Gospel Story Finder

One Sunday evening the family’s home teachers visited. The family was struggling through unemployment at the time, and that night she had only a half cup of rice, a little bit of oil to cook it in, and two small tomatoes. But appreciative of these faithful home teachers, she asked them if they would like to stay for dinner.
“My daughter asked how I could do that,” Sister Daggi recalls. She told her daughter to set the table. Then she went into the kitchen and prayed, “Lord, Thou fed 5,000. I’m asking only for seven.”
“That rice fed seven people,” she testifies.

I have anxiety, so I go to therapy every week. In the first few sessions, I avoided talking to my therapist about my beliefs. I’ve been bullied for being different, and I was afraid of being vulnerable again.
Last January, though, my dad traveled from California, USA, to New Mexico, USA, to ordain me to the office of a teacher. My parents are divorced, so my therapist wondered why my dad would come 1,000 miles to see me and my brothers for only a couple of days.
I thought, “OK, here it goes!” I explained that my dad ordained me to the priesthood and how special that is.
That opened up the floodgates! We started talking more openly about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I found out she has relatives who are members of the Church. She told me that hearing my beliefs and experiences helps her understand the Church better.
There’s no amazing conversion story that’s come out of this. My therapist isn’t interested in joining the Church. But it’s big for me—talking with my therapist has given me the confidence to not stay quiet about what I believe.
I used to be afraid of talking about religion, but with lots of practice, I can just jump straight into it. I have no doubt that Heavenly Father has a work for me to do. My work may be different from what other people are doing, but who else can share the gospel with the people I know, like my therapist? That’s my work.
We were all placed on this earth to learn and to grow. We can be Heavenly Father’s hands as we love other people and plant little gospel seeds in their hearts. So, whenever a missionary opportunity comes up, I take it because I feel the Spirit with me—and I love every minute of it.

There are some things you need to understand.
The priesthood is something you cannot see nor hear nor touch, but it is a real authority and a real power.
When I was five years old, I became very ill. It turned out that I had polio, a disease that was completely unknown to the small-town doctor. I lay for several weeks on a World War I army cot in our front room beside a coal stove. Afterward, I could not walk. I remember very clearly sliding around on the linoleum floor and pulling myself up on chairs, learning to walk again. I was more fortunate than some. A friend walked with crutches and steel leg braces all of his life.
As I moved into school, I found that my muscles were weak. I was very self-conscious. I knew that I could never be an athlete.
It did not help a lot when I read about the man who went to a doctor to find a cure for his inferiority complex. After a careful examination, the doctor told him, “You don’t have a complex. You really are inferior!”
With that for encouragement, I set about through life and determined to compensate in other ways.
I found hope in my patriarchal blessing. The patriarch, whom I had never met before, confirmed to me that patriarchs do have prophetic insight. He said that I had a desire to come to earth life and was willing to meet the tests that would accompany life in a mortal body. He said that I had been given a body of such physical proportion and fitness to enable my spirit to function through it unhampered by physical impediment. That encouraged me.
I learned that you should always take care of your body. Take nothing into your body that will harm it, such as we are counseled in the Word of Wisdom: tea, coffee, liquor, tobacco, or anything else that is habit-forming, addictive, or harmful.
Read section 89 in the Doctrine and Covenants. You will find great promises:
“All saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments, shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones;
“And shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures;
“And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.”
And then this promise: “And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angel shall pass by them, as the children of Israel, and not slay them.”10
You may see others who seem to have been given a more perfect body than yours. Do not fall into the trap of feeling poorly about your height or weight or your features or your skin color or race.
You are a son of God. You lived in a premortal existence as an individual spirit child of heavenly parents. At the time of your birth, you received a mortal body of flesh and blood and bone in which to experience earth life. You will be tested as you prepare yourself to return to our Heavenly Father.
I ask you the same question that Paul asked the Corinthians: “What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?”11
Your gender was determined in the premortal existence. You were born a male. You must treasure and protect the masculine part of your nature. You must have respectful, protective regard for all women and girls.
Do not abuse yourself. Never allow others to touch your body in a way that would be unworthy, and do not touch anyone else in any unworthy way.
Avoid the deadly poisons of pornography and narcotics. If these are in your life, beware! If allowed to continue, they can destroy you. Talk to your parents; talk to your bishop. They will know how to help you.
Do not decorate your body with tattoos or by piercing it to add jewels. Stay away from that.
Do not run with friends that worry your parents.
Everywhere present is the influence of Lucifer and his legion of angels. They tempt you to do those things and say those things and think those things that would destroy. Resist every impulse that will trouble your spirit.12
You are not to be fearful. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “all beings who have bodies have power over those who have not.”13 And Lehi taught that all “men are instructed sufficiently that they know good from evil.”14 Remember, the prayerful power of your spirit will protect you.
I remember when I was “[baptized] by immersion for the remission of sins.”15 That was appealing. I assumed that all my past mistakes were now washed away, and if I never made any more mistakes in my life, I would be clean. This I resolved to do. Somehow it did not turn out that way. I found that I made mistakes, not intentionally, but I made them. I once foolishly thought maybe I was baptized too soon. I did not understand that the ordinance of the sacrament, administered by you of the Aaronic Priesthood, is in fact a renewing of the covenant of baptism and the reinstating of the blessings connected with it. I did not see, as the revelations tell us, that I could “retain a remission of [my] sins.”16

Such was the experience of William Norris, formerly the chairman of a large computer manufacturing firm and a friend of many years. Mr. Norris determined to build a plant in an area of extreme poverty. The neighborhood was predominantly composed of a minority race—unmarried women with children, uneducated, uncared-for, but needing help. These women became the work force in the production of high-tech computers.

I had the privilege to be hosted by Mr. Norris and to be given a tour of his new facility. I was impressed with the employment provided—but more impressed with the company nursery, which occupied a wing of the building. Here, while their mothers worked, children received schooling, including proficiency with computers. Since most of the children did not have fathers and grandfathers who cared, retired grandfathers in the community were invited to have lunch with them. The children were benefited, and the grandfathers had a special blessing brought into their lives.

As a result of Mr. Norris’s dream, the chain of poverty was broken. Children learned to earn. It was as though William Norris had personally blessed the life of each worker. Through the window provided by Mr. Norris—even love in action—I saw demonstrated the philosophical and practical truth: The bottom line of living is giving.

Two weeks after graduating high school in American Samoa in 2002, I boarded an airplane for basic training in Fort Sill, Oklahoma – marking a new chapter in my life as an enlisted service member in the United States Army.

In January of 2003, I was assigned to the northern part of South Korea for my first tour of duty. Although only 18 years old, I felt like I was a grown man. I was making my own money and now had the liberty of doing whatever I wanted to do with my free time. I loved buying clothes and eating out, so the new experience of making and spending money was quite exhilarating.

After my first couple of months in my new duty station, soaking in all my freedom as an adult, I often felt a little distant from Heavenly Father. Buying clothes and hanging out with friends did not bring the enduring peace I yearned for.

Luckily, a chapel on a hill was about a twenty-minute walk from my barracks that held sacrament services at noon. I knew that my ticket to once again access the comforting power of the Holy Ghost was on that hill. I was determined that I would not miss a Sunday. One of the blessings that came from going to church was my desire to keep God's commandments and be a good person.

Unfortunately, my desire to be a good person seemed to lose momentum as the week progressed. Many of my buddies would entertain some outing ideas over the week, which were appealing but deep inside, I could sense that these activities would not lead to a place that I wanted to be spiritually.

In hindsight, I believe that attending church services throughout my military service has helped me maintain a relationship, although distant at times, with Heavenly Father. I felt Heavenly Father was pleased with my efforts to attend church. This sense of reassurance reinforced my desire to be good and do good.

However, I often felt confused and frustrated as to why I didn't feel the desire to do good all the time. It seems as if I only felt those feelings the strongest on Sundays and maybe Mondays, and as the week progressed, the appeals of worldly and unrighteous activities seemed to be winning the battle for my soul.

“Why can't I always have the desire to do good?” This question comes to mind often whenever I ponder my life and the person I hope to be.

During my military service, my conversations with God were often in the form of questions, partly due to my inexperience in figuring out how to be an adult. I felt many of those questions went unanswered. But as I look back on my life, I can see why. The answers to those questions would eventually come at a time when I was ready to receive them.

Gioele and Michele stared at the construction site across the street. They could see lots of metal beams and layers of cement.
“It doesn’t look much like a temple yet,” Gioele said.
“But it will someday,” Michele answered.
This was the first time the brothers had seen the place where the Rome Italy Temple was being built. Right now their family had to go all the way to Switzerland to visit the temple. But this new temple was only 30 minutes away from their home!
Michele and Gioele watched the big yellow trucks move piles of dirt.
“I think that’s where one of the spires will be,” Michele said. He pointed to a spot near the front of the building.
Gioele nodded. “Look! Papà is coming,” he said. Their father was wearing his usual work outfit—church clothes with a white construction hat. He worked as an electrical engineer in the temple. They loved it when he told them about what he worked on each day. One day he told them that the statue of Christ had arrived. Another time he told them about the baptismal font.
That night, Michele made sure to say his prayers and thank Heavenly Father for the temple. He felt warm inside whenever he prayed about it.
Months went by. The curved temple walls were covered with strong stone, and two tall spires grew toward the sky. Then a small visitors’ center was built nearby. Every once in a while, Gioele and Michele would go there to press their faces against the window and see what had changed.
Then one day they got a happy surprise.
“How would you like to see the angel Moroni statue being put on top of the temple?” Mom asked. The families of the construction workers had all been invited to watch.
Gioele and Michele could hardly believe it. They were so excited!
The next morning they put on white shirts and ties. When they got to the temple, they walked around it with the other families. They even got to take a picture with the golden angel Moroni. It was huge!
Then the workers started moving the statue. Gioele watched the giant crane carefully raise angel Moroni to the top the tallest spire. A drone buzzed around taking a video. It was so cool!
Gioele thought about all the people who would learn about the Church by visiting the temple grounds. He thought about how lots of people were going to get married there and how people were going to get baptized for people who had died.
“Now it looks like a temple,” he told his brother. Michele smiled and nodded.
The brothers felt happy. They were excited to go inside the temple when they got older. Their testimonies were growing right along with the building.

Last year in my kindergarten class, there was a boy named Ben* who liked to push, shove, and call people names. I don’t know why he did the things he did. It was hard for me to like him because of how he treated people, especially my friends and me. He did mean things almost every day.
One day, right before recess, something happened that changed things. Ben was playing with a boy named Andrew,* and they accidentally spilled a bunch of corn kernels and dried beans on the classroom floor. The teacher told them that they needed to pick up every one before they could go to recess.
I felt sorry for them and didn’t want them to miss recess, so I offered to help clean up the mess. Once I started helping, two of my friends came along and helped too. We all worked together and were able to finish in time to go to recess. The next day, I noticed that Ben was nicer to my friends and me. And from then on, he was more of a friend.
I’m glad that I helped Ben. I think I did what Jesus would have wanted me to do. Even though Ben had often been mean to me before, I felt good inside while I was helping him. I know the feeling I had was the Spirit telling me that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father knew of my love for Them because I was helping someone else.

Brian, a Latter-day Saint boy, attended a school run by another church. One day the children were being very noisy as the teacher tried to read from the Bible. She closed the Bible and said, “No wonder there are no prophets on the earth today. You children are so naughty that you wouldn’t listen to them anyway.” Brian had an important choice to make. He could remain silent, or he could tell his teacher what he believed. He gathered his courage, quietly raised his hand, and said, “Teacher, there is a prophet on the earth today. He lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the United States.” The teacher was very interested in this information and asked him to tell her more about his church. Just like Brian and Helaman’s stripling warriors, you can have a testimony that can give you the courage to choose the right. So, as it says in the scriptures, “Be of good courage, and do it” (Ezra 10:4).

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Martin walked along the path that led from his family’s summer home to the lake. A vivid splash of orange and pink streaked across the sky. This was a path he had walked many times before. It was all familiar to him: the trees, rocks, even the old boathouse at the end. He knew it all well. Often he had walked along this path to go fishing or swimming, yet tonight he had something else on his mind.
The wooden boards of the boathouse came into view as he came over a ridge in the trail. As a child he had played in its walls with his brother. It would become the fort as they were under attack from an imaginary enemy, or a stop along a spy trail. They had spent so much of their youth there. But tonight the memories of the past faded to reflections in the dirty windows. He and his younger brother had both grown, and those playful times were gone.
He stopped for only a few minutes to look through the dusty windows. He wiped the cobwebs away with his hand. Inside, the family rowboat sat, waiting for someone to come. Against the wall were several old fishing poles and boat oars. Several buckets and shovels were scattered across the floor. His mother had stacked all the life jackets in the corner, all but one that lay on the floor near the door. He moved around to the front and opened the door. The rusted hinges moaned with age and time. He pushed the buckets away and made his way to the pale orange life jacket. He picked it up and held it for a moment. His mind drifted back to those days when his father would say, “Don’t go in the boat without a life jacket!” So many times he had heard these words. He smiled and held the jacket close to his chest.
He walked from the boathouse toward the water’s edge. The tired sun cast long, golden arms upon the water in a final embrace. As he walked, Martin put the old, worn jacket on over his black school sweatshirt. As he reached the weathered dock, he stopped. Again memories crept into his mind. He had spent countless hours at this dock. Here, his father had taught him to dive. This was where he had looked for a sunken treasure chest with his brother. He smiled at the thought of so many summers. He bent down and gathered a handful of stones before strolling onto the dock. A single lamppost at the end greeted him with a dull yellow glow. The feeling of his first summer romance filled his chest. Here below this very lamppost, he had said his good-byes to the “girl of his dreams.” They had parted with a small kiss, and his summer had ended.
He sat on the end of the dock and removed his dusty canvas shoes. He then rolled his khakis up over his calves so that he could let his feet dangle in the water. He sat almost breathless as he marveled at the beauty of the evening. So many colors, so many pictures, all painted by God’s skilled hand. He let his feet down into the cool lake. A shock ran up his leg as he felt the cold mountain water surround his ankles. The sounds of evening seemed to float through the air around him. How peaceful it all was. He looked at his reflection in the water. Where had the messy-haired little boy gone? he wondered. The face of a 20-year-old young man looked back at him. He dropped a stone into the lake. He dropped a few more. He looked up toward the sky to find the sun had now slipped silently behind the mountains. Only the tattered lamppost cast out a few dim rays. He dropped another stone and watched as it sank quickly to the bottom.
Martin had been at the top of his class in high school. Nothing was standing in his way. His future was so bright. Yet something was blocking that light. He also felt as if he had to struggle to keep his head above water. He saw himself as the stones that quickly sank below the surface. He wondered why life was so hard. The words of his father again rang in his ears, “Don’t go in the boat without a life jacket!” That’s what he had wanted to find, a life jacket for life. It didn’t matter if he was with his friends or alone, he just hadn’t been able to keep that little bit above all the waves of life’s problems.
Martin remembered the summer when a girl from school arrived at the lake. Her family had purchased one of the homes nearby. He had seen her around but had never said much to her. At school, he had noticed that something was different about her. He was happy to have someone to talk to. His brother had found other friends, so it was nice to find someone to spend the long summer days with. Many times they would take a boat out on the lake, or go for long walks, or just sit on the dock and toss pebbles into the water. One afternoon, they had walked to a small store in the town and made their way back to the dock. “Sarah, may I ask you a question?” Martin asked.
“Sure,” came the reply.
“You always seem so … happy.” He paused to find the words he wanted. “How is it that you can always be so happy when everything around us is so depressing?”
The answer he received shocked him, yet it was something that would change his life forever.
Summer soon drew to a close and school began. Martin found it easier to stay afloat as he thought of the words of his newfound friend. He set out to learn all he could about this new idea he had been given. He talked with his family, friends, and others he felt could help him. Sarah introduced him to two others who shared with him the knowledge he desired. They gave him a book and asked him to read it. As he did, the answers he had been looking for became clear. His life began to change, and the obstruction to his bright future seemed to move aside. So much just seemed to fall into place. He learned that he had a Heavenly Father and an elder Brother, Jesus Christ, who loved him very much, in addition to his earthly family.
Two years had passed since the afternoon when it all began. Martin now returned to the very spot where it was started by a simple question. But this time he knew the answers. He pulled his feet out of the water and drew his knees up to his chest. He looked again at the man in the water. He laughed as he saw the reflection. There he was sitting with an old life jacket on. He marveled at how much his life had changed. Everything seemed so clear to him. As he looked out over the lake, his heart began to pound with excitement, knowing he too would be able to share his new knowledge with people. Much like the two young missionaries who had taught him so much about the life he should live, he would be able to give the same to someone else.
Martin rolled over onto his stomach. He rested his chin on his folded arms. He thought of the words and ideas that had saved his life—the ancient writings of men who provided the wisdom and counsel for which he had searched. He closed his eyes and offered a simple prayer of thanks. Martin thanked his Heavenly Father for sending his Son to make such a change in his life possible. Tears began to well up in his eyes. He focused again on the image in the water. Two tears broke the surface. It was almost as though he felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder and knew his elder Brother was near. He sat for a moment longer; then he sat up and put his shoes on. He stood and removed the old life jacket. As it fell to the dock he smiled and spoke the familiar phrase, “Don’t go in the boat without a life jacket!”

It was a big assignment, and I had received an A+. My teacher explained that this assignment had the power to change our overall grade in the class. At the time, I had no worries. After all, I had passed with flying colors.
However, when my teacher told us that six students had received zeros on the assignment for plagiarizing, my sense of ease melted away. Not only had I plagiarized, but I had also received a perfect score for it.
At first my guilt was small. But then I read Doctrine and Covenants 1:31 and 3:10, and I felt the pain sink deeper and deeper: “For I the Lord cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance. … But remember, God is merciful; therefore, repent of that which thou hast done which is contrary to the commandment which I gave you.”
It was then that I felt the utmost shame for my sin, but I rejoiced over the fact that I could repent. I promised myself that I would e-mail my teacher the very next day.
But I didn’t. I thought that repentance could wait in my busy life. I put off e-mailing my teacher for three days. Satan worked hard on me for those three days, telling me that my grade was more important. I almost gave in to the temptation, but I prayed to the Lord for courage.
I finally sent the e-mail. My teacher replied and emphasized that honesty is more important than my grade and that I had wonderful parents who taught me what is right. She also said she would change my grade.
As I read the e-mail, I cried. Not for my grade, but because I had earned my teacher’s trust. By being honest, I know that I will also gain the trust of my Heavenly Father.

Years ago I began having a persistent nagging feeling that I needed to put together a family cookbook, including recipes from my extended family. I dismissed the idea. I often thought to myself, “I don’t have time to make a silly cookbook! I have six busy children! Making cookbooks is for the bread-making, cinnamon-rolls-from-scratch type of moms. I don’t have time for that!”
The compelling feeling stayed with me for years until one day I finally decided to consider it seriously. But I wondered who in my family would even want to participate. I was the only member of the Church in my family, my parents had passed away, I had no siblings, and most of my extended family lived far away. However, I decided to listen to the prompting anyway.
I contacted my family, explaining that I was compiling a family cookbook and inviting them to send recipes. Over the next year, I received several recipes. Some relatives even sent family stories and photographs. This prompted me to interview my oldest living relatives and gather our family history, which I decided to include in the book also.
In putting the book together, I realized I did not even know many of the family members who had submitted recipes. For this reason I decided to include a family tree. I asked for everyone’s information, wrote out the family tree, and put it in the manuscript.
As I took one last look at the completed book, I turned to the family tree page and became overwhelmed with the Spirit. Tears ran down my cheeks as I became keenly aware of why I was to put this “silly” cookbook together. It had very little to do with recipes. I had gathered names and dates of generations of my ancestors. All these people could now have their temple work done. Additionally, I had preserved wonderful stories for future generations.
Today I am in contact with several of my cousins on a regular basis and enjoy a wonderful relationship with my extended family. When I look at my cookbook, I often think of the scripture, “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33). I am still amazed when I stop and think of all the joyous and wonderful things that came out of heeding a prompting and putting together a simple cookbook.

For one family home evening, my dad wanted to take advantage of a pause in the rainy weather to go on a walk around the neighborhood. I grumbled and complained that it was too wet and muddy to go walking. I used the excuse that I had a ballet recital that week and didn’t want to sprain an ankle, but my dad didn’t buy it. He insisted that it was going to be the activity for the evening. I murmured a bit more about the unfairness and my recital, but we left on the walk anyway.
As I glumly stomped outside for the walk with my family, I was determined not to smile or be happy. I succeeded in feeling miserable until we reached the end of the street. Then we turned the corner and I saw, in full force, nature’s beauty and wonder. Before me was a gorgeous sunset, and opposite it was a rainbow arching above our neighborhood rooftops. I immediately forgot all about being miserable and looked around in awe.
On the way home I said a prayer of gratitude, thanking God for the beauty of His creations. I later thanked my dad for choosing the activity and for allowing us to enjoy nature for that family home evening.

“The Lord could not have put it more clearly when he said, ‘Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?’” (Luke 6:46).
Brother Murray’s talk suddenly pushed through my thoughts of the Civil War and tomorrow’s geometry test.
“For decades He has been telling us to prepare our families for self-sufficiency by putting aside a year’s supply of necessities. We have been counseled to produce as much of our own food as possible. But how many of us are really prepared for any emergency the future might bring?”
Thinking of my frequent errands to the supermarket for mom, I looked along the bench. Mom and dad’s faces were serious. Fourteen-year-old Greg looked deep in thought. Even 11-year-old Corey and Carrie were listening. We all probably had the same thoughts. With six of us in the family, it seemed that food started disappearing as soon as a grocery bag entered the house. Live off our storage for a year? We didn’t even have a month’s supply of most things!
But what could I do—16-year-old Joyce Brown? No part-time job was allowed because my parents didn’t want me distracted from schoolwork and Church activities. My allowance of $5 a week covered lunches, school supplies, and assorted small miscellaneous expenses. And, with the junior prom a month away, I’d been saving all my baby-sitting money for a new dress. I couldn’t think of a single contribution I could make to a storage program for the Brown family.
“Church leaders haven’t prescribed a storage system that fits everyone,” Brother Murray went on. “Each of you, each family using free agency has to prepare in its own way. The important thing is to start! Don’t put it off any longer. If you wait until you can buy a year’s supply all at once, you may still be waiting when the chance for preparation has slipped away.”
Brother Murray’s words bounced around in my head. “The important thing is to start!” “Prepare in your own way.” “Start!”
Opening my hymnbook for the closing song, I vowed that this message would not be hidden away in my mind to be dealt with on a distant, vague someday.
At dinner I mentioned Brother Murray’s talk.
“It was a good reminder,” dad said. “We should start putting something aside for the future.”
“When?” I asked.
“Soon,” he said and finished spooning gravy onto his mashed potatoes. “I think Mr. Blanchard is going to come through with that raise within a couple of months. Then we’ll really have some funds to work with. Please pass the salt, Greg.”
“Brother Murray said we shouldn’t wait until we could start in a big way. We should just make sure we start.”
Mom passed the green beans to me. “It takes extra money to buy extra food, Joyce. Of course, being prepared is important, but—”
She didn’t finish because Corey spilled his water while reaching for a slice of bread.
I just couldn’t push family preparedness from my mind. “The important thing is to start! Start!” But how?
Tuesday after school, mom asked me to go to the store for her. “We’re having spaghetti tonight. I need a can of tomato sauce.”
It’s amazing, but the twins can hear the car keys jingle all the way upstairs in their bedrooms.
“Where are you going, Joyce?” Corey asked, bursting into the kitchen.
Carrie was right behind him. “We want to go,” she said when I disclosed my destination.
“I’m starving,” Corey moaned. “Can I buy a fruit pie to tide me over till supper?”
“Me, too?”
Mom smiled. “It’s quite a while till soup’s on. Go ahead. You can have something, too, Joyce.” When we got home, I handed the bag to mom.
“Joyce, I only need one can of tomato sauce.
You’ve got three in here!”
I smiled at the twins.
“It’s for storage,” Carrie explained.
“Joyce convinced us to give up fruit pies for extra tomato sauce.” Corey was looking in the refrigerator. “We’ll have a jam sandwich instead.”
With a puzzled look, mom put the extra cans on the shelf.
Friday was payday. That meant allowances for everyone. As dad handed me my $5 bill, mom said, “You just might have enough for your prom dress now.”
Dad grinned. “My princess is growing up.”
“Oh, dad!” I smiled.
That evening I spent some time going over my clothes. When I finally pulled out my best go-to-school-dances dress, it didn’t look as bad as I’d thought. In fact, Saturday, when Mom took me shopping for a prom dress, I just couldn’t find anything to top the dress that was already hanging in my closet.
After a stop at the market, we went home.
Dad was in the kitchen. “All right,” he smiled. “Let’s see that dreamy prom dress you picked out.”
I laughed because dreamy is dad’s idea of teenage language. He uses it when he wants to show he’s not old-fashioned. I carefully tipped my grocery sack over and let the contents slide onto the table: 3 large bags of pinto beans, 2 bags of rice, and a box of powdered milk!
Dad just stared for a few seconds. “A very interesting prom dress,” he finally said.
“I decided I’d rather add to our storage instead of buying a new dress,” I explained. “My old one is dreamy enough!”
Dad glanced at mom, but she just gave him her don’t-ask-me shrug. She said, “Find a place for all that stuff.”
I finally fit my storage contribution into the bottom of a corner cupboard. At least it would be undisturbed, unless someone wanted to risk a sprained back getting it out again.
Thursday, after I had maneuvered an extra jar of peanut butter into the storage corner, I unkinked my back, had a brilliant idea, and went to find Greg. He was practicing foul shots on our old basketball hoop in front of the garage.
“Greg, I have this idea. Will you help me?”
He bounced the ball a couple of times. “Sorry, Joyce, I’m busy.”
“Not now, I mean tomorrow afternoon.”
“I have a million things to do,” he said, making a basket.
“Nice shot,” I beamed, deciding not to beg. “I can understand your obligations. Just tell me where I can find the hammer and nails.”
“Hammer?”
“And some nails,” I said with a smile.
“You’re going to hammer?” He looked very surprised when I nodded. “Just what are you making?”
“That’s what I was going to get your help with,” I said, starting toward the house. “I know you’ve been doing some carpentry in Careers Ed. I was going to put some of that skill to work.”
“Since you put it that way, I’ll do it, Joyce,” Greg said, following me. “I can make time. I mean, if you really need a carpenter, how can I turn you down?”
After dinner I found dad reading the paper in his favorite chair.
“Dad?”
“Hmmmmm?”
“Greg and I are going to use some of that lumber stacked behind the garage. Okay?”
He didn’t look up. “Sure, honey,” he said without even asking why.
I have to admit, Greg’s carpentry skills surprised me. He had shelves built in half of my closet before dad got home from work on Friday. I was so proud of Greg’s work that I dragged both mom and dad in to show off our storage shelves. The beans, rice, dried milk, peanut butter, and two cans of tomato sauce looked a little lonely, but it would get more crowded as time went on. At least I wouldn’t have to strain and stretch to get things under the kitchen cupboard.
Mom and dad smiled at each other.
“What a perfect arrangement,” dad teased. “If Joyce is going to buy food instead of clothes, it’s only logical to reserve half of her closet for food.”
The next week mom bought a few extra sale items each time she went to the store. Greg gave up a record album and a new sweatband so he could add three cans of honey to the shelves. Even the twins added a jar of jam apiece by giving up ice cream cones.
After a few more weeks, the little bit that appeared on our storage shelves started to really look like something. It was still a little something, but something just the same.
By then, warm spring days were here, and I knew there was one more thing that Joyce Brown could do to help with the family preparedness. One Monday right after school, I got the trusty shovel from the garage and began turning over the far corner of our backyard. Years ago that area was set aside as a garden spot, but something always came up to prevent us from using it.
Greg came out to play basketball, stopped, then sauntered down to me.
“Looking for gold?” he grinned.
“Better than gold,” I puffed. “I’m going to plant a garden.”
“A garden? you’ve got to be kidding!”
“Nope.”
“What do you know about gardening, Farmer John, or should I say Farmer Joyce?” He was smiling, but at least he didn’t laugh.
“Not much,” I admitted, “but I can read, and the library is full of books about raising vegetables.”
He took the shovel from me. “We just might make it … if we team up! Farmer Joyce and Gardener Greg!”
We had a pretty good-sized section turned over when dad drove in. He sat in the car watching us for a long time. Finally he walked over.
“Don’t tell me,” he sighed. “A garden, right?”
We both grinned and nodded.
“Just what the storage program needs!” Greg panted and jumped on the shovel again.
Dad went in while we worked awhile longer.
After supper, dad announced, “Special lesson for family home evening, or maybe I should say, emergency meeting!”
Emergency meeting? It was all very mysterious, so we got settled in the living room very quickly.
“First of all,” dad started, “your mother and I appreciate the special effort all of you have been giving to a storage program. Joyce and the twins showed real initiative in getting it started.”
The twins beamed at each other.
“Then Greg used his talents to help the project along. Now, if you kids could use some more partners, your mother and I would like to join in.”
Everyone agreed unanimously.
“It looks like the next step is a garden. Joyce and Greg have already started turning the ground in the corner of the yard. I say, let’s all help them and make this an organized Brown family project! Now, I really don’t know too much about gardening—”
Corey interrupted, “Carrie and I can stop by the library after school tomorrow. I’m sure they have tons of books on gardens.”
“That’s a good idea,” mom said. “I’ll find that book on food preservation that Aunt Norma gave us a few years ago so we’ll know what to do when all those lovely vegetables start rolling in.”
For the next few minutes everyone juggled for a time to share their ideas about this family food project. Then dad looked at mom, and she smiled some encouragement.
“You all know how we enjoy a pretty nice family vacation each summer,” he said. “We’ve made some special memories while traveling around visiting new places.”
We all nodded.
“Well … your mother and I thought … that maybe the family would like to think about taking some of the vacation money we’ve saved to really get the Brown family preparedness program heading in the right direction.” Dad looked at us uncomfortably. “You know, plan what we’ll need for a year’s supply, keep track of inventory, build a real storage area—things like that.”
All of us just looked at dad.
“We could take one-day-trips and really explore the area close to home.”
The room was quiet.
Finally I said, “We’re quiet not because we don’t want to give up our vacation but because we think it’s a great idea!”
Greg grinned. “In fact, it’s weird, because Joyce and I talked about the same plan while we were working outside, and then we talked to the twins before dinner.”
“We were worried about what you two would say,” Corey added with a smile.
“We know how much you enjoy those vacations,” Carrie said.
Mom and dad looked at each other and then at the four of us. I think there were tears in their eyes.
Dad smiled. “Even with that money, we will still be working at this preparation business slowly, a little at a time. We won’t be able to get ready all at once, but the important thing is to start!”

Roger Stanton is enthusiastic about the JustServe programme. What started as a volunteer position in his Sheffield congregation of the Church has turned into a full-time mission.
In January 2020, Roger and his wife, Sue, eagerly accepted the assignment to promote JustServe throughout England. JustServe is a website that links volunteers with needs in the community. The Stantons’ responsibility is to contact national charities, discover their needs for volunteers, and enter information on the JustServe website.
As Roger studied the guidelines from the Church, he noted that full-time volunteers should spend eight to ten hours a week helping in the community. He began to feel that example might be the best way to invite others to serve more. The more charities he added to JustServe, and the more he tried to recruit volunteers, the more he felt he should follow that advice and set a proper example.
Roger signed on to the website and, being a heart-attack survivor, chose to volunteer with the British Heart Foundation. He was contacted by the shop manager and started training the following week.
COVID-19 precautions were in place throughout the store, and Roger was assigned to greet customers as they entered. In his friendly welcome, he encouraged them to follow the safety guidelines. Being a very social person who loves to meet others; he laughs that his assignment was “to chat with people!”
Roger sports a waistcoat of colourful frogs with a matching face mask designed by Sue. “It brings a smile on people’s faces,” he quips. And it brings a smile to his face as he shares thoughts on chatting to wonderful people.
As we emerge from lockdown, Roger looks forward once again to welcoming customers into the shop. He encourages all who wish to serve in the community to, “Download the JustServe app. Select a charity and press the volunteer button. Spend a few hours in a worthwhile cause. It’s where the fun starts.”

African Latter-day Saints are special people who openly show their love for the Savior. There is a unique spiritual nature about the African Saints. They love Christ. They love the scriptures. They love the prophet. They are obedient. They are eager to learn. They need only be taught to understand. They have been prepared for these last days in the Lord’s vineyard. I can remember going to a district conference in West Africa when it was extremely hot—110° F (43° C) and very humid. Everybody was suffering from the heat. Afterward the children came up to me with big smiles, offering me bananas, plantains (a type of banana), yams, and many other fruits of the season just because they love people. It touched my heart.

Another evidence of faith took place when I first visited the St. Thomas Branch of the mission, situated about 120 miles from Toronto. My wife and I had been invited to attend the branch sacrament meeting and to speak to the members there. As we drove along a fashionable street, we saw many church buildings and wondered which one was ours. None was. We located the address which had been provided and discovered it to be a decrepit lodge hall. Our branch met in the basement of the lodge hall and was composed of perhaps twenty-five members, twelve of whom were in attendance. The same individuals conducted the meeting, blessed and passed the sacrament, offered the prayers, and sang the songs.

At the conclusion of the services, the branch president, Irving Wilson, asked if he could meet with me. At this meeting, he handed to me a copy of the Improvement Era, forerunner of today’s Ensign. Pointing to a picture of one of our new chapels in Australia, President Wilson declared, “This is the building we need here in St. Thomas.”

I smiled and responded, “When we have enough members here to justify and to pay for such a building, I am sure we will have one.” At that time, the local members were required to raise 30 percent of the cost of the site and the building, in addition to the payment of tithing and other offerings.

He countered, “Our children are growing to maturity. We need that building, and we need it now!”

I provided encouragement for them to grow in numbers by their personal efforts to fellowship and teach. The outcome is a classic example of faith, coupled with effort and crowned with testimony.

President Wilson requested six additional missionaries to be assigned to St. Thomas. When this was accomplished, he called the missionaries to a meeting in the back room of his small jewelry store, where they knelt in prayer. He then asked one elder to hand to him the yellow-page telephone directory, which was on a nearby table. President Wilson took the book in hand and observed, “If we are ever to have our dream building in St. Thomas, we will need a Latter-day Saint to design it. Since we do not have a member who is an architect, we will simply have to convert one.” With his finger moving down the column of listed architects, he paused at one name and said, “This is the one we will invite to my home to hear the message of the Restoration.”

President Wilson followed the same procedure with regard to plumbers, electricians, and craftsmen of every description. Nor did he neglect other professions, feeling a desire for a well-balanced branch. The individuals were invited to his home to meet the missionaries, the truth was taught, testimonies were borne and conversion resulted. Those newly baptized then repeated the procedure themselves, inviting others to listen, week after week and month after month.

The St. Thomas Branch experienced marvelous growth. Within two and one-half years, a site was obtained, a beautiful building was constructed, and an inspired dream became a living reality. That branch is now a thriving ward in a stake of Zion.

When I reflect on the town of St. Thomas, I dwell not on the ward’s hundreds of members and many dozens of families; rather, in memory I return to that sparse sacrament meeting in the lodge-hall basement and the Lord’s promise, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matt. 18:20).

“Callie, wake up!” Mama called.
Callie opened her eyes a little and looked out the window by her bed. She could barely see the outline of the windmill against the morning sky.
A smile lighted Callie’s face. “It’s quilting day!” Callie cried. She hopped out of bed and dressed quickly.
Callie always liked quilting day. Ladies from miles around came to her home. Callie’s friend, Mary Porter, would come with her mother too. Living on the Texas plains prevented Callie from seeing her friends very often after school let out for the summer. And today would be the most special quilting day of all!
Callie rushed to the kitchen. Mama and Papa and her brothers, Joseph and Tom, were already at the table, eating steaming bowls of mush.
“You’re looking mighty cheerful today, Callie,” said Papa.
“It’s quilting day. They’re going to do my quilt today!” exclaimed Callie.
Papa put down his spoon. “I plumb forgot! Was I supposed to put up the quilting frame in the front room, Eliza?” he said to Callie’s mother.
Callie’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. “You didn’t put up the frame?”
Mama smiled. “Now, Henry, don’t tease the child.”
Papa laughed, and so did Joseph and Tom.
“Don’t worry, Callie. The quilting frame is up and ready to go,” said Papa with a big grin.
Callie relaxed. Papa was always teasing.
After breakfast Papa and the boys went to work in the fields, and Callie helped her mother in the kitchen. When she was through, Callie went into the front room. Her Flower Garden quilt was stretched tightly on the frame, waiting to be quilted. Months ago Callie had helped Mama pick the many colored pieces from her scrap bag to go onto the pale yellow background. Mama had brought her scrap bag all the way from Missouri before Callie was born.
Callie ran her hands lightly over the beautiful flowers Mama had carefully pieced together. The Texas plains were too drab. Except for the blue sky, all Callie could see outside were continuous tans and browns. A colorful quilt would brighten the days.
Soon the ladies began arriving in their horse-drawn wagons. Mrs. Porter and Mary were the last to arrive. At first Callie felt shy. It had been so long since she had seen Mary that it was almost like meeting a stranger. Then Mary smiled, and it was as though they had seen each other only yesterday.
Mary had brought her beautiful china doll, Josephine, and a little basket full of doll clothes. “Mama made new clothes for Josephine,” she said.
The girls went outside and sat in the shade of the house. Callie marveled at the array of Josephine’s beautiful clothes. Callie brought out her own doll, love-worn old Sally, and the girls played dolls all morning. By afternoon it was warm even in the shade.
“Let’s go into the dugout,” said Callie. “It’s cool there.”
“Ugh! I hate dugouts. You’ve never had to live in one.”
“Yes, I have,” Callie told her. “In fact, I was born in this one.” She raised the wooden door to the underground room.
“We lived here until our house was built.”
“We lived in one, too,” said Mary. “And I remember how dull and dreary it was.”
“My mama felt that way, too,” Callie said. “But the most important thing at that time was to get the well dug and the windmill built. Everyone around here had to live in dugouts for a while.”
“Well, I’d rather stay up here and be hot than go down there and be cool,” said Mary.
Callie smiled. “OK. Let’s go inside. I want to see my quilt.”
In the front room the ladies were laughing and talking as their nimble fingers stitched the quilt layers together.
Callie and Mary went back outside and played until the ladies began to leave. Mrs. Porter and Mary climbed into their wagon. “You come and see us real soon!” called Mrs. Porter.
Callie and her mother went back inside. Mama laid the finished quilt in Callie’s arms.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” Callie cried, hugging the quilt close to her. She raced to her room and spread the Flower Garden quilt on her bed. The plain room instantly became bright and cheery. That night Callie slept soundly under the new quilt.
The next day things were back to normal around the ranch. That afternoon while Mama and Callie were working in the garden, they heard hooves. Callie stood up and shaded her eyes against the sun. “It’s Mr. Walker.”
Mr. Walker rode up to them. He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Mrs. Logan. I’m riding around to tell everyone that the Porters’ house caught on fire last night. The family got out all right, but the house burned to the ground. They lost everything. We’ll be taking up a collection at the schoolhouse.”
“Mercy!” cried Mama. “I’ll gather up some things for them. You’re sure everyone is all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. But they’ll be back in their dugout for a while until they can raise another house.”
After Mr. Walker left, Mama gathered things to send to the Porters. “Your papa can take these to the schoolhouse tomorrow,” she said.
All Callie could think of was Mary and Josephine and Josephine’s new clothes. Oh, Mary had been so proud of those clothes, and she’d loved Josephine so much!
Callie had a hard time eating dinner that night. When she went to bed, she lay under her quilt and looked out the window at the stars and the windmill. The sound of the windmill usually soothed her to sleep, but it didn’t tonight. She thought about Mary living in the hated dugout where there were no stars and no windmills to see.
The next morning Callie woke up very early. She got out of bed, folded the precious flowered quilt, and took it into the kitchen. Papa was carrying things out to the wagon. Callie handed him the quilt. “This is for Mary.”
Papa put his big hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell her,” he said softly.
Callie stood in the doorway and watched him drive away. Her stomach felt funny, and she had a lump in her throat. But she felt good too.
Mama put her arms around Callie’s shoulders. “Callie, I have a new quilt pattern called Texas Windmill. It’s the prettiest, swirliest, most colorful quilt I ever saw. How would you like to help me pick out the colors, and I’ll get started on it right away. I think it would look real pretty on your bed.”
Callie smiled. “I’d like that.”

The youth of the Portland Sixth Ward, Portland Oregon East Stake, came up with an activity that tied up both young men and young women. They decided to benefit two separate centers for homeless children and victims of AIDS by tying, then donating, quilts.
In two hours, 20 youth produced five tie quilts, each one extremely unique. Everyone ended up developing new skills, growing closer, and experiencing the joy of service, all at the same time.

I stood at the top of the hill and waited eagerly for the service to begin. It seemed my entire hometown was here, gathered on a few acres of land that would soon be home to a temple of the Lord.
After a few men spoke to the crowd, I watched them and others near the front use shovels to turn over some dirt. It seemed like such a simple thing. But as I watched the groundbreaking for the Rexburg Idaho Temple, I realized they were doing more than moving dirt around. The hardened ground needed to be softened before there could be room for the temple, and I knew I could learn from that.
I was a good kid, but I realized that if there had been a temple on that spot at that moment, I wouldn’t be ready to go inside. I evaluated my life, relationships, and habits and found myself lacking. As members of the community continued to turn over dirt, I resolved to break new ground in my life. I was 17, just a few classes away from high school graduation and the technical “adulthood” that came with it. A small swelling of urgency started in my stomach and spread.
In the weeks following the groundbreaking, I made some changes. I had friends who didn’t help me to be my best, so I decided to stop spending time with them. I didn’t like breaking those ties, but I knew it was necessary. That same week, the temple’s solid foundation appeared on the recently broken ground.
Over time, I made new friends. I kept busy with school activities. I read my scriptures more. I was making progress. And the temple construction was progressing, too. As I drove past the temple before going to a basketball game with my new friends, I noticed part of its framework had appeared.
But making changes wasn’t always easy. Some days I didn’t want to read my scriptures. But when I got discouraged, I looked at the temple going up piece by piece. Every day it got a little closer to perfection. And with hard work, so did I.
Months went by, and I started college at BYU–Idaho. I felt more grown-up, more prepared to go to the temple, which was progressing in its construction. During my first week of class, the figure of the angel Moroni was placed atop its spire. With that piece in place, it was impossible to tell from the outside whether the interior of the temple was prepared for the ordinances that would be performed there.
That, too, reminded me of myself. I was 18. I was happy and pursuing my college education. But even though I was worthy of a temple recommend, I knew there were more preparations to make before I was ready to receive all the blessings of the temple.
I no longer had friends I needed to stop spending time with. I didn’t need to break any particularly bad habits. But I did need to learn more about my Savior, and while the interior of the temple was being completed, I was also changing inside. I took religion classes and served in my Church callings. I reached out to others. And through the experiences of young adulthood, I became more committed to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
On February 10, 2008, I returned as a college sophomore to the same hill I had visited as a high school senior. Many of the same people were there, but I didn’t feel like the same person. As I sat beside my parents in the newly completed Rexburg Idaho Temple, I reflected on how far I’d come in the years since the groundbreaking. I sang the hymn “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2), and I knew that unimaginable blessings still awaited me in that holy house.
The temple was ready and dedicated to the Lord. And so was I.

From Idaho comes the story of Jonathan, who went to school in the cold weather wearing his warm hat. When he got to school, he noticed that another boy’s ears were frostbitten because he had had to wait so long in the cold for the school bus to pick him up. On his own, Jonathan went to the telephone, called his mother, and asked if it would be all right to give the younger boy his hat because he needed it more. When we bear one another’s burdens, as Jonathan and Christina did, we are fulfilling the covenant we made at baptism.