Gospel Story Finder

I’ve studied carefully and prayerfully some who are remarkably faithful and effective witnesses of the Savior and His Church. Their stories are inspiring. One humble man was called as the president of a tiny branch. There were so few members he could not see how the branch could function. He walked into a grove of trees to pray. He asked God what he should do. An answer came. He and the few members began inviting friends to join with them. In a year, hundreds had come into the waters of baptism and become fellow citizens in the Lord’s Church.

Brother Peter Mourik, who gives devoted service to the Church as the real estate agent in Europe, was telling us the other day that while he was sitting on an airplane ready to depart, a woman, who appeared to be wealthy, entered and took the only remaining seat next to him. Since the man in the seat ahead was bathing them in clouds of cigar smoke, Brother Mourik commented to the woman, “I hope to see the day when I can enter an airplane without the necessity of being suffocated by tobacco smoke.”
The woman replied, “Amen to that.”
Then without further thought or reason—this was several years ago—Brother Mourik said, “Joseph Fielding Smith is a prophet of God.”
The woman turned to him and repeated almost to herself, “Joseph Fielding Smith is a prophet of God? Joseph Fielding Smith is a prophet of God? Now I remember,” she said. “I was sitting looking at television and there was some sort of conference or religious assembly taking place, and I saw this old man speaking, and he looked right at me. He told me to repent of my sins and to keep the commandments of God. I think they said his name was Joseph Fielding Smith.”
By such power the Spirit of God moves among men, and so now I must tell you, realizing that what I say may be reaching many tens of thousands of people, that Spencer W. Kimball, now in the place of Joseph Fielding Smith and other prophets who have died, is a prophet of God. I can say this because when he was presented to the Church to become our president a year ago, the Spirit of the Lord said distinctly and almost audibly, “He is speaking as a prophet of God.”
I know that as I tell you this the Spirit of the Lord also tells you that it is the truth. He is not merely the prophet of God to the members of this Church; he is God’s prophet to the whole earth. And he has for us all the words of eternal life as he tells us again that the gospel has been restored and that we are in the work of building God’s kingdom in the last days so that mankind need not be wasted and destroyed by the calamities and the destructions that have been predicted and will surely come to pass unless we repent and turn unto him.
I do testify to the truth of these things in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I realize that before me are hundreds of young men, many of whom are deacons. I remember when I was a deacon. (It has been a long time ago, however.) I thought it was a great honor to be a deacon. My father was always considerate of my responsibilities and always permitted me to take the buggy and horse to gather fast offerings. My responsibility included that part of the town in which I lived, but it was quite a long walk to the homes, and a sack of flour or a bottle of fruit or vegetables or bread became quite heavy as it accumulated. So the buggy was very comfortable and functional. We have changed to cash in later days, but it was commodities in my day. It was a very great honor to do this service for my Heavenly Father; and though times have changed, when money is given generally instead of commodities, it is still a great honor to perform this service.

The importance of not mistreating others is highlighted in an anecdote about Hillel the Elder, a Jewish scholar who lived in the first century before Christ. One of Hillel’s students was exasperated by the complexity of the Torah—the five books of Moses with their 613 commandments and associated rabbinic writings. The student challenged Hillel to explain the Torah using only the time that Hillel could stand on one foot. Hillel may not have had great balance but accepted the challenge. He quoted from Leviticus, saying, “Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” Hillel then concluded: “That which is hateful unto you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole of the Torah; the rest is commentary. Go forth and study.”

That same light showed two teenage sisters the way to go on a very frightening day in 1833. An angry mob stormed through the quiet streets of Independence, Missouri, where 15-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her 13-year-old sister Caroline lived. The terrifying mob was destroying property and burning and rioting. Some of the mobsters broke into the home of Brother William Phelps, where the printing press was located. He had been printing revelations received by the Prophet Joseph Smith. They tore apart the printing press and threw it into the street. They carried the priceless printed pages out of the building, throwing them in a pile in the yard to burn.

Mary Elizabeth and her sister Caroline were hiding behind a fence, trembling as they watched the destruction. Mary knew full well the danger of angry mobs, but in spite of that, she felt the urgency to save those precious pages. The two teenage sisters ran out to the street, grabbed armfuls of the scriptures, and fled. Some of the mob saw this and ordered them to stop as they chased after the courageous sisters. The girls ran into a large cornfield, where they fell breathless to the ground. Between the rows of corn they laid the copies of the revelations on the ground and then spread themselves over the pages. The men were relentless in their search for the girls among the tall cornstalks, coming very near at times, but they never were able to find the girls, and eventually they gave up and left to finish their destruction in the town.

The light of the Lord showed those young women what to do and where to go for safety. That same light shines for you. It can keep you safe as it did them. We have a sculpture of those sisters in the Young Women office to remind us of the courage of young women then and now.

Two years ago we were asked to live in Hong Kong, known for its tall buildings. Our apartment building was dwarfed by much taller buildings around it. So, I was prepared to live in the shadows. Imagine my delight to wake up and see the rays of the morning sun shining through our windows. This simple experience filled my soul with immense joy and gratitude.
When I finally got my bearings, I was so confused. Our windows were not facing east. How did we ever get the morning sun? Upon further investigation, I learned that the sun’s rays were being reflected into our apartment by the tall building in front of us. I was reminded that when we strive to follow the Savior, He will use us to bless others. Through our example and service to others, they will feel the Savior’s love for them.

Photograph by Richard M. Romney
“Join in the jubilee,” the hymn says. “Mingle in song” (“Thanks for the Sabbath School,” Hymns, no. 278). Every Sunday for more than three years, a group of youth in Utah have done just that. Not out of assignment or obligation, but out of love for sacred music and a desire to serve, they show up each Sunday at a local care center to sing hymns.
Like many others, Kaden G., 17, started singing at the care center when a friend invited him to join in. “At first I thought, ‘I’ll do it because it’s service,’” he says. “But I found it builds your testimony to sing the hymns. Hymns invite the Spirit. They have a huge influence on people.”
“I love seeing people smile when we sing for them,” says Allie G., 17. “I love seeing how much they appreciate it when we come, and I love the good feeling we have when youth get together to do something good.”
One of the residents, Nadine Taylor, has responded to the kindness of the teenagers by making pillowcases. “They’re personalized for each of us,” Allie says. “Nadine pulled me aside and asked me what my interests are.” Because Allie loves music, including composing songs, her pillowcase features musical notes. “It’s so detailed and stitched so perfectly,” she says. “It’s awesome to receive a personal ‘thank you.’”
“Mine has a soccer player on it,” Kaden says. “It has my jersey number and color from when I used to play.” Nadine obtained that information from some of the other teens. “I was really surprised,” Kaden says. “It means a lot.”
“I’m grateful that these young people are so dependable,” Sister Taylor says. “They come every Sunday, and their singing makes us feel loved.”

“Joe’s moving!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, honey.”
“What am I going to do? He’s basically my only friend!”
“How did you become such good friends with Joe in the first place?”
“We started talking one day, and then we just kept talking.
“We could talk about everything.”
“You could do that again. Find someone to talk to and see what happens. You might find you’ll keep talking.”
“I guess I can try that.”

Such was the case in my adult life. After I married my high school sweetheart, we had three beautiful children and were enjoying life together as we had planned and hoped. But then my wife died in a tragic accident. I grieved and despaired for nearly two years before my parents and my wife’s parents encouraged me to consider remarrying—both for me and for my children’s benefit.
After fasting and taking the matter to our Father in Heaven in earnest prayer, I felt it was right for me to remarry.
After a person decides to remarry, it may take some time to find a spouse. In my case I wrote to several friends and relatives who understood my circumstances and told them of my desire to remarry. I asked them if they knew of anyone who would be willing to consider becoming a mother to three children and a wife to a Church district president and banker in South America with many demands on his time. After receiving six recommendations, I took a vacation to the United States and ultimately felt prompted to date and eventually propose marriage to my beloved Helen.
Helen brought a two-year-old daughter into our union, and I brought my sons, ages three and six, and my nine-year-old daughter. In time, we had three daughters together, which gave us a blended family of seven children.
Initially, what made our union possible and successful was that we both received answers from our Father in Heaven reassuring us that He approved of our decision to marry. Without that firm base, marriage after what proved to be a short courtship would have been unwise. But I didn’t expect Heavenly Father to do my work for me. Before taking the matter to Him in prayer, I inquired about Helen’s family background, traditions, testimony, and commitment to the Lord. She also learned enough about me so that she felt we would be compatible.
As we courted, each of us quickly saw in the other three very important characteristics necessary to make a marriage and a blended family successful:
Character. Does the person you are considering marrying hold a temple recommend? Is he or she living a life worthy of the Spirit? Has he or she led a life of service in the kingdom of God?
Capability. Can your potential husband support a family? Is your potential wife capable and willing to help you rear your children? Do you both have the determination to make your blended family successful and to rely upon Heavenly Father in doing so?
Capacity. Do you each have necessary spiritual reserves—generated through faith, prayer, service, and sacrifice—that you can call upon when faced with the challenges of uniting a blended family?

I am sure every mother has thought her life would make a great television sitcom—either that or a good disaster movie. That’s how I felt one particular morning.
I had made hot cereal for breakfast, and my older children had gone to school with contented smiles on their faces. When my two-year-old woke up, I set him on a stool at the kitchen counter, put a bowl of cereal in front of him, and left the room for a few moments. Big mistake.
Some situations are so bad they defy a reaction—this was one of those situations. When I returned I saw that there was cereal on every inch of exposed surface from my son to as far as his spoon could catapult it. I stared in stunned silence. Still, I had to admire his thoroughness. I was amazed at the coverage he had achieved from one small bowl.
My gaze drifted to the clock on the stove. Through clumps of cereal I noticed the time and came to my senses. I had a meeting at my children’s school in less than an hour. Should I change out of my robe and slippers and hope this was a nightmare I would awaken from, or should I face reality and try to find my kitchen under its new textured coating?
I decided to remove the cereal while there was still a chance. With a withering look at my son—still perched on his stool, his hair spiked with granulated “mousse”—I rolled up my sleeves and slipped and slid to the sink. I retrieved a dishrag and started to clean.
After what seemed an eternity of scrubbing, I could see progress. I looked at my son again and realized this was the longest he had ever sat in one place in his life. Either he was getting an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing me work so hard, or he was stuck fast to his seat with ever-hardening cereal.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at me. Then I saw it—something I had never seen before: remorse on the face of a two-year-old.
“Sorry, Mommy.” Big brown eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Why did he have to do that just when I was calm enough to scold him? I glanced at the clock and knew I had missed my meeting. So with a huff, I rinsed my rag and began to wash him.
When I had him clean enough to touch without getting stuck, I finally picked him up. He immediately slipped his chubby arms around my neck and snuggled into the fuzzy softness of my robe. With a sigh, I sat down and gently stroked his back.
My mind drifted to a dreamy world where the kitchen sparkled, few dishes were ever dirtied, the floor rarely needed to be swept, and cookies stayed in the jar for more than 15 minutes—where bathrooms smelled like pine forests, guest towels weren’t covered with greasy smudges, and the tub wasn’t full of assorted action figures. I pictured beds that were made, floors void of debris, and laundry that stayed in the hamper until wash day. How wonderful! Yet how sad.
No more little arms thrown around my neck or kisses planted firmly on my mouth. No unconditional hugs despite my temper. No bedtime stories or eager anticipation as new life nudged through the soil in a paper cup. No more homemade Mother’s Day cards or art projects. No clay toothpick holders wrapped in newspaper for Christmas.
That’s all it took.
Even though it was frustrating to have punch stains on the carpet, to constantly blaze trails through toys and dirty socks, and to remove crayon scribbles from the new wallpaper, I realized that these things were insignificant when compared with the magic my children brought into my life. I held my son tighter as I smiled and thanked heaven for messes, for they walk hand in hand with joy.

In February 1853, to the pioneer congregation huddled in shawls and wraps against the chill, Brigham Young recalled, “I scarcely ever say much about revelations, or visions, but suffice it to say, five years ago last July I was here, and saw in the Spirit the Temple. … I have not inquired what kind of a Temple we should build. Why? Because it was represented before me. I have never looked upon that ground, but the vision of it was there. I see it as plainly as if it was in reality before me.”

According to Wilford Woodruff, President Young’s address was “a most thrilling speech of about thirty minutes” that was “heard distinctly in all parts of the vast assembly.” It is clear that Brigham Young could hardly contain his joy as he began: “We have assembled on one of the most solemn, interesting, joyful, and glorious occasions, that ever has, or will transpire among the children of men, while the earth continues in its present organization, and is occupied for its present purposes; and I congratulate my brethren and sisters that it is our unspeakable privilege to stand here, this day, and minister before the Lord, on an occasion which has caused the tongues and pens of prophets to speak and write for many scores of centuries.”

Then Heber C. Kimball, First Counselor in the First Presidency, struck the frozen ground “with a pick … and President Young took out the first turf.” He closed the meeting with a triumphant blessing of the Saints, to which all assembled responded, “Amen!” The congregation then “rushed to the hole to get a chance to throw a little dirt out.” Some “one hundred and fifty laborers, I should judge continued the work,” wrote Lorenzo Brown, another participant in the events.

There was an increase in use of social media as leaders and members shared messages of events, activities, and inspirational messages to the community. Stake Light the World Facebook groups were used to encourage more to share how they were lighting up the world. To help encourage all members to get involved in the Light the World initiative this year, Rebecca Ballard (special media specialist in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake) took on the task of posting one item per day on their stake social media featuring a member or missionary serving from the stake and sharing one of their favourite ways to serve.

One of my children came in, said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks were out of bread. Had none that day. I put … our flour in sack to send up to Brother Hall’s. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I, “Brother Hall, how are you out for flour.” “Brother Millett, we have none.” “Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you were out.” Brother Hall began to cry. Said he had tried others. Could not get any. Went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett. “Well, Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don’t owe me for it.” You can’t tell how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett.

Brushing up on their service skills meant the youth hauled woodchip-filled wheelbarrows, wielded paintbrushes, and picked up trash at a park near their stake center. They toted their trash bags to a nearby school to beautify it as well. Some of the youth also went to a rest home and played games with and sang to the residents.
Jane Wilson, a Laurel, really enjoyed serving in her stake. She says, “It’s kind of hard to choose the right with all the bad influences around you.” But you can tell when you’re doing what you should because of “the joy you feel when you’re doing what’s right.”

There is a big bush in his corner, and a few smaller bushes.
Some weeds grow there too. Ben’s corner is shady and cool, even when the sun is very warm.
When Daddy gave him the corner, he said, “Ben, you can do anything you want to in your corner of the yard. You can dig a hole big enough to jump into, or plant a garden, or make roads for your trucks. You can do whatever you want to there.”
“Thank you,” Ben said. He sat in his corner of the yard and thought and thought about what he wanted to do with it. Digging a big hole might be fun.
Planting a garden might be fun. He liked watching things grow.
Making roads for his trucks might be a lot of fun.
But any of those things would certainly change his corner of the yard.
He thought some more.
“What did you do in your corner today, Ben?” His father asked when he came home from work.
“Nothing yet,” said Ben. “I’m thinking about it.”
The next day when he went out to his corner, he saw a little bird building a nest in the very top of the big bush. He was careful to walk quietly so that he wouldn’t frighten the bird. Maybe she thought his corner was her corner too.
He saw a hole under one of the small bushes.
Was it a snake hole? He thought it was too big for a snake.
Was it a mouse hole? He didn’t think so. It looked way too big for a mouse.
He sat cross-legged in his corner, as still as a mouse himself, and waited.
The little bird continued to build her nest. She sang a song as she worked.
Ben was very good at waiting. He watched the busy little bird. He waited … and waited some more. Then he heard a little noise.
He didn’t move, but his eyes got big and round as a little rabbit nose poked out of the hole. Fuzzy gray ears came next. Soon a whole rabbit hopped out of the hole. Maybe Ben’s corner was the rabbit’s corner too.
It was hard to sit so still, but Ben didn’t move. The rabbit’s nose wiggled this way and that way, smelling Ben’s corner. And smelling Ben.
Ben sat very, very still.
The rabbit hopped right over to his tennis shoe and sniffed it all over. He wished that he could touch the rabbit, but he knew that that would scare it away.
He sat very quietly until the rabbit finished smelling his shoe and hopped away under the hedge at the back of the yard.
Then Ben smiled. He knew what he was going to do with his corner of the yard.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.

At first, Bernard Lefrandt refused to listen to the two American missionaries who came to his home in The Hague, Netherlands, in 1950. It was an uncharacteristic response for a man whose hospitality was well-known throughout his native Indonesia. But Bernard—or Bert, as friends in several countries came to know him—believed he already had a God who had preserved his life innumerable times. Bert had been saved from the wild animals he hunted in island forests, from enemy soldiers when he was dropped behind enemy lines in World War II, and most recently from assassins’ bullets when he was blacklisted in Indonesia. Bert’s God had even spared the lives of his wife and children in a refugee camp. How, then, could he turn to a new one?
The missionaries first came to the Lefrandt’s home in the Netherlands at the end of 1950; the family had moved there in 1948. Nora, a deeply spiritual woman, felt impressed by their message of God’s goodness and a restored gospel. God’s mercy had helped Nora and her family through almost insurmountable difficulties. She accepted the Book of Mormon as well as the challenge to read it. But when Bert learned of the missionaries’ visit, he stubbornly refused to have anything to do with either the elders or the book Nora read so intently.
Were it only a matter of courage for him to face up to these Mormon messengers and their book, then no one came better equipped than Bernard Willem Lefrandt. A descendant of Dutch, Indonesian, and French ancestry, Bert was an expert at courageously confronting challenges in Indonesia. His immense physical strength earned Bert a reputation among the villagers of having almost supernatural power. He was unanimously declared throughout the islands the national champion of wild-pig catching, a sport he accomplished with his bare hands.
Neither could his hesitancy be attributed to ignorance. Bernard Lefrandt’s intelligence, education, and natural generosity gave him a fair-minded, loving attitude toward everyone. Bert worked as a customs officer for the Dutch government when he met and married his boss’s daughter—an intelligent Dutch-Indonesian school teacher named Nora. Eventually he went on to become a naval officer in the Royal Dutch Navy. Bert and Nora were both gifted linguists, speaking French, German, Dutch, and English, as well as several Indonesian island languages. Together, they raised their young children to believe in God’s goodness and in the value of Christian principles.
The major obstacle for Bert was the definite ideas he held about right and wrong religions. In Indonesia, he had felt uncomfortable with local superstitious beliefs and spiritualism. He searched for higher truths, and once considered becoming a Buddhist priest—a consideration he abandoned because it would mean leaving his wife and children. His wife’s strong beliefs in Jesus Christ became his own, and he learned the Bible well from constant study.
Nora finished the Book of Mormon on her own. At the close of another solitary lesson with the missionaries, she felt the Spirit so overwhelmingly that she wanted to be baptized. But she also wanted to wait for her husband, whom she had noticed reading the Book of Mormon when he thought she was asleep. Late at night, he would turn on the dim light and read until two or three in the morning, pretending to have slept well the next day. Nora patiently waited for him.
She had learned about waiting during World War II when she thought her husband had died. The same bravery that led Bert to earn decorations from the Allied High Command and from the Dutch government for valor in the face of grave danger also led him to be parachuted behind Japanese lines with the English. He had been borrowed by the British forces, and Nora knew nothing about his whereabouts. Left alone with two small children, she survived in a post-war refugee camp in Bombay, India, assuming she would never see her husband again after receiving no word from him for four years.
But one day in 1946 as she was teaching a class to some children, a man stood at the back of the room. It was Bert. On an assignment with the British, he had been stationed in Singapore, where he searched the lists of refugee camps in the country. After a joyful reunion with his family, Bert went on another assignment to Ceylon (Sri Lanka), this time with his family, before returning to Indonesia.
Bert continued to read the Book of Mormon in secret, and even started covertly listening from the next room to the missionary discussions. When he finally consented to talk to the elders in person, he became known as a “very hard” investigator, constantly demanding biblical proof of every doctrinal point and requiring a year of discussions.
Meanwhile, Nora and her daughter, Bertie, were baptized. Wanting to share her joy with those nearest her, Nora wrote to friends in New Guinea, telling them of her new Church. Only a few days later, she received a letter from them—the letters had crossed in the mail. Her friend told of a fisherman in New Guinea who had discovered a strange book in the sea, a Book of Mormon. Did the Lefrandts know anything about this book or about Joseph Smith? Surely, the book was a book of God, their friends wrote. They encouraged the Lefrandts to find out what they could about the Mormons.
Their appeal had a good effect upon Bert, who had learned to listen to friends. When he had returned to Indonesia from Singapore in 1946, he had returned to a country in political turmoil. Indonesian nationalists were fighting for independence from the Netherlands, a sentiment Bert understood and even sympathized with. But he was still a Dutch officer and had even received an assignment to hunt down and kill nationalist snipers. He hunted them down, then saved their lives by letting them work in his garden at home. When the nationalists took over, a former “gardener” for Bernard became a government official and relayed a message to the Lefrandts: Bert was on a list of people to be shot for his affiliation with the Dutch. Ten days later the Lefrandts and their three children were on a boat to the Netherlands.
It was there that Bert finally gave up his resistance to the higher truths of the gospel. One day during a discussion with the elders, Bert set his Bible on the table and rested his hand on it. “I don’t know what else to ask you,” he said. Within a year of Bert’s baptism in March 1952, he was called to be the president of The Hague Branch.
The tenacity and determination that took Bernard Lefrandt through jungles and enemy territory now found a purpose in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Bert and Nora became faithful servants and pioneers not only in the Netherlands, but in New Guinea, where Bert was later transferred by the Dutch government from 1954 to 1956. There the Lefrandts held Sunday School and sacrament meeting in their home for their family and the two other members stationed in New Guinea. Bert introduced the gospel to other naval officers and held monthly meetings with local priests and church ministers to teach them about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon.
Always mindful of God’s goodness to their family, Bert and Nora exemplified His love and generosity, earning a reputation of fairness, generosity, and open-mindedness wherever they went. Bert spoke enthusiastically about the gospel whenever the opportunity arose, and he left New Guinea having given away a large supply of Church books and pamphlets in an effort to build the kingdom.
The Lefrandts returned to the Netherlands in 1956, this time to Amsterdam, where Bert was again called to be a branch president. After they moved again to The Hague in 1960, Bert was called to be a counselor to the president of the first stake in Europe: The Hague Netherlands Stake. He brought to these callings an enthusiasm that his children—Frank Cornelius, Bertie Louise, Eric Gerard, and Robert—always sensed. “My parents were true builders, true pioneers,” recalls Bertie (Mrs. Jack P. Van Oudheusden), “Both of them were always working; you could just feel their love for the gospel.”
When Nora died in August 1971, people came by busloads to the funeral. Bernard’s funeral in January 1985 occurred in the midst of a blizzard so harsh that a burial was impossible that day. Still, many traveled through freezing temperatures to pay tribute to their friend.
In the Netherlands, as in the other countries through which Bernard Willem Lefrandt traveled and lived, many seeds that he planted have come to fruition, and honor his efforts as an international pioneer and servant of the Lord.

Sister Eileen Taylor of the Oldham Ward, Ashton Stake, lives in an area which has many back-to-back terraced houses, with some being built between 1900-1929. Between the streets are alleyways with the original cobbled stone.
Some residents began throwing furniture and rubbish bags into the alley, turning it into an eyesore. This is when Sister Taylor and her friend Maureen decided to do something about it. They began to have meetings with councillors and environmentalists to make changes and improve the state of the alley.
After two years of concerted efforts, they obtained enough money to make an amazing transformation. Solar lamps were added to lighten the alley at night, specially made fold up benches were attached to the walls, printed and framed photographs of Oldham’s cotton industry and other local historical events were displayed. Frames were made and painted for hanging baskets, and the wooden back gates were painted to add colour to the area.
Eileen and Maureen were awarded a certificate from “Britain in Bloom” and became involved with the Greener, Cleaner Environment Exchange Programme. They were invited to speak in other areas, such as Preston, regarding the environment and its impact on health and well-being.
The alley became a colourful vibrant place where children could play safely and adults could sit and chat. The children who lived here said, “It makes us happy seeing the flowers!” and they enjoyed helping to water them.
When Covid-19 kicked in, things sadly reverted. In November 2023, this changed when one of the Oldham councillors encouraged the friends to apply for a small “Love Where You Live” grant, enabling the renewal of flowers and worn items. This meant many hours spent over several months, buying and transporting the items needed to re-create a beautiful environment.
They both enjoy sitting in the alley with their neighbours, watching the children play. It has created a special communal feeling. Two people changed the alley, and it became a beacon for other areas. A true success story.

My husband, John, was a big man. He stood six feet four inches (1.9 m) tall and weighed more than 200 pounds (90.9 kg). For him, air travel in economy class was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.
In August 2006 we were called to serve a Church educational service mission at Brigham Young University–Hawaii. When it came time to return home, we were dreading what he would have to endure in the flight back to the mainland. During check-in we were delighted to find that there was one seat available in first class, so we upgraded his ticket. He would be able to sit in a comfortable seat with plenty of room for his long legs.
About midway through the flight, I decided to go see how he was doing. As I approached the first-class area, a flight attendant stood in the doorway to stop me.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I would like to see my husband for a moment,” I replied.
“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly but firmly, “you can’t come up here.”
“But he’s my husband, and I just want to see him for a minute.”
Still barring the door, she again stated, “I’m sorry, but you are not allowed up here. I can give your husband a message, and if he would like to, he can come visit you. But the policy is that only first-class passengers can be in this area.”
I was taken aback for a moment, but seeing her persistence, I quietly returned to my seat in economy class.
I began to think about the three degrees of glory mentioned in the scriptures and by the prophets. We read that Christ will visit those in the terrestrial kingdom (see D&C 76:77), and administering angels will visit those in the telestial kingdom (see D&C 76:88), but those who are in the lesser kingdoms can never go up to the celestial kingdom (see D&C 76:112; see also D&C 88:22–24). Reflecting upon my experience, I felt that I just had a glimpse of what it might be like for those in the lower kingdoms. How would they feel upon hearing the words “I’m sorry, you can’t come up here”?
About five months later my husband passed away from cancer. My experience on the airplane gives me extra incentive to live so that I never have to hear those words again—at least not on the other side of the veil.

In 1989, Jack Rushton was serving as president of the Irvine California Stake in the United States. During a family vacation on the California coast, Jack was bodysurfing when a wave swept him into a submerged rock, breaking his neck and severely injuring his spinal cord. Jack said later, “The instant I hit, I knew that I was paralyzed.” He could no longer talk or even breathe on his own.

Family, friends, and stake members rallied around Brother Rushton and his wife, Jo Anne, and, among other things, remodeled a section of their home to accommodate Jack’s wheelchair. Jo Anne became Jack’s principal caregiver for the next 23 years. Referring to Book of Mormon accounts of how the Lord visited His people in their afflictions and made their burdens light, Jo Anne said, “I am often amazed at the lightness of heart I feel in caring for my husband.”

An alteration to his respiration system restored Jack’s ability to speak, and within the year, Jack was called as Gospel Doctrine teacher and stake patriarch. When he would give a patriarchal blessing, another priesthood holder placed Brother Rushton’s hand on the head of the person receiving the blessing and supported his hand and arm during the blessing. Jack passed away on Christmas Day 2012, after 22 years of devoted service.

Once in an interview, Jack observed: “Problems will come into all of our lives; it’s part of just being here upon this earth. And some people think that religion or having faith in God will protect you from bad things. I don’t think that’s the point. I think the point is that if our faith is strong, that when bad things happen, which they will, we’ll be able to deal with them. … My faith never wavered, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t have depressions. I think for the first time in my life, I was pushed to the limit, and literally there was nowhere to turn, and so I turned to the Lord, and to this day, I feel a spontaneity of joy.”

You may remember a story about a ship’s captain who had a problem with his pride. One night at sea, this captain saw what looked like the light of another ship heading toward him. He had his signalman blink to the other ship: “Change your course 10 degrees south.” The reply came back, “Change your course 10 degrees north.” The ship’s captain answered, “I am a captain. Change your course south.” To which the reply came, “Well, I am a seaman first class. Change your course north.” This so infuriated the captain, he signaled back, “I say change your course south. I am on a battleship!” To which the reply came back, “And I say change your course north. I am in a lighthouse” (adapted from Hope Health Letter [Kalamazoo, Mich.: Hope Health Institute], Oct. 1993, p. 1).