family after they were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple last February. She said that they are closer now because they talk with one another and share their feelings more than they did before. Her parents agreed, saying that their home is more peaceful and that the children seem more special to them now.
For a long time the Baum family—Brandon (12), Amanda (9), Laura Lee (7), James (3), and their parents, Terry and Karla—had been working on their goal of going to the temple to be sealed. It wasn’t an easy goal, but something happened that made them realize just how important that goal was.
Preparing for the special day meant that they had to start doing things like praying more, both individually and as a family, and paying their tithing. Now prayers are a very important part of their day, and the children are usually the first to volunteer for family prayers. Another big help was the encouragement that they received from their bishop and home teachers.
Brandon admitted that at first he was a bit nervous when the day finally came to go to the temple, but they all agreed that they felt a loving spirit and were very happy to be there.
It is hard to imagine how something can go on forever and ever, but Brandon said that as he looked into mirrors in the sealing room, he saw his family reflected there in a never-ending line for as far back as he could see. That gave him some idea of what eternity is all about.

The best illustration is a great real-life example. Wilfried Vanie, his seven siblings, and his mother joined the Church in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, when he was six years old. He was baptized at eight. His father, the main provider in the family, died when Wilfried was eleven.
Though saddened by the family situation, Wilfried decided to continue in school, with his mother’s encouragement and with Church support. He graduated from secondary school and served a full-time mission in the Ghana Cape Coast Mission, where he learned English. After his mission, he went on to the university and obtained a diploma in accounting and finance. Though it was hard to obtain employment in this field, he found work in the tourism and hospitality industry.
He started as a waiter in a five-star hotel, but his passion to improve pushed him to learn more until he became a bilingual receptionist there. When a new hotel opened, he was hired as the night auditor. Later, he enrolled in BYU–Pathway Worldwide and is currently studying a course to obtain a certificate in hospitality and tourism management. His desire is to one day become the manager of a high-end hotel. Wilfried can provide for his eternal companion and two children, as well as help his mother and his siblings. He currently serves in the Church as a member of the stake high council.

Youth are not the only ones who slip into crevasses.
A stake president recently told me that a respected member who had held Church leadership positions was enticed by some business friends to try the cocaine drug “crack.” The men were depressed. Their company was failing, and they succumbed to the evil enticement of illegal drugs.
He wasted $18,000 buying “crack,” lost his job, underwent a personality change, and finally was hospitalized. Through it all, his wife stayed by him. She found a job, and they began the struggle of putting his life back together. His Church friends helped him get another job.
His mind is seriously affected. He is still somewhat dependent on some drugs. The hope and prayer of his family is that he will be able to hold on to the lifeline.

Wendy M. Mitosinka of the Bradshaw Ward, Prescott Arizona Stake, remembers one such lesson from her childhood: “My mother played our piano, and we sang and sang. When we sang ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd,’ I felt the Spirit strongly, and tears came to my eyes. The melody stayed with me, and later I learned to play it on my guitar. Today when things get rough, the hymns I learned as a child bring me peace and happiness.”

I’m going to share an experience I had with President Kimball to help you understand what a choice human being he is, besides a powerful prophet, and perhaps base the rest of my remarks on this incident. I stood alone in the basement of the Church Office Building about two years ago, waiting for an elevator. It was very early on a Monday morning, well before the influx of office workers. As the elevator lowered into place, suddenly two Church security officers appeared from out of somewhere and held back the opening doors. Now, nobody does that for me, so I looked around just in time to see President Kimball and his personal secretary, Brother Haycock, entering the area. They moved quickly into the secured area, and I quickly moved out of the way. Well, as President Kimball turned and faced the front of the elevator, he saw me standing out there waiting for the next one. And he said to me very graciously, “Good morning.” And I said, “Good morning, President Kimball.” And he said, “Aren’t you going to get on?” And I said, “Well—” and hesitated for a few moments—“I didn’t think I was supposed to under the circumstances.” And then he said, “Aren’t you going up?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Well, tell me, how do you intend to get there?” And then he said, “Come along.” So I got on! At the prophet’s invitation I was happy to ride up with him.

We just recently had our third child, a baby girl named Faith. During the delivery, my wife was having some complications and we were scared for our baby. I gave Julia a blessing. Then she asked me to sing to her. The Spirit brought peace to both of us. Soon baby Faith came safely into the world. It was a miracle, and she definitely lived up to her name. Faith’s beautiful smile brightens my life. I can’t express in words how much she means to me.

Recently my friend Richard came home from work to find a very small girl sitting on the curb in front of his house, crying. He asked if he could help. Through her sobs she explained that she was lost. He told her that this was his house and his wife was inside. He told her he knew she shouldn’t go with strangers, but if she felt comfortable going inside, he and his wife would try to find her home. They went into his house, and his wife, Linda, began to console the little girl. “I’m sure you must be very frightened,” she said.
“I was frightened,” the girl responded, “until I saw the picture of Jesus hanging on your wall. Then I knew I would be safe.”

February’s white snow piled powderpuffs on the fence posts and frosted the windows of homes in the Utah village in which I now resided. It had been seven months since I left Liverpool. Perhaps Lucifer had heard my parting words about tithing and decided to mock me. The lack of prospects for work dulled the beauty of the winter day. I was homesick, disappointed, and lonely.
The postman crunched up the sidewalk and slid an envelope through the slot in the door. It was a letter from my mother. She, too, was struggling. My brother stared death in the face every day in the trenches of France; Father’s location on the ocean was unknown, except perhaps to a periscope prowling icy waters. And she wasn’t worrying alone, she said. Neighbors worried, too. Everything was secret and suspense clouded the atmosphere.
My patriarchal blessing appointment was scheduled that afternoon, and I should have been busy preparing myself for it. But even through my fasting and prayer, my concerns about my family floated to the surface of my mind. I wished my family could join me to hear the patriarch’s words! I dropped the letter from my hands as I sobbed, releasing tears I had stored inside since the day I had last seen England.
I dropped to my knees by my bed and uttered the most sincere, heartrending prayer of my 19-year life. I told Heavenly Father I was sorry to be so weak, but that he knew how homesick I was, how disappointed to be out of work, how concerned about my family.
I said that if he could see fit to give me two promises in my patriarchal blessing, then I could be brave enough to endure anything the future held. I pleaded that my family and friends might someday come to this country and that I would someday be married in the temple.
I left the house and walked a block to the patriarch’s home. I spoke to no one and saw no one. But my Father knew of my prayer. That good patriarch came in from working in his fields and invited me to dinner. The food fortified me, and I was able to restrain my tears. We went to a private place, with his granddaughter along to act as scribe.
He described glorious promises, many of them. Then I heard, as it were, my own words, the ones I had spoken to my Father about one hour before: “Your loved ones from whom you have been parted—the Lord will bless and protect them, and many of them will follow you to the fold of the Good Shepherd and bask in the life-giving light of the gospel of their Redeemer. With them you will sing the songs of Zion and have much joy in their society. You shall have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord to receive a worthy helpmate and companion to be with you for time and all eternity.”
The patriarch continued outlining the blessings the Lord planned for me if I lived worthily. While he did, quiet tears trickled down my face. Heaven was in my heart.
When the patriarch had finished, I thanked him, tried to dry my face, and rushed home. I walked into my room, picked up my pen and wrote, “It’s all right now, Mother; Heavenly Father will protect George and Father. And you will come to Zion. Our Heavenly Father has said it. Be brave until we meet again. Much love, Mary.”
Many prayers in my life have been answered just as rapidly as the one concerning my patriarchal blessing, but time has not dimmed that miracle to me. I felt power, exultation, and gratitude; it seemed that my Father in heaven had come down and answered my requests in my own words through the patriarch. The promises all came true after many trials. Through the difficult times, the blessing fortified me. We are finer for the things we learn through the ups and downs of life, but the joy always outweighs the pain. Through my patriarchal blessing, I learned the happiness of compliance with the divine instruction given in Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6]:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

When I was serving as president of the Philippines Quezon City Mission, one day Elder Jones* arrived at the mission home wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes and carrying his suitcases. “I want to go home, President,” he told me.

After listening to his concerns, I told him: “Leaving your mission is a reactive response, which will diminish the control you have over your life. And if you continue to be reactive, you will have problems dealing with difficulties you encounter after you return home.” I also advised him to talk with other missionaries about his concerns.

After further discussion Elder Jones changed into his missionary clothing and returned to his area. He talked with other missionaries, and he prayed for strength to overcome his challenges. The next time I met with him, he expressed gratitude that he had persisted through his difficulties.

“How I will ever have a normal date with a family like mine around is one of life’s greatest mysteries.” That’s what I told my friend Becky.
First of all my mom sings. I don’t mean in church and stuff. I’ll be in my room with Becky and we’ll be concentrating on Ivanhoe because of a test the next day and we’ll hear my mom walking through the hallway singing something like, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” really loud.
It’s not so bad when Becky is here; she’s used to it. But what if a guy were to come to my front door and hear some crazy lady screeching “Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy,” another of my mom’s special numbers?
Fortunately, my brother George has been in France on a mission. He’s four years older than me and he still calls me “Mushbottom,” which is what he made up when I was a baby with soggy diapers. Really embarrassing! I can just imagine what a date would think with George greeting him and then calling up the stairs, “Hey, Mushbottom! Your date is here!” I’d rather shave my head.
Actually it doesn’t make that much difference that George is out of the country. My dad is here. He would make my date sit in the living room, and then he’d put on some opera. Then my dad would probably start directing the opera—vigorously. It’s embarrassing enough without witnesses.
And my younger brother would come in and stare at my date and then comment on the size or shape of his nose. I know he will; he does it to strangers at the supermarket. And my sister, the one I have to share a room with, she’d walk right up to my date and say, “Are you gonna kiss Jenna?” The two of us used to do that to George and then run back to our room and giggle, after we blocked the door with a chair.
My name is Jenna. I was named after my two grandmas. Jenny, my dad’s mom, works as a clown volunteer at the hospital and drives there in full-clown dress. Another blotch on my reputation. And Anna. She has so many cats that they call her the “cat woman.” Fortunately, she lives in another neighborhood. Unfortunately, our city shrank the day they put a story about her in the local paper. She takes in homeless cats and names them after us. A cat named Jenna posed for the largest picture on the page.
When I met Shane at the stake dance and he asked if he could take me to the next one, I told him I had to help decorate but I could meet him there, for reasons that ought to be clear by now. It would be better if he could get to know the real me first.
And because the real me tries to be as honest as possible I had to volunteer myself with Becky and Katelyn to help with the decorations. When the dance committee said they hadn’t planned on decorating, we had to spend our baby-sitting money on some stupid crepe paper bells.
The dance was great in spite of the decorations, and there were no embarrassing moments to speak of. At least not until Shane took me home. I tried to get him to drop me off at the corner, but he wouldn’t do it. “No, I need to be sure you get home safely,” he said. What a guy.
When he pulled into my driveway I got really worried. Grandma Jenny’s car was there. Sometimes she stopped off, in her clown getup, and stretched out on the sofa to listen to opera. She could come out the door any moment.
“Uh …” I stammered. “I better go!” I jumped out of the car and ran inside, locked the front door, and turned off the porch light.
In spite of the fiasco he asked me out again. When I told him I’d meet him, again, he asked about my family. I told him only the appropriate things: that my brother was in France but that he’d be home soon; my dad teaches English at the college; my mom is stake music chairman; and that there were two younger siblings. “Your family sounds nice,” he said.
I said, “You have no idea.”
“I know,” he said. “You never let me near them.”
“Uh … well, I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet them one of these days,” I said, sounding pleasant but feeling dread. I was sure he would meet them one day soon since my brother would be home in just a few days. Then it would be good-bye Shane.
On the Saturday we’d planned George’s welcome-home celebration I was in the front yard because I had just come back from helping my little brother find his tortoise, Houdini. George was on his way out the door to play basketball.
George motioned for me to sit on the porch. He was so nice to me that I couldn’t stop talking. Funny, he hadn’t ever listened to me like that before his mission. I told him all about Shane and about how I was afraid he’d lose interest if he met the family. I thought he’d tell me I was wrong to think that. But he didn’t. He agreed that it was a crazy family. “But,” he said, “crazy in a good way.” I couldn’t think of how being related to a clown, a cat woman, an opera fanatic, and a nightclub diva could be “a good way.” And George? He had the power to wipe me off the face of the earth with one nickname.
“What’s with the frown,” George asked. I told him that I was afraid he’d call me that awful nickname in front of Shane and life, as I knew it, would come to a devastating halt.
“Listen,” he said, “if this Shane guy were to split just because of a nickname, or because your grandmother wears a clown outfit …”
“A clown outfit with a bushy purple wig and huge pink nose.”
“Yeah, with purple hair and that awesome nose, and it’s all for cheering up sick kids! If that turns him off then what kind of a person would Shane be? I know he wouldn’t be good enough for you.”
Good enough for me? I’d never thought of it that way.
“Either he likes you or he doesn’t. If he likes you, he’ll like your family. And if he’s just sticking around because you’re beautiful, then better to get rid of him now instead of later when it would hurt more.”
Beautiful? My brother had never talked to me like this before.
“Gotta go.” George got up and gave me a wink before he jogged down the street.
Later, while I made my bed I talked to Katelyn on the phone. “Am I like my family?” I hoped she’d say, “No, not at all.” But she didn’t say anything at first. Then she said, “In some ways you are, and in some ways you aren’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Katelyn took a deep breath. “It’s like this. If you had a different family you’d be completely different too. I mean, I think you’re so funny, and it’s because you have funny family stories to tell. And, well, you’re a good baby-sitter because you’ve taken care of your little brother and, like you say yourself, ‘If I can take care of him I can take care of any kid!’ It’s hard to figure out how to say what I mean. But sometimes it seems like you might do something great or unusual someday because you see a grandma everyday, going to the hospital.”
That was a revelation.
I looked at my clock radio, only two more hours until the party for George. The phone rang.
“Hello?” It was Shane. “I’m coming over for the celebration.”
“You’re what?”
“George invited me. Hey, he’s a good basketball player. Your ward beat us because of him.”
“Uh …” my normally extensive vocabulary seemed to have short-circuited. When I hung up I felt a renewed surge of verbal ability, “George!” What made me think he’d changed? I’d trusted him! “George!”
“George isn’t here!” my grandmother-the-clown answered. “He’s gone to the humane shelter to pick up Grandma Anna.”
I went back to my room to fume alone. That George!
A car pulled into the driveway. George and Grandma Anna got out. The cat woman was carrying a tiny kitten. I saw George glance toward my window. It never occurred to me that he’d worry about making me mad. He actually looked concerned. I sat on the bed. I wanted to think about what George said about Shane liking me—and my family.
I heard my mom singing in the kitchen. I wrapped my quilt around my shoulders and leaned toward the open window. Grandma Anna had made the quilt; it has cats on it. I wondered who’d arrive first, my dad or Shane. I felt a chill of anticipation. It was the same feeling I’d get when I was about to give a talk or act in a play. I’d always tell myself that I’d done all I could already and if people didn’t like me, then tough toenails. I looked out at the stars, humming along with my mother’s song.
George yelled from the driveway below, “Mushbottom!” I looked down at him. He was cradling the kitten. “I thought we could name the kitten Mushbottom. Then I could promise never to call you that again.”
I thought it must be his way of apologizing for inviting Shane to the celebration. I had to admit he was right about one thing. How could I ever have a real date if I kept hiding such an important part of the real me? George smiled and climbed the steps to the front porch. I saw headlights coming up the street so I put the quilt back and combed my hair, which happens to be curly just like Grandma Jenny’s.
Shane came up the walk and George met him at the door. “Hi,” George said. “I’m Jenna’s brother.”
Shane grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Have you heard about Mushbottom?” George asked.
I groaned, but Shane laughed. He came inside and looked around. Mom was singing in the kitchen, Dad was conducting a record, my little brother was examining Shane’s nose, and my sister said, “Are you gonna kiss Jenna?”
Shane laughed again. “Your family is great,” he said.
I looked at George. He winked at me. For the first time, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt proud.

I am an American exchange student in Bateman’s Bay, Australia. I am the only Latter-day Saint in the town, and the nearest branch is 100 miles away, so I don’t get to church very often. I wrote to my mother and told her how much I miss the Church, and to help me out, someone is sending me the New Era every month. I love the New Era. It’s brought me so much closer to the Church, even though I’m the only member for miles. The New Era has motivated me to start reading the Book of Mormon, and I can hardly wait to get home and participate in the Young Women activities.
Lisa MatsonBateman’s Bay, Australia

Sister Grassli remembers her childhood as being a happy one. “I loved to learn and do many things. I remember a Primary teacher who took us to her house one Primary day. It was so fun! We learned how to make cinnamon toast. Each of us got to make her own, and the teacher made hot chocolate for us. I realized then that Heavenly Father wants us to learn all kinds of things. It’s important to learn about the scriptures, but Heavenly Father also wants us to learn about everything that is good. That was exciting to me. I knew Heavenly Father cared about our whole selves, not just one part.”

A few years ago following general conference, our four-year-old grandson Andrew asked his mother, “Mommy, is Jesus counting on me?” His mother answered, “Oh, yes, Andrew, Jesus is counting on you. He wants you to obey Mom and Dad, to do what is right, and especially to be kind to your little brother, Benny.” This four-year-old thought about that for a few moments and said, “Mommy, tell Him not to count on me!”
Fortunately, by the time Andrew receives the Aaronic Priesthood, he will have come to know that Jesus is counting on him.

One simple yet profound experience with the Prophet and his family made a deep impact on young Benjamin Johnson. One Sunday morning he was sitting with Joseph in private conversation when two of Joseph and Emma’s children came into the room—“all so nice, bright and sweet, and calling to them my attention, [Joseph] said, ‘Benjamin, look at these children, how could I help loving their mother.’”
“To me,” Brother Johnson wrote, Emma “appeared the queen of his heart and of his home” (Johnson Letter, page 4).

President Gordon B. Hinckley started off his 96th birthday celebration with a shovel and some dirt.
Hundreds of Brigham Young University alumni, faculty, and students, plus family members and friends looked on as President Hinckley took his shovel in hand and scooped dirt to kick off the construction of an 80,000-square-foot (7.432-square-meter) building that will bear his name at the school in Provo.
“You do me a great honor and a great kindness in what you do today,” President Hinckley told guests at the groundbreaking celebration for the new Gordon B. Hinckley Alumni and Visitors’ Center on June 23, 2006.
President Hinckley thanked guests and commented about how his wife, Marjorie Pay Hinckley, who died in 2004, had also been honored at BYU when a social work and social sciences chair was named in her honor in 2003.
“Maybe we could move her chair into my building, and we’d be together again,” he said.
President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, and President Hinckley’s son Clark also spoke at the groundbreaking. Family members, President Hinckley’s counselors in the First Presidency, members of the BYU Board of Trustees, friends of the university, and donors joined President Hinckley in ceremoniously turning the first dirt for the building.
After the ceremony, President Hinckley donated the shovel he used, which came from his own tool collection. Construction commenced immediately after the ceremony.
After the groundbreaking, family, invited guests, and university leaders hosted President Hinckley at a private luncheon. President Hinckley’s children paid tribute to their father, and President Samuelson presented him with a brick with his name on it to represent the new center that bears his name.

Eta’s mom owns a dessert bakery on their island. Eta and her older sister, Talai, love to share with their teachers and leaders and with people who might be having a hard time. Sometimes they go for a drive with their mom and give cookies and other treats to people they see on the street. It makes people so happy, and it makes Eta and Talai happy to share. They get more joy from sharing food from the bakery than from eating it themselves! They are both learning to bake as one of their Children and Youth goals this year, so they always have treats to share.
Eta says, “I love sharing with others because it makes them glad, and it makes me glad. I know that’s what Heavenly Father wants us to do.“
Eta followed Jesus by sharing with others. Turn the page to read a story about how Jesus helped others.

The notebook describes projects, such as making homemade bread and delivering it to nonmembers living near the meetinghouse along with a card that read, “Merry Christmas from your neighbor, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” The bread was delivered by caroling seminary students. “The surprise and joy of most of the people was great,” Sabina said. “We invited the people to our meetings, too. We contacted 37 families in this way.” Many of the families responded by sending gifts of chocolate, nuts, oranges, and cookies, along with thank-you notes, to the seminary group. “This helps pave the way for the missionaries,” Sabina said.