Gospel Story Finder

The new learning resources for youth have one central goal: to help youth become converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I recently saw a young man in a youth Sunday School class discover truth for himself. When I noticed that he was having difficulty relating the Atonement to his own life, I asked him if he had ever felt forgiveness. He responded: “Yeah, like that time I broke a guy’s nose when we were playing soccer. I felt bad about it. I wondered what I needed to do to feel better. So I went to his home and asked him to forgive me, but I knew I needed to do more, so I prayed, and then I felt that Heavenly Father forgave me too. This is what the Atonement means to me.”
When he shared this experience in class that day, he read from John 3:16—“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son”—and then testified of the power of the Atonement. This doctrine was no longer an abstract concept to this young man. It became part of his life because he asked his own question and then exercised his agency to act.
This young man was becoming more converted, and so were his classmates. They focused on a key doctrine by studying the scriptures. They related those sacred words to their own life and then testified of the blessings that had come to them as a result of living the doctrine. When we teach the gospel of Jesus Christ, we focus on the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We draw upon sacred text to help strengthen faith, build testimonies, and help everyone become fully converted. The new learning resources for youth will help all who use them to understand and live the word of God.

A sobering and poignant scene appears on our screen as we switch channels. A grieving young father and his two children sit before a television set in their home after a makeshift dinner. The children have been staying with Grandmother while their mother has slowly slipped away in a lingering illness; now they and their father are home again after her funeral. The little girl drops off to sleep and is carried to her bed. The little boy fights off sleepiness until he finally asks his father if tonight, just tonight, he can sleep with him in his bed. As the two lie silently in the dark, the lad speaks: “Daddy, are you looking at me?” “Yes, son,” the father replies, “I am looking at you.”
The boy sighs and, exhausted, sleeps. The father waits a time and then, weeping, cries out in the dark, in anxious anguish: “God, are you looking at me? If you are, maybe I can make it. Without you, I know I can’t.”

I moved to a small town at the beginning of the school year. I was at lunch with a group of kids when they started talking about an inappropriate word. They were saying that if a teacher heard them say it, they would get in trouble.
Then one of them said, “Everyone says it … everyone but Sarah.” I looked up in surprise. I was glad they recognized that I do not say that type of word. And they respect that I am different.
This happened before those people really knew my standards or which church I belonged to. I know I have to watch what I say because others are listening to me, and I want to be a good example.

While serving as a missionary in Quito, the beautiful capital city of Equador, I met a young member of the Church who exemplified what it means to give of oneself completely in the work of converting our fellowmen. Her home was among the shabbiest of Quito—her heart, among the greatest.
I’ll never forget the first time I met her. She was very short, at most five feet tall, and her light brown hair hung to the base of her neck with a slight upward curl. But what set her apart from the rest of the girls her age was that she had no teeth. This wouldn’t have seemed so unusual if she had been quite elderly, but Mirian was barely 19.
“What happened to Mirian’s teeth?” I questioned my companion as we left her home a short while later.
“I’ve wondered about that, too,” he replied, “but no one has ever said anything about it.”
The mystery was forgotten for the time being as we busied ourselves in the missionary work. But a week after our first visit, we returned again to Mirian’s home. Her father, Brother Sanchez, had died about a year earlier, and this had created many difficulties for his family. Sister Sanchez now had to work long hours for only a dollar a day as a washerwoman across the city. And consequently Mirian had been forced to drop out of school to take care of the family while her mother was at work. They also had had to move from their old neighborhood into this one-room house so small the kitchen consisted of a mere kerosene burner on a night stand. We couldn’t help feeling concerned about their well-being and promised to stop in periodically to see them.
On this particular day, Rosa, a non-Mormon friend of Mirian’s, also stopped by, and Mirian suggested we teach her a little bit about the gospel. We gave her a portion of a discussion, but it soon became apparent that she was not interested. Nevertheless, we asked her if we could come and share our message with the other members of her family, and she agreed.
The next day we went by the Sanchez home and asked Mirian to go with us to see Rosa’s family. To our surprise she turned us down, offering a number of lame excuses for not being able to go. We could tell she was keeping something from us and asked her to tell us what was really wrong. She then proceeded to explain.
Rosa lived in the neighborhood where Mirian had lived before her father died, she told us. After his death, the people of the area began to spread rumors about Mirian’s mother.
“One night I had had enough so I went out to defend my mother and what I knew was right. Several of those in the neighborhood decided to gang up on me and teach me a lesson, one I would never forget. They started to beat me, hitting me mostly in the face. This is how I lost all my teeth,” she said, pointing to her mouth.
After she had told us what happened, she seemed relieved and said she would go with us if we really wanted her to. We were impressed by her courage and agreed that she should come.
The evening of the discussion arrived, and my companion and I made our way up the dirt pathway leading to the Sanchez home. Sister Sanchez met us at the doorway, disapproval lining her face. “I do not want my daughter returning to that horrible place,” she told us emphatically. We didn’t know what to say, but Mirian did. We listened in silence as she bore testimony to her mother that she knew there was a special reason she must go with us. Reluctantly, Sister Sanchez consented, but only with our solemn promise that we would return immediately if there were any problems.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Rosa’s family was not interested in hearing about the Church. As we turned away, Mirian began to tell us about the other families in the neighborhood, including a man she had dated for a while. Although she hadn’t realized it when she started dating him, he was a very worldly person with some bad habits. The Spirit touched me, and I insisted that Mirian take us to see him. Even though she was extremely hesitant, she guided us down a path to the home where Luiz lived with his parents and son. Upon answering the door he seemed quite surprised to see us, but invited us in and listened intently to the message we gave him. After we completed the formal discussion, he told us of his recent desire to join the true church of God, but he did not know which one it was or how to find it. He had already been going through the preliminary steps of repentance but felt the need of something more. He declared to us that his heart was telling him we were indeed representatives of the Lord’s true church. He was baptized a week later.
With the continued help of Mirian, coupled with Luiz’s assistance, we baptized nearly 25 people in this neighborhood in a period of six weeks. I’ll always remember the time we decided to talk with those who had harassed Mirian so badly before. As if nothing had happened between them, Mirian helped teach these families, several of whom became converted to the gospel.
I was transferred not long after this and shortly thereafter was shocked to learn that Mirian had died of complications following a ruptured appendix. Yet as sad as that was, she had accomplished a great mission. Because of her deep faith in the Lord and his powers to protect, Mirian had overcome her fear of her fellowmen and had helped to teach the gospel to those who had physically scarred her for life. Many of them now revere her name for forgiving them and bringing them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Looking back now, I realize that one of my great missionary experiences in Equador was to see the true spirit of member-missionary work in action.

Ellen sniffed the moist sea air as she leaned over the bow of the great sailing vessel. The Hudson had sailed away from the coast of England just weeks before. Ellen had cried that day as she waved farewell to some of her friends and family in the cheering crowd. But they were tears of joy. Finally, after years of working and praying, her family’s prayers had been answered. They were going to the land of their dreams—America, the land of Zion!
Ellen enjoyed the sea. During the few times she was able to slip away from taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, Ellen liked to lean over the bow of the ship and let her hair blow wild while she searched for dolphins and other sea creatures.
Ellen’s heart sank as she heard a voice behind her. “Ellen! You must come. It’s time for breakfast prayers.”
“Coming,” Ellen grumbled. Stepping back from the ship’s railing, she tried her best to straighten her hair. “More prayers,” Ellen thought as she hurried toward the hatch that led to the lower part of the ship where her family and all of the Saints ate and slept. Prayers in the morning, prayers at night, prayers by herself, prayers over meals, prayers with the Saints, and prayers with her family. Ellen bit her lip. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the miracle of sailing to America. But was there such a thing as too many prayers?
As Ellen approached her family, who were already kneeling, she wondered if her mother could tell what she was thinking. Ellen knelt down and looked at her mother’s tired face. Life on the ship had not been easy for her mother. She, and many of the other passengers, had experienced terrible seasickness during the recent storm that had rocked the ship for days.
Guiltily, Ellen bowed her head when the leader of their company asked her father to bless the food. She thought of her mother as he asked for a special blessing upon those who were sick. Then he thanked the Lord for the food and asked Him to protect the Saints that day.
After breakfast, Ellen was assigned to care for her younger sisters on the deck. She took them to a place that was out of the way so they could watch the sailors rushing around shouting orders at each other. Ellen noticed the captain near the bow of the ship. He was searching the horizon with his looking glass. She wondered what it would be like to be the captain of a great ship. Suddenly, the captain’s face grew pale, and he began to pace back and forth, stopping every few steps to look through his telescope.
“What could have upset the captain so much?” Ellen wondered. “Let’s go look at the ocean,” she whispered to her sisters, taking their hands in hers. At the bow of the ship, Ellen shaded her eyes and scanned the ocean. At first, all she could see was a small black dot on the horizon. But soon she saw what had made the captain’s face grow so pale.
A large ship was sailing straight toward them at a fast clip. “Pirates!” whispered a man beside her. She could hear the fear in his voice. Panic ensued as parents began calling to each other to find family members and to take the children below. Ellen stood frozen, watching the men scramble around in search of anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Get those children away from the bow,” yelled a crew member.
Ellen shook herself out of her frozen state and led her sisters down the hatch, but as soon as the children were with her mother, she rushed back up to the deck. She was worried about her father. He’d never fought anyone in his life, let alone pirates. She wondered what she could do to help.
The passengers on the Hudson grew silent as the pirate ship sailed closer. Ellen stood next to her father and gasped as the ship came so close she could see the color of the pirates’ hair! She looked up at her father and saw his lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling frightened, she began her own silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to forgive her for her bad attitude that morning.
The two ships sailed side by side for what seemed like an hour. The pirates and the passengers on the Hudson gazed at each other in silence.
“What are they doing?” Ellen whispered to her father.
“They’re probably wondering if our ship is worth robbing,” her father whispered.
They waited in silence until suddenly there was a shout from the pirate ship. Ellen could feel her father’s body tense. Then, to Ellen’s surprise, the pirate ship slowly turned around and began sailing away from the Hudson.
Ellen let out the breath she had been holding. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks, remembering her father’s prayer for safety that morning.
“The Lord was surely watching over us this day,” her father said, laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder and watching the pirate ship sail away.
“He surely was,” Ellen thought, and then she smiled, realizing she now knew that there was no such thing as too many prayers.

Prior to my introduction to the restored gospel, I spent much of my time playing football, including games on the Sabbath day. Even though I had been brought up to have respect for the Lord’s day, it was through applying the principle after I came in contact with the Church that I gained an understanding of the doctrine and its blessings. Withdrawing from the Sunday league team was one of the significant sacrifices that led to my conversion. It helped me appreciate the value of the gospel in my life.
Three years later, when work commenced on building the chapel in Norwich, England, I also withdrew from the Saturday league team so that I could make my contribution to the building project. The mist of self-interest that had previously restricted my vision was beginning to disperse, and a new panoramic view was emerging, bringing with it a deeper appreciation for and an increasing love of life.

On the scheduled, frosty Saturday morning, 16 carloads of LDS youths from the Brigham Young University 36th Branch met at 8:00 A.M. dressed in uniforms of bib overalls and work gloves. Their project?—six homes of senior citizens in surrounding towns that had yard cleanup and painting jobs to be done.

“We are hoeing, daily hoeing” and “Put your shoulder to the wheel, push along,” rang through the air as the service project got underway.

Window frames took on a new coat of paint, garden plots were cleared for spring planting, and apples and walnuts were gathered from trees while the homeowners smiled and offered encouragement and thanks.

A quarter-acre field of tall weeds looked a little awesome to another group, but three hours later, when bare soil could be seen, one proud worker pointed to the pile of weeds and exclaimed, “Isn’t it lovely? Our own personal haystack.”

One widow invited her young workers in for hot chocolate, popcorn, and homemade rolls when they finished their job. “This is what I miss,” she said. “We had a family of seven children.”

“This type of activity really unites us in the true spirit of helping each other,” commented a worker. “Working side by side with people helps you to get to know them a lot better than you could through a social activity.”

When the jobs were completed, the dusty work crews went picnicking in the canyon.

“These priesthood activities act as lab periods to teach individuals what they ought to do on their own,” explained the head of the planning committee. “They are even more meaningful when the participants go home and, on their own, quietly help their neighbors.”

When we got to the pile of junk, we had to lift off an old bedspring so that we could sift through the smaller things underneath. Ed found a rusted shovel he could sharpen and fit with a new handle. And I dug out a powder compact with a mirror. There was a pretty good washbasin that could be fixed by pulling a rag through the hole, and one or two bottles to add to my collection. We found a stove poker and a coal scuttle that were better than the ones we were using at home, so we decided to take them to Mama.

We put the other treasures inside the coal scuttle and sat down on the edge of the bedspring to talk. “You’re lucky you’re not going to school,” Ed complained. “There’s always some big bully who wants to beat you up at recess. And the teacher is mean. If you don’t know the answers, he cracks your knuckles with a ruler, or makes you sit in the corner, or has you write I WILL NOT FORGET TO STUDY MY LESSONS a hundred times on the blackboard after school. Just think of all the fun you can have outside while I’m cooped up at school!”

“It’s no fun being all alone,” I disagreed. “Besides, I want to learn to read.”

“What for? Who needs to read?”

“I do. There are places to find out about that I’ll never see and lots of things to learn that are written down.”

“It’s not fair that you get to stay home.” Ed accented each word with a bounce on the springs. “Say, these are pretty good springs. Couldn’t we use them?”

“There’s no place to put them,” I replied.

“That’s too bad,” he said, jumping higher.

“We could take them to our Indian grandma,” I suggested. “Then she wouldn’t have to sleep on that hard ground.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Maybe I could make her a mattress with corn shucks like Mama made.”

The more I thought about it the more I liked the idea. Piecing together the scraps for the mattress would help fill the days when everyone else was at school.

Ed picked up the coal bucket with our treasures, and we hurried home to ask Papa if he’d pick up the springs with the wagon.

All of a sudden I felt anxious for school to start so I could get on with my project for Grandma. Mama was glad I had something to keep me busy and helped me find plenty of scraps of heavy material to stitch together for the mattress. She was true to her promise about the ABC’s, too, and took me to the store the first day everyone else was back in school. She hesitated a little over the cost, and Mr. Younger said, “I have another set I can let you have for less because the box got lost when they were displayed in the window, and I had to put them into another box.”

Mama said that would be fine, and he climbed up his ladder to get the box off a high shelf. It had a picture of a beautiful lady in a wide-brimmed hat, and I liked it better than the proper box that only had a picture of the ABC’s that were already inside. The letters were printed in black on blue cards, and some of them had faded in the window, but that didn’t matter. Mr. Younger said there were four sets: lower and upper case in printing and cursive, with extras of the most-used letters.

“She can make words until the cows come home,” he said.

That’s exactly what I intended to do. I didn’t know what he meant by cursive and upper and lower case, but I knew right where I was going to hide the box in the loft so no one else would find it and lose any letters.

The days went fast while the others were at school. I made words with my cards the same as the ones in the nursery rhyme book and practiced copying the letters on a piece of blackboard I’d found at the junkyard. When I got tired of that I’d come down from the loft and sew on the quilt pieces until Caroline and Ed came home.

To make sure I could go to school the next year, I practiced talking while I sewed. I learned to say things like, “Peter Piper picked a peck of prickly, pickled peppers,” or “Bumpy rubber buggy bumpers.” Sometimes I could say them better than Ed.

After I’d pieced together the top and bottom for the mattress, Mama showed me how to put the clean, dry corn shucks between the layers of cloth and tack it together in enough places so they stayed where they should. Corn shucks make a nice, friendly mattress that whispers and sighs all night, like someone is keeping you company. It would keep Grandma from being lonely while she slept.

Each spring we got more of our land under cultivation, and by the third or fourth year it was producing abundantly. The pastureland was fenced, and the eucalyptus trees we had planted for shade and as a windbreak were starting to do their job. The orchard was growing bigger, both in size and number of trees, and we had more horses, cows, chickens—even some new pigs. Every penny Papa earned went back into improving the farm.

As the farm grew, so did the family. Soon we had three more girls, and they, too, were named in alphabetical order—Helen, Ida, and Janice.

Janice was a weak little girl with a bad heart. If she cried hard or got too excited, she couldn’t get her breath and went into a fainting spell.

One time Papa and Mama took Janice to the doctor in Harmony to see if anything could be done for her. The three boys and I were trying to think of a game to play while they were gone.

“Want to play hopscotch?” I asked as I scratched the pattern in the dirt with a stick.

“Naw, that’s a sissy game,” Ed scoffed.

“Besides, it makes you too hot,” Frank said.

“Let’s go over to Grandma’s then,” I suggested, “and see if she still likes her mattress.” Even after all this time I could get excited just thinking about how much I’d enjoyed making it and how pleased she was when we took it over to her.

Some of the Relief Society sisters from Ghana are among those who have found joy in keeping covenants, even under stressful circumstances. In 1989 the government of Ghana padlocked the doors of the churches and forbade Latter-day Saints to meet together to practice their religion. Persecution against Church members was great. Sisters like Faustina Otoo, however, expressed increased devotion, “I am happy to live in this time when all these things are happening. We were always told we were the pioneers here.”

Church members found ways to show their commitment. They held family devotionals; they studied the scriptures and read Church history. Sister Emma Twereboa-Kodua, a branch Relief Society president in Nsawam, Ghana, wrote, “I keep visiting the active sisters and they are all in good spirits. … I have tried to fast and pray more and better than I have ever done in all my life. My faith has increased greatly. Now things that usually irritate me no longer do, anger and frustrations no longer have the same effect on me. These are some of the blessings that I have gained during these trying times.” The restrictions on church meetings were lifted in December 1990.

Another new member is Rocío Flores Rojas, 15. “Elder and Sister de la Cruz taught and baptized my mother,” she says. “At first I didn’t want to be baptized. But they kept coming and talking to me about the word of God. And they treated me so well—like they do all the people. I came to know that their message was true and was baptized last Sunday. More than anything, we would like them to stay with us forever. But when they have completed their mission, they have a right to return to their family.”

It may look like the youth from the Big Cottonwood Stake are simply using ropes and boards to walk together. But actually they are learning about temple work—and how it’s a team effort.
The youth chose “Aspire Higher” as the theme for their youth conference and learned to work together and set goals for celestial living.
Receiving a temple recommend may seem as far in the future as marriage and mortgages, but the youth in this Salt Lake City stake took on the responsibility of becoming temple worthy by the time they held their youth conference.
Six months before the conference, the youth began preparing to attend the temple to do baptisms for the dead and understand the work that goes on there. They were divided into groups, and each was assigned to learn about one of the temples around the world.
Their two-day youth conference included a trip to the Salt Lake Temple.
Mike Harrington, a priest from the Cottonwood 12th Ward, provided the music in their temple devotional.
“I gained a testimony of what goes on in the temple,” Mike says. “I am really excited to get to go there.”
Youth in the Pinedale Ward, Rock Springs Wyoming Stake, spent several activity nights learning more about the temple and how to be prepared to enter it. As a culmination of their activities, they each sanded and finished a large pine picture frame and put their favorite picture of a temple inside. The youth now have a special reminder of the temple and what it means to them.

Carrie Buffat told her friend in advance that she would be receiving a gift subscription. The friend was so excited that she kept coming back every few days, asking when the first issue was going to arrive. By the time it did, anticipation had whetted her appetite to a fine pitch. Many students reported this side-benefit of telling the recipient in advance, although some also said that if the magazine was late in coming, the person could get a little irritated.

In Portugal, in the city of Funchal, on the Madeira Island, lived a lady named Asencão Frango who had been a nun for twenty years. As a matter of fact, she was a Mother Superior at a home for poor children and orphans. Toward the end of a four-year teaching assignment early in her life as a nun, doctors discovered a cancer in her throat. Her mother had died of this same disease. Although she knew that her deteriorating health might lead to certain death, she had a strong feeling that she had not finished her work on earth. She prayed with great faith for the restoration of her health and was healed, with no further problems or need for medical care.
When her church decided to close the children’s home where she was assigned, she maintained it herself for four years, using an inheritance she had received from her deceased parents, until the children living there were raised and on their own or were adopted.
Hearing of a new religion, she attended her first meeting of our church with a friend, out of curiosity. It was held on the dirt floor of a member’s garage, but the spirit of the meeting impressed her. The elders began teaching her the discussions and challenged her to be baptized. She declined, saying that she already had been baptized. The elders persisted by inviting her to read the Book of Mormon. The elders told her, “If this book is the true word of God, then Joseph Smith is a true prophet and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. If so, you need to be baptized into God’s true church.”
She read the Book of Mormon and gained a strong testimony of its divinity. Later, she stopped the missionaries after a discussion of the Godhead and requested baptism. Just one year afterward, she stood on the doorstep of President Reuben P. Ficklin’s mission home in Lisbon. She obtained her temple recommend and could hardly wait to enter the Swiss Temple to pledge sacred covenants with her Heavenly Father.

I have had many such teachers since. One was a prophet of the Lord, Spencer W. Kimball. I was visiting from England for general conference and asked if I could see him. I was told that he was in his office and no one was with him. I knocked on the door and his familiar voice said “Come in.” I started to open the door, but before it was fully open, he was there already. I felt a sense of urgency and real caring. He took me by the arm, showed me round his office, then sat me down across the desk. “How is the work going in England?” he inquired. I gave a brief report, but he knew already; he was teaching me the principle of stewardship and accountability. Then he reached up to his bookshelves, took down a book, and handed it to me. “Have you read this?” he asked. He smiled, took a pen, opened the book and wrote a message, and then gave it to me. I shall always treasure that copy of The Life Story of Heber C. Kimball, the first missionary to England.

Ask for a father’s blessing. Matt had a special experience with this. Asking his dad for a blessing led him to date his now wife.

After a spiritually trying summer, Matt was eager for the fresh start that a new semester of school would bring. He asked his dad to give him a father’s blessing. In that blessing, Matt was specifically told to “listen to and counsel with” his mother. In the past, he hadn’t talked to his mom frequently while at school. That semester, however, he felt inspired to call his mom to talk about his dating life. He said that doing so helped him stay “focused on why I was dating and where I wanted my future to go.” His mom’s advice proved valuable: that semester Matt met a woman who became his wife. About this experience, he said, “I’m incredibly grateful for the worthiness and guidance of my father and the focus and direction from my mother that helped me through that time of meeting and courting my wonderful wife!”

I searched and searched for the perfect gift for Grandpa. Grandpa was dying of cancer, and this would probably be his last Christmas with us. I had been thinking for months on just the perfect thing to get for him. I wanted to give him something unique that would be just a small symbol of all the love and admiration that I had for him. But nothing that I saw seemed to be a worthy representation of that love.
Soon it was Christmas Eve and I still didn’t have a gift for Grandpa. I went shopping one last time, and once again I came home without a gift. I started thinking, if Grandpa had some money, what would he do with it? How would he want the money spent? The answer came to my mind quietly but positively: He would give the money to someone less fortunate than himself. So that’s how the money was used.
I got some paper and wrote about all the feelings I had for Grandpa, told him what I had done for him for Christmas, put the letter in an envelope with a Christmas card, and quickly gave it to him with a kiss. Before he could say anything, I wished him a Merry Christmas, and went back to my room.
A little while later, I went to get something for my mother and passed Grandpa’s room. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He called me in, drew me close to him, and gave me one of those huge hugs that only grandpas can give. “That was the best gift you could have given me,” he said.
That was Grandpa’s last Christmas with us. It wasn’t until some time after his death that I slowly realized that Grandpa had given me one of the most precious gifts that I’ll ever receive. He had helped me understand that the best gift that one can give is a part of one’s self. Through example, Grandpa had awakened in me a desire to be like him and in so doing, had given me a better understanding of the glorious personage whom he was striving to be like.

The missionary journey took great physical courage as well as faith. While jumping onto a ferryboat in New York, Brigham slipped and fell against an iron ring on the deck, severely dislocating his shoulder:
“I directed brothers Kimball and Hedlock to lay hold of my body, and Brother Pratt to take hold of my hand and pull, putting his foot against my side, while I guided the bone with my right hand back to its place. … When I came to a fire I fainted, and was not able to dress myself for several days.27

While the great Tabernacle organ was being built, Brigham Young was often asked, “Who will play the organ?” Knowing of no organist in the Church, he would reply, “The Lord will provide.” During this time a young boy of 11, Joseph J. Daynes, came to the Salt Lake Valley with his family. They brought with them a folding melodeon that young Joseph had played each night at the campfire during their journey.
When they reached the valley, they camped in the Eighth Ward square where Brigham Young visited and welcomed them. They sang as usual that evening while President Young was there. When he heard Joseph play the melodeon, he exclaimed: “There is our organist for the great Tabernacle organ.” Five years later, at the age of 16, Joseph J. Daynes became the first Tabernacle organist and held that position for 33 years. (L. W. Snow [half-sister of J. J. Daynes], “History of Joseph J. Daynes, Pioneer 1862,” paper written for the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers, reprinted in Oversons’ master’s thesis.)
It is fitting that his most popular composition in the LDS Psalmody has been used as the closing theme song for the organ on the Tabernacle Choir broadcasts: “As the Dew from Heaven Distilling.”
SONG: “As the Dew from Heaven Distilling” (Hymns, p. 232; organ solo.)

I just started middle school, and it is so much fun. I found so many friends that rock, but lately I’ve been having trouble with a girl. Sometimes I come home crying because of her. But one day I said a prayer and had my dad give me a blessing. Now it’s the second semester of school, and I’ve had no problem with her. I’m so happy I have a Heavenly Father who loves me and a father who can give me a blessing to help me feel better.
September S., age 12, Florida, USA

We provide for our children as we teach them how to work. Let me tell you about my grandson Jacob. He did not want to go to school. His mother had tried so many things. Finally she sat him down and said, “Daddy’s job is to go to work and earn money. My job is to stay home and take care of you and your brothers and sister. And your job, Jacob, is to go to school.” When Jacob understood the principle, he accepted it and went to school.