Gospel Story Finder

While sailors rigged a jury mast to replace the broken foremast, passengers crowded onto the deck. Saints and nonmembers joined together in prayers of thanksgiving. The passengers put on clean clothes, and for the first time since leaving Liverpool, newly shaved faces appeared. A delegation of Saints obtained Captain Wilson’s permission to hold Sabbath religious services.
That day, March 23, after sermons and hymns, a baptismal service was conducted. During the three-week voyage a number of non-LDS passengers had been converted and wanted to be baptized. The captain gave approval for a large water barrel to be brought out on deck, the top removed, and short ladders placed beside and inside it. The barrel was filled waist deep with sea water. Twenty-one persons, male and female, were then baptized. The next day the converts were confirmed, the sacrament administered, and the sick anointed.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

“Evacuate your homes now!” bellowed the loudspeaker on a truck. “The fire is coming! The fire is coming!”
The forest fire raged down the mountain toward the town. Fierce winds fanned the enormous flames. Short of water and help, the firefighters couldn’t hold it back any longer. Families were going to lose their homes and belongings. There was nothing anyone could do.
Seven-year-old Catherine sat in her family’s living room, watching the news reports. It was hard to believe that the fire was only an hour away. She stared as flames licked through the treetops. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away. She felt sad and sick.
Catherine went to her room and thought about the fire. Looking around, she wondered what it would be like to leave everything behind. She had lots of prized possessions. The most precious was Ginger, her favorite doll. She looked at her other dolls, her trophies, her toys, even her clothes and shoes. Losing everything was hard to even think about.
When Dad got home, Catherine and her parents ate dinner. They discussed the new evacuations. Tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes, and she began to cry.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked.
“Why can’t they stop the fire?” Catherine asked. “Where will people live if their houses burn down?”
“Everyone will move into temporary shelters,” Mom answered. “They will get food, clothes, and a warm place to sleep until this is all sorted out.”
“What about their things? Who’s going to help them save their things?”
“The fire is too hot and moving too fast for anyone to think much about saving things,” Dad said. “It’s more important to make sure the people are safe. Most things can be replaced.”
Too upset to finish her supper, Catherine asked to be excused and went to her room and knelt by her bed. “Girls just like me are going to lose everything,” she prayed. “Somebody has to help them. I want to help them, but what can I do?”
When she awoke the next morning, Catherine knew exactly what to do. She filled a large shopping bag with clothes, books, and games. Last of all, she put in Ginger. “Mom, I want to donate these things,” she said. “Can you help me?”
Mom looked through the bag. “You’re giving away some of your nicest treasures,” she said. “Are you sure you want to give away Ginger?”
Catherine tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “This is what I need to do,” she said. “I know that this will help someone feel better. Will you help me?”
Mom hugged her. “Of course. The Relief Society is collecting donations. I was going to take some blankets and canned goods over this afternoon, but I think we should go right now, instead.”
The missionaries had set up a large open trailer in the ward parking lot. Waiting in line with other people who were making donations, Catherine began to feel that giving away Ginger was just too hard. She thought longingly about keeping her favorite doll. The line inched forward, giving her time to think some more. When it was her turn, she handed her bag to the Relief Society sisters, Ginger and all. Silently saying good-bye, she watched as her bag was carried to the trailer. It was so hard to give up her things! She turned and walked quietly back to the car.
That afternoon, Mom collected blankets and canned goods. When she and Catherine arrived at the meetinghouse, the trailer was full of useful things.
Back home, a television report announced that four hundred homes had been destroyed. But there was good news, too. The fire was nearly under control, and no one had been hurt.
Catherine watched the reports every night. She was worried about the four hundred families without homes. She thought about her shopping bag of treasures and wondered if it had really mattered among the thousands of other donations. And she really missed Ginger.
Suddenly Catherine sat up and looked more closely at the television screen. Something looked familiar. A little girl in a shelter was clutching a doll that looked a lot like—no, it really was—Ginger!
Catherine jumped up and squealed with delight. Her prayer had been answered. Her donation really had made a difference.

The gym was quickly filling up with people when a hush came over the once-noisy room. The choir from the Czech Republic started to file onto the stage.
I sat forward in my chair searching for the red-haired girl whom Mr. Lauritzen, my choir director, had described to me a few minutes earlier.
“There is a Latter-day Saint girl in the choir,” he had said. “She has red hair and her name is Iva.” I had signed up to host someone from the choir at my house for the night, and once I had heard about Iva, I immediately wanted her to stay with me.
I soon discovered a few red-haired girls in the choir, but one stood out to me. She was on the front row, and somehow I felt that she was Iva.
“What is your name?” I asked the girl after the program.
“Iva,” she said.
“Hi, my name is Cindy.” I paused not knowing what to say next. “Would you like to stay with me?”
“No, I am sorry. I am staying in the dorm.”
I felt bitter disappointment. I had to think quickly because there was no way that she was staying in that dorm if I had anything to do with it.
“I’m a Latter-day Saint!” I blurted desperately.
She looked at me in shock. “You are? Well, then I want to stay with you,” she said excitedly.
She was the only Latter-day Saint in her choir, and I understood how she felt because I am the only Church member in my school. Since there are not very many Latter-day Saints in either the Czech Republic or in my hometown, Collegedale, Tennessee, the chances of her staying with an LDS family were very slim. It was not even likely for us to meet.
Iva chattered away in her own language to her friends, explaining to them that she wanted to stay with me.
She turned to me regretfully and said, “It’s too late. The girl that I needed to talk to has already left.”
Once again, something came in the way of her staying with me. I was not about to give up. After I said a silent prayer, I turned to my choir director for help.
“Mr. Lauritzen, Iva was staying in the dorm, and now she says that it is too late for her to stay with me.”
“Well, I know how to fix this. Iva, why don’t you talk to your conductor?”
After Iva’s conversation with her conductor, she smiled at me. “It is fine. I can stay with you.”
I blew out a sigh of relief as we headed toward the exit. As I drove the short distance to my house, Iva told me something.
“While I was still in the Czech Republic, I prayed that I would be able to stay in a Latter-day Saint family’s home. I cannot believe that I am really doing this.”
We arrived at my home at 11:00 P.M., and my mom met us at the front door. “Mom, this is Iva.” I paused, “She’s a Latter-day Saint.”
“I can’t believe what you just said,” my mom replied as if she were in a dream.
“I am so glad to be able to stay in your home,” Iva said with gleaming eyes.
“It’s nice to have a Church member stay with us,” my mom added.
Iva agreed as they embraced.
Later, when we had snuggled underneath the soft covers of the twin beds in my room, Iva pulled out her Czech Book of Mormon.
“Iva, I have an idea. Why don’t you read from your Book of Mormon aloud while I follow along in my English one.”
Iva seemed to like the idea and soon the room was filled with the sound of her soothing voice speaking in the tongue so foreign to me. Soon after we put up our books, we fell asleep.
Iva left early the next morning. Her choir was headed for Memphis. I do not know if we will ever see each other again, but we will keep in touch. Iva and I were almost complete strangers brought together by shared beliefs. Although we were with each other for too short a time, I know we will always be friends and I will never forget her or the blessing that she brought into my life.

The fresh mountain air cooled my lungs as I laced up my boots. Next to me, my horse whinnied impatiently.
“I know, girl. I’m coming,” I said soothingly, as I stroked her reddish-brown mane.
I finished fastening the saddle, mounted, and was off. As I rode up the mountain, I thought of all the troubles that were weighing on my mind. I was a junior in high school—worried about friends, sports, final exams, and where to apply for college. Hundreds of thoughts swirled around in my brain. There were simply too many problems; I would never be able to solve them all. That’s really why I had come to the mountains. I needed to escape for a while.
After a time, I arrived at my favorite spot—a small out-of-the-way clearing that overlooks a mountain valley. I stopped my horse and said a small prayer in my heart.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I am so tired and so overwhelmed. Please give me some comfort. I just need a little peace.”
The answer came almost immediately. “Look up.”
As I raised my eyes, I was met with a scene of such astonishing beauty that I could scarcely breathe. All of my problems seemed to melt away as I soaked up the view. The farms in the valley were laid out like squares in a patchwork quilt, and on that day in May many of the fields had come to life in brilliant shades of green. What struck me most, however, was not the green. Throughout the fields of green were generous smatterings of the most vibrant yellow I had ever seen. The effect was mesmerizing, and it sparked my curiosity because I knew that there weren’t any local crops of that color.
I rode faster on the way down, eager to get to the valley floor and discover the source of that captivating yellow. When I reached the fields, I was astonished to find that the beauty that had so enchanted me didn’t come from anything exotic. The fields were filled with simple, unassuming dandelions.
I picked one small dandelion and brought it close to my nose. It was amazing to me how much difference perspective had made. From high above, I was quite taken in by the beauty of something that most people on the valley floor would call a weed. I would never have recognized its worth if I had not been prompted to look up and find the beauty in it.
I realized that I sometimes treat people the way most people treat the dandelion I held in my hand. I decide that they aren’t really worth my notice, without pausing to get to know them better or to think of how greatly the Lord values them. God knew that the dandelion was beautiful in its simplicity, even when most people couldn’t see it.
It occurred to me that I was much like the dandelion. Small and imperfect—but important and cherished in the eyes of my Heavenly Father. Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1926–2004) once said that “sometimes with smudges on our cheeks, dirt on our hands, and shoes untied, stammeringly but smilingly we present God with a dandelion—as if it were an orchid or a rose! If for now the dandelion is the best we have to offer, He receives it, knowing what we may later place on the altar” (That Ye May Believe [1992], 100).
Since that day I have never looked at a dandelion the same way. When I look at those little yellow flowers, I don’t see something to be stomped on, plucked up, or sneered at. I see effortless charm and loveliness. I will be forever grateful for the lesson I learned on that day—never judge someone or something until you have tried to see them from the Lord’s point of view, because the Lord, from His perspective high above mine, has a far better view and can much more easily judge the worth of flowers and of souls.

Some years ago, while visiting the members and missionaries in Australia, I witnessed a sublime example depicting how a treasury of testimony can bless and sanctify a home. The mission president, Horace D. Ensign, and I were traveling the long distance from Sydney to Darwin, where I was to break ground for our first chapel in that city. En route we had a scheduled stop at a mining community named Mount Isa. As we entered the small airport at Mount Isa, a woman and her two children approached. She said, “I am Judith Louden, a member of the Church, and these are my two children. We thought you might be on this flight, so we have come to visit with you during your brief stopover.” She explained that her husband was not a member of the Church and that she and the children were indeed the only members in the entire area. We shared lessons and bore testimony.

Time passed. As we prepared to reboard, Sister Louden looked so forlorn, so alone. She pleaded, “You can’t go yet; I have so missed the Church.” Suddenly the loudspeaker announced a 30-minute mechanical delay of our flight. Sister Louden whispered, “My prayer has just been answered.” She then asked how she might influence her husband to show an interest in the gospel. We counseled her to include him in their home Primary lesson each week and be to him a living testimony of the gospel. I mentioned we would send to her a subscription to the Children’s Friend and additional helps for her family teaching. We urged that she never give up on her husband.

We departed Mount Isa, a city to which I have never returned. I shall, however, always hold dear in memory that sweet mother and those precious children extending a tear-filled expression and a fond wave of gratitude and good-bye.

Several years later, while speaking at a priesthood leadership meeting in Brisbane, Australia, I emphasized the significance of gospel scholarship in the home and the importance of living the gospel and being examples of the truth. I shared with the men assembled the account of Sister Louden and the impact her faith and determination had made on me. As I concluded, I said, “I suppose I’ll never know if Sister Louden’s husband ever joined the Church, but he couldn’t have found a better model to follow.”

One of the leaders raised his hand, then stood and declared, “Brother Monson, I am Richard Louden. The woman of whom you speak is my wife. The children [his voice quavered] are our children. We are a forever family now, thanks in part to the persistence and the patience of my dear wife. She did it all.” Not a word was spoken. The silence was broken only by sniffles and marked by many tears.

The bus pulled into the parking lot of the hotel at 10:00 P.M. and deposited 36 nervously excited singers, a load of stage equipment, and a couple of dazed advisers who were showing the effects of a 16-hour bus ride. Inside the hotel’s ballroom Bob Hope was finishing up a few jokes while 750 Hollywood celebrities and top military officials finished their dinner. In the parking lot a few last-minute instructions were given, a prayer was offered, and on the cue of “Footprints, let’s go!” the Footprints of Freedom entered the Beverly Wilshire Hotel to entertain at the annual Air Force Ball.
The group had left Provo the night before and had not really slept since. After the show they would have six hours of sleep before the bus picked them up for the return trip to Provo. But cramped buses, lack of sleep, and a steady diet of roadside hamburgers are minor inconveniences when the Footprints have the chance to sing about America’s proud 200 years.
The performance at the Air Force Ball was a rousing success. General David C. Jones, Air Force Chief of Staff, personally came backstage after the performance to congratulate the Footprints. The group was invited to film a short segment in a movie for the Air Force, and it was nearly midnight before everyone got back to their hotel rooms. At 6:00 A.M. the bus would arrive for the return trip. There’d be another round of “Good,” “Bad,” and “Ugly” awards, another luggage rack rotation, and another 16-hour bus ride.
But it had been worth it—they had sung about America for 20 minutes. And during those 20 minutes perhaps one person had decided not to let the good land pass him by.

Believe me when I tell you that I know how discouragement feels to young people. My native country, Holland, was occupied by Nazi Germany when I finished high school in 1942. At the time a new rule was established that you could only register for classes in the Dutch universities if you signed a so-called “declaration of loyalty” to the occupying German forces.
Needless to say, the majority of Dutch students simply refused to sign such a humiliating political document and stayed away from campuses, whether freshmen or graduate students.
There were only two alternatives for young men between 18 and 30 years of age: to leave home, change names, use a fake I.D. card, and go “underground” somewhere in the country or to run the very real risk of being arrested anywhere at any moment and being deported to Germany for slave labor in the war industry with the hundreds of thousands already there from other European nations.
My plans to go to a university were stifled. Everything I had been working towards for so long now was truly unattainable. It is an understatement for me to say that this was a great discouragement. But I overcame it and in doing so learned a great lesson by deciding that if you cannot reach one goal then attain another goal. Sure, I had my moments of self-pity; then I decided to look for other options.
By this time in my life I already had an interest in languages, and so I decided to spend my time studying German, French, and English. I studied on my own, in small peer groups, and listened in clandestine ways to foreign radio broadcasts. This is what I did from the time I was 19 until I turned 22. Learning languages was an attainable goal for me.
After the Allied forces landed in Holland, I joined the Canadian army as an interpreter and translator. My task was completed when the Canadians returned home.
Then the Dutch army sent me to the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia). This was another disappointment to me. My heart was not in the army, but I tried to make the best of it. I kept up on my languages and I learned the Malay language (now called Bahasa Indonesia).
When I finally became a free man in 1949, I felt like I had spent seven years on hold. But in the same time the Lord had been preparing me in a special way for his later service. I was also prepared for a good business career.

Aaronic Priesthood bearers from five stakes left a priceless gift to future generations of Washington State residents. They donated over 6,000 hours of labor to help build a 220-acre park in the quiet valley of the Snoqualmie and Tolt Rivers near Carnation, Washington. The more than 1,500 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders were among 20,000 Scouts from the area who worked with the United States Army, the Canadian Army, and Washington State officials in the largest youth Bicentennial project in the United States, the John MacDonald Memorial Park.
The young men from Bremerton, Renton, Seattle, Seattle East, and Seattle North stakes pitched tents among the dense fir trees and lived almost like pioneers for five consecutive weekends. They carried logs for shelters, cleared and raked meeting areas, built picnic tables, and nailed ramp separators for the suspension bridge that connects the two areas of the park. When they were finished, there were 40 hike-in campsites, hundreds of picnic tables, many log shelters, several rest room facilities, and five miles of trails through the park. “They were just ecstatic for the chance to do something permanent,” explained one leader. “They were busy every minute.”
They were tired, but happy Scouts who proudly carried their flag in the parade that marked the opening of the park several weeks later. All the town of Carnation and visitors from throughout the country gathered to watch as the Renton Second Ward Cub Scout pack led the parade through the small town and into the park.
“This park … is an honored tribute to our past. Scouts of today and tomorrow will use this beautiful land to learn … of yesterday’s greatness and tomorrow’s promises. The park will reinforce our customary spirit of using the heart, mind, and hands to live sensibly with nature’s rivers, forests, meadows, and mountains,” reads a plaque on display at the Memorial. These are the words of the man who was the inspiration behind the park, John M. MacDonald, a longtime volunteer leader with the Chief Seattle Council.
The proud smiles of the young men as they marched in the parade showed the plaque’s words coming true.

Several years ago a group of men, leaders of Scouts, assembled in the mountains near Sacramento for Wood Badge training. This experience, where men camp out and live as do the Scouts they teach, is a most interesting one. They cook and then eat—burned eggs! They hike the rugged trails which age invariably makes more steep. They sleep on rocky ground. They gaze again at heaven’s galaxies.
This group provided its own reward. After days of being deprived, they feasted on a delicious meal prepared by a professional chef who joined them at the end of their endurance trail. Tired, hungry, a bit bruised after their renewal experience, one asked the chef why he was always smiling and why each year he returned at his own expense to cook the traditional meal for Scouting’s leaders in that area. He placed aside the skillet, wiped his hands on the white apron which graced his rotund figure, and told the men this experience. Dimitrious began:
“I was born and grew to boyhood in a small village in Greece. My life was a happy one until World War II. Then came the invasion and occupation of my country by the Nazis. The freedom-loving men of the village resented the invaders and engaged in acts of sabotage to show their resentment.
“One night, after the men had destroyed a hydroelectric dam, the villagers celebrated the achievement and then retired to their homes.”
Dimitrious continued: “Very early in the morning, as I lay upon my bed, I was awakened by the noise of many trucks entering the village. I heard the sound of soldiers’ boots, the rap at the door, and the command for every boy and man to assemble at once on the village square. I had time only to slip into my trousers, buckle my belt, and join the others. There, under the glaring lights of a dozen trucks, and before the muzzles of a hundred guns, we stood. The Nazis vented their wrath, told of the destruction of the dam, and announced a drastic penalty: every fifth man or boy was to be summarily shot. A sergeant made the fateful count, and the first group was designated and executed.”
Dimitrious spoke more deliberately to the Scouters as he said: “Then came the row in which I was standing. To my horror, I could see that I would be the final person designated for execution. The soldier stood before me, the angry headlights dimming my vision. He gazed intently at the buckle of my belt. It carried on it the Scout insignia. I had earned the belt buckle as a Boy Scout for knowing the Oath and the Law of Scouting. The tall soldier pointed at the belt buckle, then raised his right hand in the Scout sign. I shall never forget the words he spoke to me: ‘Run, boy, run!’ I ran. I lived. Today I serve Scouting, that boys may still dream dreams and live to fulfill them.” (As told by Peter W. Hummel.)
Dimitrious reached into his pocket and produced that same belt buckle. The emblem of Scouting still shone brightly. Not a word was spoken. Every man wept. A commitment to Scouting was renewed.

Members in Falls Church, Virginia, USA, felt the joy of serving together at two homeless shelters. Scrubbing a wall, Adeana Alvarez told a fellow ward member, “I’ve had a frustrating week, and it feels good to just take out the frustration on this wall! We all need service at some time in our lives, and it’s good to do it for other people.”
Another ward member, Anne Sorensen, remarked, “It’s a great way to be connected with your community. I now feel more invested in what is going on with that organization. Every time I drive by here, I’ll think about the people who attend classes here and hope that the work we did gives them a tangible way to feel like they aren’t alone in what they are doing to improve their lives.”

A true story from Bolivia.
It was the first day of school. Andrés was so excited! He was in first grade now. He was a big kid!
But when he got to school, it looked too big and scary, even for a big kid. He held Mami’s hand tightly.
“It will all be OK.” Mami smiled. “Say hello to your teacher. Be nice to your classmates. And don’t forget to take care of your glasses.”
A week ago, Andrés got his first pair of glasses. His parents always reminded him to take care of them.
Mami waved goodbye. “Have a great day!”
But Andrés did not have a great day. Something awful happened!
He ran to Mami after school. “I lost my glasses!” he cried. “I looked everywhere, but I can’t find them!”
“Oh no!” Mami looked worried. “Let’s ask Heavenly Father for help.”
“Do you think it will work?” he asked.
“Let’s try it and see. Heavenly Father always hears our prayers,” Mami said.
Andrés and Mami said a prayer. They asked Heavenly Father to help Andrés find his glasses.
The next day at school, Andrés was still sad. Then a boy walked up to him.
“I think these are yours.” The boy held out a pair of glasses. “I found them by the football field.”
Andrés took the glasses. They were his! He couldn’t believe it.
After school, he ran to Mami and gave her a big hug.
“You found your glasses!” she said. “You must be so happy to have them.”
“I am!” Andrés said. “But I’m even happier because of what I learned.”
“And what is that?”
Andrés smiled big. “Prayer does work!”
Illustrations by Susanna Teodoro

About this same time we had a neighbor who dominated and sometimes abused his wife. He roared like a lion, and she cowered like a lamb. When they walked to church, she always walked a few steps behind him. That made my mother mad. She was a strong woman who would not accept such domination, and she was angry to see another woman abused in that way. I think of her reaction whenever I see men misusing their authority to gratify their pride or exercise control or compulsion upon their wives in any degree of unrighteousness (see D&C 121:37).

One night, I couldn’t sleep because I was very scared about things that weren’t there. I asked my dad if he would give me a blessing. He gave me one, and my mom tucked me back in bed. Then she pulled out my Bible and starting reading from Psalms. When she got to Psalm 4:8, it was all about my trouble falling asleep! It said, “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.” We said it was “my scripture,” and my mom typed it on a piece of paper for me, and I was able to get to sleep. I know that Heavenly Father puts things in the scriptures to help us. I also know that blessings really help you, and I’m glad my dad has the priesthood so that he can give them to me.
Melanie Fry, age 11Layton, Utah

Illustration by Elizabeth Thayer
The young women were excited. In fact, the entire ward in southern France was excited. To encourage greater unity, leaders were planning a ward social, with dinner and entertainment. Knowing that the Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels had already been learning songs and dances during some of their activities, the leaders invited them to provide the evening’s entertainment.
And so the ward’s young women began practicing in earnest—all of them but one. Manon would not be able to perform. She had been undergoing cancer treatments for more than two years.
Manon C., age 16, still came to meetings and activities as often as she could, and she always shared a bright smile despite what she was going through. But during chemotherapy she was sometimes too weak to do much more than rest. Ward members had fasted and prayed several times on her behalf. No one expected her to practice or to dance.
But she could attend the dinner. So why not dedicate the evening to Manon?
The idea quickly caught on.
“We wanted Manon to feel the ward’s love and support for her,” explains Emma S., 16. “If our ward wanted to become more unified, what better way to do it than by working together to show our love for Manon?”
The entire ward became involved in the preparations. Families received assignments to bring food for the dinner; the Relief Society helped make costumes for the young women; the young adults provided technical support (lighting, sound, and background videos) for rehearsals and the final performance; and priesthood brethren helped set up tables and chairs.
All of this work was done by ward members spread out over a large area. “The youth in the ward are very close in spirit, but we live far apart,” says Aiolah V., 16. “We don’t see each other in school because we live in different parts of town, so we make an extra effort to ensure that no one gets left off to the side.”
“We also stay in touch all the time, thanks to cell phones,” says Inka S., 15. “We teach each other by sharing our different experiences. We know we can count on each other, and we try to set good examples for each other.” The young women, who love being together whenever they can, found that rehearsals for the dinner show provided additional opportunities to deepen friendships.
“Before we started rehearsing, I was quite shy,” Inka explains. “I was afraid of making a mistake. But when we danced as a group, I put my shyness aside. I knew it was time to show the ward how hard we had worked.”
Manon, for her part, was both humble and gracious. “When they told me about the dinner and show and that I’d be the guest of honor, I thought I’d be bothered that they were making a fuss,” she recalls. “On the other hand, I was excited to be there!”
Soon the evening arrived, and it was a perfect occasion to offer love and support for Manon. “The food, of course, was excellent,” Aiolah says. “This is France, after all!”
And then the entertainment—called a spectacle in French—lived up to its name. Games, vocal presentations, and dances delighted the audience. Then the young women, as a combined choir, provided the highlight of the show. They dedicated a song to Manon, a song Emma wrote and composed herself. The lyrics in the chorus sum up the love and support everyone wanted Manon to feel:
Please don’t give up,
’Cause we believe in you,
And don’t forget who you are,
’Cause we believe in you.
As the young women performed the song, it was as if everyone in the ward were singing along, at least in their hearts. It felt like Emma’s simple song was transformed into an unsung chorus that resonates in the hearts of Latter-day Saints wherever they are—an anthem of courage and compassion; family and friends; unity, faith, and hope; a never-ending prayer that is heard in heaven.
The leaders’ intent in organizing the social was to unify the ward. Dedicating the evening to Manon not only helped to accomplish that goal but also generated an enduring sense of support for Manon and her family and an understanding that every child of God is important. “It is the goal of the Church to help us be closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” Aiolah says. “We know that They love us and that we are never alone.”

“Mom!” Desiree cried. “I’m scared!”
Mom appeared in Desiree’s doorway and turned on the bedroom light. Desiree squinted into the corner where the scary shadows had been. Nothing was there.
“I thought I saw a wolf in that corner,” Desiree said.
Mom wrapped her arms around Desiree, making her feel snug and safe. “When the light is on, we can see that there’s really nothing there,” Mom said.
When Desiree felt better, Mom turned out the light and went back to bed. Desiree closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Then she opened one eye and looked at the wall. The shadows were still there.
“Mom!” she cried again.
This time Mom didn’t smile when she turned on the light. She looked tired. She asked, “Desiree, do you remember what you were watching on television earlier?”
Desiree nodded. She had watched a program about wolves.
Mom sat on Desiree’s bed. “What we watch can really influence us—our thoughts, our actions, and even our feelings.”
“But the show I watched about wolves wasn’t bad,” Desiree said.
“What we watch on television can affect our thoughts, even if it isn’t a bad program. I think that what you watched tonight played a part in how you are feeling,” Mom explained.
Desiree thought about what Mom said. She had never noticed being affected by what she watched before.
“Wow,” Desiree said. “I’ll have to be more careful in deciding what to watch.”
Mom smiled. “That’s a good idea, Desiree.”
“But what about tonight? I still feel scared.”
“I have an idea,” Mom said. She took a picture of Jesus Christ off Desiree’s desk and pulled it out of its wooden frame. Then she neatly taped it to the wall where Desiree had seen the scary shadows. “He will always be there for you, Desiree. Remember that when you are afraid.”
As Mom turned off the light, a warm feeling filled Desiree’s heart. She knew what Mom had said was true. Jesus would always watch over her, help her, and quiet her fears.

“Many years ago, before you were born, Daddy and I bought this house. I was expecting Rachel and became sick not long after we moved in. I had to stay in bed for about a month. One day, not long after I became ill, Sister Chester came over. She cleaned the kitchen; made dinner for your dad and me; and washed, dried, and folded all the dirty clothes. I tried to get her to stop, but she smiled that special smile of hers and said, ‘Just being neighbors, girl. Just being neighbors.’

“She came over almost every day to fix dinner and do chores until after I had Rachel. On days when she couldn’t come, she sent her granddaughter over with dinner.

“Now that she is older and can’t do as many things as she used to, it is my opportunity to help her. Doing things for others helps us to feel useful and good inside. Besides, it is what Father in Heaven wants us to do.”

When the temple was first being built, the Saints thought that at last they had found a place where they could live the gospel and worship in peace. Then, on June 27, 1844, Joseph and Hyrum Smith were murdered in Carthage Jail by an angry mob. Grief-stricken, the members wondered what they would do without Joseph to lead them.
At the time, most of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were in the east on missions. Two days before the murders, Parley P. Pratt, one of the Twelve, was impressed to leave New York and return to Nauvoo. He learned of the martyrdom on his journey home. As he walked across the plains of Illinois, filled with sorrow and wondering how to comfort the members in Nauvoo, he stopped and prayed for help. He wrote, “The Spirit said unto me: … ‘Go and say unto my people in Nauvoo, that they shall continue … to build the House of the Lord which I have commanded them to build in Nauvoo.’”
Because the members carried on so well and the temple was still being built despite the death of the prophet, anti-Mormons increased their persecution of the members and made attempts to drive away the Saints. And so, on September 24, 1845, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles announced that the Saints would leave the following spring. Even though the members knew that they would again be forced to leave their temple behind, they worked harder than ever to finish it. They wanted very much to receive its sacred ordinances before moving west.
Rooms in the temple were dedicated as soon as they were completed so that ordinance work could be performed immediately. The October 1845 general conference was held in the partly finished building. Brigham Young offered the opening prayer, calling the temple “a monument of the saints’ liberality [generosity], fidelity, and faith.” He and Heber C. Kimball began giving endowments to faithful Latter-day Saints on December 10, and so many people wanted to receive them that endowment sessions were continued until three o’clock the next morning.
The Church’s enemies, upon seeing all the activity at the temple, tried to have Brigham Young arrested. On December 23, government officials waited outside the temple to arrest him. Learning that they were there, Brigham prayed for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.” Then he saw William Miller, a man his same height, nearby.
Brother Miller agreed to act as a decoy. He wore Brigham’s cloak and climbed into Brigham’s carriage. The officers arrested him and took him to the Mansion House, where the Church members also pretended that he was Brigham Young. It wasn’t till his captors had taken him to Carthage that someone identified him! Meanwhile, Brigham Young and the other Apostles had gone into hiding.
The Brethren endowed as many faithful members as possible before leaving Nauvoo. In January 1846, Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the Saints to receive the ordinances [of the temple], and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”
On February 3, Church leaders had planned to stop the ordinance work. Brigham Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave for the West the next day, but when he saw a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned to the temple to serve them. This kept him there another two weeks! More than five thousand Saints received their endowments before heading west.
The Nauvoo Temple was dedicated privately on the night of April 30, 1846. Orson Hyde, one of the Twelve Apostles, dedicated it publicly the next day, even though only a few members were still in Nauvoo to see it, most of the Saints having already started the trek west. By the end of the year, the majestic temple stood unused. Two years after the Saints left Nauvoo, an arsonist set fire to the temple, and in 1850 a tornado destroyed three of the walls. The remaining wall was leveled in 1865 for safety reasons.
Soon after the Saints settled in Utah, they began the construction of the Salt Lake, St. George, Manti, and Logan Temples. The St. George Temple, completed in 1877, was the first temple to be built in the west—and the first temple the Saints were not forced to leave.

When Tyler was four, he loved listening to the piano and wanted to start taking lessons. As soon as he grew tall enough for his feet to reach the pedals, he started playing the organ. He loves it!
Tyler wakes up at 5:30 every morning so he can play the organ at the Church building before school. Once Tyler got to play “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” on the Tabernacle organ on Temple Square.
Tyler also plays the prelude music for sacrament meeting. He says, “Playing music makes me happy because when I go on my mission, I’ll be able to play.”

I grew up on a farm, and I loved working with cattle and with all our other animals. I always had a favorite dog: first Ranger, then Randy, then Tippy, and a lot of others. There were a number of horses, too, that I rode and came to love while I was growing up. I’d ride backward and standing up as well as the right way, and I’d sometimes slide off the hind end like a slippery slide. Once when I did that, I got kicked in the back of the head and had to be taken to the hospital.

For a good part of my young life, I carried my gym bag in one hand and a cornet case in the other. There was always a conflict between my gym bag and my horn case. My mom kept promoting music, and I kept promoting athletics. Although I wanted to be a great athlete, I had only average abilities, so eventually the cornet prevailed. I studied the cornet for ten years, taking lessons every week. Music has been associated with a lot of my most spiritual moments in life: while singing hymns in the mission field, at family home evenings, and at sacrament meetings, and while attending musicals and concerts.

When I got back from my mission and went to Brigham Young University, my bishop, Reid Bankhead, had a great impact on my life. He taught about Christ and urged us to read the scriptures daily, especially the Book of Mormon. Ezra Taft Benson was one of my heroes even then, long before I knew that he’d be our prophet and make studying the Book of Mormon one of the key elements of his ministry. I doubt that a year has gone by since then in which I haven’t read the Book of Mormon.

My older brother, Gary, is two years my senior and was born mentally retarded. He attended public schools until about fourth grade. Part of my early years were spent defending him from the teasing and taunts of his classmates. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling of his situation. Because of my experiences with my brother, I developed a sensitivity to people who are different in any way. We all need to be like Jesus and reach out to those who are different from us. Thinking about the Savior and making Him a part of our lives helps us develop compassion. Jesus ought to be our best friend. Through prayer and thinking about Jesus, we can develop a greater sensitivity to other people and their needs.