Gospel Story Finder

I got mad and yelled when we lost our football match.
I apologized to my coach for getting so mad.

May I express thanks to the nimble fingers that have produced thousands of beautiful blankets and a special thanks to the not-so-nimble fingers of our more senior sisters who have also crafted the much-needed quilts. One 92-year-old great-grandmother has produced several hundred blankets. In her case, both the creator and receiver have been blessed. As her son admired her handiwork, she asked, “Do you think anyone will ever use one of my blankets?” A letter from a young mother in Louisiana answers that question:

“I live in Louisiana, and I go to a local health unit for my children. While I was there, they gave me some outfits, diapers, wipes, and two beautiful baby blankets. One blanket has a yellow backing with footprints and handprints on the front, and the other blanket is tan with zebras. They are beautiful. My four-year-old loves the zebra one, and of course my seven-month-old can’t say much. I just wanted to say thank you to you and your Church members for your generosity. God bless you and your family.”

In October 1918, 100 years ago, President Joseph F. Smith received a glorious vision. After almost 65 years of dedicated service to the Lord in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and just a few weeks before his death on November 19, 1918, he sat in his room pondering Christ’s atoning sacrifice and reading the Apostle Peter’s description of the Savior’s ministry in the spirit world after His Crucifixion.
He recorded: “As I read I was greatly impressed. … As I pondered over these things … , the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead.”1 The full text of the vision is recorded in Doctrine and Covenants section 138.
That year was particularly painful for him. He grieved over the death toll in the Great World War that continued to climb to over 20 million people killed. Additionally, a flu pandemic was spreading around the world, taking the lives of as many as 100 million people.
During the year, President Smith also lost three more precious family members. Elder Hyrum Mack Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, his firstborn son and my grandfather, died suddenly of a ruptured appendix.
President Smith wrote: “I am speechless—[numb] with grief! … My heart is broken; and flutters for life! … O! I loved him! … I will love him forever more. And so it is and ever will be with all my sons and daughters, but he is my first born son, the first to bring me the joy and hope of an endless, honorable name among men. … From the depths of my soul I thank God for him! But … O! I needed him! We all needed him! He was most useful to the Church. … And now, … O! what can I do! … O! God help me!”11
The next month, President Smith’s son-in-law, Alonzo Kesler, died in a tragic accident.12 President Smith noted in his journal, “This most terrible and heart-rending fatal accident, has again cast a pall of gloom over all my family.”13
Seven months later, in September 1918, President Smith’s daughter-in-law and my grandmother, Ida Bowman Smith, died after giving birth to her fifth child, my uncle Hyrum.14
And so it was on October 3, 1918, having experienced intense sorrow over the millions who had died in the world through war and disease as well as the deaths of his own family members, President Smith received the heavenly revelation known as “the vision of the redemption of the dead.”
He alluded to the revelation the following day in the opening session of the October general conference. President Smith’s health was failing, yet he spoke briefly: “I will not, I dare not, attempt to enter upon many things that are resting upon my mind this morning, and I shall postpone until some future time, the Lord be willing, my attempt to tell you some of the things that are in my mind, and that dwell in my heart. I have not lived alone these [last] five months. I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith and of determination; and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”15
The revelation he received on October 3 comforted his heart and provided answers to many of his questions.
In the vision, President Smith saw his father, Hyrum, and the Prophet Joseph Smith. It had been 74 years since he had last seen them as a small boy in Nauvoo.

When I was almost 18, I flew to a small town called Soldotna, Alaska, to work for the summer. This was my first experience living away from home. My parents had arranged for me to work for and live with their good friends the Wrights, who owned the local grocery store. I hoped to earn enough money for college. I also hoped to return home with an answer to a question that repeatedly entered my mind: Is there really a God?
I needed to obtain an answer for myself. So I resolved to pray every night and ask God if He was real. Somehow I felt that if God existed, He would answer my prayer. If I never received an answer, then I would know He didn’t exist. Simple, I thought.
At the Wrights’ home, I shared a bedroom with their daughter Lisa. She was home from Brigham Young University for the summer and worked at the grocery store with me. I admired Lisa from the start. She was beautiful, intelligent, confident, and enthusiastic about life. That summer we spent nearly every hour of every day together.
I loved listening to Lisa tell me about college life. Her life sounded fun and very independent. Lisa had her life organized and balanced, with the right priorities firmly in place.
My admiration for Lisa grew as I observed her reading the scriptures daily and praying each morning and night. I wanted to ask Lisa how she had obtained her faith in God but felt ashamed of my lack of faith. I remember lying in bed, wondering what Lisa talked to God about in her prayers.
Every night I knelt by my bed and said a quick prayer, asking God if He was there. Yet I didn’t feel anything special or spiritual. I did not hear a voice. I felt the same after my prayers as I did before them. This nightly routine went on for two months. Discouraged, I found my doubts in God increasing.
One night, when I was feeling deeply homesick, tears welled in my eyes. I desperately wanted to be near my family, friends, and familiar surroundings. Aching to talk to someone who knew and loved me, I knelt in prayer. “God, I really need You right now,” I began. For the next several minutes, I released my true feelings to my Father in Heaven. I told Him everything. I talked with Him as though I believed He was there.
A warmth wrapped around me. I began to feel as though Heavenly Father had come down and taken me in His arms. I was no longer alone. Love and peace embraced me. I knew there was a God.
I wondered why receiving an answer to my prayer took more than two months. Jeremiah 29:13 gave me the answer: “And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.”
I finally received an answer to my prayer after I dug deep into my heart. I placed faith in God’s existence. I searched high into the heavens with my words and tears.
My life has changed because of that one night. I served a mission and married in the temple. My faith in God’s existence continues to increase.
I often think back to that summer in Alaska. Without Lisa’s example, I might not have persevered through those months of praying. I might have quit and never discovered the love of my Heavenly Father. I will forever be grateful to Lisa and her example. She helped me come to know God and feel His love for me.

Last week I met a 92-year-old man who had been involved in many of the major campaigns of World War II. He had survived three injuries, one of which was a land-mine blast to the jeep in which he was traveling, which killed the driver. He learned that to survive in a minefield, you must follow exactly in the tracks of the vehicle moving ahead of you. Any deviation to the right or left could—and indeed did—prove fatal.

In all of the arts the creative person will find his way to attract a clientele. He will make his way up the ladder, step by step. And, he will begin with step one, which is to learn fundamentals and do them exceedingly well. Those who want to start at the top and climb from there usually miss the next step and fall to the bottom. Experienced professionals don’t make this mistake. I once invited a top Hollywood actor to take a leading role in a large theatrical I was producing, and he declined, saying, “If I leave here, there are 10,000 who want my next assignment, and when I return, I can expect to start again at the end of the line.” Those who paint a rosy picture of a swift ascent to stardom usually deceive rather than inform.

“Can we talk?” Jonas asked Mom. He sat down on the grass next to where she was weeding the flower bed.
“Sure. What’s going on?” Mom asked. She took off her dirty garden gloves.
“Today at school some kids were saying a word I didn’t know. They laughed when they said it,” Jonas said. “I think it was a bad word.”
“How did you feel when you heard the word?” asked Mom.
“It didn’t make me feel good.”
Jonas whispered the word to Mom. She told him what it meant. Jonas was right. It wasn’t a nice word.
“But why is it bad?” he asked.
“It’s bad because it’s unkind and not respectful. When we use words like that, it makes it hard for the Holy Ghost to be with us. The Holy Ghost was telling you it was bad. That’s why you didn’t feel good inside.”
Jonas frowned. “But the other kids seemed to be having fun. Why was I the only one who felt uncomfortable?”
“How do you know the other kids didn’t feel the same way?” Mom asked.
“Because they all laughed and smiled when someone said the word.” Jonas felt confused.
“Sometimes people laugh or smile when they feel uncomfortable,” Mom said. “And sometimes when they hear or say bad words a lot, it doesn’t bother them anymore. But it’s still not right to say those words. It’s kind of like these weeds. I’m pulling them out to keep the garden clean and to let good plants grow.”
“I’m glad I didn’t say the word,” said Jonas.
“Me too,” said Mom. “I’m proud of you. And I have an idea. Why don’t we make a family promise?”
“What kind?” Jonas asked.
“Let’s promise to use good words and not bad words. It can be a family pact.”
Jonas liked that idea. He and Mom shook hands. Jonas felt good about the promise he made with Mom.
“Now, how about you promise to help me finish weeding?” Mom asked. “Then I’ll promise to take you to the park.”
Jonas grinned and picked up a spade. “It’s a deal.”
As he helped Mom, Jonas felt much better. He knew promising not to use bad words was a good choice for their family.
This story took place in the USA.

Looking back, I see that my life in the ghetto was difficult and that a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances, no matter where we are. He desires above all things that we find true happiness.

Following a recent stake conference, Sister Lindsay and I were blessed to visit another household of faith located in rural Idaho. The young father in this home was suffering from a critical illness. A picture forever etched in my memory is of a mother and five beautiful children, together with this dear brother’s priesthood quorum leaders, kneeling around his bedside pleading with Heavenly Father for the life of this good man. He was then administered to within this circle of faith. It was our blessing recently again to meet this young couple and to hear their beautiful witnessing, their humble outpouring of spirit, of the Lord’s blessing in the restoration of the husband’s health.

Many years ago, Elder Mark E. Petersen, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, began a talk with this example:
“Kenneth and his wife, Lucille, are good people, honest and upright. They don’t go to church, though, and they feel they can be good enough without it. They teach their children honesty and virtue and they tell themselves that is about all the Church would do for them.
“And, anyway, they insist that they need their weekends for family recreation … [and] church-going would really get in their way.”

I am not very keen in statistics, but as far as I know, our Kolkata Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is one of the smallest branches in India. Despite having few members, we always have high spirits—especially at Christmas when we celebrate the birth of our Savior.
This year, however, we were upset because no missionaries were assigned here in Kolkata, as we had hoped. It was November. We had been fasting and praying together. At last, we realized that maybe it was still not the time according to our Heavenly Father’s plan and decided to have the Christmas party on Sunday, 23 December. We had limited time and many things to arrange. We prayed and started making the arrangements together. We did the shopping, visited the restaurants, invited our friends and families, and decorated the church.
On the 23rd, we started with prayer and partaking of the sacrament followed by Christmas hymns and testimonies. After that, we had games and food. The day was filled with joy and happiness and many queries from friends about our Church. At the end of the day, though we were exhausted physically, our minds were overflowing with glorious warm feelings. I looked around and there was not a single disappointed face there. Every member seemed to be infused with new hope and courage. I quietly stood there as my mind was washed with the light of the new knowledge that we had been rewarded with many gifts on this celebration of our beloved Savior’s birth. The treasured blessings of joy turned into gratitude, happiness turned into hope, and smiles turned into courage.

Leah looked around the third-grade classroom. The desks were lined up in neat rows, and bright posters hung on the walls. Most of the other kids were talking with their friends.
Leah sat down at her desk. She didn’t really know anyone in this class. She hoped she’d be able to make a new friend at school this year.
“Hey.”
Leah looked up. A girl had sat down next to her.
“My name is Anna,” she said. “Want to be friends?”
Leah smiled. “Sure!”
Later Leah and Anna ate lunch together. During their break, they played four square and jumped rope. At the end of the day, Anna waved goodbye to Leah through the window of the bus. “See you tomorrow!” she said.
From then on, Leah and Anna were good friends. They played together every day. In the winter, they made long paths in the snow. When the snow had frozen over, they slid down the paths. One time they were partners for a science project about space. Leah had fun making a poster of the planets with Anna.
But one day Anna started acting kind of strange. She didn’t wave back to Leah in the morning. She joined a new group for math practice. And at lunch, she barely talked at all.
“Hey,” Leah asked, “what’s going on?”
Anna sighed. “Look, I don’t think we should hang out as much. My friend Audrey said you were weird.”
“Oh.” Leah frowned. She and Anna had fun together. Why would Anna care so much about what other kids thought?
Anna said they could still be friends, but after that, she never talked to Leah. Leah tried not to feel hurt, but it was hard to be by herself while Anna played with other kids.
Soon the school year ended, and their summer break began. Leah stayed busy with lots of fun activities. She went to ballet class and cooking class. She also took a sewing class with her best friend, Ellie.
Ellie and Leah had known each other since they were little. They went to the same school, but they’d never been in the same class. Sometimes Ellie came over to play at Leah’s house. Leah found a pair of fake glasses to wear that looked like Ellie’s. That made Ellie laugh.
“I can’t believe summer is almost over,” Ellie said. “I wish we got to see each other more.”
Leah smiled. “Me too.”
Another school year was coming up fast. Leah was excited for fourth grade, but she was a little nervous too. She was fine with being by herself most of the time. But a year was a long time to not have a friend in her class. She remembered how she felt when Anna stopped being her friend. She didn’t want to feel lonely.
Leah kept praying to Heavenly Father for peace. When summer ended, she felt hopeful. She knew things would turn out OK.
On the first day of school, Leah walked into her new classroom.
“Leah!”
She couldn’t believe it. Ellie was in her class!
Ellie ran to Leah and gave her a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here! This will be the best year ever!”
Leah smiled big. She knew Heavenly Father had been with her, even when it was hard. And Ellie was right—this year would be the best one yet!
This story took place in the USA.

It was a beautiful shawl. Chi-wee could see that clear across the trader’s store. Dark blue on one side and glowing red on the other, and with a fringe of the same two colors, it looked warm and soft.
Chi-wee also saw the look in her mother’s eyes as she passed her hand over its surface. In Chi-wee’s heart a fierce little voice said: “My mother shall have that shawl.”
It was trading day for Chi-wee and her mother. In the early morning they had come in the wagon of Mah-pee-ti the sheepherder. They carried with them the pottery that Chi-wee’s mother had made to trade at the store for food and clothing.
It had been a long, bumpety ride from the high mesa town to the canyon store, a ride over the wide desert of many-changing colors, up and down sandy washes. But it was a ride that Chi-wee dearly loved and of which she never tired. There were many living things to see on the way: prairie dogs, lizards, horned toads, sheep, and sometimes, away in the distance, an antelope or a gray coyote. And then there was always the excitement of wondering whether Mah-pee-ti’s old wagon would hold together when they jostled down a deep wash and struggled up on the other side. But for as many years as Chi-wee could remember, the wagon had always made it.
Now Chi-wee came close to the shawl and felt it with her fingers. It was soft and very warm. “Will you buy it, Mother?” she asked eagerly, laying her cheek on the soft wool.
Her mother shook her head a little sadly. “No, my little one. We must trade today for food and not for the things we do not need.”
“But you do need a shawl—this shawl!”
“We will not speak of it anymore,” said her mother, turning away. “We have money for food only, my daughter.” Then Mother spoke to the trader of the flour, sugar, and grain that she needed.
Chi-wee stood looking at the shawl. Somehow, my mother shall have this beautiful shawl, she resolved. While her mother carried some of the food out to the wagon, Chi-wee went to the trader. “What is the price of that shawl?”
“Six dollars,” answered the trader with a kindly smile. “It is all wool and very warm.”
“Will you trade it to me for the necklace that I have on. See, the shells are the color of the sky when the sun comes up.”
The trader stooped and looked at it. “It is beautiful. I can give you two dollars for it. But I could not exchange the shawl for it. I’m sorry.”
Chi-wee felt her heart grow very heavy, and all the way home she had no eyes for the lizards, rabbits, and prairie dogs that scuttled out of the way, nor for the tumbleweeds and cactus or the faraway blue buttes. Her mind was busy with plans to earn money for the wonderful shawl. But how could she earn that much money before someone else bought it?
She could weave a little, but that took a long time, and it took money to buy the colored wools. She could try to make pottery, but she knew that she couldn’t make it well enough to sell.
When next they went to the trader’s, Chi-wee looked eagerly for the shawl. Hot tears stung her eyelids when she could not find it. “That beautiful shawl—has it been sold yet?” she asked the trader.
He looked at her for a moment with a puzzled frown on his face. “The shawl?” A look of remembrance came into his eyes as he answered her. “No, it’s still here. Do you want to buy it?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, looking to see that her mother was beyond hearing. “I want to buy it, but I have not all the money right now. Here!” and with trembling fingers she unclasped the little shell necklace and thrust it into his hand. “Could you keep the shawl a little while for me? I will bring more next time.”
“I will keep the shawl for you until the end of next month. If you can bring me the rest of the money by then, you shall have the shawl.” He turned to assist the other customers who had entered his store.
The next few weeks were busy ones for Chi-wee, happy ones too. Had her mother not been occupied with her own work, she might have noticed that Chi-wee made many trips into the desert for which she gave no explanation, and when she returned, she seemed to be hiding something. When the next trading day came, there was a bump under the little girl’s shawl that had not been there on other trips.
When they reached the trading post, she handed the trader a big jar of wild honey. Her heart was beating fast with excitement and happiness. She did not tell of the pain caused by the needle-sharp cactus quills that stuck her fingers or of the painful lumps on her arm from the stings of angry bees. There was just deep pride in her voice as she said: “I have brought this to pay on the shawl.”
There was a look she did not understand in the trader’s eyes as he took the honey. He turned quickly and spoke to a stranger standing nearby holding a parcel. Finally he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, little girl. I waited until the end of the month. When you didn’t come, well, I just sold the shawl to this gentleman. Wouldn’t you like any of the other shawls in trade for your bracelet and honey?”
To Chi-wee it seemed as if the world turned black. Her mother’s shawl had been sold to this stranger! She could not speak. Words would not come. Everything began to swim through the sudden rush of tears. She saw the stranger walk to the door with his bundle under his arm, and the trader turn to attend to those who waited at his counter. She stumbled out of the store and into the waiting wagon with a storm of anger and grief in her heart. But she did not cry anymore. She sat in silence all the way home.
When they reached home, Mother called her to help with the parcels in the wagon. “And take your package,” she said. “The stranger said that you bought it from the trader. With what did you buy it, little daughter?”
Chi-wee opened her eyes wide and stood as still as a statue while her mother placed the package in her arms. Then she tore off the paper. There was the shawl—her mother’s shawl! Attached to one corner was a little card. On it was written: “It is your love for your mother that has bought this shawl, little girl of the mesa. And it is my love for a little girl like you that gives you back your precious treasure.” And there, beside the shawl, wrapped in a bit of paper, was her pink shell necklace. Now Chi-wee cried hard—but the tears were tears of happiness as she gave the shawl to her mother.

Day by day the scenery and travel grew increasingly tiresome. Near Chimney Rock (in what is now Wyoming) some of the cattle became diseased and died, forcing the company to make shorter drives each day. William began to think he would never get to Utah and rejoin Elizabeth.
Finally one October Saturday, William’s company descended the hills above Salt Lake City, awed by a beautiful sunset across the Great Salt Lake and by the splendid square-blocked city stretched out below them. As they approached the city, an occupant of a nearby cabin called and waved to William. It was Sister Wardell, the woman with whom Elizabeth had traveled to Utah! William hurried to her, but his anticipation was instantly crushed. She informed him that Elizabeth no longer loved him and planned to marry a local polygamist!
“This was like a bolt of thunder to me,” he recalled. Heartsick, the young man continued with the company to the valley floor, then returned that night to the Wardells. The woman tried to persuade William to marry her daughter, but he was not interested. “I formed a resolution that I was going to have the ‘love of my youth’”, he said.
Friends from Maldon lived in Centerville so early the next week William hiked 19 kilometers to locate them. He arrived at night, and “to my great joy the girl of my heart was found lying asleep on an old home-made lounge and looking free although almost in rags. She awoke, and her joy was unbounded.” Elizabeth then explained that the Wardell woman had tried to marry her to her own son. That failing, the mother sent the girl away and kept all the clothes and bedding until Elizabeth’s 40-dollar fare was paid in full. The woman then had made up the story about Elizabeth’s loss of affection for William, hoping the navy veteran would marry into the Wardell family.
William returned to Salt Lake City and drove his freight team to Springville where he received his three months’ wages. Then he walked back to Salt Lake, paid off the 40-dollar debt, obtained his and Elizabeth’s belongings, and then got a ride back to Centerville. Two weeks later the engaged couple were married.

Back to Mormon Corner. It’s wherever one or more of the LDS kids happen to have assigned lockers in a convenient spot, so the location changes from year to year. Sometimes there are two Mormon corners. What goes on there? The usual kidding around, making plans for after school, keeping track of friends, and a fair amount of sharing the gospel and fellowshipping. One young woman can tell you about that.
She noticed the LDS youth at Lathrop and liked what she saw. “One thing I noticed when I first met these kids is that they all smile. It’s like they know something you don’t. They walk through the halls with a grin on their faces, most of them. It makes you kind of wonder, why are they so happy all the time?”
She began to find her answer when Courtney Hull, her best friend, invited her to early-morning seminary. “It was just a going-with-my-buddy sort of thing,” she explains. “Then I started going to Young Women and to church and everything else, and everyone was really friendly. Then I started listening to the things the teachers were teaching. And one day it just came to me that this is the thing you need to do.” So she did it. Got baptized.
“I still have my friends that I had before I joined the Church,” she goes on, “and I have a lot of friends that aren’t in the Church. But I know when I’m with the LDS kids that there’s no peer pressure, no gossiping going on, no name calling, no drinking.” Now she knows why the LDS kids seem so happy all the time: “I guess the gospel kind of does that to you.”

Then there is the remembered Christmas tale by O. Henry about a young husband and wife who lived in abject poverty yet who wanted to give one another a special gift. But they had nothing to give. Then the husband had a ray of inspiration: he would provide his dear wife a beautiful ornamental comb to adorn her magnificent long hair. The wife also received an idea: she would obtain a lovely chain for her husband’s prized watch, which he valued so highly.

Christmas day came; the treasured gifts were exchanged. Then the surprise ending, so typical of O. Henry’s short stories: the wife had shorn her long hair and sold it to obtain funds to purchase the watch chain, only to discover that her husband had sold his watch so that he might purchase the comb to adorn her beautiful long hair, which now she did not have.

While he was President of the Church, Heber J. Grant had a chance to meet many important people in the business world. Mr. Fred W. Shibley, an officer of the Bankers Trust Company of New York, was one of them.
In 1934, President Grant met with Mr. Shibley in Chicago, Illinois, to discuss business. After the meeting, President Grant took the opportunity to be a missionary and gave Mr. Shibley two pamphlets about the Church. One of them was Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story. As both men were to travel on trains to New York City—Mr. Shibley on a fast train and President Grant on a slow one—President Grant asked Mr. Shibley to read the pamphlets while he was on the train. Mr. Shibley promised that he’d take the time to read them.
Later, when he arrived in New York City, President Grant called on Mr. Shibley. He asked him what he thought about the pamphlets, especially Joseph Smith’s story.
Mr. Shibley said:
“‘By every rule of my life to arrive at the truth, I have to acknowledge this story of Joseph Smith as true. … No liar ever did write or could write such a story as the story told by Joseph Smith. … A liar would never think, in describing an angel, to say his feet did not quite touch the floor. It would not enter his head. Nor to say that he had on a loose robe that he could see into his breast. No liar ever deals in details, and this story deals in nothing but details—the hour, the place, the circumstances, the spot, the people—everything. Liars would not dare tell a story like that. They could not do it.’
“He said, ‘Of course, you know it is generally conceded that liars ought to have good memories and they are always deficient in that particular. Liars in business never give you a detailed statement. They just give you a lot of high points. …
“‘This man had the visions he claims to have had. I do not expect to join your Church, but that story, by every rule of my life, is the truth. … I say that no honest man who believes in the Bible can get away from the proofs this man has given, with scriptural references, to sustain your doctrine.’” (Joseph Anderson, Prophets I Have Known, 45–46.)
Mr. Shibley admitted that he did not believe in Jesus Christ or Heavenly Father. He did not pray to know if Joseph Smith was a true prophet. His mind told him that Joseph Smith told the truth, but to be really converted to the truths of the gospel, he needed to ask Heavenly Father.

My wife, Sister Kathy Andersen, grew up in the state of Florida, USA. When she was five years old, her parents brought their family to the temple to be sealed together forever. The trip required a six-day, 2,500-mile (4,023 km) drive across the United States to the Salt Lake Temple. Today there are 47 temples that are closer to her Florida home than the Salt Lake Temple.

This past summer I moved from West Virginia to Arizona. So naturally I was thrilled to see the feature article “Almost Heaven” in the December 1987 issue. I enjoy reading about different LDS youth all over the world. I always hoped you would come to West Virginia to write about the youth there. But since our numbers were so few, I didn’t think it could ever really happen.
Then I got my December issue of the New Era. I was very pleasantly surprised. It was so great to see familiar surroundings and read of the lifestyle I knew so well. I remember the home-study seminary, heavy snows, and once-a-month Super Saturdays. The LDS youth here in Arizona have never experienced things like that. They don’t know what it’s like to go to school with only five or six Mormons.
I’m truly thankful I grew up with those challenges because it made my testimony very strong and has made me appreciate the many members I can be with now. I have been blessed to experience both worlds. Thank you so much for such a wonderful magazine to cherish each month. And thanks for “Almost Heaven.” I even got to see an old friend of mine, Lea Gonzales.
Tabitha SandersMesa, Arizona

“This is going to be the boringest family home evening ever!” groaned Jeremy, slumping in his chair as he pushed his carrots into his potatoes. “Couldn’t we just stay home and make jelly bean cupcakes? What kind of Easter celebration is this? We aren’t even going to go to the town Easter egg hunt!”
Even as he said this, Jeremy knew why that tradition had ended. For the last two years the younger children had wound up in tears because older ones had snatched up most of the eggs. Then in the car on the way home, there was also a disagreement when Mom and Dad insisted that the eggs be equally divided.
“We’ve already discussed this,” said Dad firmly. “Too many Easters have come and gone with very little thought about its real meaning. It’s time our family made a change. Tonight’s service project is the sort of thing the Savior was doing the last week of his life—helping others.”
“But why her?” moaned Jeremy.
“That’s enough,” said Mom. “Finish your dinner. We don’t have a lot of time before the sun goes down.”
Sullenly Jeremy sat up and started in on the cold potatoes. It wasn’t that he had anything against their next-door neighbor, Mrs. Adams. And it was obvious that an eighty-year-old widow needed help. But why couldn’t they do something for someone like Sister White? Every time anybody did anything for her, she treated them with delicious homemade cookies.
Or what about the Spencers? Jeremy’s Primary class had helped them move in. The very next Sunday Sister Spencer had even cried as she bore her testimony about “those wonderful Blazer boys.”
And the time Jeremy’s Cub Scout den had cleaned up the playground at the park hadn’t been too bad, either. The mayor himself had written them a thank-you note and sent them each a coupon for an ice-cream cone.
But it was going to be different with Mrs. Adams. She hardly did any cooking—she had most of her meals brought in to her. She didn’t go out in public enough to tell anybody else how wonderful Jeremy’s family was, and she certainly didn’t have enough money to treat everyone to ice cream. Besides that, she was hard of hearing. She’d probably sit in her house, watching TV and never even notice that they were working in her yard.
Cleaning Mrs. Adam’s yard was about as hard as Jeremy had imagined. It took his whole family nearly two hours to rake up the dead leaves and grass and prune the bushes on the side of her house. It was nearly dark when they finished. And he’d been right about Mrs. Adams and the TV. She had it turned up so loud that they could hear it outside. She never knew what was going on only a few feet away, right outside her door. Even so, Jeremy started to smile when he thought about how surprised she would be.
Jeremy’s oldest sister, Kim, was helping him tie up the last bag of dead leaves. “I know how you feel about tonight. I had a date I had to turn down!”
Jeremy didn’t quite know what to say. Kim was in high school and was so busy that he hadn’t really talked to her for a while.
“But this morning in seminary,” Kim went on, “Sister Hansen reminded us that no one has ever done more for other people on this earth than Jesus. When He prayed in Gethsemane and when He died on the cross, nobody said thank you. Anyway, I started thinking that maybe it would be a good way to celebrate Easter, to do something hard without getting thanked.” She smiled. “You’re quite a worker, you know that? And I happen to know that Mom made brownies for us, so cheer up.” She picked up the bag and carried it out to the curb.
But it wasn’t the brownies that Jeremy was thinking about as he watched her go. He was thinking about how strangely peaceful he felt. The last dark pink of the sunset was just fading, and he could barely make out the rest of his family as they gathered up the rakes and pruning shears and things and headed home. But he knew that they were there, and he knew that he loved them. He could see Mrs. Adams through her living room window as she stood up with her cane to go into the kitchen. And while Jeremy didn’t understand all of those feelings he was having, he knew for sure that Easter Sunday was never going to be the same again.