Gospel Story Finder

Ammon sighed as he and Dad left the soccer game. “I don’t get it,” he said. “We have so many good players. Why can’t we score?”
Dad was a good soccer player. Maybe he could help.
“I think you need to learn to work as a team,” Dad said. “You all want to score goals, right?”
“Yes,” Ammon said. “But we can’t all be the one to score. Is that what you mean?”
Dad nodded. “You can’t score a goal on your own. First the defenders need to take the ball from the other team, right?”
Ammon laughed. “It’s pretty hard to score if you don’t have the ball.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Then the defenders give it to someone who can score. No one can do it alone.”
“I guess,” Ammon said.
When they got home, Mom was holding the baby while she made dinner. “How was the game?” she asked.
“We lost again,” Ammon said. “But we’ll do better next time.”
“That’s a good attitude,” Mom said.
“I’m starving!” Lorrin shouted as he, Seth, and Spencer ran in.
“Boys, can you help set the table and put the toys away?” Mom asked.
All four boys groaned.
“But I didn’t play with the toys,” Seth said.
“It will take forever!” Lorrin wailed.
Dad laughed. “I think our family has the same problem as Ammon’s team.”
“What’s that?” Seth asked.
“We aren’t working together,” Ammon said. “We all want to score a goal by eating dinner. But we’re leaving it all to Mom.”
“Right!” Dad said. “How can we work as a team?”
Ammon had an idea. “What if Seth and I set the table? The other boys can pick up the toys.”
“Great idea!” Dad said.
Soon dinner was ready. Ammon folded his arms for prayer. He was glad his family had worked as a team. He hoped his soccer team could do the same thing.

In 1956, after graduating from Kumamoto University Medical College, he visited Tokyo Women’s Medical College and saw heart surgery being performed.

He was so impressed by it that he decided to become a heart surgeon. It took five years of intensive training. During that time, he visited New York City for research purposes. Before he left Tokyo, one of Brother Nakamura’s friends told him that on his way back to Japan, he should travel across the United States to see Salt Lake City, Utah, and the beautiful Mormon temple.

Although Brother Nakamura was unable to visit Salt Lake City, his friend’s words were influential in changing his life.

“I remembered his reference to Salt Lake City and the Mormons when, in April 1971, two young men came to my home in Kumamoto and said, ‘We are Mormons.’ I was interested in hearing what they had to say; although, as a doctor, I had always thought that I didn’t need religion. I felt there was no need to ask help from Buddha or from God.”

“Our first impressions of the missionaries were good. They were only twenty years old, but they had such a kindly, respectful attitude, and they presented some thought-provoking concepts,” says Brother Nakamura. “I was thinking that perhaps my son and daughter could become like the elders if we listened to what they had to say.”

The missionaries made return visits to the Nakamura home and the entire family listened to the lessons. “Whenever the missionaries asked a question, one of my two children would correctly respond,” remembers Brother Nakamura.

“My wife and I wondered why the children’s responses to the missionaries’ questions were in harmony with the truth, while our answers were rather vague and lacking in comprehension. It made us feel humble. We were moved by the fact that our children could recognize truth.”

The Nakamuras were especially impressed with the emphasis on families. “Families should be the most important part of the home life,” says Brother Nakamura. “It was my hope that by listening to the missionary lessons, our family would become much happier.”

In July 1971, the Nakamuras were baptized, and in September of the same year, Brother Nakamura performed his first heart surgery. “I felt as if the Lord took away my fears and apprehensions,” he says. “I think if the heart surgeon has faith in the Savior, the special power of God helping may be felt.”

As Brother Nakamura gained experience in the Church, the idea of being sealed in the temple and of serving the Lord in that sacred building grew in his heart. Then, in 1973 (about seven years before the Tokyo Temple was dedicated), the Nakamura family had the opportunity to travel to California to be sealed in the Los Angeles Temple.

While traveling to the temple, they almost missed some airline flights and even wondered whether their airplane would arrive safely. But their prayers for a safe journey were answered. Brother Nakamura says he realizes now how important that trip was. “My main goal after that was to spend time in the temple, especially serving with my wife.”

The Nakamuras decided to accept a mission call to temple service. They knew it would mean a complete change in their lives, but to them, it was worth it.

Before their mission call, says Brother Nakamura, he was very busy in his profession and in the Church. He was enjoying his activities as the head of the hospital where he worked, and as the principal of a school of nursing where he was also an instructor. During this time he also served both as a counselor in the mission presidency and as a district president. He received many telephone calls—day and night—from patients who needed his help, which he freely gave.

“In the temple there are no midnight telephone calls,” he says. “The most wonderful thing is that the temple is the house of the Lord. It is peaceful everywhere. Now everything in my daily life is spiritually based. All of the ordinance work in the temple is to serve God.”

“It is a great privilege to act for our dead brothers and sisters,” he says. “As the Lord told us, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’” (Matt. 25:40).

“When I was working in the hospital and involved in my Church duties, I was gone so many days and nights that my wife got lonely,” says Brother Nakamura. “Now we are working together all the time in a holy place. We are very happy.”

At the conclusion of his mission, says Brother Nakamura, he wants to return to his profession, but not in a government hospital as he was before. Instead, he says, he would like to be a doctor for senior citizens.

“Temple work is also missionary work. It means we serve God,” says Brother Nakamura. “It is the best place to serve, the best place to work, the best place to spend your life.”

“I like to be different and do things that no one else has done,” Cheryl Brooks says of her latest accomplishment. Instead of completing just 28 Personal Progress goals while she was a Mia Maid in the Highland (Utah) 14th Ward, Cheryl decided to do every single experience listed—115 in all!
“There were times when I wondered if Cheryl hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew,” says her mother, “but that just made her more determined.”
Because of her tremendous effort, Cheryl has gained a greater appreciation for her family history and has learned to rely on Heavenly Father to help her accomplish what she wants.
“I feel like I’ve done something worthwhile, and it taught me so much about the gospel,” says Cheryl.

John also reports an incident which took place in June 1844, shortly before the martyrdom. Now 16, he had been marching with 75 legion troopers summoned to Nauvoo by the Prophet. It was raining; roads were bad. Most of the men were on foot, wading in places through waist-deep water.
We reached Nauvoo about daylight and encamped near the temple. While I was guarding the baggage, Joseph the Prophet rode up. He asked about my parents. As we were talking, he took my hand and pulled me forward until I was obliged to step up on a log. Then turning his horse sideways he drew me step by step to near the end of the log, when, seeing that each foot left marks of blood upon the bark, he asked me what was the matter with my feet.
I replied that the prairie grass had cut my shoes to pieces and wounded my feet, but they would soon be all right. I noticed the hand he raised to his face was wet and looking up I saw his cheeks covered with tears. He placed his hand on my head and said, “God bless you, my dear boy,” and asked if others of the company were in the same plight. I replied that a number of them were.
Turning his face toward Mr. Lathrup as the latter came to the door of his store, the Prophet said: “Let these men have some shoes.” Lathrup said: “I have no shoes.” Joseph’s quick reply was, “Let them have boots, then.”
Joseph then turned to me and said, “Johnnie, the troops will be disbanded and return home. I shall go to Carthage for trial. …” Then leaning toward me, with one hand on my head, he said: “Have no fear, for you shall yet see Israel triumph in peace.” (Adapted from Carl Arrington, “Brother Joseph,” New Era, Dec. 1973, pp. 16–19.)

From my personal chronology of courage, let me share with you an example from military service.

Entering the United States Navy in the closing months of World War II was a challenging experience for me. I learned of brave deeds, acts of valor, and examples of courage. One best remembered was the quiet courage of an 18-year-old seaman—not of our faith—who was not too proud to pray. Of 250 men in the company, he was the only one who each night knelt down by the side of his bunk, at times amidst the jeers of the curious, the jests of unbelievers, and, with bowed head, prayed to God. He never wavered. He never faltered. He had courage.

The large, three-story building did not seem very promising. Nevertheless, Elder Brian McGavin stepped up and knocked on the drab, red double doors. While tracting, he had learned to be very thorough. Almost immediately he and his companion, Elder David Birrell, were greeted by a cheerful young student and ushered into a guest room. They had discovered the Po Ai orphanage.
Although the elders’ apartment in Taipei, Taiwan, was near the orphanage, they had never before found it among the winding streets, crowded with brick huts and foliage. The facilities of the orphanage were scant—two large bedrooms crammed with bunk beds, a kitchen, classroom, and the guest room.
The director of the orphanage, Mrs. Wu Mei-hen, entered the room with several members of her staff and listened politely to the missionaries’ message. After a short “What now?” pause, the missionaries began explaining the Family Home Evening Program.
Mrs. Wu and her staff responded with unexpected enthusiasm, and the next Monday was set for a trial family home evening.
How do you hold a family home evening for 30 orphans, ranging in age from 2 to 18? The elders weren’t quite sure, but they forged ahead anyway. The children were all given name tags and a short lesson was delivered. Just before the closing prayer everyone sang “There Is Beauty All Around” in Mandarin. Soon the evenings at the orphanage became a district project, and other missionaries helped with the Monday family home evenings.
After one of these evenings Elder McGavin wrote his mother about the success they were having teaching the children about the Church in spite of the poor conditions of the orphanage. Sister McGavin, the Laurel adviser in the Holladay 24th Ward, Salt Lake City, happened to be with some of her girls when she read the letter from her son. Immediately they began discussing ways they could help the Po Ai orphans.
After talking with the Explorers, the Laurels planned a bake sale to raise money for shoes and desks for the orphanage. The girls went to work baking cakes, pies, and cookies, while the Explorers put together a band to provide entertainment for the sale.
By coincidence a member of the ward, Sister Ann Burchett, was planning a trip to Taiwan. She was quickly drafted by the youth to present the money they had earned to the orphanage.
The day Sister Burchett arrived at the orphanage, the students planned a special family home evening. They greeted Sister Burchett by singing “There ls Beauty All Around” and presented other skits and songs. Mrs. Wu accepted the money from Sister Burchett and announced it would be taken directly to a carpenter so desks could be built.
A local newspaper, the China Post, wrote an article about the family home evenings, the efforts of the young people in Salt Lake, and the visit of Sister Burchett to the orphanage. The article quoted Confucius, “There is nothing to compare with the happiness of welcoming a friend from afar.” Because of their concern the LDS youth from Holladay were indeed friends from afar.

A hailstorm had flattened Richard Ballantyne’s first wheat crop in the Salt Lake Valley, leaving just a few precious stalks to be gathered in the fall. He and his wife Huldah and their baby had come too late in the season the year before to plant any crops, so they were counting on this year’s wheat harvest to help them through the winter.
In the midst of his discouragement, Richard had an unusual impression. His mind drifted back to his homeland in Scotland where he was converted to the Church. He thought of the sooty ragamuffins who played on Sunday in the streets of the little village of Fawns. Richard had organized a small Sunday School there for these boys and girls and had taught them about Jesus.
Now, in this new land and in this desert country that had been so hard to tame, Richard thought of the pioneer children. He loved the gospel and he loved to teach boys and girls. In his own words Richard Ballantyne expressed his feelings this way:
“I felt that the gospel was too precious to myself to be withheld from the children; they ought to have the privileges of gospel teaching, and that was the main purpose: to teach them the gospel.”
Richard told his bishop that he would like to start a Sunday School. The bishop and the General Authorities of the Church all encouraged him in his plans. Loading everything they owned into two wagons, Richard and his family moved out of the Old Fort to a building lot one block west and three blocks south of the proposed Salt Lake Temple site. They built a single room to be used as a “summer kitchen” and lived in one covered wagon. Their other wagon was used for storage.
Any time that wasn’t needed to provide food and clothing for his family, Richard spent working on the addition to his little one-room home that was to be used for a meetinghouse. He went to Millcreek Canyon, cut down trees, and hauled the logs to a mill to be sawed into lumber. From a quarry in Red Butte Canyon, he brought sandstone for the foundation and sills. Adobe bricks for the walls were obtained from a brickyard west of the city.
The Sunday School room was twenty feet long and eighteen feet wide and had plastered walls inside and adobe walls outside, plank flooring, and a roof of logs and boards covered with several inches of dirt. The room was lighted by two windows in front and a window and half-glass door on the south side. Heat came from a large fireplace, and the benches were made of slabbed timber.
Sister Ballantyne chose the music for the Sunday School, made suggestions on the lessons, and helped give the room a cozy and welcome atmosphere.
Outside, Richard planted cottonwood trees for shade and attractive shrubs and vines. He also built a pole fence around the house. By the time winter came, the building was completed and the bearded Scotsman invited the children in the neighborhood to his new home for Sunday School.
At eight o’clock Sunday morning, December 9, 1849, about thirty children between the ages of eight and thirteen stamped the snow off their shoes and trooped into Sunday School where a warm fire and Richard Ballantyne greeted them. With shining eyes he called the class to order. After a song, he gave a sincere prayer and dedicated the room to teaching children the gospel of Jesus Christ.

At a recent sacrament meeting, a man came into the chapel and sat down near the entrance. His clothes were untidy; his face was unshaven. He appeared somewhat uncomfortable, and I guessed this was his first visit to our branch. He seemed more interested in the furniture around him than in the meeting. This disappointed me because the talks that day were especially uplifting. When he left before the meeting was over, I followed him out. After a short greeting, I simply asked, “What made you leave?”
After a moment, he replied: “I am a very poor man, and the conditions of my life cause me a lot of suffering. I am looking for sympathy and compassion, and when I heard that good people attend your church, I decided to stop by. But I can see that your church is for the rich, and I probably will not find what I am looking for among those people.”
I was very surprised by his answer. The people in our branch are far from rich, and some of them have struggled with need and poverty for a long time. “What made you think that?” I asked him.
At first, his answer discouraged me. “They are so neatly dressed; they are quiet, and their children smile all of the time. Poor people cannot look so happy and content in this joyless life.” Then I invited him to visit us again and promised that if he would investigate the restored gospel, he would find what he was looking for.
Subsequently, as I reflected on our branch, I realized that the man was right. We truly are not poor people because we do not feel that we are. And although need sometimes knocks at our door, we are at peace. We truly are rich because of our faith in Jesus Christ, our knowledge, our families, and our Church. The Lord has blessed us with the eternal riches of a spiritual rebirth and the promise of a future with Him: “Mine eyes are upon you, and the heavens and the earth are in mine hands, and the riches of eternity are mine to give” (D&C 67:2).

Jenny knew something special was going to happen that Christmas of 1938. She had just been baptized. Her baptism had been so special that she knew Christmas would be special too. But she didn’t know how it would be special.
On Christmas morning Jenny woke up early. She heard Dad and her brother Marcus go out to milk the cows, and she knew she had to stay in bed until they came back. That was the rule on Christmas.
“Mayda,” she whispered to her older sister. “Mayda, are you awake?” Jenny wanted to talk about the special day, but Mayda was still asleep. So was Herbie, who slept in a crib across the room. He was only two years old, but she would have been happy to talk even to him.
Jenny sighed and thought about the day ahead. Maybe the special thing would be something under the Christmas tree.
“A Shirley Temple doll!” she whispered. That’s what she hoped it would be—a Shirley Temple doll with curly yellow ringlets, eyes that opened and shut, and frilly clothes with dainty little shoes! Jenny already had a doll, but it was a rubber baby doll with hair and eyes just painted on. When Jenny put the doll to bed, its eyes stayed wide open, staring up at her. A Shirley Temple doll that was under the Christmas tree would make it a really special Christmas!
Finally Jenny heard Dad and Marcus come back from milking the cows. Mama came into the bedroom to get Herbie. “Everybody up,” she said cheerily. “It’s Christmas.”
The large room that was both kitchen and living room was warm and cozy when Jenny got there. Dad and Marcus were warming their hands over the big black stove.
“It’s a cold one today,” Dad said. “I think it’s going to snow.”
As soon as Mama and Herbie and Mayda came, they all went over to the tree. Jenny and Mayda had decorated it the day before with rings of colored paper and strings of popcorn. Mama had said that maybe next year they could afford a string of lights. But it was pretty, even without lights.
Jenny didn’t let herself look underneath the tree until after they had all held hands and sung “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” She liked that part of Christmas morning.
Finally it was time to look under the Christmas tree. She spotted her gift right away. It was a doll, all right, but not a Shirley Temple doll. It was just another rubber baby doll, although this one did have eyes that opened and shut. Mama had made the doll a set of tiny clothes and a little pillow and quilt. It was a nice doll. But it couldn’t be the special thing.
Mama said she liked the paper-plate comb holder Jenny had made for her in school. Dad was patting his new shaving lotion onto his face. Mayda flipped through the pages of her new autograph book, saying it was just what she wanted. Marcus grinned as he examined his new jackknife, and Herbie galloped around the kitchen on his new stick horse that had a carved head and a rope tail. Maybe the something special will be something that happens, Jenny thought.
The family ate breakfast, finishing up with an orange for each person, which was almost special, but not quite.
Since it was Sunday, Jenny wondered if what she was waiting for would happen at church during the Christmas program.
Dad went out to hitch the horses to the sleigh. They had an old truck, but it always froze up in cold weather. Jenny liked the horses better anyway.
Mama filled the sleigh with quilts, and they all got in. Just as they were starting out, the Sorensens, who lived farther up the road, came along. The sleigh bells on their horses jingled, making it really sound like Christmas. They all waved, except Raymond, who stuck his tongue out at Jenny. That meant he really liked her! It made Jenny happy—but still, that couldn’t be her special thing.
The Christmas program was nice. Aunt Jessie Fugal sang “O Holy Night,” and didn’t miss even the highest notes. Teeny DeMars played a piano solo, and Red Sorensen played a violin solo. Then Bishop Johnson gave a talk about the birth of Jesus. To close the meeting, some of the Junior Sunday School children presented a tableau of the manger scene while everyone sang “Silent Night.”
It was time to go home, and still the special thing hadn’t happened. Jenny felt disappointed.
Snow was falling. Mama put a blanket over Herbie’s head and ran for the sleigh, followed by Mayda, Marcus, and Jenny. Dad helped them crawl in under the quilts. Then he shouted to the horses. “Giddap!”
The snowflakes were as big as popcorn as they wafted down, and were so thick that it was hard to see the Sorensen sleigh only a few yards away.
“Jenny,” Mama said, “this is the way it was snowing on the day you were born.”
The day I was born, Jenny mused. The day I came to live with Dad and Mama and Mayda and Marcus. Of course Herbie hadn’t been born yet.
Jenny looked around at them, at their heads poking out from under the quilts. They all smiled at her.
The day I was born, she thought again. If I had been born to some other family, I probably wouldn’t know any of them!
Suddenly Jenny knew that this was the special something she had waited for all day. It wasn’t a special gift or a special happening. It was a special knowing. It was knowing that she was where she wanted to be, with the people she wanted to be with. It was knowing she was right where she belonged.
Jenny snuggled down under the quilts, knowing. It truly was a special Christmas.

I grew up in an active, supportive family but never really believed in the things I was taught. It all just felt like something I had to check off my to-do list, like school or work.
I tried reading the scriptures and praying, but I never really
had a personal witness.
Early in my teenage years I made some bad choices and started to feel frustrated with the way my life was going. When I turned to God, I felt like He was silent. I figured if there really were a God in heaven, He probably had more important things to do than worry about me.
One evening, I went to pick up my little sister from her friend’s house. I texted her, but she didn’t come out right away. Slightly annoyed, I entertained myself by looking around outside while I was waiting. Suddenly, a duck acting strangely caught my attention. It was making weird noises and pacing all around, so I went to investigate. The duck was flapping its wings over a large metal grate in the road, and when I looked through the grate, I saw 13 ducklings stuck in the mucky water. I promptly lifted the grate out of the way and began scooping baby ducks out of the smelly drain one by one.
With 12 out of 13 ducklings out of the sewer, I reached down for the last one, but when I went to pick him up, he bit me! I pulled my hand back and dropped him back into the water—this little guy was not having it. He had seen me grab his brothers and sisters and was determined to avoid me.
I watched as this last little duck swam into a small tunnel, far enough away that I couldn’t reach him. Exasperated, I turned to leave, but glanced back at the mother duck and all the ducklings, waiting patiently for their little brother under a small tree. Concern hit me; I didn’t want him to be separated from his family.
It was at that moment I noticed a manhole about 10 feet away in the middle of the street. “There’s no way he could have swum that far,” I thought. Expecting nothing, I lifted the grate out of the way and, to my surprise, saw the duckling directly beneath me. But it was much deeper than I could reach. Even when I tried using a tree branch, it was just too far away.
A young man happened to be driving by right at that moment, and he noticed me rummaging around the sewers. He looked concerned and asked if I was OK. I explained the situation, and he agreed to hold my feet as I went headfirst into the manhole.
Reaching for the last duckling, I thought to myself how ridiculous this whole situation was. Here I am going out of my way to save this baby duck, and he stubbornly and ignorantly bites me and swims away. How could this creature be so blind to the literal saving hand that was reaching out to him?
Then, headfirst in a stinky manhole, it all hit me. I was just like that baby duck, and Heavenly Father, through His Son, Jesus Christ, was doing everything He could to save me! Finally, the duckling let me pick him up, and we managed to get both me and the duck safely out of the manhole.
My emotions whirred as I thought about all of the things Heavenly Father had done for me. He had blessed my life and my family; He had sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to perform an infinite Atonement so that I could return to Him; and He had arranged this little experience to help me understand His love and plan for me, in just the way I needed it. Heavenly Father had answered my prayers in a personal way, and at a time when I was ready for the answer. And in that moment, I knew He loved me.

In 1992 two sister missionaries in Zagreb, Croatia, were returning to their apartment one evening. Their last teaching appointment had been some distance away, and it was getting dark. Several men on the trolley made crude comments and became rather menacing. Feeling threatened, the sisters got off the trolley at the next stop just as the doors closed so no one could follow them. Having avoided that problem, they realized they were in a place unknown to either of them. As they turned to look for help, they saw a woman. The missionaries explained that they were lost and asked the woman if she could direct them. She knew where they could find another trolley to take them home and invited them to follow her. On the way they had to pass a bar with patrons sitting along the sidewalk in the gathering darkness. These men also appeared threatening. Nevertheless, the two young women had the distinct impression that the men could not see them. They walked by, apparently invisible to those who might have had a mind to harm them. When the sisters and their guide reached the stop, the trolley they needed was just arriving. They turned to thank the woman, but she was nowhere to be seen.
These missionaries were furnished a guide and other blessings to protect them physically. As you become converted, you will have comparable protections to keep you from temptation and deliver you from evil. Sometimes evil will not find you. Sometimes you will be protected when evil is made invisible to you. Even when you must confront it directly, you will do so with faith, not fear.

S stands for Service in Arizona. All over the state, LDSSA council members are boosting the idea that involvement is joy.
In the Phoenix region, the Latter-day Saint students are concentrating on the underprivileged areas. The main focus of their work has been on community school activities. They started from scratch and have developed a five-day-a-week program for all interested adult members in the surrounding community.
“We beamed with pride when Mr. Fuller, director of the community school, spoke at the institute and praised our efforts,” commented Gordon Paul Sorenson.
Brian Hendrickson, third-year law student, is community project chairman; and, according to Tempe institute director Sherman Beck, Brian stirred up a wonderful storm when he got the community project going. “Working with underprivileged children to lift them to greater heights of accomplishment and to give meaning to their lives is most rewarding,” Brian says.
Erline Hall is a great girl with a heart quick to sense an ache in another’s. She has winning ways with children, too, who clamor to “sit by teacher” as she assists them in reading as part of Safford, Arizona’s Head Start program. Her speciality is the five-year-old Mexican-American students, who are eager to learn.
Winter has come to the desert around Tucson. The morning air is biting to young Lamanites standing in a huddle waiting for their ride to seminary. Their own parents are unable to take them. But there are smiles all around when a long car pulls to a quick stop. It’s Chris, one of the girls who signed up with LDSSA’s car pool project. At seminary the students will be taught by a young returned missionary, also a member of LDSSA.
Every Monday night in Tucson, carloads of happy college students embark upon their most thrilling night of the week. Twenty minutes later they are in a twentieth century ghetto, tutoring elementary and high school students.
One member is teaching piano to four black students; and because no instruments are available in their homes or in the neighborhood, she picks the students up and takes them to the institute, where pianos are available.
“The service we render to others is really the rent we pay for our room on this earth,” said Sir Wilfred Thomason Grenfell. The service we render to others is also an act of love and obedience before our Heavenly Father, who reminds us that to lose our life is to save it.

The next day started like any other Monday. But after school, Mimi was greeted at home by her neighbor, Mrs. Martin. “Your mother isn’t here, dear. She took Ben to the hospital. I’m staying with you and your little sister until she or your dad can come home.”
Mimi’s eyes widened, and a scared feeling filled her stomach. “What’s the matter with Ben?”
“The doctors at the hospital said that his appendix ruptured.”
“Ruptured?”
“That means it burst, dear,” Mrs. Martin explained. “It was all full of infection, and it burst, letting the infection out into his tummy.”
Mimi gulped. “Is it dangerous?”
“Well, it’s pretty serious, but they operated quickly to take it out. And your dad and grandpa hurried to the hospital to give him a blessing. He should be just fine. There’s nothing to worry about now, I’m sure.”
But Mimi did worry. The scared feeling in her stomach became a sick feeling. She went to her room and knelt by her bed. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please help Ben be all right. I know we argue sometimes, but I really love him. Please bless him to get better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” As Mimi finished praying, she felt warm all over, and the sick feeling faded away.
Later, when Mom came home, her tired face looked white, but she smiled at Mimi and her sister and hugged them tightly. “Everything is going to be all right,” she said. “Ben is very sick, but his blessing promised him that he would heal quickly and without too much pain. He’ll have to be in the hospital for a while, and I’ll go back tonight to be with him.”
Before Mom left, she prayed with the girls. Again Mimi felt a warm, peaceful feeling all through her body. Before she went to sleep, she carefully read the scripture on a card her Primary teacher had given her; “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is good, in faith believing that you shall receive, behold, it shall be done unto you.”* Mimi slipped out of bed onto her knees and prayed once more. Then, full of the warm, peaceful feeling again, she crept back under the covers and went right to sleep.
After several days, the doctor said that Ben could leave the hospital. “I expected him to need to stay longer, but there’s no sign of infection now, and I’ve never seen anyone heal so quickly.”
The doctor may have been surprised, but Ben wasn’t. “Of course—didn’t my blessing say I would get well fast and without too much pain?”
Mimi just smiled.

I asked Janie first. She’s my baby-sitter. “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” she answered, returning to her book, “but I wish I had the blue dress in this catalog.”
It was a pretty dress.
“I’m saving my baby-sitting money to buy it,” she added.
I next asked Mom as she left for work, “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” she said, “but I wish the living room would be picked up and vacuumed. After work I must go by the dry cleaners, so I’ll be late.”
When my big brother came home from school, I asked him, “Jack, how can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” he replied, “but I wish for an A in geometry.”
That afternoon and evening Jack left the television off and worked hard on his geometry.
As soon as Dad came home, I asked him, “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” he answered, “but I wish my good suit was cleaned and pressed. I need it tomorrow.” Looking at Mom’s note saying that she would be late, he started picking up the living room. “Hmmm … it needs the full treatment,” he said. He wheeled out the vacuum cleaner.
“I wish I could ride my bike, now that you took off the training wheels,” I said as he was putting the vacuum cleaner away.
“Come on, I’ll help you practice.”
First he showed me how to stop and get off. Then he gave me some good starts, and I began to get the hang of it.
When Mom came home, she looked around with pleasure at the clean, inviting living room. And the next morning Dad was happy to find his freshly pressed suit in his closet.
That afternoon Janie seemed happy. She had received a birthday check from her grandmother. “In another week I’ll have enough for my blue dress.”
Jack came home, walked right past the basketball hoop he loved to shoot at, and went into his room.
“When’s the test?” I asked.
“Next week. I have three more study sessions.”
A week passed. I practiced every day riding my bicycle in the driveway. I had a skinned elbow, a bruised knee, and a scraped ankle, but I finally mastered the bike.
I was proudly riding it when Janie came by to model her beautiful blue dress for me.
“You look great, Janie,” Jack said as he came down the sidewalk. Then he grinned and waved a geometry test paper with a 94 on it!
How can wishes come true? Figure it out—I did!

As Sister Johnson and I were raising our children, we encouraged each of them to learn to play a musical instrument. But we would allow our children to take music lessons only if they did their part and practiced their instrument each day. One Saturday, our daughter Jalynn was excited to go play with friends, but she had not yet practiced the piano. Knowing she had committed to practice for 30 minutes, she intended to set a timer because she did not want to practice even one minute longer than was required.

As she walked by the microwave oven on her way to the piano, she paused and pushed some buttons. But instead of setting the timer, she set the microwave to cook for 30 minutes and pushed start. After about 20 minutes of practice, she walked back to the kitchen to check how much time was remaining and found the microwave oven on fire.

She then ran into the backyard where I was doing yard work, yelling that the house was on fire. I quickly ran into the house, and indeed, I found the microwave oven in flames.

In an effort to save our home from burning, I reached behind the microwave, unplugged it, and used the power cord to lift the burning microwave off of the counter. Hoping to be the hero and to save the day as well as our home, I swung the flaming microwave in circles with the power cord to keep it away from my body, got to the backyard, and with another swinging motion flung the microwave out onto the lawn. There we were able to extinguish the fiery flames with a hose.

What had gone wrong? A microwave oven needs something to absorb its energy, and when nothing is on the inside to absorb the energy, the oven itself absorbs the energy, becomes hot, and may catch on fire, destroying itself in a pile of flames and ashes. Our entire microwave went up in flames and burned because there was nothing on the inside.

The picture of Joseph Smith kneeling in the sacred grove is familiar to most of us. The results of his prayer have been felt throughout the world. Have you ever wondered what inspired a young boy to turn to prayer when he was troubled and doubting? Some have suggested that his mother planted the seeds. When Joseph was nine years old and his sister Sophronia was ten, she was dying with typhus fever. His mother wrote that she and her husband clasped hands, knelt by the side of Sophronia’s bed, and poured out their hearts to Heavenly Father in prayer asking Him to spare their daughter’s life. From that moment, Sophronia improved and completely recovered.

Many years later, Paul C. Child, then of the Priesthood Welfare Committee, and I attended a stake conference together. At the priesthood leadership session, when it was his turn to speak, he took his scriptures in hand and walked from the stand into the congregation. Knowing President Child as I did, I knew what he was going to do. He quoted from the Doctrine and Covenants, including section 18 concerning the worth of a soul, indicating that we should labor all our days to bring souls unto the Lord. He then turned to one elders quorum president and asked, “What is the worth of a soul?”
The stunned quorum president hesitated as he formulated his reply. I had a prayer in my heart that he would be able to answer the question. He finally responded, “The worth of a soul is its capacity to become as God.”
Brother Child closed his scriptures, walked solemnly and quietly up the aisle and back to the stand. As he passed by me, he said, “A most profound reply.”

I trudged up the cement steps of my grandparents’ white frame home. What a way to spend a summer afternoon, I thought with dismay. Without knocking, I reluctantly entered through the screen door into the cool of the shaded living room.
“Karen,” boomed a voice from the kitchen, “is that you?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“I’m ready,” said my grandfather as he entered the room and smiled a greeting to me.
My Grandpa Larsen was a big man, at least six foot two. At five feet, seven inches, I was considered tall for a girl but still felt small beside this man. When I was little, I thought of Grandpa as a gentle giant, someone who bounced us on his knee, sang silly songs, and gave us whisker shaves as we squealed our delight.
At 16 I was too old for a whisker shave, but Grandpa’s eyes twinkled with mischief when he asked, “Aren’t I a lucky fellow today, going for a drive with a pretty young lady?”
I simply nodded to him in agreement and felt my first pangs of guilt wash over me. I had not wanted to drive to my grandfather’s. What I really wanted to do was spend the afternoon with my friend Margaret Ann. In a few weeks our junior year in high school would begin, and we always had lots to visit and dream about.
However, my mother had been determined in her decision to have me pick up my grandfather. Mother had other obligations to fill, and she didn’t consider my afternoon with Margaret Ann nearly so important as my taking Grandpa to visit his only surviving brother, Amos, who was dying.
The thoughts of visiting an old and dying man whom I hardly knew seemed to me grim and depressing at best. But I loved my grandpa and knew this afternoon’s excursion held real importance for him. He tried to mask his emotions with light conversation and a little teasing, but I still felt the reality of his concern as we climbed into our family car.
After the first few minutes of travel, Grandpa fell silent and stared out the car window at the passing landscape. Once or twice, I looked over at him, but he remained unchanged and his expression seemed fixed on other days and other doings.
Watching Grandpa, I couldn’t help but smile. He sat beside me dressed in a clean shirt, his best pair of bib overalls, and a sport coat that he added as if on impulse as we left his home. At 78, Grandpa still sat tall in the seat. His hair had thinned over the years and his shoulders rounded a little.
Grandpa’s hands were what I liked best, and I stole a glance at them now as they lay relaxed and unmoving in his lap. Usually, those big, bony hands were constantly busy; and their bent fingers and calloused palms showed years of hard labor. His were massive hands made for work and for doing. They were hands that still held strength, strength of endurance and love.
We were through the town now, nearing the turn that would take us by the temple and up to Sunshine Terrace. “Grandpa,” I said softly, “we’re almost there.” He nodded silently, and I knew he had heard me.
I hadn’t wanted to accompany Grandpa into the rest home. I was young and full of life and always felt that the old people occupying its rooms were in some way a personal affront to my youth and vitality, a sharp reminder of my own mortality.
After parking the car in front of the Terrace, I waited for Grandpa to open the door, get out of the car, and go inside. He didn’t. Instead, he turned and looked at me. In that momentary glance I easily read his unspoken request that I accompany him in to see his brother. I opened my door, and we walked together into the rest home.
Even though my grandpa was old, he was independent; and I knew that though he needed me with him, he would never have asked. But I felt his hand give my shoulder an extra squeeze of thanks as he said, “This is Amos’s room.”
We stopped, and I followed Grandpa inside. Amos seemed small and fragile and gray as he lay beneath his bed sheets. For just a moment panic seized my girlish heart, and I wondered if we were too late. But then my grandpa walked across the room, drew a chair close to his brother’s bed, and bent his head down to Amos’s ear. On the other side of the room, I couldn’t hear what it was my grandpa said, but I watched as Amos’s eyes opened and he smiled.
I stayed on my chair across the room, and I never really heard any of the words exchanged by these brothers, brothers who had grown old with life’s living, brothers whose bodies were bent and gray, but brothers who remembered earlier days and better times together.
We spent nearly an hour with Uncle Amos. During that short time, I witnessed a revelation unlike any I had experienced in my young life. I watched two elderly men transcend the years to become again the boys they once were as they reminisced together for the last time.
As we left, I felt privileged to have viewed a special reunion, a gentle communion, and a touching but temporary good-bye between the kindred spirits of two good men. As we walked down the hall, I reached across the space between us and grasped my grandpa’s hand.

Recently, some members of my family determined it would be fun to bicycle from Bozeman, Montana, to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in the United States. This 225-mile journey would take us three days, and we would cross the Continental Divide on three occasions. We determined that traveling through the mountain passes with good weather would be a wonderful experience that would help us appreciate God’s creations.

After careful planning and preparation, two of my sons and my only daughter and I set out on the first day to cycle to our overnight stop in Big Sky, Montana. The morning was perfect, and we expected a delightful journey. However, as we traveled along, dark clouds gathered and brought rain, which eventually became sleet and hail and made us extremely cold and wet and miserable. As we concluded day one of our journey and reached our overnight destination, I was reminded that life can be just like that day. Fortunately, we had prepared for all types of weather conditions; had we not done so, it would have been difficult to complete our journey that first day. At each stage of life’s journey, we should set out full of hope and optimism, but we should be prepared nonetheless to face opposition or hardship at some point.

Thirteen-year-old Florence Onyejekwe reached her usual spot in the crowded outdoor market in Onitsha, Nigeria. The street was packed with sellers calling out to busy shoppers. Women balanced bundles on their heads as they walked. School had just ended for the holidays, and Florence knew her friends were enjoying the break from class. But Florence spent her holidays selling bitter leaf here at the market. It was her only chance to earn money for her school fees.
Florence did not complain, though. After all, her mother spent long hours at the market every day selling yams to buy food for the family. Mama worked so hard. Her parents both did. But without an education, there was only so much they could do. Florence was almost finished with primary school. Perhaps if she could continue her schooling, she could get a good-paying job and help her family.
When she returned home, Florence asked her parents, “Do you think I could go to secondary school? And maybe university?”
Mama looked at Nnam (Dad) and shook her head. “University costs so much more than we have,” said Nnam. Florence looked down at her shoes. She didn’t want Mama and Nnam to see how disappointed she was.
A few days later, Florence stopped at the hospital to pick up some medicine. The hospital was almost as busy as the market, though not as loud. Florence stared at the nurses in their crisp, white caps. She pictured herself in a uniform like that, helping the sick and taking care of babies in a big hospital. Perhaps she could become a nurse.
Florence knew her parents were right—getting an education would be hard. But Florence knew how to work hard. She decided to try.
No matter how many chores filled her day, Florence made time to study. She passed the tests for secondary school, and Nnam borrowed enough money for her to go. Later she found out the government would help pay for her nursing school! Her dream was within reach.
But when it came time to begin nursing school, Florence felt a little doubt. What if nursing was too hard? What if she was lonely? Florence bowed her head and prayed, Dear God, please give me the strength to go to nursing school and work hard.
At nursing school, Florence learned to give medicine and keep tools clean from germs. Sometimes her patients got better, but sometimes they didn’t. Florence prayed often for courage. After three long years, Florence graduated with the award for best student. Her dream had come true! She got to wear the white nurse’s cap, and she was able to earn money to help her family.