Gospel Story Finder

I remember many years ago, during a particularly trying period, I felt as though specific attacks were being made on my family, on my health, and on my integrity. I was fasting, praying, seeking counsel, and still feeling acute anxiety over how, when, and if the serious challenges would be resolved. The thing that brought the most relief during that difficult time was reviewing in my mind the words to the hymn “Be Still, My Soul.” I memorized all the verses and recited them at least once a day. The words that provided the most solace and comfort were:
Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful will remain. …
Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
I’ll never forget the blessing these words and the music were to me when they were sorely needed.

A missionary assignment to Great Britain late last year allowed me to reflect on the precious spiritual events that were foundational to my decision to serve as a missionary. When I was 15 years old, my beloved older brother, Joe, was 20—the age of eligibility then to serve a mission. In the United States, because of the Korean conflict, very few were allowed to serve. Only one could be called from each ward per year. It was a surprise when our bishop asked Joe to explore this possibility with our father. Joe had been preparing applications for medical school. Our father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him and was not in favor of Joe going on a mission. Dad suggested that Joe could do more good by going to medical school. This was a huge issue in our family.
In a remarkable discussion with my wise and exemplary older brother, we concluded that his decision on whether to serve a mission and delay his education depended on three questions: (1) Is Jesus Christ divine? (2) Is the Book of Mormon the word of God? and (3) Is Joseph Smith the Prophet of the Restoration? If the answer to these questions was yes, it was clear that Joe could do more good taking the gospel of Jesus Christ to the world than becoming a doctor at an earlier date.
That night I prayed fervently and with real intent. The Spirit, in an undeniably powerful way, confirmed to me that the answer to all three of these questions was yes. This was a seminal event for me. I realized that every decision I would make for the rest of my life would be influenced by these truths. I also knew that I would serve a mission if given the opportunity. Over a lifetime of service and spiritual experiences, I have come to understand that true conversion is the result of the conscious acceptance of the will of God and that we can be guided in our actions by the Holy Ghost.
I already had a testimony of the divinity of Jesus Christ as Savior of the world. That night I received a spiritual testimony of the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith.

I received a similar message from a rather unlikely source early in my career. When I was just out of graduate school, I attended my first meeting of the American Physical Society in New York City. It was a heady experience, and a highlight was a special event arranged by the conference organizers: the great science fiction writer Isaac Asimov had been invited to speak to us.

He began by telling us about something that had happened to him when he was a young student. He was hired to help a historian do research on social resistance to technological change. Hour after hour he wrote down the stories he found in books in the university library about people protesting the invention of things like machines to spin thread and to weave cloth, steam-powered trains, automobiles, airplanes, etc. All of these advances were perceived by the general public either to be physically dangerous or to be a threat to the livelihoods of workers in trades that were about to be destroyed by these advances.

He regaled us with these stories for a long time, and they were very funny, but it went on so long that I began to wonder where he was going. Finally he got to the point. He said that when he started to write science fiction, he remembered all of this work he had done. So while his fellow writers were all rhapsodizing about the thrill of rockets and space travel (long before such things were possible), he wrote a story about how the local populace showed up at the launch site with torches and pitchforks in opposition to space travel. Years later, when rockets and travel outside of the earth’s atmosphere became possible, there were protests, and many of Mr. Asimov’s colleagues were astounded that he had predicted so far in advance that this would occur.

“Why,” Mr. Asimov then asked us, “among all of these talented and visionary writers, was I the only one who was able to predict that this resistance to change would occur?” He let us think about the question for an uncomfortably silent minute, then leaned into the microphone and said in an intense voice that I still vividly remember: “It’s because people are stupid!” And he included himself. He said that if he hadn’t had this idea pounded into his head daily for several months, he was sure that he wouldn’t have been able to foresee it either.

The second experience I would like to share involved our daughter Kelly.

Last June, our daughter Kelly was asked to help with the girls camp in her stake. She is a busy mother of four. With her husband serving in the bishopric, she wasn’t too anxious to go but she decided to accept the call because it was the ?rst camp for her oldest daughter.

A couple of weeks prior to the camp, the stake YW president and the camp director had gone to check out the camp site. They wanted to be sure they had everything they needed. They happened to run into a park ranger who told them among other things that their cell phones would not work there and they needed a satellite phone to communicate. He also gave them a number to call if they needed assistance from nearby help. Before the camp they acquired a satellite phone.

The day of camp arrived, June 26. A brother, who I will call Brother Dan, was recruited in a neighboring ward to help his wife bring all the equipment for their ward. I’m going to quote a lot from Dan’s own words as I share her experience. He was kind enough to write it up and share it.

All the participants, including a few men who had been asked to help set up the camp, met with their ward members early that day and left for the camp site. The camp was about an hour and a half away.

After Dan and his wife arrived with all of their ward’s equipment and they had ?nished their lunch, he was asked by one of the stake YW leaders to come and give a young sister a blessing. He was told at the time that he was the only man and priesthood holder in the entire camp. The other men who had been there earlier, had already left. He said he was somewhat nervous about giving this priesthood blessing alone with so little time to adequately prepare. He only had a few minutes to walk from his camp to where this young sister was located.

After he had given the young sister a blessing he returned to their camp area. The stake YW president came by to thank him and he says “perhaps she was inspired at that time to tell me... You can’t leave camp you’re the only Priesthood holder we have in the whole camp.” He hadn’t planned to stay but he had brought extra equipment and decided he could stay until other men arrived.

After our daughter arrived, she was helping to put up a large tarp or plastic cover, to provide shade over an eating area. She had been climbing trees to attach the cover. On the fourth corner she was about 10 feet up in a tree when the dried branches of the tree gave way and she suddenly fell, hit a table with her back and was thrown head ?rst onto the asphalt paved eating area.

I’m now going to share in Dan’s words what happened next.

A few hours after Dan had given the blessing to the young Sister, he wrote: “In our own camp, we had just started a ?re we would use to cook our dinners. Sister Harris, one of the stake leaders, came to the edge of our camp and quietly got my attention. She told me that someone had fallen out of a tree and also needed a blessing. Again, my heart began to race a little. As we walked she gave me scattered bits of what had apparently happened. It was clear that she was agitated. Her pace quickened. A moment later she sped up even faster. We were now running up the trail, past the stake camp and around a bend. There lying on the asphalt was one of the Young Women’s leaders. Other leaders were kneeling and standing at her side. Again I was not prepared for what I had been summoned to do. Not like earlier, this was different.

“I was expecting that someone might need a cast for a broken arm or maybe even a leg. No, that clearly was not the case. The condition of this young mother and the gravity of the situation hit me and I was afraid.

“I knelt on the ground above her head. Trying to process what I was seeing and all that was being explained by the others as to what had happened. It was immediately evident that she was in very serious condition. Her arms and shoulders were shaking violently. She was kicking her legs in the bushes to the side of the trail. We tried to isolate her head and movements so that she didn’t do herself further damage.

“The stake YW’S president was in the background, on a satellite phone talking to the 911 Operator. She relayed questions and answers and gave us instructions on what we needed to do to care for her as we waited for help to arrive. They told us that paramedics were on their way but It would be more than half an hour before they would arrive.

“The back of her head was a mass of bloody hair. Someone brought a bag of ice. We also put a cold compress on her forehead.

“Those at her side kept talking to her, each holding a separate hand. We had been instructed to keep this up and not let her lose consciousness. A nurse who was also there, kept checking her pupils, which were ?xed and dilated. She was not able to speak even with the constant dialog aimed at her. She just continued to kick and shake violently. All this time I sat there trying to summon inspiration and direction as to what I could possible say in a blessing.

“Judging from her condition, it appeared to me that someone’s life was in my hands. Thinking to myself, this is surely a job for someone else. There should be someone far better to carry this heavy burden. ‘Isn’t there another brother who could assist me,’ I asked? The question was met with empty, blank faced stares. One of the sisters asked, ‘Do you not want to give her a blessing?’ That wasn’t it. I explained that I can do it alone, but it would be nice to have someone by my side. I was still not ready to proceed. My mind was racing. In my heart of hearts I was still at a loss as to what I could and should say, what could I promise? Was I up to this? There was no one else.

“It took a few more minutes before I realized what I should have known all along. I did have someone by my side... He’s always by my side.

“I now resolutely said, ‘Let’s give her a blessing.’ I was still holding the cold compress on her forehead. I addressed her by name and then paused as the Spirit came into my heart. I knew that with the next six, seemingly simple words, that came out of my mouth I was stepping over a threshold into another realm. I would then be speaking the mind and will of the Lord. I proceeded, ‘In the name of Jesus Christ.’ I then declared the Priesthood authority by which I spoke in His name. Continuing, as the impressions came into my heart and mind, I blessed her with a peace and a comfort to come over her. Also, that the Lord was mindful of her and grateful for her service. I promised her that help was on the way.

“Almost unknowingly, I then commanded the elements of heaven and earth. The next impression came into my mind, and a split second later, came out of my mouth. ‘I bless you that you will recover from this accident.’ Nothing I had been seeing for the past twenty minutes or so suggested that this was a logical conclusion that I could make. The combination of those two phrases I had just pronounced, were so profound and out of character for me, I was struggling a bit with what I had just said. No simple man, of his own power, can make those commands. There was no denying the strong promptings as the Lord directed me. The blessing closed with the sealing of those blessings on her head, in the name of Jesus Christ.

Dan continued: “A collective, ‘Amen’ was pronounced by all those who were at Kelly’s side. Sister Witt, who was holding her right hand, immediately said, ‘Kelly it’s a miracle.’ She was looking at her face and was able to see that her pupils were no longer dilated and rolled back unresponsive. Sister Witt, once more, as she had been doing for nearly thirty minutes now, carrying on a one-way conversation with her friend, said ‘Kelly do you feel it? Do you feel the miracle that happened just as soon as he sealed those blessings on your head?’ Remarkably to us all, this time there was an answer. Kelly spoke. She answered ‘yes.’ This was the ?rst sound she had made since I had arrived. She was no longer shaking violently or kicking her legs. The ?rst portion of the blessing had come to pass just as soon as I closed.

Brother Dan concludes: “It is my most humble testimony that yes, a handful of people in a distant corner of Gods creations, were privileged that day to witness, and be a part of a miracle.”

Our daughter was taken by ambulance to the Park City Hospital and then transferred to the trauma intensive care unit at the Intermountain Medical Center in Salt Lake City.

She had a large skull fracture and two places where her brain was bleeding. Other tender mercies were granted to her as she was treated in the trauma unit. She was released after a week in the hospital to go home to recuperate. Her brain bleeds and resulting hematoma did not require surgery. Over time she has recovered as promised with only a few issues still remaining. (No paralysis, no permanent brain damage.) Today she is a busy active mother and wife caring for her family.

Many years ago I spoke in an ancient theater in Ephesus. Bright sunlight flooded the ground where the Apostle Paul had stood to preach. My topic was Paul, the Apostle called of God.
The audience was hundreds of Latter-day Saints. They were arranged on the rows of stone benches the Ephesians had sat upon more than a millennium before. Among them were two living Apostles, Elder Mark E. Petersen and Elder James E. Faust.
As you can imagine, I had prepared carefully. I had read the Acts of the Apostles and the epistles, both those of Paul and his fellow Apostles. I had read and pondered Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians.
I tried my best to honor Paul and his office. After the talk a number of people said kind things. Both of the living Apostles were generous in their comments. But later Elder Faust took me aside and, with a smile and with softness in his voice, said, “That was a good talk. But you left out the most important thing you could have said.”
I asked him what that was. Weeks later he consented to tell me. His answer has been teaching me ever since.
He said that I could have told the people that if the Saints who heard Paul had possessed a testimony of the value and the power of the keys he held, perhaps the Apostles would not have had to be taken from the earth.
That sent me back to Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. I could see that Paul wanted the people to feel the value of the chain of priesthood keys reaching from the Lord through His Apostles to them, the members of the Lord’s Church. Paul was trying to build a testimony of those keys.

Recently, I have found that kind of blessing among the Saints in Korea who participated in the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the dedication of the Church in Korea and the 200th anniversary of Joseph Smith’s birth. I would like to tell you briefly about their sacrifices and the joy and blessings they received.

To celebrate the gospel, which gave hope and courage to people in Korea who were hurt so much by the Korean War, the members started to prepare for this celebration more than a year ago. Many of the members in Korea—the Primary, young men, young women, young single adults, Relief Society sisters, and others—gathered together to practice for the celebration. They prepared many traditional folk dances, including the flower dance, circle dance, fan dance, and farmer dance. They played drums; performed tae kwon do, drama, ballroom dances, and musical numbers; showed animation; and gave choir performances.

Because the young men produced such loud drum sounds, neighbors complained, and they had to stop practicing. It was really difficult to practice for long periods of time, but they did it with joy. I could not find anyone complaining about their effort and sacrifice when they had to get up at 4:00 in the morning to ride the bus for the joint practice. They felt great joy and gratitude for the blessings of the Lord and for the opportunity to show their appreciation.

Also many returned missionaries from overseas came back to Korea with their wives and children for this celebration. They made the sacrifice when they came to Korea on their missions a long time ago. This time they made another sacrifice of time and money to bring their families and participate in the celebration during the hot summer. But they rejoiced and were grateful for all the celebrations in which they participated.

While preparing to teach a family home evening lesson, I wanted to give my children some perspective on the daily rigors and challenges of missionary work. As I opened my missionary journal to look for a suitable example, I found a summary of a not-so-uncommon day.
First, my companion and I went to see Maria, who was washing clothes. “Could you come back later this morning?” she asked.
We went to see another investigator, but he was sleeping. When we returned to Maria’s home at 11:30 a.m., she was still washing clothes.
Later, at 3:00 p.m., we had an appointment with another investigator. When we arrived, he was making grease.
“I’m really busy right now,” he told us. “Can you come back later?”
We returned to Maria’s home, but she was now washing dishes. Then we went to visit another investigator named Junior. He was busy cooking.
“How about tomorrow?” he asked us.
I wrote in my journal: “We try to plan really well, do our best to keep our appointments, and make plan B and plan C. We pray for inspiration. There’s got to be a more practical way to help people.”
As I reread those experiences through more mature eyes, I chuckled. The lesson I had intended to teach my children about developing resilience to face disappointment now seemed less important than the lesson I had just been taught.
My exasperated plea of 30 years before seemed funny to me now. The answer to my exasperation was right there in my plea. Thinking of my younger self, I mused, “Elder Jackson, what if you had tried to help people by helping them in their time of need?”
Today, if my companion and I found Maria facing a burden of laundry and dishes, we would say, “How can we help you?”
Today, if the man we had scheduled to visit was busy making grease, we would exclaim, “Can you teach us? We’d love to help you!”
Today, if we found Junior busy preparing food, we would say, “We’re at your service! What would you like us to do?”
As a young missionary, I tended to look at service as something to schedule rather than as something to offer when needed. Today I try to teach people about the love of Jesus Christ by showing them His love.

I have a good friend who told me of a personal rescue that she holds close to her heart. She was a college student like you, but she attended that red-and-white institution to the north. (Some of you might think that was the source of her problems.) It was near the end of her senior year, and things were not falling together as she had hoped. She had applied to graduate school but wasn’t sure about taking that next step in her education. She was very involved in student affairs and recognized that these experiences that she loved were coming to an end. She was dating the missionary for whom she’d waited for two years, but she was also dating his best friend and had been for most of the time the missionary was gone. You get the picture. At that moment, her journey was a nightmare.

It was a Friday afternoon, and she was particularly downhearted. She hadn’t heard from any graduate schools. She was juggling dates for the weekend with both men. She had papers to write and projects to finish. Her little ten-year-old brother was the only one home, and he was begging her to play a game with him. She couldn’t stand to deal with life, so she left. She walked out the front door and up the street, and then she turned and began to walk toward the freeway. As she walked she heard a crunch on the gravel behind her, and turning she saw her little brother. He looked at her face streaked with tears and then asked, “Where ya going?”

She replied in a voice most dramatic, “I don’t know.”

For a minute he looked at her, not sure what to do, and then he said, “Do you want to go to Skaggs?”

He was a rescuer that day. A little ten-year-old chasing a lost-looking sister around the corner and up the street. He knew something was wrong, didn’t know what, and yet he was the only one there. He made her laugh, and they went to Skaggs. She’ll never forget that day he saved her. He more than made her day.

“Throw ’em in the rag bag,” Mom would say whenever I outgrew an article of clothing. Sometimes it was hard to think that a favorite blouse or skirt would end up as a cleaning rag.
But one rainy day, Mom told me how I could make something new from my old clothes. “I’ll show you how to make a rag rug,” she said.
We got out the sack of old clothes. First, we tore the clothing into inch-wide strips. These varied in length. For instance, the pieces from a skirt were longer than those from a blouse.
“Roll the strips into balls,” Mom said. “That way, the pieces won’t get all tangled up.” So I made separate balls of woolen cloth strips, cotton strips, and strips made from knit fabric. Mom explained that it was better to make my rug from one kind of fabric. If the strips were similar in bulk, it would be much easier to “work” the rug.
When there was a variety of strips, I sewed them together, end to end. I sewed mine by hand, but a machine works fine, too. By alternating strips in color and design, I created a pretty pattern. It takes many, many of these strips sewn together to make a rug. I figured about 680 yards would make a 24-by-45-inch rug.
Using a large wooden crochet hook (size 15), Mom showed me how to make a chain. This was the base of my rug.
Size 15 (Actual size.)
I made a slip knot with my cloth strip and inserted my hook through it from right to left. By pulling both ends of the strip, I drew the loop up close to the hook (figure 1).
Figure 1.
“Not too tight,” Mom directed.
With my right hand, I held the hook. I looped the strip over the hook with my left hand. Then I pulled the strip through the loop to make a chain stitch. I repeated this over and over until I had 45 chains. That is, I had 45 chains plus the one on my hook (figures 2a and 2b). This made my rug about two feet wide.
Figure 2.
Next, I inserted the hook down through the second chain from the hook. I looped my strip over the hook and pulled it up through the chain (figure 3a). I then had two loops on my hook. Putting the strip over the hook once again, I pulled it through both of the loops. That made one single crochet (figure 3b). This procedure was repeated in each chain. When I got to the end of the row, I chained one more, then turned my work (figure 4).
Figure 3.
Figure 4.
The second row was formed by making a single crochet in each single crochet of the first row. I again chained one before starting the next row.
I kept repeating this until my rug was the length I wanted. Eighty-five rows of single crochet made a 45-inch rug. It took me approximately 56 hours to make it.
To finish the rug, I removed the hook. Pulling the loop out, I worked the end of the strip back and forth through the rug’s stitches.
At times, weeks would go by before I’d work on the rug. Then I’d be in the mood to crochet again, so I’d do a few more rows.
Sometimes my girl friend would help. I’d let her crochet while I watched. Once in a while, Mom and I would work on our rugs together. Those were nice sharing times.
When it was finally finished, it made a colorful spot by our door. I felt good when I’d see my favorite old clothes still being useful in a bright rug.

One day while my new companion, Sister Neumann, and I were teaching a sweet young woman, her boyfriend, Tom, came to see her. She had warned us that he did not want her to continue meeting with us. Tom saw our bicycles in front of the house and knew we were there that morning, so he decided to wait outside until we left. As he waited his curiosity grew stronger and stronger, and he thought of more and more questions to ask us. Eventually his interest overcame his reservations, and he came inside to put us to the test. After briefly explaining the basic principles of the gospel and outlining the Apostasy and the Restoration, we made an appointment to begin teaching him the next evening. He was baptized 10 weeks later. I was so full of joy I would have reenlisted for 10 years if I could have.

“Utah School for the Blind”—I turned my car into the school’s driveway and glanced at my watch. I had had trouble finding the address, and I was late for an appointment at 12:00 to meet with Scott Jeppson from American Fork, Utah. He had recently been awarded the Eagle badge, an outstanding achievement and an especially remarkable one for him. Scott was born with an eye disease called glaucoma, and by the time he was twelve, due to the glaucoma and a list of other medical complications, he was totally blind.
Scott was waiting at the edge of the parking lot when I drove in. The first thing I noticed about him was his smile. He had the biggest, brightest smile I’d ever seen. After shaking hands with him and introducing myself, I apologized for being late.
“I got lost,” I explained.
“Well, that’s okay,” he said. “That happens to me a lot, too. If we hurry we might still be able to get some lunch.”
Scott led me across the campus as fast as I could walk. I didn’t understand how he could go so quickly when he couldn’t see until I realized that he had every square foot of the place memorized. After lunch we followed Scott’s regular schedule: reading class, swimming, and history. Scott reads using the Braille system and by using a machine called an opticon. The opticon converts regular printed material into vibrations in the shape of letters that are read with a single finger.
After the classes were over, I got a chance to talk casually with Scott as we sat on the grass in the sun. There was a group of students playing softball below us. The game was the same as regular softball except the ball had an electronic beeper in it.
I asked about the problems he’d had adjusting to his handicap.
“It took a lot of adjustment,” he said. “I just do the things I need to do first—pray, study the scriptures, and attend church. I’ve also been blessed with a good family and friends. I can work out most of the problems, and if I can’t work them out, I can get a lot of help.
“I also believe that I’m the only person who can make me happy. I work out the problems, just like anyone else, and I try to smile through discouragement.”
Scott holds the office of a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. He helps prepare and bless the sacrament. He gives talks, using notes in braille, and goes home teaching. In Scouting, since he has earned his Eagle, he is now working toward Scouting’s next higher awards, the Palms.
Last summer Scott and 17 other members of his stake went on a three-day handcart trek. The first day they pushed their carts 26 miles. The second day turkeys were turned loose. The members of the companies were blindfolded and told to catch them. Scott caught the turkey for his group.
On the last day of his trip each one went out by himself.
“That gave me a chance to think,” Scott said. “I had a lot to think about—about reaching goals, about what kind of member of the Church I was. I needed to take everything further. I needed to take what I was further. I realized the only thing stopping me was myself.”
It was over a year ago when first met Scott. He’s 17 now. Scott has changed in a year. He’s grown. His goals for the future include a temple marriage, missionary work, college, and a career in teaching. “I’ll find a way to reach my goals,” he said, smiling. “After all, you’re the only person who can make you happy.”
Scott’s smile? It has changed too. It’s even bigger.

Recently, I was at home with my 4-year-old daughter, Romana, and we were both in my bedroom. I left the bedroom and went to the living room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. A few minutes later, I called out to her: “Romana, you are alone in the bedroom, come to the living room to be with me and your dolls.”

Without hesitating, she replied: “Mom, I am not alone, God is with me! We are never alone, remember?” I was so touched to hear my little girl saying those words. A few days earlier, during our family study, my husband and I had taught our children that our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us, despite our weaknesses and challenges. We are never alone!

Chase and Heston watched as Sister Lind interrupted their Primary lesson by placing an empty chair between them.
“President Benson has a family saying about chairs. Have any of you heard it?” she asked, glancing at the extra seat. When no one held up his hand, she gave the answer herself: “‘no empty chairs!’ What do you suppose President Benson means?”
When still no one responded, Sister Lind help up a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. Smiling, she continued, “Could it have something to do with our lesson on Jesus and His lost sheep?”
Sharla raised her hand timidly. “Is the chair missing a person, like Jesus was missing a sheep?”
Sister Lind nodded. “That’s it, Sharla. Just as Jesus brought back His lost sheep, we’re supposed to find our friends missing from Primary and bring them back to their empty chairs.” She placed her hand on the chair between Chase and Heston. “Now, who is missing from our class? Who needs to come back and sit in this chair?”
The whole class turned to one another and mumbled one name—“Charles.” No one dared to shout it out. They were all reluctant to talk about Charles because his mother had died only two months before.
Charles had loved Primary, especially singing time, but he hadn’t come to church for almost three months. The empty chair in the classroom suddenly seemed very lonely. Charles wasn’t in it, and the other children missed him.
“What can we do?” Heston asked.
“Well, Charles is what the rest of our lesson is about. We’re going to discuss what we can do for him, and then we’ll pray for help.”
The class had a lot of ideas: “Let’s ask him to play soccer!” “How about inviting him to the Primary talent activity?” “Isn’t it almost time for his birthday? Why don’t we do something for his birthday?”
Sister Lind checked the class roll and looked at the birthday list. “You’re right,” she announced. “His birthday is next Saturday.”
Jessica jumped up and suggested, “What if we took balloons and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him at his house?”
Heston and Chase pulled faces. “The balloons are okay, but do we have to sing?”
Sister Lind laughed. “Of course you’ll sing.” She smiled at Jessica and said, “That’s a fine idea.” To the whole class, she added, “I also think that while we’re there, he’d like to be invited to the Primary activity. Let’s meet at my house on Saturday at ten o’clock.”
When everyone agreed, Sister Lind looked at the empty chair again. “Before we have the closing prayer, I want to remind you to remember Charles in your individual prayers this week.”
On Saturday morning the children met at Sister Lind’s house and they all went to visit Charles. “Before we go in,” she said, turning to the children, “don’t forget about the talent activity.” She smiled at Chase and asked him to invite Charles to the activity. “The rest of you must show Charles that you really want him to come,” she told them.
The balloons bobbed gaily as the children walked to the door. Only Chase walked slowly—he was wondering how to invite Charles to the activity.
A dog ran out the door when Charles opened it. “Look who’s here, Dad!” he shouted with a surprised look on his face. “It’s Sister Lind and my Primary class!”
“Happy birthday to you,” they sang. “Happy birthday to you. …”
“Ar-rooo!” a strange voice joined in, unheard by all but Sister Lind.
“Happy birthday, dear Charles. …”
“Ar-rooo!”
This time they all heard Charles’s dog, Bowser, “singing” with them. He was sitting by the door with his head thrown back for a full-throated sound.
“Ar-rooo-ooo!” he finished the song for them, then gave them a big doggy smile, rolling his head to one side and watching the children and Sister Lind laugh.
“Charles, Bowser likes to sing, too,” Heston shouted.
“He sure does,” Charles said, hugging his dog tightly. “He loves music as much as I do.”
Chase saw his opportunity. “Then how about singing with us for the Primary talent activity?”
The class stopped giggling at Bowser and looked expectantly at Charles.
“Dad, can I?”
Charles’s dad was quiet. He just looked down at the floor. Their whole plan might have ended awkwardly right then if Heston hadn’t started giggling again. “Hey, Charles,” he laughed, “can Bowser sing with us for the show? Do you think he’d do it?”
Bowser loved the idea! He lifted his head high and sang his loudest “Ar-roo.”
Charles’s dad lifted his head, too, and watched the happy faces of his son and his son’s friends as they again broke into helpless laughter. “Sure,” he said softly. “Maybe I’ll come too.”
During the next few weeks Charles, Bowser, and the rest of the class practiced their special act at Sister Lind’s house. Bowser enjoyed certain notes more than others, so Sister Lind played through her music until they found the song that appealed the most to him.
On Primary Talent Night, everyone’s family and friends crowded into the cultural hall. After the opening prayer, the bishop announced, “And now for a very different opening act, Sister Lind’s Valiant A class will accompany Bowser, the singing dog!”
Charles and his classmates led Bowser onto the stage, and Sister Lind stood below them. “Look across the room and tell me what you see,” she whispered.
The children looked out at the hall filled with people. Charles waved when he saw his dad sitting in the back, surrounded by Sister Lind’s family.
“No empty chairs!” Sharla told Sister Lind excitedly. “There are no empty chairs here tonight—or in our class, anymore.”
“That’s right!” Sister Lind gave them all a big smile and Bowser a pat, which made his tail wag with a thud on the stage. “Now let’s sing!”
The children’s voices rang, and so did Bowser’s. The room filled with laughter at the hound’s musical howls. Everyone—including the children and Bowser—was having a good time. And best of all, there were no empty chairs.

Please allow me to reminisce for a few moments and share a few of the lessons I learned from my mother about teaching the gospel in the home. My mother understood the value of teaching her children about standards, values, and doctrine while they were young. While she was grateful to others who taught her children outside the home at either school or church, she recognized that parents are entrusted with the education of their children and, ultimately, parents must ensure that their children are being taught what their Heavenly Father would have them learn. My siblings and I were quizzed very carefully by our mother after we had been taught away from the home to be certain the correct lessons were reaching our ears and shaping our minds.
I used to think some days as I ran home from school that I was through learning for the day, but this illusion was quickly destroyed when I saw my mother standing at the door waiting for me. When we were young, we each had a desk in the kitchen where we could continue to be taught by her as she performed household duties and prepared supper. She was a natural teacher and far more demanding of us than our teachers at school and church.
The scope of Mother’s teaching included both secular and spiritual lessons. She made sure none of us were falling behind in our schoolwork, which she would often supplement. She also would practice her Relief Society lessons with us. We, of course, received the unabridged versions found in her notebooks, not the abridged versions that had to fit in a single class period.
Part of our learning at home also involved memorizing scriptures, including the Articles of Faith, and the words of prophets, seers, and revelators. My mother was someone who believed a mind would become weak if it was not constantly exercised. She taught us as we would wash the dishes, churn the butter, and help in many other ways. She did not believe in letting idle thoughts enter her children’s minds, even when they were engaged in physical labor.

It’s important to be thoughtful of your friends’ frames of reference, too. Remember that LDS culture, beliefs, and even language can be very foreign to people who are not familiar with it. A little Muslim girl, for example, was invited to go to Primary with her friends. When she got home, she quickly announced to her mother that she was never going back to the Mormon church. “Why not?” inquired her mother. “Because it’s haunted,” the girl replied.

“What do you mean it’s haunted?” her mother asked. “What makes you think that?”

“They told me so,” she said. “They said there was a Holy Ghost there, and that you could feel the spirit all around.”

Her friends didn’t drop her just because she was scared, though. They continued extending invitations to her, and, most important of all, they continued being her friend. When she was 19, she decided to embrace the gospel and was baptized.

An example of a child listening happened in a fabric store. The store was crowded with shoppers when it became obvious to everyone that a mother was panicked because she had lost her young son. At first, she was calling his name. “Connor,” she would say as she briskly walked around the store. As time passed, her voice got louder and more frantic. Soon the store security officers were notified, and everyone in the store was involved in looking for the child. Several minutes passed with no success of finding him. Connor’s mother, understandably, was becoming more frantic by the minute and was rapidly yelling his name over and over again.

One patron, after saying a silent prayer, had the thought that Connor may be frightened as he listened to his mother scream his name. She mentioned this to another woman involved in the search, and they quickly made a plan. Together they began to walk between the tables of fabric, quietly repeating the words “Connor, if you can hear my voice, say, ‘Here I am.’” As they walked slowly toward the back of the store repeating that phrase, sure enough, they heard a timid, soft voice say, “Here I am.” Connor was hiding between the bolts of fabric under a table. It was a voice of perfect mildness that encouraged Connor to respond.

While I was serving as president of the West European Mission I had the opportunity of association with some of the servicemen stationed there. The president of the servicemen’s stake told me an interesting story.
He said that while he was executive secretary in the stake, the general of his army unit called him and told him he would like to have him serve as his assistant, which would require him to accompany the general wherever he went. Recognizing how this would affect his Church position and his responsibilities to his family, the brother told the general he would have to forego this assignment.
The general said, “Do you mean you would turn your back on this promotion because of your family and your Church?”
The brother said, “Yes, that is what I mean.”
The general said, “Well, then, forget it.” But he called back in a few days and said that he still wanted him for the job, that he would make the necessary adjustments for the man to carry out his responsibilities to the Church and to his family.
Another of the servicemen who had served a full-time mission told me he had baptized more converts during a year in the service than he had in two and one-half years on his mission in France. This is how we remember who we are and act accordingly.

Michael G. (right), age 11, from Panama, loves his karate classes and studies hard in school. Once he got to be “principal for a day” at his school because of his good grades.
Michael is already a courageous missionary. When the Church had an information stand at the international fair near his home, Michael and his parents stood at the entrance of the fair, gave people pamphlets about the Church, and invited them to visit the Church’s stand. He also gave a pass-along card to a friend’s family, and the missionaries taught them about the Church. He is looking forward to being a full-time missionary.

“Beat you to the gift shop!” Andrea said, running as fast as a cheetah past her older brother, Michael.
They were exploring the zoo with their parents. It was one of their favorite places, but for different reasons. Michael was fascinated by reptiles, like lizards, snakes, and crocodiles. Andrea was amazed by colorful birds, like parrots and toucans. She especially loved flamingos because pink was her favorite color.
As they got close to the shop, Michael put on a burst of speed, like a gazelle. He got to the shop first and held the door open.
“You’re as slow as a sloth!” he said with a smile.
“But fierce as a lion,” Andrea growled as they walked inside.
Michael knew exactly what he wanted to buy. He went straight to the reptile area and picked up a book called Awesome Facts about Alligators. With the money he had earned this summer, he would have just enough to buy it. He was about to head to the cashier when Andrea called his name. She was in a section that looked like a giant princess party.
“Come here!” Andrea said, excited as a chimpanzee. “I want to show you something!”
Michael shook his head. “No way. I’d rather stay with the reptiles.”
“Please? Just for a second. I need your help.”
With a sigh, Michael walked across the aisle. He felt like a goldfish out of water surrounded by the fluffy feather boas and sparkly jewelry.
“That’s what I want to buy,” Andrea said, pointing to a book on a high shelf out of her reach. “Can you get it down for me?”
Michael stretched tall like a giraffe and grabbed the book. It was full of stickers of people in fancy ballroom costumes.
“Why do you want that?” he asked. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the zoo.”
Andrea flipped open the book. “It has a page with animals. See? Unicorns!”
Michael rolled his eyes. Of course his sister would pick the one book at the zoo with the pretend animals in it. Then he noticed the price. “Do you even have enough money?”
When Andrea saw the price tag, her eyes got wide like an owl, and her smile disappeared.
“Sorry, sis,” Michael said. “Maybe you can find something that costs less.”
“But this is the only thing I wanted,” Andrea said. “Oh well.” She handed the book to Michael so he could put it back. Then she tried to smile again. “What did you find?”
Michael looked at the two books in his hands. Then he made a decision. “Nothing,” he said. “That is, nothing I need right now. Wait here for a second.”
Quick as a rabbit, Michael returned his book to the reptile section. When he got back to Andrea, he handed her the sticker book she wanted, along with some of his money.
“Here. Now you should have enough to buy it.”
Andrea looked as confused as a chameleon on a rainbow. “But why would you spend your money on that?”
“Because it’s important to you,” Michael said. “We might be as different as a python and a peacock, but that’s OK. God still wants us to show love to each other.”
Andrea gave him a big bear hug. “Thank you so much! You can use the stickers whenever you want!”
“Well, they’re not really my style,” Michael said. “But it might be fun!”
Then they walked to the cashier together, as happy as two frogs in a pond!

Where am I? Ashley Brown wondered, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. She was lying in her own bed, that was certain. The toys on the shelf beside the cupboard were hers, but the window was too high, and the door was green.
Then Ashley remembered. She gave a sad sigh and turned on her side. She and Mum and Dad had moved to a new house, and she had left all her friends behind in Clayton.
Slowly Ashley got out of bed and walked to the window. Tall trees shaded the house. The street was empty—except for a girl walking up the sidewalk to Ashley’s house! Ashley pressed her face against the window. The girl had blond hair and was dressed in jeans and a red shirt. She looked up, grinned, and propped up a paper on a porch chair. Then she ran into the park at the corner of the street.
“I wonder what that girl is up to,” Ashley murmured.
After dressing quickly, she hurried downstairs, opened the front door, and grabbed the piece of paper. She read:
“Take twenty-four steps beside the road—You’ll come to a stone that looks like a toad.”
“Mum! Mum!” Ashley called, running into the kitchen. “Look what I found on our front porch.”
Mum was making toast and putting out her special strawberry jam. She read the note while Ashley ate.
“I saw a girl put it there,” Ashley said between gulps of milk. “She was wearing a red shirt, and she had blond hair.”
“How about if I sit on the porch and watch while you find the toad stone?” Mum suggested. She smiled and gave Ashley a big hug as they went out.
Very carefully, Ashley counted twenty-four long steps. And there, right in front of her, was a strange stone. It was high and round. A smaller stone had been placed in front of it, like a head. Ashley smiled. It did look like a toad!
Under the smaller stone was another piece of paper. Ashley read:
“Across the street
Is a short spruce tree.
Look near the trunk
For a clue to me!”
She waved to Mum and held up the new message. Then she crossed the street to the tree. It was dark in the shadow of the green branches. Where’s the next verse? she wondered. On a low branch, Ashley found it. She read:
“Under the bench
At the nearest bus sign,
You’ll see a clue
And know that it’s mine.”
“Why, the bus stop is right across the street from our house!” Ashley laughed as she realized that she’d been walking in a big square. She ran to the bench and looked under it. Sure enough, there was a folded note taped to the bench. She sat on the bench and read:
“Walk down this lane;
Look at the sky.
In the maple tree,
I’m way up high.”
Walking down the lane that led to the bus stop, Ashley looked up at the sky. Soon she saw the maple tree.
All at once she felt shy. What if the girl in the red shirt doesn’t like me? Ashley stood up tall and straightened her shoulders. I wanted a friend, so I’ll have to act friendly, she decided as she hurried over to the tree.
Suddenly she heard a swooshing sound. The end of a rope ladder dropped from the leaves and hung against the bark of the tree trunk.
This was exciting! Ashley put her foot on the bottom loop. It sagged under her weight and swayed back and forth. She grasped both sides of the ladder and started up, her heart beating quickly. When the ladder ended, she squinted and looked around, trying to see where she was. Just above her was a wooden platform. And looking down at her, smiling, was the girl in the red shirt.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Erica Greer. I watched the movers carrying in your furniture. I was sure glad to see you.”
“Hi. I’m Ashley Brown.” As she climbed onto the platform, she saw that it was the floor of a terrific tree house. The roof and sides were made of plastic, and the whole thing was secured to branches of the tree. In one corner was a wooden box with a lid. Erica opened it and took out a tin of cookies, two paper cups, and a bottle of fruit juice.
“I told my mum about the clues and everything,” Erica said, pouring Ashley a cup of juice. “She made us this picnic before going across the street to visit with your mother.”
Ashley munched on a cookie. “I just thought of something,” she said.
“What?” Erica asked.
“No matter where you go, you can make friends—especially if you have friendly clues to follow.”