Gospel Story Finder

Yesterday I found out that Jenny and her family are moving to Washington in two weeks. Her father is leaving Saturday to go find a house there. I wish she didn’t have to go, but her dad got transferred and she can’t even finish her first year of junior high here. She seems to be pretty happy about it because she said there might be some cute boys in their new town. She’s just boy crazy. I’m glad I’m not. I would always be sad because every boy I liked would never like me back. Who would like a girl that looked like an ant wearing railroad tracks on her teeth? Will I ever be pretty? If I were Cinderella, my fairy godmother would have to do a lot more for me than just give me a pretty dress to wear. By the time she got through with me, the ball would be over and the prince would have run off with some boy-crazy girl like Jenny. I’ll miss Jenny though.
Jenny moved, and now I’m becoming better friends with a girl named Robin Warner who just moved into our ward. She’s my age, has braces, and feels like I do about boys! We’re going to be great pals!

David was coloring a beautiful picture. He was very careful and stayed inside the lines. He used bright yellow for the sun, blue for the sky, green for the trees, and red for the barn.
Mother came into the room, carrying his little sister, Allison. She set Allison next to him at the table and got a coloring book for her. “Allison is going to color with you while I make dinner,” she said. “Please give her a crayon to color with.”
David didn’t want to share his pretty crayons, but he did what his mother asked. He gave his sister the brown crayon. It was a dark color that he didn’t like much. “You can use this one,” he said to her.
Allison didn’t care what color the crayon was. She clenched it in her chubby fist and started making clumsy lines all over the page. She couldn’t color like David could. She just made scribbles.
Pretty soon David was almost finished with his picture. All he had left to color was the horse that was standing beside the barn. “I need the brown,” he said to Allison, but she didn’t stop scribbling. David reached over and tried to take the crayon from her hand. “I want the brown to color my horse,” he said.
Allison pulled her arm away and started to cry. She wanted to color too.
David liked his little sister. He felt sad when he saw the tears in her eyes. She was just trying to color like him. He looked at all the crayons beside his coloring book. There were lots of them, certainly enough for both him and his sister. “Do you want another color?” he asked her as he pushed his crayons to the middle of the table.
Allison looked at all the colors. She put down the brown crayon she was using and picked up a purple one. Happily she started to scribble over the top of the brown jumble she’d already made. David smiled. He picked up the brown crayon and carefully started coloring the horse’s mane. “Someday I’ll teach you to color inside the lines,” he said.

“Time to get up, Kristina,” Mother called. Kristina rubbed her eyes and started to grumble about the early hour until she remembered. Today was Sunday.
Ever since they were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, things had been different in her family. Kristina liked the difference.
Mother’s face had a new softness to it, as though happiness came from inside and she couldn’t keep it to herself. She had started humming around the house. Kristina found herself humming, too. Father spent more time at home, and sometimes he took long walks with Kristina and her mother. Often they sat on the front porch and talked. Kristina liked those times best.
Now her parents paid tithing and encouraged Kristina to pay it, too. She enjoyed slipping the tithing from her allowance into an envelope and handing it to one of the members of the bishopric. It was one way to show Heavenly Father and Jesus how much she loved Them.
But the biggest difference Kristina noticed was inside herself. Knowing that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved her filled her with such happiness that she sometimes felt as if she would burst.
Kristina still remembered the look on her father’s face when he answered the door three months ago and found two missionaries on the porch. He had invited the young men inside. After introducing themselves, the elders had talked about families. “Would you like to know how your family can be together forever?” Elder Stark asked.
Kristina’s parents exchanged glances, their eyes filled with longing.
“More than anything,” Kristina’s mother said.
Father had asked the missionaries to come back. On each visit, they presented a lesson. When they challenged the family to be baptized, Kristina’s parents immediately said yes.
“You’re nine years old, Kristina,” Elder Sanderson said. “You’re old enough to be baptized, too.”
The day of her family’s baptisms was the most important day of her life. Kristina remembered every detail, especially the clean, warm feeling she had after the baptism.
Since that day, Kristina and her parents hadn’t missed a single church meeting.
Glancing at the clock, Kristina hurried to get dressed. She didn’t want to be late. She liked everything about church, especially her Primary class.
Kristina’s family arrived a few minutes early. They listened to the soft organ music. Today was fast and testimony meeting. Kristina liked listening to the testimonies. Someday, she promised herself, she would share her testimony.
At family home evening the following night, Kristina’s family took turns reading from the Book of Mormon. Kristina stumbled over some of the words, but she enjoyed reading about Nephi and his family building a boat to take them across the ocean.
When Kristina came home after school on Tuesday, she found her mother in the backyard digging neat rows of shallow ditches. “What are you doing, Mom?”
Mother looked up and smiled. “Getting ready to plant a garden.”
“A garden?” Kristina echoed. “We’ve never had a garden.”
Mother put down the spade and wiped her forehead. “We want to become as self-sufficient as we can, like the prophet told us to.”
Kristina understood now. It was part of the difference. She smiled as a warm feeling grew inside her.
Kristina’s mother handed her a packet of seeds. “You can drop these in, and I’ll cover them with dirt.”
An hour later, Kristina rocked back on her heels. Corn, beans, peas, radishes, onions—they’d planted them all. Her arms and back hurt, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that comes from working hard to accomplish a goal.
That evening during dinner, she watched her parents smile at each other. They smiled a lot lately, another difference. It made Kristina smile, too.
“How long will we have to wait before we can go to the temple?” she asked her father later as they sat on the porch. Her last Primary lesson had been about temples.
“We have to wait a year after our baptism,” he said. “Then we can be sealed together as a family for time and all eternity.”
Tears pricked Kristina’s eyes that night as she said her prayers. A peaceful feeling settled over her like a warm blanket. The baptism difference was the best thing that had ever happened to her family.

The next day I was to sing at our family reunion. I knew that my mother was going to be there. I wanted to make her proud. After dinner, they announced that I was to sing. I remember being so nervous and turning my head to find my mother looking at me, giving me that certain look of encouragement that I needed.
As I was singing, my throat tightened, and I felt as if my vocal chords had just tied in a knot. It was so hard to sing. I looked at my mom, and I’ll never forget her smile and the nod she gave me. I remember thinking that was better than any command performance I had ever dreamed about. After singing, I sat down beside her and she reached under the table and held my hand.
I’ve learned so much from my mother about being a parent and a friend. Because we took the time to communicate and bridge that gap in our relationship, my mother is my best friend. I’m ready for anything, knowing that my mother is always going to be there for me.
A note from Dianne Francis, Suzanne’s mother: Suzanne wrote this to help other young people see they miss out if they don’t have a close relationship with their mom and dad. Talking helped us realize we were best friends, that we loved each other and enjoyed being together. This knowledge is particularly meaningful to me now, since Suzanne was killed in an automobile accident a few weeks after she wrote this.

Just as his star seemed to be shining brightest at the start of his senior season, Devin began to experience tremendous back pains that persisted for several weeks. Then tragedy struck. While going up for a slam dunk in his first league game, Devin came down hard and grimaced in pain. After some moments of silent concern, he slowly got up. Holding his hands on the small part of his back, he was barely able to leave the floor on his own power.
As I watched him sit on the bench during the remainder of the game, I thought to myself, “All the desire to be a winner and all the ability in the world is no good to a man with a back that cannot bear the stress and strain of competitive basketball.”
After the game I walked with him to the waiting bus. Even though he was in pain, he was happier than I thought he could be. His positive winning spirit left no room for discouragement. He sensed my concern and said, “Pop, don’t worry. I’ll be all right.” But I did worry. Only a father knows how I worried.
After arriving home I retired, but I was not able to sleep. I arose and sat alone in a dark front room, sometimes thinking and sometimes praying.
For the next several days, Devin’s back was in my every prayer and in his own. He asked for and I gave him a father’s blessing. With the faith of a winner and a strong back brace, Devin was again able to play and play and play.

“My mother opened a little country store to help keep our family financially afloat. I worked with her in the store quite a bit. She taught me about respecting and serving people. Once, when I was fourteen, my mom and dad went to Salt Lake City for a conference and left me to mind the store. The Hutterites in our area wouldn’t go to the bank to cash their huge grain checks, so Mom was a bonded payor, and we would sometimes have thousands of dollars in the store safe. I knew the combination to the safe, and I knew that my parents trusted me, so I opened and closed the store on time and took care of customers.”

One testimony I remember well was given at a Young Adult and Institute conference I attended in California. On that occasion, a blind girl made her way to the front of approximately 400 youth and adults and bore a touching testimony. She said that while taking the missionary discussions prior to joining the Church, she began to lose her eyesight. Her parents strongly objected to the missionaries and the Church and urged her to stop taking the discussions. She simply replied that it was more important for her to have understanding than sight. She concluded by bearing her testimony—a testimony that I’m sure not many who were present will ever forget.

Some years ago when I was in Mexico City, checking on some Church buildings as part of my assignment with the Church Building Department, one of the missionaries there asked, “Would you like to see the ruins of a previous civilization that are close by?” We gladly accepted the invitation. As we were returning along the highway, we saw a family working together making rope for sale. Having been in the livestock business, I was interested in their product. This family made rope from cactus fibers. They stripped the fibers from a species of long-spear cactus prevalent in Mexico and braided them into excellent rope. All of the family members were working, and I was concerned as I saw two young people who were of elementary school age. Through an interpreter, I asked these children, “Do you go to school?” They replied, “No, sir.” I said, “Why not?” They answered, “We don’t have the chance. There are no schools.” Then I asked them, “Would you like to go to school if you had the opportunity?” They replied, “Oh yes, sir.” They were sincere young people. Many people do not have the privilege of obtaining an education.
In contrast to this, what do we do with the opportunities we have? I do not know whether or not you have ever stopped to consider this, but James Russell Lowell calls this thought to our attention:
“Have you ever rightly considered what the mere ability to read means? That it is the key which admits us to the whole world of thought and fancy and imagination? To the company of saint and sage, of the wisest and the wittiest at their wisest and wittiest moments? That it enables us to see with the keenest eyes, hear with the finest ears, and listen to the sweetest voices of all time?”

Illustration by Dilleen Marsh
We were new in the Dunwoody Ward when we first met Billy. As sacrament meeting started, I noticed him sitting at the sacrament table.
After the ward partook of the bread, Billy began the sacrament prayer on the water, but he stuttered and struggled for each word. The often-normal distractions and sounds of small children died down. Everyone seemed to pause, waiting on Billy.
The words of the usually fluid and brief sacrament prayer came out slowly, each word drawn out and painstakingly pronounced. At first, I felt embarrassed for the young man. My heart filled with compassion for him.
Then everything changed.
As he finished the first phrase of the prayer—a prayer that I had heard a thousand times—a new feeling came over the room. An intense quiet settled over us, and we knew we were in a holy place. Billy was not just reading the words of the prayer but was sincerely praying to his Heavenly Father, who was answering with an overwhelming outpouring of the Spirit.
The feeling of God’s love for this young man was palpable, and we felt privileged to be part of this uniquely spiritual ordinance.
Billy continued and eventually completed the prayer. I didn’t want him to finish because I wanted that sacred feeling to continue. But the intense gift of the Spirit continued as the sacrament was passed to the congregation. It was a true renewal of covenants to repent, be better, and serve the Lord more completely.
At the end of the meeting I walked up to the sacrament table to thank the young man. I saw that he had Down syndrome. He stuttered, “You’re welcome,” with a great big smile.
Years later in a different ward, I still remember Billy. Sacrament meetings are more meaningful as I strive, like Billy, to reach out to Heavenly Father with simple, fervent faith and prayer.
The author lives in Florida, USA.

“This year was a really hard year for me. Pretty much all of my waking hours were taken up with my schoolwork, upcoming piano exam, and seminary homework and reading assignments. It was hard to cope with, and I struggled and cried a lot in the beginning. I also fasted and prayed a lot for the Lord’s strength to help me cope and to be cheerful while I did.

“Then, in general conference, I was deeply touched by President Nelson’s talk—it was as if he was speaking directly to me. It gave me so much courage to hold on to my faith and endure to the end. When my school finals ended a few weeks later, it was tempting to dedicate all my time to practicing music for my piano exam, but I remembered what President Nelson said about how focusing on Christ will bring you joy, and I chose to work on finishing my seminary work first. After that, I focused on my music and took my piano exam.

“In the end, I passed everything! I did well in my schoolwork, in seminary, and on my music exam. Most important, my faith in the Lord was strengthened, because during the struggle I was able to feel joyful. And now I feel joyful because I endured it well.”

Victoria H., 16, Selangor, Malaysia

Fu Bi Hsia (Foo Bee Shaw) sprinted the last block to her home in a small Taiwanese village. The August sun poured out of the blue-glass sky, and the humid air covered her body like a hot, heavy blanket. To escape the oppressive heat, she ran through the warm grass and along the edge of the benjo (open sewer) where an old woman was beating her clothes clean against a large rock.

Reaching her home, Bi Hsia paused in the front yard to look for her goose, Goldie. A few of her mother’s pigs snorted and rolled in the dirt, her father’s water buffalo lay partway in the benjo, and a stray dog nipped at her heels. But Goldie was not in sight.

Goldie and all the goose’s brothers and sisters had been purchased at the market on Bi Hsia’s ninth birthday. Over a period of many months, they had all been used for food—all except Goldie. Bi Hsia kept Goldie for a friend. They went on long walks together, clucking their way past rice fields and through ditches, walking barefoot in cold puddles, and chasing yippy little dogs down narrow alleys. She even gave her goose an American name, because America was so big and far away and because she believed that everyone who came from there was rich and important. Goldie was important too.

Bi Hsia bounded through the gate and up the stairs to her home. “Mother!” she called.

The two-room house was made of concrete, like most of the structures in the neighborhood. The main room (the living-sleeping area) was bare except for a few chairs, a television, and some rice-straw mats. These were rolled out at night and used for mattresses.

Bi Hsia found her mother in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken-egg soup. She stuck her nose over the rim of the pot and sniffed. “Smells good.”

Her mother’s elbow nudged her aside. “Get out of there. Your father has invited guests for supper.”

“Guests? Who are they?” She stuck her finger quickly into the broth as her mother’s eyes searched the cupboard for more eggs.

“They’re Mormon elders. One is from Taipei, and the other has come all the way from America. He will be staying in Taiwan for two years to teach people about his church.”

Bi Hsia’s finger was in her mouth. She sucked the soup juice off with a loud slurp. “How did Daddy meet them?”

“At the market, quite by accident. And don’t you dare stick your finger in there again, unless you want me to use a bamboo switch on your backside!”

Bi Hsia jerked her hand back. “When will they come?”

“Soon,” replied her mother. “Go get changed into your best dress. And get Sun Ming washed. He’s been trying to eat rocks again and is all covered with dirt.”

The missionaries arrived in a taxi. It had a dented fender and a motor that chugged louder and louder as the car drew near. The elder from Taipei stepped out first. “I’m Elder Lin, Lin De Fu,” he said, in the custom of saying his surname before his given name. (Fu is Fu Bi Hsia’s surname.) “This is my companion, Elder Wheeler.”

“Ni hau ma (How do you do)?” Elder Wheeler stepped forward and offered his hand to Bi Hsia’s father. The American’s words sounded strange and stilted, and his thin face appeared hard and expressionless. His hair was like yellow rice straw, and his pale eyes were cold and as far away as the country he came from. Bi Hsia felt her throat tighten with apprehension.

Her father spoke up boldly. “Ni tsung nali lai (Where are you from)?”

“Utah.”

It was a strange name. Bi Hsia said it quietly to herself, over and over, “Yu ta. Yu ta.”

Her mother smiled, saying in Chinese, “It’s a long way for anyone to come.”

The elder’s brow wrinkled as he studied her face. “Pardon me. I do not understand.”

Elder Lin put his hand on Elder Wheeler’s shoulder and said something to him in English too rapidly for Bi Hsia to understand. Elder Wheeler listened intently, then laughed at himself. “Yes. A long way.”

The adults moved into the kitchen. Bi Hsia sat on the back step to wait for them to eat their meal. It was not considered polite for children to be served with the guests. She held Sun Ming in her arms, listened to the murmur of their voices, and thought about the faraway places she had never been. She wondered if this elder would ever understand her country’s customs and accept her people as they were. She didn’t think so. After all, he’d come from America, where no one ever had to go without; people there always had lots of things of their very own. Bi Hsia sat and reflected, and in the distance a light evening breeze tossed a weightless white feather in the air. A feather! She got up, paused for a moment, then placed Sun Ming on the grass at her feet. “Now don’t go anywhere,” she said firmly. “I won’t be long.”

All of Goldie’s feathers were there in a little pile by the garden. She knew that they were eating her goose for supper. It was not her place to object. Her family was very poor, and her mother needed meat to serve to the guests. Chinese custom was very strict about children honoring and obeying their parents. And Chinese pride was firm on the point of offering the best that one could.

Bi Hsia did not cry. She walked heavily, as if her limbs were lead weights. She sat on the porch for what seemed like forever and watched the sun die in the sky above Taiwan.

When the elders were ready to leave, Bi Hsia followed them out to the front of the house. The elder from America offered her his hand, and she wanted to hold hers back. He took it and squeezed, and she pulled quickly away. He reached down and lifted her chin. “I hope we can become friends,” he said haltingly.

Bi Hsia kept her eyes averted from his face, and she looked past him to where the lights from the houses on their street shone smaller and smaller as they receded into the distance. Her mouth remained silent, but her heart thumped loudly inside her ribs. Never! Oh, never, never, she thought, knowing that if it weren’t for him and his companion, she would still have Goldie. She watched the elders get into a taxi, and she was glad when it drove away.

Bi Hsia awoke early the next morning. The sun was just peeping through the sugar cane, and her parents and brother were still asleep on their mats. She rose quietly and tiptoed to the door. Outside there was a small scrape, the sound of quick footsteps on the porch, a whisper, and a wild, hissing sound. She opened the door.

At her feet lay a huge white goose, the biggest that she had ever seen. It was bound so that it could hardly move, but its head was free, and it was hissing and trying to flap its wings. As she bent to free it, out of the corner of her eye she saw something move down by the benjo.

It was Elder Wheeler! He was sprinting across the grass toward Elder Lin, who waited on the road with two bikes. As Bi Hsia watched, Elder Wheeler reached his bike, paused for a breath of air, and glanced back. Their eyes met across the distance and held. Then a smile spread slowly across his somber face. It was a sad, happy smile, a smile filled with understanding. That’s when Fu Bi Hsia knew for certain that she and the American, Elder Wheeler, would be friends.

Friends. Why can’t we all be friends? Today I was walking about Winter Quarters with Mariah Jewett and Leticia Harwood. Oh, how I have wanted to be Mariah’s friend! She is pretty and clever, and she plans dances for which her father plays the fiddle. I love to dance. She promised to invite me to the next one.
While walking, we saw a family arrive in an overflowing open wagon. I love to see more Saints joining us. Tucked in among the household goods was a girl who looked to be about our age. “How exciting! Let’s go welcome her,” I said.
“Wait,” Mariah said. “Don’t go near her. She’s probably got vermin. Look at her dress. Did you ever see anything so ugly?”
I was anxious about the vermin, so I stared impolitely. Her dress wasn’t ugly, only very plain. Just then the girl saw us watching, and she smiled shyly. Was she feeling as I had felt when we finally joined the other Saints? Was she heartsick at losing friends, and hoping to find new ones?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s go be friendly.”
“Hazel!” Mariah’s voice stopped me. “If you mingle with that riffraff, I shall be forced to exclude you from my list of associates.”
I am ashamed that I hesitated, thinking of having fun with Mariah at the dance. Then I remembered the great and spacious building in the Book of Mormon, and I knew where I wanted to be.
“So be it, Mariah,” I said, and I left her. Even in the midst of the Saints, life has trials.

The English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) once heard a farmer say that he hoped his children would grow up to be God-fearing, prayerful, righteous people, but that he would never prejudice them in favor of religion by imposing religious principles on them or taking them to Church. He said they would grow up and decide for themselves. This same farmer was famous for his productive farm, his well-cared-for gardens, and his intelligent children.
Coleridge answered the man, “Bravo! This is a very progressive idea. Why do you not apply it also to your fields and orchards and gardens in the future? Do not prejudice them by seeding, weeding, and cultivating the soil, by pruning and thinning the trees, and by planting the gardens. Why not see if they will grow up and just decide to be what you hope they will become?”

I remember seeing pictures of the temple from the time I was very small. Though too young to understand the blessings of the temple, I knew I wanted to go there someday. In Young Women, I started to understand the blessings that would come from the temple. At that time my family was less active, and I prayed each day that we could be sealed as an eternal family.
In the fall of 1993, two weeks before I turned 18, my family did go to the temple. I remember the feeling I had in the Provo Utah Temple, becoming an eternal family with my parents and siblings. As I left the temple that day, I thought I understood the blessings it brought me.
Two years later, in the summer of 1995, I was engaged to be married, so I went to the temple to receive my own endowment. How wonderful to receive another blessing of the temple! Three days after receiving my endowment, I was sealed to my husband for time and all eternity in the Manti Utah Temple. I realized another blessing that I had not previously experienced—my husband and I could be an eternal family. Again I thought I had experienced all the blessings of the temple.
Six years into marriage, we found that we were expanding our family. We were so excited to raise our son and teach him the gospel. But 24 weeks into the pregnancy, our little boy was born fighting for life. After just eight weeks he returned to Heavenly Father. As I held him for the last time, I recognized yet another wonderful blessing of the temple: our son had been born in the covenant and could be ours forever.
Eighteen months after the passing of our son, we received a phone call from LDS Family Services saying that a young woman had chosen to place her baby with us. Knowing that we could not have more biological children, we could not have been more excited.
When our little girl was six months old, we finalized her adoption and took her to the temple to be sealed to us. Four years after our little girl became part of our family, another young woman chose us to be the parents of a sweet little boy. Again we had the blessing of taking a six-month-old to the temple. I will never forget how I felt when I saw my children, all in white, in the temple with my husband and me to be sealed to us for eternity.
I now realize that I did not understand all the blessings the temple could bring when I was in Young Women or when I was sealed to my husband or even when our son passed away. And even though I recognize many more blessings than I have in years past, I now understand that the temple is a place of eternal blessings, blessings that will come to us in this life and in eternity. Some we may realize easily today, and others will teach us, strengthen our testimonies, and help us someday to reach our eternal home.
The temple is a place of peace and comfort, joy and newness. I am more grateful than ever for the temple and pray that as I return there, I can continue to learn and appreciate the blessings of the temple.

In his hometown there was a theater that only showed X-rated movies. People had tried to close it down but had never succeeded.
One time in priesthood meeting, the priests’ adviser asked if they had ever thought about going to any of the movies at that theater.
“Troy, how about you?”
“I guess I’ve thought about it, but I’d never go.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just my luck you’d drive by just as I was going into it,” he said, only half joking.
“Is that the only reason you don’t go?”
“No. I don’t go because I know it’s not good to have that stuff in your mind.”

For many young people, the high school years can be difficult. The pressure to fit in with the crowd—coupled with school, sports, and the struggle to find an identity—can create situations that make it hard to live life in harmony with gospel standards. I was certainly no exception. There were many times when I questioned both my ability to live righteously and my strength to overcome temptation. I watched a close friend, who was a Church member, fall to temptation. I saw him continually make poor decisions until he dropped out of school and began to refuse my aid and advice. As I saw most of my friends surrender themselves to Satan’s will, and as I felt a separation growing between us, I feared I would be the next to fall.

I began to realize, however, that whenever I was faced with a difficult decision, I had already made the choice. I knew what was right, and I had already decided that I was going to serve a mission.

Ever since I was young, I have been eagerly looking forward to serving a mission, and I don’t want to do anything to put that in jeopardy. This desire and goal to serve has been a tremendous blessing in my life. I think it has truly separated me from my friends in high school. This sense of purpose has helped me in all of my decisions. I have not even served a full-time mission yet, but already I can feel the blessings that I am receiving because of my choices.

It was July 4, 1976, and the huge, yellowed stones of the Western (Wailing) Wall, all that remains of the enclosure that was once part of the resplendent glory of Solomon’s Temple, echoed with singing: “God is with us; no one can defeat us.” The golden city of Jerusalem, made more golden by the ruddy glow of the setting sun, sang her victory song. Israel had amazed the world that morning with her daring commando raid on the airport at Entebbe, Uganda. Ninety hijacked Israeli hostages, facing the threat of death, had been rescued and flown back to Israel.
On the evening of that eventful day, I photographed soldiers and civilians whirling together in dancing circles, singing and praising God. The dusky evening light merged colors and shapes into a oneness. I stood next to a soldier as he leaned his head against his arm to pray at the rough stone of the Wall, while behind us common folk and government officials blended their voices in vocal prayer and thanksgiving for the glory of Israel.

Third, from President Gordon B. Hinckley: President Hinckley is a much-traveled prophet and President. His presence, his example, his testimony have been shared throughout the world. About five years ago he returned from a visit to the southeast area of the United States, where he spoke to tens of thousands. The morning after his return home, President Hinckley said he felt a bit weary. In the next breath, he commented, “I’ve learned of the terrible suffering endured by the people of Central America because of the rampaging floods which engulfed homes, fields, and many persons. I feel a need to visit the stricken area, and so I, along with Elder L. Tom Perry and Bishop H. David Burton, will leave by plane in two days in order to do so.” We reviewed with the President information concerning the supplies already sent and received at distribution points, plus those which were en route by air and by ship.

President Hinckley returned from his three-day trip rejoicing in a welfare program which works. He met with the members. He met with the missionaries. He complimented throngs who were at work cleaning up the debris which once was homes.

President Hinckley gave them encouragement and assurances of additional assistance, but more than this, he gave to them himself. We express thanks to our Heavenly Father for such a prophet.

On a very cold but sunny day last October, youth and leaders from the Kettering Ward, Northampton England Stake gave 30 hours of service in their community at Headway, a local charity that works to improve life for patients after brain injury. Armed with paintbrushes and paint, ward members went to work cleaning and painting the inside and outside of the Headway day centre.
“The activity was really fun because although it was cold I could really feel the spirit of the youth working together,” said Sarah Dean, a Laurel. “We had cold hands, but we also had warm hearts.”
Michael Winebrunner, a priest, agreed that it was cold, but says, “We were working really hard, so I hardly noticed. I enjoyed being with my friends and knowing that I was making a difference to the lives of the people in the day centre.”

Jenny went to the movies with friends she’d long wanted to impress. It was fun until the movie was well under way, and then there flashed across the screen some scenes inappropriate for public sharing. She winced and felt sick inside, but she wanted to keep in the good graces of the group. What to do? Besides, she needed a ride home. Finally, she excused herself and determined to wait in the lobby until the show was over. Soon her boyfriend went to find her. He admitted he’d been embarrassed, too. Together they waited for the rest of the group. One by one the others came out, curious and concerned. Because one girl dared to take a stand on her own, others had the courage to follow.