Gospel Story Finder

There is a story about a young builder who had just gone into business for himself. A wealthy friend of his father came to him and said: “To help get you established, I am going to have you build a house for me. Here are the plans. Don’t spare expenses. I want the very finest materials used, and I want the best workmanship. Forget the cost. Just send me the bills.”
The young builder became obsessed with the desire to enrich himself through this generous and unrestricted offer. Instead of employing the best laborers and buying the finest materials, he cheated his benefactor in every way possible. Finally, the last poor-quality nail was driven into the last poor-quality wall, and the builder handed over the keys and bills to his father’s old friend. That gentleman wrote a check to pay for the full cost of building the house and then handed the keys back to the builder. “The home you have just built,” he said with a pleasant smile, “is my present to you. May you live in it in great happiness!”

One day, Wilford was feeding pumpkins to his father’s cattle in a pasture.
He noticed that one large bull was eating more than his fair share, so Wilford decided to take one of his pumpkins away.
Wilford: He ate one of that cow’s pumpkins! I’ll show him who’s boss.
The bull was so mad at Wilford that he started chasing him down the pasture hill.
Luckily, Wilford tripped and fell to the ground, and the pumpkin went flying out of his hands. The bull jumped right over Wilford and tore the pumpkin to pieces with his horns.
Wilford: If I hadn’t tripped, that would’ve been me getting torn to pieces!
Years later Wilford became the fourth President of the Church. He said he believed Heavenly Father had protected him during those childhood adventures.
President Woodruff: I ascribe my preservation on earth to the watch-care of a merciful Providence, whose hand has been stretched out to rescue me from death when I was in the presence of the most threatening dangers.

Professional life is another area which provides opportunities for friendships. Once when I was working in California, I was offered a job in New York City. My employers told me people didn’t care about each other there.
I couldn’t believe people could live the way they described. It made me want to go to New York City just to prove them wrong. But after six months working there, I was ready to concede my California friends were right. Then I decided I hadn’t made much of an effort myself.
So I started a program to find out if New York City workers were really human. I lived in Scarsdale, about a 45-minute train ride from New York. The train ran exactly on schedule. I started noticing the habits of the commuters. They would leave home at exactly the same minute each morning, walk to the station, buy a New York Times, walk to a certain board on the platform, fold their paper, stand on that board until the train arrived, get on the same car, find the same seat, and read their newspaper all the way into Grand Central Station. They would never speak as they traveled their various routes.
I decided the only way to get to know them was to break the routine. I selected a man I thought I would like to get acquainted with, and after observing his routine for a few days, I planned a counter-routine.
I arrived at the station at about the same time he did. As soon as he started to walk down to his favorite board on the platform, I broke into a run and just beat him there, firmly planting my two feet on his favorite spot. This unnerved him so that he didn’t even unfold his newspaper.
When the train arrived, I jumped on and took his favorite seat. He rode all the way into the city visibly disturbed. I believe I ruined the entire day for him. The next morning I repeated the same process.
Then the most remarkable thing happened the third morning. When I arrived at the train platform, he was already there, firmly planted on his favorite board, reading his newspaper. I couldn’t help but laugh. He gave me a scowl, and then he couldn’t hold back either. I introduced myself as a new arrival determined to break the routine of a commuter. We had an enjoyable visit. We got on the train and talked all the way into New York.
From then on, breaking each other’s routine became a game. We would race each morning for that favorite spot. Soon others noticed what we were doing, and before we knew it, there were three, then four, then five, then ten, all racing for that particular board each morning.
The great friendships made then have endured many years. The cold New Yorker was just as friendly as anyone else. All you had to do was break through that city shell.

Illustration by Emily Call
Ever since I was a young boy, I wanted to serve a mission. But in my second year of high school, I started to experience numbness in my feet, knees, and arms. Within weeks, I couldn’t walk, run, or climb stairs.
I started on some medications, thinking it would solve the problem quickly so I could go back to school and prepare for my mission. But instead, I kept getting worse. Soon I couldn’t do anything on my own—I couldn’t brush my hair or even stand up to pick up a TV remote.
I received multiple priesthood blessings, but the disease would not leave me alone. I was admitted to a hospital in Accra where experienced doctors worked on me, but they couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I started to think I would never walk again, much less serve a mission.
While I was in the hospital, the mission president and his wife came to visit me and my mum. He asked me if I would like to serve a mission. I told him I had wanted to, before I got sick. He said, “Don’t worry, you will serve a mission.”
The day after we got home from the hospital, I was sitting with my mum when I heard a voice tell me to stand up and walk. I was scared of falling, but I knew I had to try. I stood up on my own. Slowly, I was able to take my first step, which boosted my confidence. I continued taking additional steps. Even though I was shaky at first, I knew that because of my faith in Jesus Christ and the priesthood blessings I had received, I would be able to serve a mission now.
I went back to school, and immediately after finishing, I submitted my mission papers. I received my call some months later to serve in the Nigeria Lagos Mission. Serving the Lord and teaching His children about the restored gospel gave me so much joy. Though not everyone is healed like I was, I know the Lord will bless anyone, according to His will, when we have faith in Him.
The author lives in Ghana.

I was excited to go to youth conference, but then I found out there were lots of rules—for example, no cell phones and no going outside alone. It seemed like adults were constantly keeping an eye on us. But I had a great time, made a lot of friends, worked on a service project, and learned about the gospel.
During a testimony meeting on the last day of youth conference, one of the leaders talked about how much he loves us, the youth in the stake.
If you love us, why do we have so many restrictions here? I thought. At that same moment, like he could read my mind, he answered my question.
Leaders put rules in place, he said, not to annoy us but for our safety. The moment he said that, I was touched by the Spirit. I understood that Heavenly Father gives us commandments for the same reason. They are not to annoy us; they are to help us return safely to Him (see Doctrine and Covenants 82:2–9).
The Holy Ghost touched me and helped me to know that this is true.
Serge P., Île-de-France, France

While attending the University of Utah, Elder Schmeil met Alessandra Machado Louza, a student at Brigham Young University, at a devotional. “When we met for the first time at the devotional, she totally ignored me,” he said. But for him, it was love at first sight.
They were married in the São Paulo Brazil Temple in July 1994 and finished their studies in the United States. They returned to Brazil for 20 years before moving to Colorado, USA, and then to Florida, USA. Elder and Sister Schmeil are the parents of two children.

I'm also grateful to have my dear wife, Valérie, with me. In a few weeks we will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. Anniversaries are emotional moments that bring joy blended with a little bit of nostalgia. As we look back over our years together, we count our many blessings and also take stock of the inevitable passing of time.

It seems like just yesterday when the two of us met. I still clearly remember the excitement and the sweet feelings that grew in me as Valérie and I began dating. I knew very quickly and without a doubt that she was the one for me-both in this life and eternity. Nothing gave us more joy than spending time together, whether it was walking in the park, studying at the library, or participating in Church activities. We counted each hour and each minute, hoping to be able to stop-or rather slow down-the passing of time so we could enjoy each other's company a little bit longer.

I remember once we had an entire day to spend together, so we decided not to do anything. We did not go out, we planned no specific activity-we did nothing! We somehow thought that if we did nothing, time would go by more slowly. Today, remembering this makes me smile. It is rather ironic that we tried to slow down the march of time when we had an eternity of being with each other awaiting us. Even these past 30 years of marriage are but an infinitely small portion of our eternal life together.

Lily S. of Utah, USA, had a busy ninth grade year. As a cheerleader, she participated in parades, football games, basketball games, and cheer camps and clinics. But the path to Lily’s cheerleading career was not an easy one.
As soon as Lily found out about her junior high school’s cheerleading tryouts, she knew she wanted to be a part of the team. For three weeks, Lily practiced with a former cheerleader to learn cheers and dance routines. She also spent hours making up her own cheer. After weeks of practice and a tough audition process, Lily made the team—and the Young Women Personal Progress program had helped.
Because of Personal Progress, Lily has participated in many activities where she learned to set goals and work hard to achieve them—skills that definitely helped her reach her cheerleading goals.

Mark and Barbara were engaged. In fact, it was just a few weeks before the wedding. Everything seemed to be in their favor. They were in love, they wanted children, Mark had a job waiting for him to start right after graduation, and just to make sure that they would get off to a great start they were taking a class together at Brigham Young University, “Achieving Success in Marriage.”
And then the plot began to thicken. One of the major assignments for the class was for a couple to do a babysitting project together. They were to volunteer, without pay, to spend as long a period as they could tending the children of a family they would choose. When Barbara proposed the plan to Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, who had seven children, they thought it was the best thing that had happened since Christmas and made plans to spend the next Saturday off by themselves in the mountains, leaving at nine in the morning and returning at ten in the evening.
The very first time Mark and Barbara had talked about having children, Mark had assured her that he wanted six. “Six?” Barbara had asked weakly. “Are you sure we can handle six?”
“Six,” Mark had emphasized. “The Lord will provide.”
At ten minutes past nine, seven children under eleven years of age waved good-bye to their parents and turned curiously to their two baby-sitters.
“Want to play ball with me?” said the five-year-old to Mark.
“Uh—sure.” Mark followed the boy out to the backyard.
In 15 minutes Mark was back in the house. He fished out his Advanced Accounting text from his briefcase and quickly converted the dining room table into a desk.
“I didn’t know about this test on Monday, Barb. But I think just a couple of hours should take care of it. If you can keep them outside for a while, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Come on, kids. Out to the backyard,” said Barbara. “I’ve got this game I want to teach you.”
The next three hours sped by for Barbara on wings of lead. She kept the children as quiet as possible while Mark studied, and then they all joined together for a backyard picnic lunch that Barbara and the older children had prepared.
“I think I’m too old to be a mother,” Barbara sighed, pouring Mark another glass of lemonade. “When I was 13 I used to do this all the time. What’s happened to me?”
“You’re doing great,” he assured her, fortifying her with a kiss.
“Wrestling time, wrestling time!” The eight-year-old boy pounced on Mark, and was quickly followed by three other children.
Mark good-naturedly rolled onto the grass, tickling as many ribcages as he could reach. Then he pushed the two-year-old toward Barbara with a look of great distaste on his face. “Phew. Smells like somebody’s pants need changing.”
So Barbara changed the pants. And Mark sat on the couch reading a storybook to the younger children, which was soon replaced by a news magazine. For the rest of the afternoon Mark’s major participation in the flow of events was to tie three pair of shoelaces and to send the rest of the problems to Barbara. At six o’clock he asked, “How long until supper, Barb?” And at eight o’clock, “Hey, isn’t it time these kids were heading for bed?”
At nine o’clock the last head was lying on its pillow. Barbara collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes.
“Alone at last,” sighed Mark and pulled her close to him.
“Just a minute,” said Barbara coolly, moving away. “I think we need a little talk.”
“Oh?”
“Six children? You said you wanted six children?”
“Yes.”
“You said the Lord would provide?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s beginning to seem to me that what you meant was that the Lord was going to provide you with me to do all the work.”
“I—I don’t get it.”
“Your idea of family living seems to be that you will preside and I will conduct—everything. Is that right?”
“Well, no. I expect to do my share. I’ve been working my tail off to get through school and get a job. It’s no easy thing to be a breadwinner these days.”
“So that’s all you’re going to be—a breadwinner? Have a nice, tidy, eight-to-five job, while mine goes eighteen hours a day, seven days a week?”
“Well, people sort of have to specialize. Our economy’s built on it. I guess I figured that I would specialize in bringing home the bacon and you would specialize in taking care of the kids. What do you want—one of those fifty-fifty contracts that some brides draw up?”
“No. No, I don’t. But I do want a husband that intends to be a father to his children, not just somebody that shows up at the supper table and gives a few instructions and hides behind a magazine.”
When the Taylors came home, the discussion was still going strong.
“Thanks so much,” said Mrs. Taylor, as she saw them to the door. “We had a wonderful time. I hope you learned what you came to learn.”
“More,” Barbara smiled. “Much more.”
At her place the discussion resumed, a discussion that should have happened months before. As they parted, Mark and Barbara were no longer engaged. Her idea of what a father should be, and his idea, were not the same.

To understand how this story turned out the way it did, you probably need to know Joe. And that’s not an easy thing.
In the small town of Oakley, Utah, if you ask the other teenagers about quiet, soft-spoken Joe Frazier, they say the same types of things: He’s … hmmm? … great to be around. He’s … hmmm? … funny. He’s … hmmm? … I don’t know … He’s just Joe.
Hmmm?
“Let’s put it this way,” says D. J. Glade. “You know how in high school it’s not cool to talk to the younger kids? Well, Joe talks to the younger kids. Joe talks to the older kids. Joe is friends with everyone.”
Come on.
“Serious.”
But then there was Joe, at age 16, lying unconscious in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask over his mouth, a bag dripping into a tube in one arm. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong. It was strange, sobering. And without exception, all of his friends thought, That could be me.
Joe Frazier had been sick for about a month and was getting progressively worse. The doctors were baffled. At first they thought he had a virus, maybe hepatitis. And then, on a July 1994 morning, he was in the kitchen, reached out for the counter, and was suddenly on the floor. His brother, Josh, picked him up and carried him to the car.
The following Monday, Joe was still in the hospital. His parents, Blake and Barbara, were told their son was in very serious condition, that he needed a new liver. The Fraziers’ insurance company did not cover the cost of the experimental surgery, and before Joe could be put on a national transplant waiting list the family would need to raise $125,000.
“We didn’t have time to sell our house or our cars,” says Barbara. “Joe hadn’t been sick in years, and now out of the blue they were saying the word transplant. It was overwhelming.”
The hospital suggested the Fraziers ask a handful of their close friends and relatives to help raise part of the money. The neighbors they asked to help got on the phone to other neighbors who got on the phone to others … well, you get the idea. All they had to say was “Joe is in trouble” and money started appearing. The first donations were from Joe’s brother and sister, Josh and Jamie, who emptied their bank accounts and dug under couch cushions and in the back of dresser drawers for any cash they could find.
Right away, the kids from Joe’s high school got together to brainstorm ways to raise the money. They gave $500 they were saving for their prom. And then they organized car washes, bake sales, a rodeo, and an enormous garage sale.
It was late one evening that week, as the teenagers collected items for the garage sale, that Sam Aplanalp, 15, realized something miraculous was happening.
“The football players were pulling things off a truck when a little boy rode up on his bike,” says Sam. “I know his family doesn’t have much money—and his bike was about all he had in the world—but he wanted us to have it. To help Joe.”
The next day at the sale, a loaf of bread fetched $400 and someone paid $25 for a root beer. At the car wash, 16-year-old Michelle Cooper and her friends washed a stranger’s car who, in payment, handed them two $100 bills. “I don’t know who he was,” Michelle says, tearing up at the memory. “But it taught me that deep down, people really do care.”
On Wednesday afternoon, only a day and a half after the call for donations had gone out, the phone rang in Joe’s hospital room. Barbara answered. It was Joe’s 14-year-old sister, Jamie.
“Mom, you’re missing a miracle,” she said. “I wish you were here to see what the people in town are doing. They’ve already raised $55,000!”
Teenagers from across the county, from all faiths and backgrounds, came together to help raise money and to pray for Joe.
“I don’t think any of us had ever prayed that hard or worked that hard,” says Michelle.
Jake adds, “But we learned where real joy comes from. Passing a test, winning a ball game, having a girlfriend makes you happy—but real joy comes from giving, from sacrifice.”
On the same Wednesday, Barbara and Blake met with their surgeon and told him that Oakley and the neighboring communities in their county had already raised $55,000—in 36 hours. Tears ran down the physician’s cheeks and Barbara recalls him saying, “You have renewed my faith. There really are human beings in the world.” The doctor, realizing the severity of Joe’s condition, had already put him on the transplant list. He said he would not let Joe die without a chance.
When Joe went into surgery the following Monday, the Fraziers had already received $135,000.
But Joe’s fight was not over. He was given only a 50 percent chance of making it through the eight-hour operation. And, says Barbara, “If he hadn’t received the liver that day, he would not have seen another sunrise.”
“The first day I remember is the 24th of July—five days after the surgery,” says Joe. “I remember going to the window to watch the fireworks.”
When Barbara told him what the community had done, Joe seemed strangely sad. “I kinda wish I’d been there to help,” he explained.
On a hot August day with thin clouds in the Utah mountains, the Fraziers’ Thunderbird slowed as it reached the turn into the Kamas valley. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Joe could see the group of vehicles waiting for him at the intersection, where twisting Brown’s Canyon meets Highway 189.
The fire engine and the cars fell in behind Joe’s car, fender-to-fender. The parade stopped in Oakley, and Joe got out and hugged his mom. A dozen young kids who had donated their toys to the garage sale and who felt in some way they owned a little piece of Joe gathered close to him. And one little guy yelled, “Hey, Joe, how ya feeling?”
There wasn’t a dry eye when Joe smiled and said in a soft voice “fine” and “thank you” and that it was “good to be home.”
“Every street corner, every business, everything was covered with pictures of Joe,” said Barbara. “But when we got home, Joe asked me to get the collection jars out of the store and take his pictures down.
“And then he wanted me to make sure no one had given more money than they could afford.”
Maybe that selfless attitude is why everyone cared, why they did what they did. Who knows? But it’s definitely the reason, when you ask who is Joe Frazier, that all his friends say with love, He’s … hmmm? … he’s just Joe.

Just a few years ago we converted a Reverend Cooke from up in the northwest–the state of Washington. He wrote a letter to my brother, who was then president of the Northwestern States mission, in which he said, “I have always thought that I had as much authority as any man to administer the ordinances of the gospel–until I met the Mormon elders. Now I have come to feel that I must accept baptism at their hands.” Then, after he was baptized, he came down to Salt Lake and to my office and said this: “When I joined the Church I did not feel I could say that I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but I believed that he was. But when Brother Burroughs [and I know Brother Burroughs up there] laid his hands on my head and ordained me to the priesthood I felt something go through me like I never had felt before in all my life, and I knew that no man could do that for me. It must have come from the Lord.” Then he continued, “When I think of how little I had to offer my people as a Methodist minister compared with what I now have in the fulness of the gospel as it has been restored I want to go back and tell my friends what I have found. Now they won’t listen to me; I am an apostate from their church.” But he had given up his ministry (and that is an honorable calling) to run the elevator in our state capitol building so that he could join the Church. Through the window in my office he pointed to the temple and said, “I can’t wait until I can go there with my wife. I want to be sure I have her forever.” That is what it is when people really love truth and are called out of darkness, as Peter said, unto the Lord’s true light.

A great example in my life of unselfish service is Sister Victoria Antonietti. Victoria was one of the Primary teachers in my branch while I was growing up in Argentina. Each Tuesday afternoon, when we gathered for Primary, she brought us a chocolate cake. Everyone loved the cake—well, everyone except me. I hated chocolate cake! And even though she would try to share the cake with me, I always turned down her offer.
One day after she had shared the chocolate cake with the rest of the children, I asked her, “Why don’t you bring a different flavor—like orange or vanilla?”
After laughing a little, she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient, and I promise that if you try it, you will like it!”
I looked around, and to my surprise, everyone seemed to be enjoying the cake. I agreed to give it a try. Can you guess what happened? I liked it! That was the very first time I had enjoyed a chocolate cake.
It wasn’t until many years later that I found out what the secret ingredient was in Sister Antonietti’s chocolate cake. My children and I visited my mother each week. On one of these visits, Mom and I were enjoying a slice of chocolate cake, and I related to her how I came to like the cake for the very first time. Then she enlightened me with the rest of the story.
“You see, Cris,” my mom said, “Victoria and her family didn’t have a lot of resources, and each week she had to choose between paying for the bus to take her and her four children to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for her Primary class. She always chose the chocolate cake over the bus, and she and her children walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
That day I had a better appreciation for her chocolate cake. More important, I learned that the secret ingredient in Victoria’s cake was the love she had for those she served and her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf.

When Elder Clement M. Matswagothata was a child in Botswana, he would read the Bible out loud to his grandmother. He came across 1 Samuel 3, where God speaks to Samuel, who was later called as a prophet.
“My natural question was, ‘Does God still do the same thing?’”
That question began his journey of trying to find a God who still spoke. He met Latter-day Saint missionaries when he was 16 years old, read the Book of Mormon in a few days, and called them at 3:00 a.m. to tell them he wanted to be baptized.

Let me share with you a story of one of the more meaningful experiences I have had at BYU. It is a story within a story. Every year in late August, just before the start of the fall semester, we faculty have a meeting in the de Jong Concert Hall. It is the duty of the academic vice president to speak to us. The burden must weigh heavily on his shoulders, for he has to say something worthwhile to a bunch of people who know a lot of things. We faculty are not a bunch of “know-it-alls,” but we tend to think we know a lot.

I shall never forget the talk given one year when Todd Britsch was our academic vice president. Professor Britsch has recently retired as a professor of humanities from the Humanities, Classics, and Comparative Literature Department in our College of Humanities. Not long after I came to BYU, Todd became our dean. Then he was promoted to academic vice president. I knew he had two adopted children. One day we got the word that his son had died.

In Professor Britsch’s talk to the faculty that day in August 1994, he told us of a dream he had had. Here is what he said:
When Dan died at conference time last year, shortly after his 20th birthday, we held his funeral on a Friday. The next Monday, as you would have done, I returned to school and to a busy schedule. But family, church, and BYU responsibilities so occupied my time that I felt I had not really had a chance to mourn his death. Finally, in November, I caught a mild case of flu that forced me to stay home on a Sunday. After a morning filled with reflection, I fell asleep and had the following dream:
I was in a parking lot (probably by the JKHB) walking with my arms full of books and other materials. As I approached my 1967 Volvo, the car I drove to campus for 23 years, I noticed that exhaust was coming from the tailpipe. This concerned me, because I knew that the car keys were in my pocket. I opened the front passenger door because I wanted to put my books on the seat. As I did so, I saw Dan in the back seat, surrounded by his books, writing in a notebook. I told him that I had been surprised that the engine was running, and he replied that he wanted to heat the car while he was studying because it was cold to him. After an exchange about car keys, Dan said, “Just sit down there. I’ll come up and drive.” As he moved from the back seat and opened the driver’s door, I realized that he was dead. I leaned forward, and we embraced. I felt his whiskers against my cheek and said, “I miss you so much.” With that, I awoke, weeping but strangely and deeply comforted.
As I described this comfort to my wife, she remarked that it was very natural: “It’s because he was at BYU. For years, one of your strongest wishes was for Dan to be a student here.” Dorothy was right. Like many of you, I longed for the time that circumstances would be such that my son could enroll at BYU. It was here that I wanted him to learn the beauty of mathematical formulae. It was at BYU that I hoped he could develop a profound understanding of the scriptures. It was from you [that is, my colleagues on the faculty] that I wanted him to study humanities, biology, the fine arts, sociology, and all of the other wonderful things we get to deal with every day. I believed that his whole life could be changed if he could be a student here. For a moment, at least, it seemed that this had happened.
Now when I look across the campus, I see tens of thousands of students whose parents’ wishes are much the same as mine. They see in BYU the one place where their children’s eternal education can take place. I hope that we will never take casually the extraordinary faith they place in us. [Todd A. Britsch, 23 August 1994, “Excellence, Charity, and the University,” Addresses Delivered at the 1994 Annual University Conference (Provo: BYU, 1994), 24–25]

There was not a dry eye in the de Jong Concert Hall as we faculty listened to Professor Britsch. I have not looked at my duties at BYU the same since. I marveled at how an academic vice president could speak with such feeling and such power. And I thought, “Only at BYU.”

Sarah Tunnell was worried about how she’d fit in. Her family had just moved from Texas to Snohomish, Washington. Now Sarah would have to start all over again. New school. New ward. New friends—she hoped.
“We came to church that first week,” Sarah remembers. “It was the Sunday before school started, and in Mia Maids Tresa Brown was saying the closing prayer.”
At the end of the prayer Tresa said, “And please help Sarah to make friends and to feel at home here.”
“That made me feel really good,” Sarah says. “It was, ‘Wow, I’m new and they’re already praying for me! They remembered my name!’ I felt like everyone accepted me. That week I was walking down the hall at school, and everyone from the ward said hi. Becky Gale went out of her way to help me check my class schedule.”
The example of friendliness wasn’t wasted on Sarah. Visit the Snohomish Second Ward today, and she’s one of the many young women eager to welcome you. These “homies,” as people from Snohomish call themselves, have learned that it’s a simple thing to help everyone feel included.
Consider some additional examples:
—“When I came into Beehives for the first time,” Angela Gilbert says, “they had ‘Welcome, Angie!’ written on the board. They announced that I was new and made me feel comfortable.”
—“I got chicken pox and had to stay home from youth conference,” Traci Brown says. “But when they got back they came and told me how it was, and brought me stuff so I could see what they’d done. It was almost like having been there myself.”
—“Most of the LDS kids sit together at lunch,” says Anne Broadbent. Whether it’s at Snohomish High or at Centennial Middle School, these “Mormon Circles” have so much fun and use such clean language that others, LDS or not, ask to join in.
And the examples go on and on. Thirteen-year-old Bonnie Jarvis remembers being greeted at the door with a sincere, “Yea! Bonnie’s here!” Leann Gustafson heard that a less-active friend had a sore throat and stopped by to bring her some cough drops. Aja Elmer learned not to be afraid to sing solos in Young Women, because she knows they’re all her friends. Others have learned not to be afraid to bear their testimonies before the whole group, for the same reason.
“There are no outsiders,” Tracie Graafstra explains. “Everybody belongs.”
It’s a concept that’s not only strengthened members but also played a part in seven conversions in the last few years.
“It was the people who first interested me in the Church,” says Kristy Shackelford. “They were genuine. They like you for yourself.”
“Bonnie Skinner, the bishop’s daughter, was in one of my classes at school,” Tracie says. “She kept inviting me to church dances. One night I finally went. I stayed overnight at her house, and the next day her family invited me to church. I felt the Spirit there, and I felt loved. The people here are really friendly, and that helped a lot. I met the missionaries and started the discussions. I knew I should pray about what they were teaching me. When I did, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to be baptized.”
“I went to church with Neoma Huston; then I went to girls’ camp, and I always felt like I was accepted,” says Jula Jefferson. “The more I learned about the Church, the more I liked it. And everybody was always right there to help me.”
That type of support makes it easier to open up. “We’re not afraid to share the gospel, because it’s fun, it’s easy, and we know it’s true,” Angela says. “You want to do missionary work because you know people will be happier.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” says Aja. “Just say, ‘Hi, hello, how are you doing?’ People appreciate that more than you think.”
So what generates all this goodwill and sisterhood? Some of it comes from spending time together: at church, at school, at youth conference, on service projects even when it rains. Some of it comes from taking a genuine interest in people, little things like remembering birthdays and making them special. And some of it comes from receiving kindness and passing it along.
“The Laurels were nice to me when I was a Beehive,” says Tresa Brown, “so now that I’m a Laurel, I try to be nice to the Beehives, too.”
But it’s Traci who gives the most accurate answer. “It’s how the Savior would treat people, isn’t it?” she asks. “His example shows us that he loves everyone. We’re trying to act like he would—to be kind and loving to everyone.
“Oh,” she adds, “and hugs work, too.”
“You can feel the Spirit,” Tracie says. “That love draws people in. When you’re going through a hard time, you know these people are always here for you. And since they have the Spirit with them, it just overwhelms you with love.”
That’s why everybody belongs here. It’s why in every ward or branch, every young woman should belong.
Is there a newcomer in your ward who may feel like nobody cares? You can help him or her overcome that feeling. Here are some suggestions from the Snohomish Second Ward Young Women. By the way, these ideas work just as well for long-time members, too:
“Be open-minded and really cheerful. You don’t know what they’re feeling, and you don’t know if they’ve had a really crummy day. So if you say hi and cheer them, it’s going to boost up their day and they’re going to remember it for a long time.”
Nicole Broadbent, 15
“Remember birthdays. When I turned 14, the Beehives made a big sign, brought balloons, taped candy to the porch, and gave me a journal as a present. I thought, ‘They’re doing all this for me!’ I felt so loved.”
Courtney Davis, 14
“Be genuine. Treat each other the same at school as you do at church. Treat everybody the same no matter where you are or who you are with.”
Becky Gale, 18
“With activities every Wednesday, seminary every morning, church every Sunday, and dances on Saturdays, there are plenty of things to invite your non-LDS friends to. Have your own parties, so you don’t feel the need to go to the wild parties at school.”
Kathy Cravens, 14
“Don’t be separated in spirit just because you’re in different classes. Avoid forming cliques. You’re all sisters, some older, some younger. You’ve got all these sisters in the Church.”
Becky Tunnell, 14
“For our Young Women in Excellence program, I brought two nonmembers to play music with me. They were so well accepted and felt so at home that now they want to come back and do more things with us.”
Angela Gilbert, 13
“It starts with one person. Let someone know that you love them, and they’ll go out and do it to somebody else; then they’ll do it to somebody else, and so on, and then you’ll have this great ward like ours.”
Tresa Brown, 16

Snow was falling outside the kitchen windows, and the pines looked as pretty as those on a Christmas card. A perfect day for sledding! I smiled and was reaching for the juice glasses as Mom came into the kitchen.
“Morning, Jackie.” Mom gave me a big hug. “Kiley didn’t want to get dressed this morning,” she said with a happy chuckle. “She just stood in front of the window, watching the snow.”
“Is that what took you so long upstairs?” I asked.
“That, and I called Grandma. She has a cold, so Kiley and I won’t be taking her shopping today.”
“You mean Kiley is going to be here all day?” I moaned.
“She lives here, honey. Where else would she be?”
“Mom!” I groaned. “You know I invited Mary Alice over to go sledding!”
“Sure,” Mom said with a quick nod and a smile. “So?”
“So you know how Kiley always butts in when I have company! And besides, I haven’t told Mary Alice about …” I stopped and shook my head. “Oh, never mind!”
“You haven’t told her you have a retarded sister?” Mom said in a quiet voice. “Are you afraid it would make a difference to her?”
“No. It’s just that I hardly know Mary Alice yet.” I poured the juice and stared at the table.
“Honey, the fact that Kiley is retarded isn’t a crime, or a sin—it’s a fact. Jesus loves and accepts her the way she is, and you do too. Your only problem is how you feel about her when your friends are around. But don’t worry so much about it. Everything will work out.” Mom smiled and went over to the stove.
Maybe Mom wasn’t worried, but my day had suddenly turned rotten. Mary Alice probably could have gone a million places today! I thought. She’ll probably wish she had, now.
Kiley clumped into the kitchen with the toes of her slippers pointing in opposite directions and stood grinning. “Your slippers are on wrong,” I said as I knelt and picked up her right foot. I put each slipper onto the correct foot and stood with a frown. “Come on now and eat.”
Kiley went to the table and sat in her chair, then lifted her chin as I fastened a bib around her neck. “Dank you,” she said with a happy grin.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
Mom slid eggs onto our plates, and we bowed our heads and asked a blessing. I dipped my toast into the yolk and glanced at the clock.
“What time is your friend coming?” Mom asked as she aimed a forkful of food at Kiley’s mouth.
“At 10:30. I’ll do the dishes, then get ready.”
Mom steadied a glass as Kiley raised it to her lips. “Good girl!” Mom said proudly.
Kiley replaced the glass on the table and pointed to the window. “No,” she said excitedly.
Mom smiled. “Yes, snow,” she repeated. “Good girl!”
I watched Kiley’s happy face, but crossed my fingers, hoping Mom wouldn’t ask me to take Kiley sledding. Why should I be stuck with her? I argued silently.
Mom didn’t ask me to take Kiley. Instead, when they were through eating, she and Kiley left the kitchen while I did the dishes. As I scoured the skillet, I thought, If Mary Alice wasn’t coming, I’d take Kiley sledding. I’d spend the whole day with her if she wanted. But today is different.
I was pulling a turtleneck sweater over my head when Mom called upstairs. “Jackie, a girl is coming up the lane with her sled.”
“OK!” Excited, I brushed back my hair and bounced down the stairs in time to answer Mary Alice’s knock. “Hi. Come on in,” I said as she stomped snow from her boots.
“Mom dropped me at the end of your lane,” she explained. “It sure is beautiful out here! I saw a hill on the way over. Is that where you go sledding?”
“That’s it. And wait till you see the view from the top!” I grabbed my jacket and called, “Mom, Mary Alice is here and we’re going now!”
Mom came from the kitchen with flour on her hands and a smile on her face.
“Mom,” I said, “this is Mary Alice Martin.”
“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Odgen,” Mary Alice said.
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, dear. When you two come back, I’ll have something ready for you to eat.” Then Mom returned to the kitchen.
Suddenly Kiley came into the hallway with a happy smile on her face. She went up to Mary Alice, grabbed her hand, shook it, and kept right on smiling.
“Hello,” Mary Alice said. “What’s your name?”
“She’s my sister, Kiley,” I put in quickly. “Well, let’s get to that hill.” As I zipped up my jacket, I had a hard time ignoring Kiley standing there, smiling.
“Sister,” she said, pointing to me. “Special sister.”
“Yeah, Kiley,” I replied impatiently. “We’ll see you later, OK?”
Kiley nodded. “Special sister,” she repeated proudly.
Mary Alice smiled at Kiley.
I wrapped my scarf around my neck and yanked a woolen cap down over my ears. “Come on, Mary Alice,” I said, “let’s go.”
Outside, I grabbed my sled. I could feel Kiley watching me through the window. I glanced at Mary Alice, who stood with her face turned skyward, catching fluffy snowflakes. She seems happy, I thought, and glad that she came. I looked back at Kiley. She was still smiling at me, even though I was leaving her behind. Mom was right, Jesus loves her the same as anyone else. Kiley loved me, too, no matter what I did. Did I love her as much—or did I just have time for her when no one else was around?
Mary Alice looked at me, and I gulped, “Do you mind if we take Kiley along?”
Mary Alice shook her head. “I was wondering why we weren’t. She looked like she wanted to go.”
I turned and tapped on the window, then opened the door. “Come on,” I said to Kiley. “I’ll get you dressed, and you can go too. Mom,” I called, “Kiley’s going with us.”
Mom came to the doorway of the kitchen and winked at me. “OK, honey. Have a good time.”
As I tugged at Kiley’s boots, her big grin seemed to disappear around both sides of her face. “Sister!” she announced as she banged me on the head. “Special sister!”
I just kept tugging at her boots and didn’t look up. After all, how could I explain to Kiley that tears don’t always mean that you’re sad? Maybe she would have understood; I don’t know. What I do know is that I have a special sister who thinks I’m special too.

And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.

Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”

The light of the temple has come into many lives. “Before I became a member of the Church I did not know what my life would be after death,” explains Marguerite Teriinohopua. Her family learned of the Church because another family prayed to find them. Ernest Montrose, now first counselor in the Faaa Tahiti Stake presidency, was at that time bishop of the Heiri Ward. When missionaries encouraged members to pray to find investigators, “I figured our family should go first.” Inspiration came. Bishop Montrose invited a coworker, Danielson Teriinohopua, to bring his family to a home evening with the missionaries.

“We were at the same time praying to be guided to the truth,” recalls Danielson, who is now a member of the high council. “At the end of the evening, we told them we wanted to know more—immediately.” Bishop Montrose scheduled another meeting the next night, then the next and the next. Within weeks the Teriinohopuas were baptized and confirmed, and a year later they were sealed in the temple. “Today I have a response to my questions,” Marguerite says. “In the temple I feel great peace and joy.”

Chanterel Hauata of the Heiri Ward also knows the joy of attending the temple. Although a benign brain tumor caused him to go blind six years ago, in the temple he sees clearly. “It is a place of clarity,” he explains. “In the temple we learn of eternity. It lifts us beyond this mortal life.”

The Pepe Mariteragi family has also felt the blessings of the temple. When they gathered at the family home in Paea in October 2003, they spoke about Tepahu, Pepe’s wife—their mother and grandmother. “She passed away seven months ago,” explained Lucien, one of her sons, “but our hearts are still turned toward her.”

“It is thanks to the gospel that we are able to deal with such things,” said Jean-Marie, another son. “The blessings of the temple give us the understanding that we can be an eternal family.”

Scouts and leaders from the Elk Grove Third Ward, Sacramento California South Stake, navigated 111 miles of the Sacramento River by canoe. The six-day trip allowed the young men to earn merit badges and several awards including the 50-Miler Award and the river runner’s patch.
Although no severe rapids were encountered, there was enough fast water and whirlpools to make the trip exciting. Each night a campsite was set up on the river bank, where the Scouts worked toward cooking, camping, canoeing, nature, swimming, pioneering, and wilderness survival merit badges. The group made special stops at a state historical park and at a fish ladder, adding to the excitement of the trip.
Scouts found opportunities to use their knowledge of knots and lashing when they erected makeshift sails to take advantage of the north wind that blew for two days.

Brother Brown’s ordeal of faith began on 17 March 1980. His wife, oldest daughter, and mother-in-law were killed when their car was hit head-on by a truck. Its twenty-five-year old driver had been drinking and had moved into the path of the oncoming traffic in anticipation of a left turn which was actually nearly 0.8 kilometer away. He was not injured.
Brother Brown received news of the tragedy by telephone from the police. Weeping and praying for strength, he went out into the street, saw two ward members driving by, and stopped them. He told them of the accident and asked for a special blessing to enable him to cope with the tragedy. That blessing gave him a direct and powerful assurance that the Lord loved him and would make him able to cope with his burden.
Brother Brown almost immediately began proving that promise. At the funeral, he chose to speak, trying to help us accept and deal with the loss and showing us the way by his example. I was nearly overcome by his desire to ease our pain when he was suffering the most.
The last speaker extended the spirit of Brother Brown’s address by calling on all who were present, particularly the grieving family, to fight against any feelings of anger which might arise against the unfortunate driver of the other vehicle.
Two days later, my neighbor faced the harrowing task of sorting the items left in the mangled car. It was an agonizing experience as he faced the awful devastation which had killed his loved ones and had to recall the accident for an insurance company report. Reliving some of the agony he had hoped to put behind him nearly overwhelmed him.
In his pain, that evening he found himself becoming angry at the driver of the truck. He prayed. The negative feelings were still there. But not wanting to succumb to that feeling, he determinedly got in his car and went to the young man’s house, sat down with him and said simply, “I’ve been praying for you—for myself—trying to resolve some feelings of anger that are beginning to gnaw at me.” The driver of the truck looked a little frightened and uncomfortable but said nothing as my neighbor talked with him. When Brother Brown asked him if they could pray together, he nodded reluctantly and knelt down. Brother Brown expressed the deepest feelings of his heart, in a prayer, broken by his struggle to control his sorrow, asking for the Lord to help both of them deal with their shared tragedy. The other man remained silent.
When they stood from the prayer, my neighbor noted that the young man’s face was tense and pale but rigidly expressionless. Brother Brown went to him, put both arms around him, and gently said, the relief of peace in his voice, “I love you. I forgive you. It’s going to be all right. And I won’t let you go until you can let out some of those feelings inside.” The young man stood silently, his face moving, then broke into sobs of agony as he wept out his own grief in Brother Brown’s arms. The man’s wife joined them in this circle of love and told my neighbor, “My husband has been so devastated by guilt that this is the first time since the accident that he’s been able to express himself.”
Brother Brown’s trial of faith is not over, of course. He still has many years of living without his loved ones ahead of him. He still has to cope every day. But this mission of love has helped him rebuild his life. And those who know him have learned in part what it means to rise to the “measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.” (Eph. 4:13).