Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago while we were serving in the mission field, a minister who was investigating the Church said, “I hear you talk about the benefit of a living prophet. What sort of pronouncements has he made lately?” We replied, “The prophet has taught us that we need to live frugally. We need to stay out of debt, fix up our homes, and plant gardens that we may enjoy the fruit of our labor.” The minister thought for a moment and then said, “That is not what I would have imagined a prophet to say, but as I consider it, what better advice could be given?”

After Ella gulped down her breakfast, she quickly put on her jacket, boots, hat, and gloves. She opened the front door and eagerly stepped onto the porch to see the glistening, new-fallen snow.
Ella dragged her feet through the snow, making two narrow trails across the yard. She reached the sidewalk and peered down the street. The Gonzales twins were already out in their yard, busily constructing a snowman.
“Their snowmen are always the biggest and fanciest on the street,” Ella grumbled to herself, “because there are two of them to do the work. Well, I’ll show them. I’ll build the best snowman that’s ever stood on Larkin Street—even if it takes me all day!”
Scooping up a handful of snow, she patted it into a ball and began rolling it in the snow. Around and around and around the yard she went, until her arms ached from pushing and sweat trickled down her forehead.
“Whew!” Ella stood back in admiration. She’d never seen such a gigantic ball. She glanced proudly toward the Gonzales’s yard—and her eyes popped as the twins set still another snowball on top of the four already there. A five-layered snowman!
“Nuts!” Ella said crossly. She wished that she had someone to help her—this was hard work! She flexed her arms, took a deep breath, and began rolling a second ball.
“Can I help?”
Ella whirled around instantly, but her excitement turned to dismay when she saw who was standing hopefully in the driveway.
Deon! Of all the people on Larkin Street—of all the people in the whole third grade—Deon was the very last person whom Ella would pick to help her. Deon was big enough, but he was awkward. He couldn’t make it through a day of school without dropping something, tripping, or crashing into desks and shelves and people—even Mr. Brown, the principal. Deon’s nickname was the Clumsy Giant.
Deon would probably trip and fall on top of mysnowman and smash it to pieces, Ella thought. I don’t want him to help.
She opened her mouth, all set to tell him—nicely, of course—to go away. Deon’s head drooped sadly. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.
“Oh,” said Ella, hating to see him so unhappy, “all right. You can help. Here, let’s lift this up.”
An enormous grin spread across Deon’s face as he plodded into the yard and bent over. Together they lifted the ball and set it on the sturdy base.
“Great!” Ella exclaimed as she dusted the snow off her knees. Then she looked down the street again and groaned. “The Gonzales’s snowman is so tall!”
“Yours is a lot wider, though,” Deon encouraged her.
Ella was pleased. “I’ll make the head, and you can make the neck, OK?”
“Sure!”
In another half hour they were finished.
“Fabulous!” Ella said, beaming. “It’s much better than the Gonzales’s snowman.”
“Are you going to put a face on it?” Deon asked eagerly.
“Of course. A face and a hat, buttons, …”
“A belt?” Deon asked.
“Terrific!” Ella exclaimed. “Why don’t you get a belt and buttons, and I’ll take care of the rest,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”
“OK,” Deon agreed. He lumbered down the sidewalk.
Ella rushed inside and began rummaging through the kitchen.
“Who’s that you’re playing with?” asked her mother.
“Oh, that’s Deon,” Ella explained, slamming a drawer shut. “He’s eight, too, even though he’s so big.”
Mom chuckled. “He reminds me of your Uncle Terry. Terry was big like that when he was a boy. Papa called him a bumbling old sheepdog.”
“Uncle Terry was that big?” Ella was amazed. Uncle Terry looked just like anybody else now. Oh, he was a little taller than average, and quite a bit chunkier, but still he was normal.
“He certainly was a clumsy child,” Mom said. “But now Aunt Rosemary says that he’s the best dancer that she’s ever danced with!”
Ella kept sneaking glances at Deon as they decorated the snowman. Will Deon grow up to look and act like everybody else? She wondered. And had Uncle Terry minded being called a bumbling old sheepdog? I bet Deon doesn’t enjoy being called the Clumsy Giant! Uncle Terry is a pretty super guy—and Deon really is a nice boy.
Soon the snowman was dressed with pop-bottle-cap eyes, a carrot nose, a potato-peeling mouth, an old fishing hat, a moth-eaten blue and green scarf, five shiny black buttons, and a sagging brown belt. Ella lifted up the hat and plopped down an old mophead for hair, and Deon leaned a broken fishing pole against the snowman’s arm.
Deon laughed. “We should make a sign: ‘I’m all ready. Where are the fish?’”
Ella grinned. “That’s a good idea.” She paused, then said, “Come on in. I think that we have paint and cardboard somewhere.”
Mom greeted them cheerfully and gave them cookies and milk after they finished their sign. She didn’t even mind when, on the way out, Deon knocked over a chair and just missed toppling a lamp. “No harm done,” she said, reaching out to steady it. “Now,” she added, “put your sign up, then wait for me. I’m coming out with the camera.”
“Your mom’s nice,” Deon told Ella as they propped the sign against the snowman. “My mom’s always afraid that I’ll break things. She starts yelling at me as soon as I come into the house: ‘Stay away from the table! Don’t set foot in the living room!’” Deon sighed. “I wish that I could take a shrinking potion. I hate being so big.”
“Don’t worry,” Ella said reassuringly. “My Uncle Terry was big like you when he was eight, but now he’s just like everyone else.”
“Really?” Deon’s eyes brightened.
“Yes. After Mom takes our picture, you can come in and play and she’ll tell you about him.”
“Are you ready?” Mom called as she tramped through the snow. “One of you get on each side of this super snowman and smile!”
“The best snowman on Larkin Street,” Ella said proudly as Mom focused the camera. “The best friends too.”

When I was a young teenager, our family lived in the mission field. My father was branch president in our little town in Wyoming. It was a typical small branch. There were few families and fewer young people. I was one of two Aaronic Priesthood bearers. In addition to preparing and passing the sacrament, one of our assignments was to sweep the cigarettes and empty beer cans out of the rented upstairs room we met in. My father always saw to it that I arrived early in order to have plenty of time to clean the hall before the people came.
It was a friendly little group. Everyone called each other by their first names, as I recall. Reverence and respect were not the chief characteristics of our congregation. But we did things together and loved the Church in our own way.
Father had a great problem. He wanted his children to love the Lord as he did. He wanted to give them a vision of the Church as it could be and indeed as it was in more highly developed parts of Zion. He was concerned about enlarging our perspective. He wanted to insure our understanding of what it meant to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He knew, consciously or otherwise, that it wouldn’t do much good for him just to talk to us about it. He knew that we, as most children, were more impressed by what we did and what we saw.
Shortly after we moved to Wyoming, the Church announced plans to observe the centennial of the pioneers crossing the plains. In the summer of 1947 it was decided that a group of Church dignitaries would retrace the route of the original pioneers, stopping at many of the principal landmarks along the way. Accordingly, a caravan of automobiles and interested persons started in Nauvoo and returned across the original pioneer trail, commemorating various historic encampments. The group was accompanied by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Council of the Twelve.
At a family meeting one Sunday afternoon after sacrament meeting, my father announced that we were going to go join that caravan. He had plotted the trajectory of the group and determined that the closest point to our home would be at Independence Rock, a landmark on the Mormon trail in central Wyoming. I had mixed feelings at the time about making the trip. I couldn’t see too many reasons for leaving home and traveling several hundred miles in the heat of the Wyoming summer. However, as we discussed it in family council, father’s enthusiasm affected us all. My younger brother and sister became enthused about the project, and I was outvoted. That sometimes happens in family councils. We began to make plans to intercept the caravan. Rather, father made the plans, and we accepted them.
He had known President Kimball years before in Arizona. He told us that it would be a fine thing to join the caravan and see Brother Kimball again. Even I began to get excited. He told us as children that this would be a marvelous experience. We were promised an opportunity to meet one of the apostles of the Lord.
In those days this didn’t happen very often. The chances of a General Authority of the Church wandering into our part of Wyoming in 1947 were almost nonexistent. Our family had had little contact with the Brethren as we moved from place to place. This became something to look forward to.
One bright summer day we left home. We packed a lunch and the family into an old 1939 Studebaker automobile and journeyed to Independence Rock. It was a long, hot trip. When we arrived some hours later, we parked our car. Looking around we could see in the distance a group of men surrounding a large, rocky mound that could be seen for miles in all directions. My brother and I accompanied our father. I remember walking through the sagebrush and grass toward the group of people by the rock. I remember distinctly approaching the man who is now the President of the Church. I remember the recognition accorded to my father, and I remember the words that were spoken.
My father said, “Elder Kimball, do you remember me?”
That was the first time in my life I could remember anyone being called “elder” anything. That was the heritage of our friendly, little branch, I suppose. My father’s words seemed very strange to me.
Elder Kimball turned to my father and said, “Brother Howard, how good to see you again.” Then he asked, “Are these your boys?” Father said, “Yes.” Elder Kimball said, “It is so kind of you to come.”
I stood there waiting for something momentous to happen. Something like “Dr. Livingston, I presume.” But that was all. That was all. I don’t remember anything else being said. I remember that Elder Kimball was busy. Others were making demands upon his time, and there were ceremonial functions to be performed. There may have been other things said to my father, but I don’t remember them. I was disappointed that we had come so far and looked forward with so much anticipation to a conversation that was three sentences long.
We participated in the festivities of the occasion. Afterwards we ate our lunch on the plains, climbed the rock, and noted the inscriptions that had been made by pioneers. It turned out to be not such a bad day after all. Late that evening we returned home. We resumed our routine lives. I remember thinking then that it might have been easier to watch the event on television. I felt let down at the time.
And I don’t believe it made a bit of difference to the Church or to Elder Kimball that we made that trip. But it made a difference to my father. The reward of renewing that association was important enough to him to cause him to make the journey. He let us know that we had been a part of a great event and that we had been privileged to have a glimpse of a great heritage.
I have thought about that excursion many times since. I have come to realize that it was my father’s love for the Lord and the Church and the Lord’s servants that caused him to want to make the trip. I realize that he loved the General Authorities and sustained them. This awareness, which grew in me over the years, meant much more to me than all the telling he could have ever done.
The fact that he would involve us and the fact that by his example he taught us what he thought about the gospel of Jesus Christ have since that time become great lessons for me. He taught me, and I have learned, that you cannot be a passive member of the Church. I learned that association and fellowship with great men are worth whatever price you have to pay to attain them. They are worth enduring heat; they are worth a long trip; they are worth temporary inconvenience. They are the lasting things of life.

Later in the day the Dunns arrived. “We don’t get many General Authorities up here,” one boy explained as the group clustered on the shores of the lake waiting for the Dunns’ helicopter. “When they do come, we get excited.” The excitement was very real when the whirr of the propeller and the roar of the engine turned all faces skyward. As the Dunns stepped out of the craft, camera shutters clicked, handshakes were exchanged, and swarms of smiling people enveloped them. Suddenly a chorus of “Shall the Youth of Zion Falter” filled the air as everyone lifted their voices in unison. “Only in Alaska, only in Alaska,” murmured one boy almost to himself.
From that point on, the tenor of the conference intensified. A still-vibrant, but now-hushed feeling swept the crowd as they gathered in the sands with their backs to the shimmering sun and listened to Elder Dunn in the first of three addresses to them.
“I know that many of you have traveled long distances to come to this conference. Yet I get the feeling that it was all worth it,” Elder Dunn said, looking into their faces. “I think I see here spiritual eyes that are very comforting. I don’t have too much concern about the future when I can look out at such a sea of righteousness.”
He spoke and they listened. They listened until their hearts overflowed, the fullness glistening down sun-bathed cheeks. And then they listened some more. When it was time to climb back on the buses, many were reluctant to leave. Only the promise of hearing Elder Dunn the next day, Sunday, gave them the will to part.
Sunday began early, and many of the now-scrubbed faces were drooping a little as they entered the large cultural center on the university campus for church meetings. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month,” one girl on the planning committee later admitted quietly. But the tiredness almost felt good. It came from days filled to overflowing with Mormon-style work and fun.
It wasn’t long before the faces began to glow with spiritual awakening. The group divided for the first meetings. The boys met with Elder Dunn for a priesthood meeting in front of a huge mural of the Fairbanks countryside.
“Can you imagine,” he said, “what we could do if we took faith in God, confidence in self, and added that third ingredient—determination?” Then he answered his own question. “There isn’t a boy or a man in this room who couldn’t go all the way in doing anything he needs to do.”
Meanwhile the girls were meeting with Sister Dunn in the auditorium. The sweet spirit of womanhood at its best radiated from the girls as they listened to Sister Dunn bear her witness of the growth that can come through service in the kingdom.
“You know, girls, service is the only way to develop our capacities,” she said with quiet conviction. “The Lord wants us to grow and develop.”
From the third row a baby began to fuss and then cry. Sister Dunn paused for a moment, and everyone smiled as the mother offered the child comfort. Somehow it all seemed very right.
When the boys joined the girls in the auditorium for the final event of the conference, a three-hour testimony meeting, each paused for a moment in the greeting. The mysterious transformation that had occurred over the short night was most pleasing. Shirts and ties had replaced T-shirts, and soft dresses had replaced blue jeans. But the change was more than washing off the dirt and donning the Sunday best. They felt cleaner through and through. It was as if the words of the last night and the anticipation of the experience to come had brought a renewal of spirit, a new understanding of life.
As the meeting progressed, this renewal grew. Heart joined heart in a declaration of the power of righteousness that bowed many heads and filled many eyes. The lines of those waiting to bear testimony grew up the stairs the length of the auditorium.
“Do you know that the group sitting right here in this room could change the shape of Alaska?” Elder Dunn began the testimony bearing. “People want what you and I have if we are bold enough and courageous enough to share it with them. I’m just naive enough to think that you and I can convert the world.”
He spoke with boldness, and they answered with conviction.
“There is a feeling in this meeting that I can do anything that’s right,” one boy said, adding his testimony to Elder Dunn’s.
“I look around me and everyone is just sort of glowing,” observed one girl, her voice hushed in marvel.
And they did. It was a glow more beautiful than that of the midnight sun from the tallest mountain. It welled up from three days of nurturing and spilled over, moving all within its touch to swelling hearts and wet cheeks. Nonmembers stood to express their gratitude and testimonies in embryo. Adult advisers wept silently beside their youth. The Dunns watched in quiet wonder. And every heart joined in the silently resounding chorus, “His truth is marching on.”

For years, I took notes from each general conference talk but never looked at those notes again. At the completion of the October 2021 conference, I felt impressed to incorporate my notes into my life. My new plan took key thoughts from my notes and focused on one thought a week for the next six months. That gave me a message to focus on every week until the next conference.
This practice follows the prophet’s counsel to study general conference teachings. “I exhort you to study the messages of this conference frequently—even repeatedly—during the next six months,” President Russell M. Nelson said. “Conscientiously look for ways to incorporate these messages in your family home evenings, your gospel teaching, your conversations with family and friends, and even your discussions with those not of our faith.”
As a single mother of four single adults, this strategy helps me refocus and refine my goals to become a better person and mother and to strive to become more like the Savior each day.
My process is not the only way to study conference. I offer it as a suggestion as you make your own plan to implement the teachings of general conference in your life. Here’s how it works for me:
I listen to each talk and write the important insights that touch my heart, as well as thoughts I receive from the Spirit. At the end of each session, I listen to the Spirit as I highlight one or two things from each talk that I feel I need to work on or that will remind me how to become more Christlike.
Then I choose 26 highlighted thoughts and assign one a week until the next general conference. I type the thoughts into a list and assign each a Sunday date. I place this list on my bathroom mirror as a reminder. I also assign these weekly thoughts on my phone calendar. Each Sunday I receive a reminder to start a new focus. This thought will be at the front of my mind as I pray each morning for help throughout the day. Each night, I review with Heavenly Father how I did that day.
I post a list of general conference messages on my bathroom mirror to remind myself of what I’d like to work on until the next conference.
Here is an example of the first month of my calendar after last conference:
April 7: Read Doctrine and Covenants 109 (the Kirtland Temple dedicatory prayer).
April 14: Say “thank you,” “I’m sorry,” and “I love you.” Say them often and sincerely.
April 21: Unkind feelings or thoughts toward others will cause the Spirit to withdraw from us.
April 28: Have confidence in the covenants made with God through Jesus Christ. Honor the covenants we have made.
As I’ve implemented this plan, I’ve felt closer to the Spirit. I am reminded of the thoughts that touched my heart during general conference. I apply them each day instead of closing my notebook after conference, never to look at my notes again. I still enjoy relistening to the conference talks. But now I also have a weekly focus from my personal notes.

We need not worry about knowing the right thing to say or do when we get there. The love of God and the Holy Spirit may be enough. When I was a young man I feared that I would not know what to do or to say to people in great need.

Once I was at the hospital bedside of my father as he seemed near death. I heard a commotion among the nurses in the hallway. Suddenly, President Spencer W. Kimball walked into the room and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from me. I thought to myself, “Now here is my chance to watch and listen to a master at going to those in pain and suffering.”

President Kimball said a few words of greeting, asked my father if he had received a priesthood blessing, and then, when Dad said that he had, the prophet sat back in his chair.

I waited for a demonstration of the comforting skills I felt I lacked and so much needed. After perhaps five minutes of watching the two of them simply smiling silently at each other, I saw President Kimball rise and say, “Henry, I think I’ll go before we tire you.”

I thought I had missed the lesson, but it came later. In a quiet moment with Dad after he recovered enough to go home, our conversation turned to the visit by President Kimball. Dad said quietly, “Of all the visits I had, that visit I had from him lifted my spirits the most.”

President Kimball didn’t speak many words of comfort, at least that I could hear, but he went with the Spirit of the Lord as his companion to give the comfort. I realize now that he was demonstrating the lesson President Monson taught: “How does one magnify a calling? Simply by performing the service that pertains to it.”

Sometimes sitting in Valiant B class is about as interesting as washing woodwork for Mom. But last Sunday was a real surprise. In a way, I guess I was responsible. It all began before class started, when I put my gum on a piece of paper on my chair and went out into the hall to get a drink.
While I was still out in the hall, I heard this awful howl coming from the classroom. I raced back just in time to see Eileen Cameron pulling strings of gum off her dress.
“Who put that gum there?” demanded Sister Higgins.
The guys looked at me as I started backing out into the hall.
“Mark!” Her voice carried a warning.
Reluctantly I turned around. “It was an accident, Sister Higgins. Honest. I just put it there a minute while I went for a drink.”
“I see,” she said, unconvinced. “We’ll talk about it after class. Eileen, you may go to the rest room to see what you can do about removing that gum. The rest of you settle down so we can start.”
We tried to settle down, but it was difficult. Sister Higgins had her eye on me and the other boys. Finally she made us sit boy-girl-boy-girl so we wouldn’t giggle anymore.
“Mark,” Sister Higgins began again when the class had quieted down, “I want you to offer the opening prayer. And please ask Heavenly Father to help all of us to be reverent today.”
The prayer was going OK until I tried to say reverent. I just couldn’t seem to say it right. Someone giggled, and I ended with a quick amen and sat down fast.
I could tell that Sister Higgins wasn’t pleased with me. She pulled out some pictures and told us several stories about faith and about how you need to have faith when you pray. She had us write “Faith without works is dead” on a piece of paper, then split us into groups to make up skits showing how faith helps prayers to be answered.
Those skits were really fun! I guess we laughed every other minute. And even though Sister Higgins gave me a lecture after class, the lesson on faith was one we all enjoyed.
When I got home, my dog, Stubbs, started jumping all over me. I knew Mom would be mad if I got my Sunday clothes dirty, so I told him to quit it. I’d just changed out of my church clothes and started to play with him, when Mom called. She was giving everyone jobs to help get dinner ready. My job was to make the fruit salad, which was fun.
After dinner, I thought about Sister Higgins’s lesson. I couldn’t figure out if I really had faith or not. Last Christmas I’d prayed for a bike, but I didn’t get it. Maybe I just hadn’t exercised enough faith. So I decided I’d try again. I wasn’t doing very well in math, and I wondered if faith would help me get better grades. I decided to pray for a score of one hundred on my math quiz the next day.
Then I went outside and rolled in the grass with Stubbs. He was the craziest dog I had ever known. He’d had us all in stitches last family night when he kept hiding behind Dad’s chair and popping out to bark every time someone got up to do his part.
The next day at school, when I received a score of only seventy-two on my math quiz, I knew that I must not have enough faith. I decided that faith must be something only grown-ups have.
Just a couple of days later Stubbs and I were playing ball. I cracked a good one with my bat, and the ball sailed over the fence. Old Stubbs bounded through the open gate after the ball.
Suddenly I heard car brakes screeching and a yelp from Stubbs. I shot through the gate like lightning just in time to see a man getting out of his car. Stubbs was lying still in the street.
“Stubbs!” I cried. I ran over to him and felt sick to my stomach when I saw the blood.
“I’m sorry,” said the motorist. “I tried to stop. Have you a blanket? I’ll be glad to take you and your dog to a veterinarian.”
I nodded and ran home, sobbing and yelling “Mom” all at the same time. She grabbed a blanket and ran outside right behind me.
We put Stubbs on the blanket and carefully carried him to the man’s car. While we rode to the animal hospital, I gently stroked Stubb’s head.
It seemed like hours later when the doctor finally came out and told us that Stubbs was still alive. He had stitched him up, but Stubbs had lost a lot of blood.
“Can I take him home?” I asked. I was really scared that if I left the animal hospital without him, I’d never see him again.
The veterinarian talked to Mom a minute, then disappeared and came back carrying Stubbs, who lay very still in his arms. “You take good care of him, and call me if there’s any change.”
That night I told Dad that I wanted to sleep next to Stubbs and take care of him during the night. I filled Stubbs’s bowl with water, in case he woke up and was thirsty. Then I got a blanket and lay down next to him.
Dad came to say good night, and then he said gently, “Mark, Stubbs is pretty sick. I want you to prepare yourself in case he doesn’t make it.”
“Dad, can we please say a prayer.”
“Of course, Mark. We can pray and exercise our faith in Heavenly Father’s goodness and in His ability to heal Stubbs.”
“Dad, … how do we do it? I’m not sure I have any faith to exercise.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Mark, we exercise our faith by believing that God loves us. We tell Him our problems, then have faith that whatever happens is really for the best.”
“You just let Him decide?” I asked. It didn’t seem quite enough.
“Well,” Dad answered, “we have to do our part. We have to do everything possible to help.” Dad gave me a kiss and then put his arm around me as he said a prayer for Stubbs.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pleaded with God to help Stubbs get better.
After Dad left, I thought about what he’d said concerning faith. I wished I’d listened better to Sister Higgins’s lesson. I needed to know all I could about faith, because Stubbs needed all the help I could give. I did remember writing “Faith without works is dead” on my paper in Primary. So I thought about that each time I patted Stubbs and checked to see if he’d changed at all. Maybe if I did the “works” part really well, it might make up for the faith part a little.
I spent the night checking Stubbs—talking quietly into his ear, patting him, and praying over and over.
The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes to the morning sun. My hand was holding Stubb’s paw. I squeezed my eyes closed one more time and pleaded with Heavenly Father to please help Stubbs get better. That was when I felt something wet on my fingers. I raised up and stared at Stubbs. One eye looked up at me, and his tongue licked my hand again.
“Dad! Mom!” I yelled. I didn’t care if it was 6:00 A.M. “Stubbs is better!”
I think now that I must have had beginner’s faith—you know, like beginner’s luck, when you first learn how to do something. Heavenly Father must have helped Stubbs get better. Maybe I helped a little too. The veterinarian said that I had a miracle dog.
The next Sunday in Primary I wanted to listen to Sister Higgins’s lesson, in case she had something else to say about faith. When she asked for a volunteer to say the prayer, I raised my hand. I prayed real hard that we’d all be reverent, and I even said it right. And when some of the guys started messing around, I figured my prayer of faith needed some works to go with it. So I stood up and told them to pipe down because I wanted to hear the lesson. I told them about Stubbs and said they’d better listen to the lesson, too, in case they ever needed some faith. They listened.

My grandmother, a spiritual giant to me, taught me how to pray. She spent her winters with a daughter who lived a hundred miles away, so I saw her only in the summers. Sometimes I got to stay with her. I loved to climb between her sparkling white sheets and lay my head on her freshly ironed pillowcases. Her home was a house of order and love. And her homemade bread and Potawatomi plum jam was like a king’s dinner to me. She always kept a tin box of lemon drops and mints.

After biking to her house one day, I couldn’t find her in the kitchen, so I went into her bedroom. Through the window I noticed her out in her garden. Passing her dresser, I saw a new box of chocolates that someone had given her for Mother’s Day. The temptation was too great. I opened the box, picked out several pieces, and shoved them into my pocket before running outside to see Grandma.
The next day Grandma called and asked me to come over to her house. When I arrived, we visited for a while, then she offered me a chocolate. I cried and she cried, then we talked about what it means to be honest and about how disappointed Heavenly Father is when we steal. Grandma taught me other lessons that afternoon that helped strengthen my spirituality. She was the first one I called when I received my mission call. She died while I was in the mission home, and she was buried the day I arrived in New Zealand. I will always cherish the comfort and strength that she was to me.

Our little blue car rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car, which contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town (population 880) for the big city of 26,000, was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.
After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August came to an end, I began to get more excited about attending this big school that had almost as many people as the whole town I left.
With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to my first period class. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.
As the days continued, I found that the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the music I liked and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to my old school for my last year of school. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.
Although I was a member of the Church, I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house where I used to live. There was at that time no branch there and our family seldom traveled the distance to the nearest ward. When we moved, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, even after she explained it to me. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.
Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “there is another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”
Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

Last November, I had the privilege of being invited—along with President Henry B. Eyring and Bishop Gérald Caussé—to attend a colloquium on marriage and family at the Vatican in Rome, Italy. In attendance were religious representatives from 14 different faiths and from six of the seven continents, all of whom had been invited to express their beliefs on what is happening to the family in today’s world.
Pope Francis opened the first session of the assembly with this statement: “We now live in a culture of the temporary, in which more and more people are simply giving up on marriage as a public commitment. This revolution in manners and morals has often flown the flag of freedom, but in fact it has brought spiritual and material devastation to countless human beings, especially the poorest and most vulnerable. … It is always they who suffer the most in this crisis.”
In referring to those of the rising generation, he said it is important that they “do not give themselves over to the poisonous [mentality] of the temporary, but rather be revolutionaries with the courage to seek true and lasting love, going against the common pattern”; this must be done.
This was followed by three days of presentation and discussion with religious leaders addressing the subject of marriage between a man and a woman. As I listened to the widest imaginable variety of worldwide religious leaders, I heard them agree completely with each other and express support for one another’s beliefs on the sanctity of the institution of marriage and of the importance of families as the basic unit of society. I felt a powerful sense of commonality and unity with them.
There were many who saw and expressed this unity, and they did so in a variety of ways. One of my favorites was when a Muslim scholar from Iran quoted two paragraphs verbatim from our very own proclamation on the family.
During the colloquium, I observed that when various faiths and denominations and religions are united on marriage and family, they are also united on the values and loyalty and commitment which are naturally associated with family units. It was remarkable for me to see how marriage and family-centered priorities cut across and superseded any political, economic, or religious differences. When it comes to love of spouse and hopes, worries, and dreams for children, we are all the same.
It was marvelous to be in meetings with worldwide presenters as they universally addressed their feelings of the importance of marriage between a man and a woman. Each of their addresses was followed by testimonies from other religious leaders. President Henry B. Eyring gave a final testimony at the colloquium. He bore powerful witness to the beauty of a committed marriage and to our belief in the promised blessing of eternal families.
President Eyring’s testimony was a fitting benediction to those three special days.

As I did so, I reflected on an experience at the time of the prededication showing of the London Temple in 1958.

Those who inspected the building were asked to defer any questions until they had completed the tour. In the evenings I joined the missionaries in talking with those who had questions. As a young couple came down the front steps of the temple, I inquired whether I could help them in any way. The young woman spoke up and said, “Yes. What about this ‘marriage for eternity’ to which reference was made in one of the rooms?” We sat on a bench under the ancient oak that stood near the gate. The wedding band on her finger indicated that they were married, and the manner in which she gripped her husband’s hand evidenced their affection one for another.
“Now to your question,” I said. “I suppose you were married by the vicar.”
“Yes,” she responded, “just three months ago.”
“Did you realize that when the vicar pronounced your marriage he also decreed your separation?”
“What do you mean?” she quickly retorted.
“You believe that life is eternal, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she replied.
I continued, “Can you conceive of eternal life without eternal love? Can either of you envision eternal happiness without the companionship of one another?”
“Of course not,” came the ready response.
“But what did the vicar say when he pronounced your marriage? If I remember the language correctly, he said, among other things, ‘in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, till death do ye part.’ He went as far as he felt his authority would permit him and that was till death separates you. In fact, I think that if you were to question him, he would emphatically deny the existence of marriage and family beyond the grave.”
“But,” I continued, “the Father of us all, who loves his children and wants the best for them, has provided for a continuation, under proper circumstances, of this most sacred and ennobling of all human relationships, the relationships of marriage and family.
“In that great and moving conversation between the Savior and his apostles, wherein Peter declared, ‘Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,’ and the Lord responded, ‘Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.’ The Lord then went on to say to Peter and his associates, ‘And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.’ (Matt. 16:13–19.)
“In that marvelous bestowal of authority the Lord gave to his apostles the keys of the holy priesthood, whose power reaches beyond life and death into eternity. This same authority has been restored to the earth by those same apostles who held it anciently, even Peter, James, and John.” I continued by saying that following the dedication of the temple on the following Sunday, those same keys of the holy priesthood would be exercised in behalf of the men and women who come into this sacred house to solemnize their marriage. They will be joined in a union which death cannot dissolve and time cannot destroy.
Such was my testimony to this young couple in England. Such it is to you today, my dear young friends, and such it is to all the world. Our Father in heaven, who loves his children, desires for them that which will bring them happiness now and in the eternities to come, and there is no greater happiness than is found in the most meaningful of all human relationships—the companionships of husband and wife and parents and children.

Sometime later, touched with the remembrance of that moving Sabbath morning, I told the story to a group of people in another city. Before I left that small community the next day I had a visit from a man who had heard the message and understood it. Later a letter came from him. He had gone home that night and prayed and prepared himself and had then made a visit to the place of a man in his community who had years before imposed upon the sanctity of his home. There had been animosity and revenge in his heart and threats made. That evening when it was made known that he was at the door, his frightened neighbor appeared with a weapon in his hand. The man quickly explained the reasons for his visit, that he had come to say that he was sorry, that he did not want hatred to continue to consume his life. He offered forgiveness and sought forgiveness and went his way in tears, a free man for the first time in years. He left a former adversary also in tears, shaken and repentant.
The next day the same man went to the home of a relative in the town. He said, “I came to ask your forgiveness. I don’t even remember why we have been so long angry, but I have come to tell you that I am sorry and to beg your pardon and to say that I have learned how foolish I have been.” He was invited in to join the family at their table, and was reunited with his kin.
When I heard his story I knew again the importance of qualifying ourselves for the forgiveness of Christ by forgiving.

My bishop helped me in the repentance process itself, but a friend of mine also made a big difference in how I felt about my challenge. He was a great example to me. One day he shared his past struggles with pornography. I was stunned—I never would have guessed we had similar struggles. I wrote him a letter about my experience in repenting for the same challenges and how helpful it was to know that I was not alone. At church on Sunday, he hugged me and told me he was proud of me for working with the bishop and that I would never be alone. He helped me feel the Savior’s love more strongly.

Illustration by Loni Harris
Sometimes when I’m reading scriptures, my brain likes to skip away to someplace else. It isn’t that I don’t want to read—it’s just that when I try, my mind wants to wander.
For example, when I read in 1 Nephi about Lehi dwelling in a tent, my mind wanders away to Young Women camp. Then that reminds me of when Boy Scout camp was accidentally scheduled at the same place and at the same time, and how they had to load the boys back up and move them. Then that reminds me of when I moved to another town, the car ride there, that hitchhiker we bought food for on the way, and so on and so on.
The next thing I know, I’ve read a full page but don’t remember anything. So I move on to read about Lehi’s dream, and it begins all over again.
I have read the first pages of 1 Nephi, Genesis, Matthew, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price so many times, but I would usually forget what I read and just check it off my to-do list and then distract myself from doing it again for a while. My heart does have good intentions, but it can be hard to jump in and truly feast on the scriptures. I’ve always wondered if I would ever be able to, you know … do it.
But then I found a way.
My way.
A way that actually works—for me.
I am a doodler and have been for a long time. I basically doodle whenever I have a pen and paper in front of me. I’m not a great artist; I just simply like to doodle. Repeated swirls, silly fonts, lines, patterns, zigzags, stick figures, circles—I love to do it, and I do it everywhere. It helps me concentrate and relax.
OK, so what’s this got to do with scripture study?
Here is what I did.
I bought a big black art notebook and a thin black marker, and I found a quiet place where I could spread out my supplies and read out loud.
Once I was all set up, I opened my notebook and created a title page that said, “Doodling through the Scriptures,” which I decorated with different fonts and squiggly lines. After I finished that, I opened the Book of Mormon to the first page of 1 Nephi, with the opening lines that I’ve read dozens of times: “I, Nephi, having been born …” I worked hard to concentrate and keep reading.
As I read, I paid attention to words that would jump out or pictures that were in my head. I took the time to draw what stuck out to me. Sometimes, it was a border around the entire page using Nephi’s name. Or I would put several different pictures and words in circles. Or I would write down one verse I particularly loved or even just one word.
This method allowed me to be free and play with the words. No one was timing me, grading me, or judging my drawings. I just tried to have fun, relax, and concentrate.
But wait, didn’t it take forever to get through the Book of Mormon this way?
Well, yes. Some days, I wouldn’t even get through a page. But it was worth the time.
As I read and doodled, I found things that relate to me personally. For example, why didn’t Laman and Lemuel just turn around and go back to Jerusalem and quit whining? (I doodled this with stick figures looking mad and pointing at Nephi, who looked happy.) While drawing this, I thought about this question. Laman and Lemuel came along but were crabby. I thought about when my parents ask me to do things I don’t want to do. I go along, but I sure make everyone else miserable along the way. I thought, “Do I sometimes act like Laman and Lemuel?” I wrote that question and my answer on the page, along with more doodles.
While I sat and pondered and read, I had feelings of calm, warmth, and safety come over me repeatedly, and I knew the book was inspired and true. And now, I have this art journal that I can use as a reference forever to help me remember that I received this witness that the Book of Mormon is true.
Taking the time to make lines, scrolls, or boxes around words and stick figures while reading would stop me in the moment and allow me to think, ask questions, and feel closer to the people in the scriptures. My mind would still wander, but it usually wandered to think about the messages, the people, or the Spirit that I felt while I quietly doodled.
I discovered how to make my study meaningful, and now I can’t wait for scripture study each day. For the first time in my life, the scriptures feel personal. Who knew that doodling could help me receive a testimony that the scriptures are true!
The author lives in Connecticut, USA.

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love, Abby
Abby underlined the word love as her brother, Zac, marched into the living room.
“What are you doing?” Zac asked as he peered over Abby’s shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems strange not having Grandma and Grandpa come to visit us. I miss hearing Grandpa’s great stories, and it doesn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the Nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because somebody told them. But, Zac,” she said as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac was quiet as he ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find them and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me, too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I have to make a Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the Nativity scene. She smiled as she gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”

Years ago I read in a Church magazine the story of a girl who was living away from home and going to college. She was behind in her classes, her social life was not what she had hoped for, and she was generally unhappy. Finally one day she fell to her knees and cried out, “What can I do to improve my life?” The Holy Ghost whispered, “Get up and clean your room.” This prompting came as a complete surprise, but it was just the start she needed. After taking time to organize and put things in order, she felt the Spirit fill her room and lift her heart.

I was sitting at a table with some friends in our middle school cafeteria when the topic of Christ’s Second Coming came up. My friends were not very religious, but they had been to church enough times to have heard of the prophesied event. They also knew that I went to church regularly and that I had a firm belief in the Savior.
We talked about it for a while, and in response to their questions I told them that no one knows exactly when Christ will come again. One of my friends turned to me and said quite seriously, “Jade, if the Second Coming happens soon and Jesus Christ comes, I may not recognize Him. Will you point Him out to me?”
Of course I said I would, and we started talking about other things.
My friends have probably never thought about that conversation again, but I have thought of it many times. Based on what I said and did, my friends assumed that I knew the Savior. In fact they counted on me to know Him! But do I really? Could I answer yes to Alma’s question, “Have ye received his image in your countenance” (Alma 5:14)?
That casual question asked by my friend has caused me to evaluate my relationship with the Savior many times. For example, is my personal prayer and scripture study meaningful enough that it brings me closer to Him? I hope so. And I hope that one day when Christ does come, I can stand before Him with a pure heart and clean hands. Then not only will I be able to easily recognize Him, but He will be able to recognize me because I will have His image engraven upon my countenance (see Alma 5:19).

A true story from the USA.
William ripped open the package and held up his shiny new watch. It was finally here! He was so excited. He had worked hard to earn the money to buy it, and it was worth it.
He strapped the watch onto his wrist and started scrolling through its screen. There were so many cool games! He tapped on a dinosaur game and started to play.
The next day at recess, William showed his watch to his friend Liam. “Whoa, cool!” Liam said. He watched William play games on it for a while. Then he asked, “Want to play kickball now?”
“Maybe later,” said William. Liam ran off to play, and William sat under a tree to play the dinosaur game.
At recess the next day, William played with his watch again. Liam ran up to him. “Are you going to come play?”
William looked up from his watch. “No, I want to keep playing this game. Maybe later.”
Liam frowned. “But we always play kickball at recess!”
“I just want to finish this game,” William said.
Liam turned and walked away.
The same thing happened the next day. And the next day. On the bus ride home, Liam sat next to William. “Why didn’t you play with us today?”
“I was just playing a quick game on my watch,” William said. “I’m so close to passing the next level.”
Liam folded his arms. “You always play on your watch. You never play with us anymore!”
William felt his face get hot. “Recess is the only time at school that I can play my game,” he said. His voice was getting louder. “I can do whatever I want during recess!”
Liam looked upset. “Well, then we aren’t friends anymore!”
William didn’t say anything after that. He turned to the window so Liam couldn’t see his face. His eyes stung with tears.
When the bus got to William’s stop, he ran home as fast as he could. He plopped onto the couch and started to cry. He wished he’d never bought his watch.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
William sniffed. “Liam said we can’t be friends because I always play on my watch.”
Mom sat next to him. “It sounds like he thinks you care more about your watch than you care about him.”
“That’s not true!”
“I know you care about Liam.” Mom gave him a hug. “But the way we spend our time can show what we think is most important.”
William thought for a moment. “People are more important. But can’t I play on my watch too?”
“Can you think of a way to do that?” Mom asked.
William nodded. “Maybe I can play kickball with Liam at recess, and only play with my watch for a little while when I get home from school.”
“That’s a great idea.”
The next day at school, William found Liam at recess. “I’m sorry I played too much on my watch,” he said. “Can I play kickball with you again?”
Liam grinned. “Sure!”
When it was his turn, William kicked the ball and ran as fast as he could. He could hear Liam cheering.
His watch could wait. It felt good to be with his friend.

I was excited when Mom told me Sean was coming for dinner. He’s my big brother, but he moved away from home when he finished high school. My brother Mike went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he plays with me. When I was smaller, I’d take horse rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. He snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so he shows me wrestling moves instead. He won the city wrestling championship in the 11th grade. Sometimes we play ball, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make a model race car. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him.
I helped Mom set the table to make the time go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I want to have him to myself. I want it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s what she thought. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were here? I knew he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I was upset. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking to the missionaries all night would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner ready, so we sat down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big—tall and strong and big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if they could leave a message and a prayer before they went to their next appointment. This is the end of the night for me, I thought, disappointed. Sean won’t be helping me with my model car tonight. He’ll escape before anyone talks religion to him.
I waited to hear his chair move and the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad looked worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he was having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Peterson, the short, skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
Everything seemed to change. Sean looked back at Elder Peterson, and instead of answering with a joke, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?” Elder Peterson asked.
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Peterson continued talking, Elder Peterson asking questions and Sean giving him honest answers. Finally Elder Peterson said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember either.
I could remember—not the date but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, proud to be his brother, glad to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell him, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could talk.
“Sean,” Elder Peterson asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked at Sean and Elder Peterson, I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a big wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Peterson. I wanted to have the Lord on my side, and I think Sean wanted that, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath. Fortunately, they both won!

George Hubert Robinson served as a wireless operator and rear gunner in the Royal Air Force with the rank of Sergeant. He was born a middle child in a large family of nine children and raised in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His father was a coal miner, so money was scarce, particularly during times of worker strikes, which were common in 1923 Nottingham when George was born.
While still a baby, his siblings were frequently charged with his care and entertainment. When his older siblings forgot about him one day, we might expect a disaster to ensue, but not so. George was found, his pram righted and he returned home unhurt. That set the pattern for his somewhat accident-prone formative years. No matter the fall, scrape or bump, George emerged unscathed. His pleasing personality, coupled with a big, wide grin, made him popular with the girls as well as with his buddies.
The Robinson children were all expected to take the scholarship examination and continue their education, but that wasn’t the route George wanted to take. In fact, the family contended that George deliberately failed the exams so that he could attend the Technical School where he wanted to go. While there, his favourite reading included novels by Robert Louis Stevenson such as Kidnapped and Black Beauty, which he would then narrate to his siblings at night before bedtime.
On the day of his 18th birthday, George who loved his country, took his good-natured, peace-loving self to register for the Royal Air Force. Of course, he was required to join the Home Guard while waiting for his Call of Duty. But at age 20 he was posted overseas in Italy as a wireless operator and rear gunner. At the same time he was promoted to the rank of Sergeant.
He had only a few missions left to fly before his tour of duty ended, but welcomed his leave time, which he spent in Naples, Italy. While there, he sent a package and a letter home to his mother, which promised that “he knew the Gospel was true and that he was going to live it and was going to share it with his friends. He also sent his tithing home which included everything he owed, to bring it up to date.” Post was slow and uncertain during war time, so it would be weeks before his family received the letter and package.
In the meantime, on 7th July 1944, George H. Robinson’s plane was shot down over Klagenfurt, Austria, where he and his comrades were subsequently buried. The inscription on his gravestone reads: “Now he’s in the Lord’s safe keeping and wanted on the other side. Sadly missed."