Gospel Story Finder

The bishop knows, as do others close to the family, just how difficult Sage’s healing has been. At times, the pain has been almost more than she could bear. Once when she was undergoing some therapy at home, she begged her mother not to hurt her anymore. Denise told her about a little girl who cried so much that her parents stopped giving her therapy. Now that little girl can’t walk.
Sage wept. “I wish I could give my body so that little girl could walk again.”

Young men and women, you can be a great influence for good in your homes as you help to achieve worthy family objectives. I shall never forget the family home evening, years ago, in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your “secret friend” for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, “Hope you had a good day—your secret friend.” And on Friday night, as I turned down my bed, I uncovered an Almond Joy, my favorite candy bar, wrapped carefully in scotch tape and plain white paper, with a note: “Dad, I love you a lot! Thanks, your secret friend.” Then to top it off, after returning home from a late meeting Sunday evening, I found the dining room table beautifully set, and written on the napkin by my place were the words “SUPER DAD” in big bold letters and in parentheses, “your secret friend.” Hold your family home evenings, for this is where the gospel is taught, a testimony gained, and the family fortified.

A few months after the peaceful resolution of the Utah War, President Young walked past the temple grounds to the Staines Mansion—now the Devereaux House—to visit Governor Cumming. Concerned that they had narrowly averted disaster, the fair-minded governor cautioned Brigham Young to refrain from provocative or rash acts in the future. The president replied, “With all due respect to your excellency, . . . I do not calculate to take the advice of any man that lives, in relation to my affairs.” Although he recognized he had friends and counselors to advise him during such crises, he made it plain that in God alone would he trust. “My religion is true,” he told the governor solemnly, “and I am determined to obey its precepts while I live.” He would, he insisted, “follow the council of my heavenly Father, and I have faith to follow it, and risk the consequences.” He concluded, “You may think strange of it, but you will yet see that I am right” (24 April 1859, Manuscript History of the Church, LDS Church Archives; see also B. H. Roberts, Comprehensive History of the Church, 4:517–18).

Fifteen hundred LDS a youth met together in a Birmingham to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the Church in Great Britain. The crowd poured into the city’s ice rink for a morning of skating, followed by lunch and an afternoon of dancing.
Youth from at least 30 stakes from Scotland to Cornwall, from Wales to the East Coast met new friends and renewed old acquaintances.
Nicola Bunting of Wolverhampton commented, “I met so many friends. It was a lovely day. We’d certainly enjoy getting together like this more often.” Her dad, John, who acted as master of ceremonies throughout the day said, “With the majority of youth in this country coming from small wards and branches that are limited in teenagers and young adults, it’s marvellous for them to feel there are many other Latter-day Saints around.”
Birmingham police who were supervising the crossing of busy roads reported they’ve never seen a crowd of youngsters behave so well. Bishop Robin Gray of Sutton Coldfield said, “Unfortunately, British youth groups in excess of 400 have a bad name for trouble. Our young people excel in good manners and orderly behavior.”
After lunch, with energy levels still high, the youth headed for the dance floor, where the entertainment was provided by Church members. Liz Wilkins’ group and David Shepard’s Where’s the Beach (an appropriate name for singers from central England) raised roars of approval from the audience.
As the day drew to a close, final messages echoed across Birmingham streets, “Don’t forget to write. … It’s been great meeting you. … Hope you can come again.”

This opportunity finally presented itself. We did not have a native speaker in our English class one year. I asked my classmates if it was a good idea to invite the missionaries. Then I asked the missionaries if they were allowed to come to schools. And finally I asked my English professor if they could come. I passed out a list on which everyone wrote what she would like the missionaries to talk about. I was amazed to see that the majority wanted to know why they had decided to go on missions, what kind of work they were doing, and how our Church differed from other churches.
Elder Allen and Elder Jones came to class and took most of the class period talking about the Church. It was awesome! After they left, I was bombarded with even more questions.
That year I was no longer the only member of the Church in my school. Because of two of my Latter-day Saint friends who began attending the school, the song “A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12–13) is now part of the music teacher’s repertoire.
It was not as difficult as I expected to talk about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for His Son, Jesus Christ, and for His wonderful gospel. I am also grateful for every opportunity to share my testimony by the Holy Spirit.

BARBARA: I have a friend I am really close to at school. We were both trying out for something. We worked together, and helped each other, and we even prayed for each other. Then talking with her the other day, I found out she isn’t a member of our church. She is a Buddhist! I was so surprised! The whole time I had been treating her like a Mormon. We had become really close; she came up to me one day, started crying, and told me how much she appreciated me. And I thought, if we could only treat everyone as if he were a member, then we’d have no problems.

Mom, this is Austin. He’s in my class. Is it OK if we play video games for a while? I haven’t used many of my minutes this week.
That’s fine. You’ll be playing our approved games, right?
Yup.
You have a time limit?
Yeah. I used to play video games too much, so now I have a limit every week. I was kinda mad about it at first.
But your grades have gotten better!
And I started playing real sports again, like basketball. Hey, let’s shoot some hoops before we play video games.
Watch this shot.
Throw it to me!
Gee, that’s pretty easy.
Especially when you’ve been practicing secretly.

One man recently wrote, "I was born in...Hawaii and remember going to different churches and learning about Jesus Christ as a child. When I was a teenager, my parents separated and I chose not to go to church anymore. Around this time, I got involved with drugs, gangs, criminal activities and eventually ended up in prison....My third time back in prison I realized my actions were affecting my family...I felt like I was letting my family down, especially my sister....I decided to change who I was. I quit all my old habits....But I still felt that I wasn't whole. It wasn't until March 2008 that I found what I was missing. My fiance asked me to attend a baptism for her mother at a church called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At first I didn't want to go...but we got ready and went. Nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen. During the actual baptism ceremony, I know the Spirit was present as my mother-in-law was [immersed] in the water. I can't explain what happened to me at that moment, but I know now that I felt the Holy Spirit tell me this is what I needed to do. I've never had a feeling like that before in my entire life. Ever since that day I have felt the Holy Spirit touch my heart and open my eyes. It has been only a couple of months now since [my fiance] and I were baptized, but our lives have already changed so much. I strive to do what Heavenly Father wants me to do. The blessings are pouring down on my family."

I experienced the blessing of this promise when Aaron and I lived in Virginia getting ready to go to Law school. One morning when I went out to check our mail I saw a lady on the other side of the street carrying a sewing machine towards the dumpsters. She looked Asian and I thought, maybe she’s Filipino. I called out to her and asked if she was going to throw the sewing machine away. She was looking at me funny and nodded yes.. Then she asked if I wanted it. She said she got a new one and didn’t need her old one. It was still in great condition so I asked for it. Judging by her accent, I asked if she was Chinese. She said yes and without thinking, I said “my husband speaks Chinese. He served as a missionary for our church for two years in Taiwan.” I saw her face light up when I said Aaron spoke Chinese and then a confused look crossed her face as she said “missionary?” I further explained that we were Mormons and when our young men turn 19, they go on missions to different places to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ. From then on Regina and I got together often so our sons could play. We became really good friends. She asked me a lot about the church and what I believe in but I never asked her to take the missionary discussions. I did invite her to church and she came a few times but then she started a laundromat business and got really busy. After a few months, I wondered to myself if I was just scared to ask her if she’d be willing to listen to the missionaries. So Aaron and I prayed about it and decided it’s time for me to ask her. On my way to her laundromat, I prayed for the strength and courage to make the invitation. When I got there, she was so excited to see me. She said “perfect timing, no costumers,” and when we sat down she said “May, I want to ask you something.” I thought she was going to ask me her usual questions about the church, but I was surprised to hear what came out of her mouth next. She said, “May, do you think I could join your church? And what should I do to get baptized?” At that moment, all my fears vanished and my heart was filled with gratitude to my Heavenly Father and love for my dear friend.

Perfect love casteth out all fears! Elder Dallin H. Oaks said, “The most effective missionaries, member and full-time, always act out of love.… I hope no person we approach with an invitation to hear the message of the restored gospel feels that we are acting out of any reason other than a genuine love for them and an unselfish desire to share something we know to be precious. If we lack this love for others, we should pray for it” (Sharing the Gospel, Ensign, Nov. 2001).

I know that as Aaron and I prayed for Regina, we both grew to love her and wanted so much for her to enjoy the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was the love I had for my friend that helped me have the courage to go see her with the intention of inviting her. And in the end she beat me to it. While Regina was taking the missionary discussions she invited her nephew, who was staying with her, to join her learn more about the LDS church.
Aaron baptized Regina Au on June 1, 1997, and Regina’s nephew got baptized a week earlier.

Imagine this scene: The date was going perfectly. He knew this was the night to declare his feelings.
“I love you!” he blurted out to the woman of his dreams. “I love you … from the bottom of my temporal lobe!”
Unless the woman was a med student, this statement would probably fall short of the intended effect. The thing is, though, he’s spot on for accuracy, because the brain is the organ that processes emotions.

A Primary teacher shared the following example. “Today,” she said, “our five- and six-year-old class made love necklaces. Each child drew pictures on strips of paper: one of themselves, one of Jesus, and some of members of their family and loved ones. We glued the strips into circles that looped through each other to make a chain that we turned into love necklaces. As they were drawing, the children talked about their families.
“Heather said, ‘I don’t think my sister loves me. We are always fighting. … I even hate myself. I have a bad life.’ And she put her head in her hands.
“I thought about her family circumstances and felt that maybe she did indeed have a hard life. But after Heather had said this, Anna, down at the other end of the table, responded, ‘Heather, I am putting you in my necklace between me and Jesus because He loves you and I love you.’
“When Anna said that, Heather crawled under the table to get to Anna and threw her arms around her.
“At the end of class, when her grandmother came to pick her up, Heather said, ‘Guess what, Grandma? Jesus loves me.’”

In President Daines’s stake down here we have a man by the name of David Seamons, and his wife, Ann, is on the Young Women general board. Some woebegone, ill-thinking soul last Christmas subscribed to Playboy magazine for this wonderful family. It came in January, and they were offended. As I understand the story, Brother Seamons called up the circulation department and told them they were members of the Church and didn’t appreciate the subscription and that they would like to know who subscribed for them. The subscription department wouldn’t tell them who it was. Then Brother Seamons told them, “Don’t send us anymore. We don’t want your magazine. We refuse to accept it.”

Well, the next month the second copy came. Chris Seamons, their eight-year-old boy, took things into his own hands. He wrote a letter to Playboy, and these are the exact words:“Playboy, I think the magazine you sent us was quite uncalled for. I think your magazine is quite perverted. If you send us another one, I personally will take action.” You just have to admire a kid like that. The best part is that on the back of the envelope he put, “Please send back my stamp.”

“Michael and Carson, I could use your help today,” Dad said, putting on his work shoes. Brian’s older brothers were watching TV, and they hardly moved.
“C’mon, guys,” Dad said. “Hard work is good for you.”
“OK. But what’re we doing anyway?” Michael muttered.
“We’re planting some bushes along the front of the house. I’ll need help digging and hauling dirt. It’ll be fun working together.”
“Doesn’t sound like fun to me,” said Carson.
Brian frowned. He didn’t really want to spend his whole Saturday working either. Plus, it was going to be hot today. But Dad said he needed help. “I’ll help,” Brian said.
“That’s really nice of you, Brian. But the ground is hard clay, so it’s going to be a tough job. And hauling off the dirt won’t be easy with that steep hill next to our house.”
“I can do it,” said Brian.
His older brothers looked at Brian doubtfully. After all, he was only eight years old.
“OK, boys,” said Dad, “let’s get to work.”
Dad was right. The ground was so hard they had to use a pickax to loosen it up. But while Michael and Carson were off tossing dirt at each other, Brian and Dad finished digging the first hole.
Once the wheelbarrow was full, Dad asked Michael to dump it in the woods near the house. To get there he would have to go partway down and across a steep hill.
“I don’t think I can do it,” Michael said, pushing the wheelbarrow only a few feet. “It’s too heavy. I’ll fall down the hill!”
Carson gave it a try next. “Too heavy!” he agreed. “Dad’s the only one strong enough for that.”
That’s when Brian stepped forward. “I can do it,” he said. He lifted with all his might. He started pushing the wheelbarrow forward slowly.
“That’s OK, Brian. I’ll get—” Dad began. But Brian was determined.
“There’s no way you can make it!” said Michael.
As the hill got steeper, Brian got faster and faster. Now he wasn’t pushing the wheelbarrow; it was pulling him! Dad started after him, but Brian held on tight and steered it to the right. He slowed it down just enough to stop it in front of the bushes at the edge of the yard. Then he heaved it over with a mighty shove and dumped the load.
“Whoa!” said Michael.
“No way!” said Carson.
“You definitely win the prize for hardest worker today,” said Dad as Brian climbed back up the hill.
“Phew!” said Brian, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I’m just glad I made it back alive!” Everyone laughed.
When the wheelbarrow was filled again, Michael said, “I’ve got this load.” They all watched as he slowly followed Brian’s pathway down the hill and over to the trees, where he dumped another load of dirt. Michael was breathing hard when he got back.
“That was tough,” Michael said, wiping the sweat from his face. “I still can’t believe you did that all on your own, Brian.”
Sometimes hard work just sounds so hard. But when you finish you feel so good!
“Yeah! How did you do that?” Carson asked, stretching his arms after hauling the next load.
Before too long the new bushes were planted. Brian had never been so hot and sweaty and tired. But he was glad he could do a hard day’s work with his Dad and brothers. It really had been fun working together.

I began college at age 18. After a short time, however, I transferred to another university and changed my major. My new university was only a couple of hours from my home, but I found myself terribly homesick and discouraged, wanting to give up and return to my family. Yet I knew if I did, I would be abandoning my chance to earn a degree.
One weekend not long after the school year began, all of my roommates went home for a visit. I knew that if I went home too, I would not return. I couldn’t even call and speak to my family for fear I would break down and not be able to focus on my studies. I had been praying for the strength to overcome my homesickness, but now I was praying to know whether I should even remain at school and complete a degree.
Early that Sunday morning as I walked slowly across the quiet campus on my way to church, I wondered how I could stay at school when I missed my home and family so deeply and couldn’t overcome my loneliness. But what would I do if I left school?
When I arrived at church, the previous ward had just left the chapel. I entered, hoping for a moment to pray for direction. As I found a place to sit and slowly moved onto the wooden pew, I noticed a printed program from the previous sacrament meeting. There on the front of the folded paper were the following words: “Perhaps the most valuable result of all education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not.”1
At that moment I knew what I needed to do. The Lord had answered my prayers in such a simple way, but I could not deny that it was an answer just the same.
It wasn’t long after that Sunday that my loneliness and discouragement left. As a result, I enjoyed my remaining years in school. I gained a degree, lifelong friends, and a stronger testimony by following the promptings of the Spirit.
Now, more than 25 years later, I still recall that answer to my prayer, and I use those same words from that sacrament meeting program to commit myself to difficult tasks. I have shared my experience with close friends and family in hopes that they too might gain strength in difficult times.
I know the Lord cares about our feelings and everyday choices, and I know He answers our sincere prayers.

“During the war, my father had to work on Sundays. Whenever he could find time, he attended sacrament meeting. During these years, Mother had to become a strong spiritual leader in the family. One of my vivid childhood memories of her is of the time she went to tithing settlement and discovered that we still owed about twenty-five dollars. As ward Relief Society president, she wanted the family to close the year as full tithe payers. Dad was working as usual and could not be reached. Mother suggested to the children that we talk about our family tithing problem and have a family prayer. When the prayer was over, Mother had an idea. We were living on a walnut ranch, so we sold enough of the walnuts in our cellar to pay our tithing in full!”

During my school’s values-education month, our teacher asked us to write an essay titled “Why am I here?” It had to be a 10-paragraph essay on the topic of our purpose in life. As I read the topic on the board, my heart was filled with comfort and happiness. As a member of the Church, I had known my purpose as a daughter of God for many years. But as I looked at my other classmates’ faces, my heart was filled with sadness. Why? Because they started to murmur regarding the difficulty of the topic. They didn’t have the same knowledge I did.
When I turned in my essay, I realized how blessed I am to be a member of the one true Church. From that day on, my desire to serve a mission and share my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was strengthened.
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants me to be with Him someday. I also know that it is my purpose to serve others.
Jaymee A., Philippines

Usually when Floyd and Dad were riding in the car, they had a lot to talk about, but not today. They had driven over to see Floyd’s new school, and Floyd hadn’t said a word all the way back. Dad broke the silence and asked, “What’s the matter, Son? Are you worried about going to a new school?”
Almost in a whisper, Floyd answered, “Yes.” This would be his fourth school, and he was only in the sixth grade. Dad was an electrical engineer, and his work required that they move often. “It’s always the same, Dad. I hate it.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you don’t like about it. You always do well in school, and you have friends and pen pals all over the country.”
Floyd didn’t want to answer. It would only embarrass him and probably cause trouble, but before he knew it, the words came tumbling out. “When I get there, I’m going to meet a bunch of Jims, some Mikes, a lot of Johns and Bobs, a couple of Garys, and a Steve or two—ordinary guys with ordinary names. I’ll be the only Floyd, and I’ll hear Floyd jokes for months. Why couldn’t I have an ordinary name?”
Dad knew what Floyd was talking about; he had heard about the jokes. “You’re right,” he said, “Floyd is no ordinary name. Do you know where your name came from?”
“From someone named Floyd who lived a long time ago when there were lots of Floyds and other weird names!” He said it before he could stop himself. Now I’m in trouble for sure, he thought. He knew better than to talk that way, but it had been bottled up inside for too long.
“You’re right again,” Dad replied evenly, “but there’s a lot more to it than you realize. Would you like to hear about a young man named Floyd who was not very ordinary?”
Surprised that he wasn’t in trouble, Floyd blurted out, “Sure!” But he wasn’t as excited as he sounded. How could anyone named Floyd be interesting? he wondered.
“Your name has belonged to some great men,” Dad began. “That’s why we gave you the name. We weren’t worried about anybody making jokes. That’s no big deal. Your mother and I hoped that having the same name as a great man might help you be a little like him. I want you to remember this story, Son,” Dad said as he pulled into the driveway of their new home. “My great-grandfather told me this story when I was about your age, and I’ll never forget it. …
“It was in the fall of the year 1857, as I remember, and a small group of Mormon pioneers were late starting across the plains. They got caught in an early snowstorm, and it slowed their travel. Many of them had become ill with colds, fevers, and pneumonia. They traveled as fast as they could, but because of the cold and sickness, they were just plain worn-out from pulling handcarts and carrying the smaller children.
“One day they came to a river that they had to cross. Everyone was so tired that the river seemed an impossible challenge. It seemed too wide, too deep, and too cold to the exhausted pioneers. One weary lady stood on the bank of the river, holding her baby as the tears silently streamed down her face. She didn’t have the strength to face one more trial that day. For a minute it looked like the journey might end right there for the small band of weary pioneers.
“Then, without saying a word, a young man waded into the cold river and made his way to the other side to see how deep it was. The icy water came up to his waist. He was certain that the handcarts were too small and too heavily loaded to carry children and those who were sick across safely. He knew what needed to be done, and he didn’t have to be asked. He knelt down with the rest of the pioneers and led a prayer, asking for strength to get everyone across safely. He was seventeen years old, and he was tall and strong, but he knew that he would need the help of the Lord to deal with the numbing cold of the river.
“The boy jumped up from the prayer and carried his sick mother across first, then his younger sister, and finally his three-year-old brother. When they were safe, he started carrying other children across. Another boy, a little younger but just as strong and nearly as tall, joined him in the cold river. The two youths carried across all the children and others who were too weak to make it through the icy water on their own. When everyone else was safely on the other side and the handcarts were across, the boys came out of the river to get dry and to warm themselves by the fire.
“Their legs and feet were blue from the cold. They got into dry clothes and wrapped up in blankets. Everyone thanked them for their help, but the boys said that they had just done what needed to be done. That night they sent everyone else to bed while they stayed by the fire to get warm. They talked about how things were going to be when they got to their new homes, but their conversation was often interrupted by muscle cramps and violent shivers. The cold water had chilled them more than they thought possible. The next morning they were still sitting there, wrapped in their blankets. When the leader of the group walked over to talk to them, he was saddened by what he found. During the night the boys had both died as they sat by the fire.
“The youths were buried right there on the edge of the river. They had lost their lives while helping others. The older boy, the one who had prayed for strength to get the others across safely, was one of your relatives. His name was Floyd. His three-year-old brother was your great-great-grandfather. When I was a little boy and Grandfather was in his nineties, he told me this story. That was when I learned that Floyd meant courage, relying on the Lord, and helping others.”
Floyd looked out the window at the old tree in the front yard, trying to keep the tears from overflowing his eyes. He couldn’t think of anything to say other than “Wow!”
Dad paused too. He couldn’t tell the story without getting tears in his eyes, either. Then he said, “That brave lad named Floyd is part of you. And you certainly were right—Floyd is no ordinary name! It’s a name to be proud of, and it’s a name for you to live up to.”
“I don’t know if I can be as brave as he was,” Floyd said with conviction, “but I’m going to be the best person that I can. And, Dad, I’ll tell you something else: When I go to school in the morning, I’m going to tell them that my name’s Floyd and that Floyd’s no ordinary name!”

Wilhelm Friedrichs (second from left) and Emil Hoppe (center, back row) attended the first baptisms in Argentina.
The Friedrichs and Hoppe families were the only Latter-day Saints in Argentina when they moved there from Germany in the early 1920s. Wilhelm Friedrichs and Emil Hoppe tried to share the gospel in their new country, distributing pamphlets and inviting others to join their meetings. “I have full trust in my Heavenly Father that he will send sincere friends who will accept the Gospel,” Wilhelm wrote, “for I rejoice in being an instrument in the hands of God.”7
There were significant challenges, however. The families lived far apart and had to travel two hours to meet together. Because Emil was a deacon and Wilhelm a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, they were unable to administer ordinances such as the sacrament or give priesthood blessings.
In 1924, Hildegarde Hoppe gave birth to a baby girl, who died two months later. As she mourned, Hildegarde asked how the baby’s name could be included in the records of the Church. As a result, Wilhelm began corresponding with Church leaders in Salt Lake City.
A year and a half later, Elder Melvin J. Ballard (1873–1939) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was sent with other missionaries to meet the growing group of converts in Buenos Aires. When they arrived in December 1925, Elder Ballard baptized several converts and organized a branch. On Christmas Day, Elder Ballard dedicated South America for missionary work and organized the first mission on the continent.

Annie threw her paper airplane. It sailed up and over the gray block wall at the back of her yard. She stomped her foot and thought, Now I’m never going to get it back.
Just then, her typing-paper airplane glided back over the wall and landed by the patio. Annie grabbed the plane and ran back to the wall.
“Thank you,” she called. No one answered. “Is anyone there?” she asked. No one answered.
She threw her airplane back over the wall, sat on her swing, blocked the setting sun with a salute, and waited. Suddenly a different plane, made of newspaper, flew over the wall, through the swing chains above her head, and glided to a perfect landing in front of the sliding-glass door.
“Wow!” Annie reached for the plane. “I wish I knew how to make planes fly like—” Suddenly she stopped. The plane had a message written on one of the wings. “Hi, Amelia! From the Secret Pilot.”
Who’s Amelia? wondered Annie. Maybe the family who lived here before us had a girl named Amelia. The Secret Pilot sure can’t print very well. Her writing’s so scribbly, she couldn’t be very old. Or, it could be a boy. He sure knows how to make good airplanes. I have to find out who the Secret Pilot is.
“I’m going to ride around the block—OK, Mom?” Annie called.
“Not now, Annie. I need the table set for dinner.”
Annie chewed on her bottom lip. “May I go after dinner, please?”
“You need to wash your hair tonight,” said her mother.
Annie glanced back at the block wall. “May I please have a minute to do something before I set the table?” Her mother smiled and nodded. Annie grabbed a pen from the desk in the hall and ran back to the yard. On the other wing of the airplane, she wrote:
Dear Secret Pilot,
I’ll be over tomorrow.
Your friend,Annie
She paused for a minute, then added “Amelia” after her own name. She sailed the plane back over the wall and waited, but it didn’t come back.
The next morning Annie jumped on her bike and pedaled around the corner. She kept her eye on the tall palm tree in her backyard. When she rode past a park on the next street, she lost sight of it for a minute but then was able to line it up with a long, low building. It didn’t look like a house. There was a parking lot beside it, and a large sign on the lawn. The sign said, “Seacliff Retirement Home.” Annie could see her palm tree behind the building.
She went up the sidewalk and peeked through the door. As she stepped on the black rubber doormat, the door buzzed aside like the one at the supermarket.
A nurse hung up a telephone and smiled at Annie. “May I help you, dear?” she asked.
Annie walked to the desk. “Do any kids live here?”
The woman said kindly, “No children—just older people.”
As Annie turned to leave, she saw a man with white hair and a blue captain’s hat walking slowly down the hall. His hat had gold wings embroidered on the bill. Annie saw something sticking out of his jacket pocket—her paper airplane. He saluted to the nurse.
“Hi, Captain Penny,” said the nurse. “Off to the park again?”
Captain Penny nodded and patted the nurse’s hand.
“Excuse me,” said Annie. “I’m Annie Amelia. Are you the Secret Pilot?”
Captain Penny smiled with every wrinkle on his face.
“He was a pilot all right, but it’s no secret,” said the nurse. “You should see his scrapbook. Why, he even knew Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone.”
Captain Penny took off his winged pilot’s hat and set it on Annie’s head. She grinned back at him.
“He can’t speak very well since his stroke, but he doesn’t let that stop him,” the nurse explained. “He takes his newspaper to the park every day and watches the children play.”
Captain Penny scribbled a shaky note and handed it to Annie:
Dear Miss Annie Amelia,
Some young friends and I are meeting at the park today to make airplanes. Might your mother let you join us?
Your Secret Pilot
Annie gave him a salute. The nurse called Annie’s mother, and Annie and the Secret Pilot headed for the park.

Last week a new stake presidency was sustained in the Monterey Stake, and the new president of that stake came up with his wife to talk to the General Authority who had established that stake and introduced them to the stake members. The president of that stake said, “I met this young lady, my wife, at BYU. I was a nonmember of the Church. I don’t know why I went to BYU, but I did. I met this girl and fell in love with her. As I told her that I’d fallen in love with her and would like to have her as my wife, she said, ‘I’ll marry you only in the temple.’ I didn’t understand what the temple was, but when she said that, I began to investigate, and as a result we were married in the temple. I am where I am today because she was prepared to take her individual stand and do that which is right. Regardless of our relationship otherwise, the only way she would be married was in the temple. So we were married in the temple. I know five other couples who can tell you the same kind of story, that they met LDS girls who were not prepared at any cost to give up the standards of their Church, and as a result they are holding stake offices here in this stake.” Those are things, I think, my brothers and sisters, that we should keep in mind.