Gospel Story Finder

From the first time she came to church, 16-year-old Moema Duberley loved it. “The girls were very receptive and tried to help me get to know everybody,” she says. “It made me feel like the Church was my second home.”
But it became difficult for Moema to come to church when her mother became inactive a few months after their baptism. Partly because of her calling, but mostly because of their friendship, Katarina began calling Moema.
“Sometimes I felt like I was bothering Moema,” says Katarina, “but I kept trying because I felt it was important, and I knew God was going to help because I was also praying.”
After months of Katarina’s and other girls’ fellowshipping, Moema returned to full activity. “I came back because I was missing everything I had been learning at church, and my relationship with God and the people.”
Now Moema and Katarina share a special bond. “I’m really grateful because I needed a friend when I was inactive,” says Moema. “I’m very thankful for Katarina being like this for me. When you spend time away from the Church, you begin to feel that maybe you won’t be well accepted. But when people call, it feels good to know you’re not forgotten.”
As for Katarina, “I feel really happy and thankful that she came back. And it worked! I prayed and it worked.”

That strength is given to those who are older as well as the young. I know a widow more than 90 years of age. She is in a wheelchair. She prays as you do, pleading for help to solve problems beyond her human power to resolve. The answer is a feeling in her heart. It draws her to keep a commandment: “And behold, ye shall meet together oft.” So she finds a way to get to her meetings. People who attend there have told me, “We are so glad to see her. She brings such a spirit with her.”
She partakes of the sacrament, and she renews a covenant. She remembers the Savior, and she tries to keep His commandments. And so she takes His Spirit with her, always. Her problems may not be resolved. Most of them come from the choices of others, and even the Heavenly Father who hears her prayers and loves her cannot force others to choose the right. But He can send her to the safety of the Savior and the promise of His Spirit to be with her. And so I am sure that she will, in the strength of the Lord, pass the test she faces, because she keeps the commandment to gather often with the Saints. That is both the evidence that she is enduring well and the source of her strength for what lies ahead.

By December 1993, having a joint institute class for young single adults, single adults and married couples was very common in the early days of establishing the Church in Lagos. These classes were hosted by the Ikeja and Oshodi branches in the Lagos District and were held in our rented building.
We were about to close a class one evening when we received information that a visiting sister needed to address the class. The visitor was Patience Ojukwu. She told the class about her poultry farm at Idimu Egbeda and many opportunities for members. She was a recent convert who joined the Church in March 1993 and immediately started assisting the full-time missionaries in our branches and district, some of whom I worked with were Elders Idiong, Akpan, Arungwa, and Ikpegbu Christopher. Brother Cletus Ashidike, who served as the Oshodi branch president, was very supportive to the cause of Zion with his personal resources and time.
We always sought for opportunitis to serve, and I never waited to be commanded. Some of our early converts and those whom I taught as a youth Sunday School teacher are now serving as bishops, stake presidents, and some of those whom we interviewed for such leadership roles are now Area Seventies, mission presidents, or temple ordinance workers. Some missionaries whom we worked with over the years are scattered all over Africa, the Middle East and the Pacific.
Between December 23 and 24 1993, our Oshodi Branch missionaries asked me to go to Sister Patience Ojukwu’s farm to buy old layer chickens for Christmas dinner. When I returned with one, the other companion asked me to get another for them. Arriving at the farm on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Sister Ojukwu informed me that she had lost more than two hundred old layer chicken which had been stolen the previous night. I was only a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, but I was the only priesthood holder on the farm that very day. I asked that we all join hands together and pray to God to reveal to us what action to take. I got the answers immediately and asked Sister Ojukwu to inform the police. When the detectives arrived, the farm security guard was arrested and confessed that the farm supervisor transferred and sold the birds to a small neighboring farmer.
Over 90 percent of the birds were recovered. The activities at the farm that day lasted until nightfall. Sister Ojukwu pleaded that I spend the night with her family. Very early on Christmas morning, I returned to the missionary apartment at Oshodi with crates of eggs as a gift from Sister Ojukwu.
The Ojukwu family was very excited for this huge recovery. They invited me to live with them and to be their farm manager. I accepted this as a volunteer position. This decision was very important to me as I was desirous to refer contacts and visitors to the missionaries to be taught.
Sister Ojukwu served as the Lagos District Relief Society president. While living with them and managing the farm, in 1994 I was ordained to the office of an elder. The farm became a point of contact for missionaries and Church youth community projects, and this led to many baptisms and later the creation of the Egbeda Branch. A major achievement was the baptism of Sister Ojukwu’s husband, Augustine Ojukwu. The Ojukwu family relocated to England and have remained active in the Church. It was a wonderful reunion for me to meet Sister Ojukwu at the Aba Nigeria Temple during its dedication and my sealing in August 2005.
Egbeda Branch has grown into a stake of Zion and is ready for another split as a result of massive growth. One of our early converts in that area, Brother Sunday Adejuwon, later served a full-time mission, was called as bishop, and currently serves as the stake president of the Lagos Nigeria Egbeda Stake. The turning point in my life was when I discovered for myself that heaven is never closed, God hears and answers prayers, directs our footsteps and the building of Zion is our collective responsibility for those who have taken His name upon themselves.
The rapid growth of the Church in Egbeda area was a monumental milestone as it was hitherto an obscure area largely away from the center of strength, it is indeed a mark of one of the miracles of Church growth in Africa and the gathering of Israel becomes a reality when those who are strong take the weak. I envisage a very bright future as many stakes of Zion grow here.
This area of Lagos was and will always be very dear to my heart, for it was here that I laid the foundation of my spiritual growth, of receiving personal revelations, recording in my journal and keeping accurate record of the unfolding history of the church in this part of the Lord’s kingdom.

“But Father, everyone in Kirtland will have given something to help in building the temple except us!” Josie had thought these words many times, but she hadn’t actually said them aloud before.
“Except us! Josie, we’re helping. Both of us. Someone has to raise the crops, and that’s my job. Brother Joseph tells me over and over that it is just as important for me to cut grain as it is to cut rocks for the temple. And every tenth day I work on the temple. You’re helping too. I couldn’t work in the fields so long if you didn’t take care of the house for us.”
Josie turned her cheek for her father’s kiss, and after he had gone, she regretted her words. She hadn’t meant to complain. She knew how late her father stayed in the field to help raise food for those who were spending more and longer hours to finish the temple.
But as she did the breakfast dishes and cleaned the little house, the thought persisted. She did so want to feel that she had given something.
Both Sara and Mary had told her how they were saving all their extra egg money and giving it to the temple fund. I could do that, too, Josie thought, if we had any chickens. What eggs we use, we have to buy from Sister Parker, next door.
Eggs! She did have four to last for the week. Perhaps she could spare two for a cake. A cake was something the temple workers could use! The thought gave wings to her hands and feet as she hurried through her work. Soon she had the beds made, the wooden floor scrubbed, and the braided rugs shook and put back in place. She left her favorite task—shining the china pitcher—for last.
The pitcher was made of pure white china, and a picture of Fairway, their old home in England, was painted on it. Josie could scarcely remember the lovely old house, but she liked to pretend that she could. The pitcher had been her mother’s greatest treasure. Josie remembered how her mother had guarded it carefully all the way from New York to Ohio so that it wouldn’t get broken. Now it was Josie’s most prized possession.
At times her father teased her about the care she gave the pitcher. “I’m afraid that you’re going to wipe the picture right off,” he said, “with all that cleaning.”
“I must take care of it,” she told him. “Mother loved the pitcher, and I love it too.”
“But not too much, Josie,” her father had answered. “Sometimes we’re called upon to part with things, and it’s easier if we don’t get too attached to them.”
Josie looked at her father thoughtfully. “It’s about the only thing that is really mine,” she said, “except my clothes. I do wish I had something I could give to the temple builders. But they surely couldn’t use my clothes, and I don’t know how the pitcher would help, even if I did give it to them.”
Deep in her thoughts, Josie was never sure just how it happened, but suddenly the stool on which she stood to reach the pitcher from its place high on the shelf tipped crazily. As Josie grabbed for the wall to steady herself, she heard a crash. The pitcher lay before her on the cabin floor.
She stared through sudden tears at the broken pieces. Clambering down, she tried to fit the broken bits together, but they would not stay.
The side with the picture was quite whole. Josie gathered the other pieces, dropped them inside, and placed the pitcher carefully back upon the shelf, the broken part facing the wall. Occasionally wiping her tears away, she began fixing the fire so that the oven would be just right to bake her cake.
Afterward, Josie wasn’t sure whether Sister Parker had just happened to drop in, or whether she had smelled the cake baking. Her neighbor looked at it, golden brown, cooling on the table.
“Josie,” she said, “I don’t know whether you heard that a new family arrived last night. They have no food at all.” Sister Parker looked again at the cake. “I thought that perhaps you had something to add to what the rest of us are sending over to them.”
Josie, too, looked at the cake. Maybe in a week or two she could again spare eggs, sugar, and flour for another one for the temple workers. She looked up at Sister Parker and smiled. “Of course,” she said. “It’s lucky I made it. Take it with you. I know the children will enjoy it.”
With a longing still in her heart, Josie watched the cake go out the door with Sister Parker. The cake and the pitcher, both gone in such a short time! She glanced up at the shelf. The pitcher appeared to be whole—if you didn’t look too closely. Perhaps Father wouldn’t notice. She needed time to get up the courage to tell him.
On Sunday in meeting, when Brother Miner announced that “the workmen are in need of clothes—coats, shirts, socks, whatever you might be able to give,” she felt that she had at last found the answer to her temple gift. Socks! Why, of course! I can knit socks!
Starting the very next morning she began spending every spare moment with her knitting needles. When she had one pair of socks finished, she spread them out on the table, measuring them against each other, making sure that they were the same size.
She looked up as her father entered. He came at once to her side and picked up the socks. “New socks! Josie, these are just what I need! I’ve worn a hole in the heel of one I am wearing, and the other is getting pretty thin. I can wear these while you wash and darn the ones I have on.”
Josie just nodded. Her father was so pleased with the socks, she just couldn’t tell him that she had intended to take them to the temple site and present them to the man in charge. She had even planned what she would say: “I made them, and they are my gift to the temple. You know who needs them better than I do.”
She tried not to be disappointed. Hadn’t the prophet said that her father’s work was just as important as anyone’s?
But she did want to take a gift right down to the temple site, where the workmen were beginning work on the roof. The building would soon be completed, and she would never be able to say to the neighbors, to her own children, to herself, to anyone, “I gave this,” or “I gave that to the temple!”
After lunch, her father did not hurry off at once. He pushed back his plate and looked at his daughter. “Josie, I want to talk to you about something.”
Josie’s heart jumped. Had he noticed the pitcher, after all? Ashamed that she still had lacked the courage to tell him, Josie answered quietly, “Yes, Father?”
“As you know, this is my day to work at the temple. We’ve started to put the finishing coat on the outside walls. It’s a new sort of plaster, with bits of china mixed in it. The part we finished this morning glistens in the sunlight as though it were set with jewels. I know we haven’t many dishes, but could we spare something?”
Her eyes followed his to the pitcher on the shelf.
“We never use it, Josie. Could we spare the pitcher?”
Josie arose and placed the stool under the shelf. Reaching the pitcher, she brought it to the table and set it before him. “I broke it, Father,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve been wondering how to tell you. I didn’t mean to, but it slipped, and it’s all in pieces.”
“Don’t cry, honey.” He drew her close. “You have just saved the men part of the job of crushing it. You know, your mother would want it there on the temple walls, sparkling in the sun. And every time you look at them, you will see a happy reminder of her, our old home, and your own testimony of the importance of the temple.”

Third, an opportunity for development. My children taught me a great lesson one day. We had moved from California to New York where I had accepted an employment opportunity and we were in the process of finding a new home. We started close to the city, but each day that passed we would move further out to find a home more suited to our needs. In Connecticut we found just the one. It was a beautiful home nestled in New England’s radiant forests. We were all pleased with the selection. The final test before making an offer for purchase was to ride the train into New York to check out the commuting time. I made the trip and returned very discouraged. The trip required an hour and a half each way. I returned to the motel where my family was waiting for me and gave them the choice of having a father or this new home. Much to my surprise, they said, “We will take the home. You are not around much anyway.”
The shock of that statement was overwhelming to me. If that statement was true, I needed to repent fast. My children deserved a father. Is it not our obligation as fathers to spend as much time as possible with our children, to teach them honesty, industry, and morality?

Later, I attended Duke University in North Carolina, where I participated in a graduate seminar studying a collection of Jewish and Christian writings dating from the time of Jesus, known as the Pseudepigrapha. During the course of the seminar, I had mentioned the Book of Mormon from time to time, but my comments were not taken seriously by others around the table. Toward the end of the semester, the distinguished professor, who has an impressive reputation in his area of research, asked the seminar to tackle one particularly puzzling writing, the little-known “Narrative of Zosimus.” It tells of a righteous family that God had led away from Jerusalem prior to its destruction by the Babylonians around 600 B.C. and how this group escaped to a land of blessedness where they kept records on metal plates soft enough that they could inscribe them with their fingernails. In the story, Zosimus was allowed to visit these people in vision. In order to get to their land, Zosimus had to journey through wildernesses, pass through impenetrable mists of darkness, cross the ocean, and come from a tree that bore pure fruit and gave forth water sweet as honey. (See the same elements in 1 Ne. 8:10–12 and 1 Ne. 11:25.)
After discussing some of the technical aspects of this Near Eastern document, the professor put it to the class, “Well, what do we make of the Narrative of Zosimus? Is it Jewish or Christian?” The seminar had little to say, and the members of the class were about to conclude that the writing could not be classified, since the Narrative was so unlike anything else they had ever seen. By then I could wait no longer. I told the seminar the history of Lehi and his family and more about the Book of Mormon. When I had spoken, the group had even less to say. Then the teacher said, “Class, let me tell you a few more things about this Book of Mormon.” He then described the Book of Mormon’s use of chiasmus, of Melchizedek in Alma 13, and other things that the two of us had discussed privately, and then he asked, “Well, class what do we make of the Book of Mormon?” Although some of the members of the seminar ultimately concluded that the most convenient solution to their problem might be found in identifying Joseph Smith as a reincarnated Jewish scribe, it was significant to me that the student who had been most sarcastic toward the Book of Mormon earlier was now the one who asked if he could learn more.

Today we have modern Ruths and Josephs all over the world. When Brother Jimmy Olvera from Guayaquil, Ecuador, received his mission call, his family was struggling greatly. The day he was leaving, he was told that if he walked out the door, he would lose his family. With a broken heart he walked out that door. While he was on his mission, his mother asked him to stay longer in the field because they were receiving so many blessings. Today Brother Olvera serves as a stake patriarch.

Years ago I presided over a mission headquartered in the Midwest. One day, with a handful of our missionaries, I spoke with an esteemed representative of another Christian faith. This gentle soul spoke of his own religion’s history and doctrine, eventually repeating the familiar words: “By grace ye are saved. Every man and woman must exercise faith in Christ in order to become a saved being.”
Among those present was a new missionary. He was altogether unfamiliar with other religions. He had to ask the question, “But, sir, what happens to the little baby who dies before he is old enough to understand and exercise faith in Christ?” The learned man bowed his head, looked at the floor, and said, “There ought to be an exception. There ought to be a loophole. There ought to be a way, but there isn’t.”
The missionary looked at me and, with tears in his eyes, said, “Goodness, President, we do have the truth, don’t we!”

Our Savior cares for all of his sheep. What a tribute it is to be recognized as one who cares. Let me share with you a story about the quiet caring of an unusual person who was brought to my attention during the last few weeks.

Recently, during a twenty-fifth anniversary ward reunion in the Salt Lake Valley, a “Best Scouter Ever” award was presented. The special evening in the cultural hall, which included dinner as well as a fine program, drew many people back to the ward event because of the good feelings created over the past twenty-five years.

The person acting as master of ceremonies introduced a young man to make this special award. He looked to be about six feet four inches tall and well over two hundred pounds. He walked to the microphone and said, “We would now like to pay tribute to the best Scouter this ward has ever had.”

Immediately names and faces of past Scout leaders jumped into the minds of those attending. Who would it be? There had been many great Scoutmasters in this ward. How could those in charge decide?

The tall, handsome young man mentioned many names of past Scout leaders and then said, “No, it is none of these, though they have all been great Scouters. Our ward ‘Best Scouter Ever’ award goes to someone who has worked in the Primary and as a Scout leader teaching boys for forty years. This individual has received the Silver Beaver Award, one of the highest awards given in Scouting, and the Silver Beehive Award, the highest award given by the Church in Scouting.” Then with a voice that trembled slightly, he said, “Our ‘Best Scouter Ever’ recognition goes to Sister Jennie Verl Keefer.” There came a hush over the audience, then knowing voices of approval, then a burst of applause that seemed to go on forever.

Sister Keefer was called up to the front. All present intently watched her quietly make her way. From the back of the room, this gray-haired bundle of energy hesitatingly came forward, her five-foot frame barely taller than those who were seated. Once at the microphone, the surprised recipient expressed a quiet and emotional, yet firm, thanks. She said between tears of gratitude it wasn’t quite forty years she had served. It was only thirty-seven years. And then Sister Keefer proudly added that during all her time of service, she had never had a bad boy.

Then the presenter asked all those whom Sister Keefer had ever taught and cared for to come to the stage. Here was the amazing thing. Men and boys started from the audience and filled the space behind this tiny woman. Big men, men in suits, doctors, bishops, presidents of companies, husbands, fathers holding babies, returned missionaries, contractors, computer workers, dentists, carpenters, and more. All these Scouts had been boys touched by the service and caring of this one noble and great woman—the best Scouter ever in the ward’s entire history. She had the gift of caring, and here were some of the fruits of her labors. Generations yet to come will bless her name for what she has done. What a great gift have those who know how to care!

President Spencer W. Kimball has recommitted us as a church to reach out to our Father’s other children.
We have been asked to lengthen our stride in two general areas. First is the need for every member of the Church to let his light so shine that others will see the gospel of Jesus Christ by example. The Lord tells us in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“And again, I say unto you, I give unto you a commandment, that every man, both elder, priest, teacher, and also member, go to with his might, with the labor of his hands, to prepare and accomplish the things which I have commanded.
“And let your preaching be the warning voice, every man to his neighbor, in mildness and in meekness.” (D&C 38:40–41.)
Every family in the Church is asked to friendship a nonmember family on a family-to-family basis.
Second, every able young man has been asked to prepare himself to serve a full-time mission. And again from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Wherefore lay to with your might and call faithful laborers into my vineyard, that it may be pruned for the last time.
“And inasmuch as they do repent and receive the fulness of my gospel, and become sanctified, I will stay mine hand in judgment.
“Wherefore, go forth, crying with a loud voice, saying: The kingdom of heaven is at hand; crying: Hosanna! blessed be the name of the Most High God.
“Go forth baptizing with water, preparing the way before my face for the time of my coming;
“For the time is at hand; the day or the hour no man knoweth; but it surely shall come.” (D&C 39:17–21. Italics added.)
It is this last point I would like to enlarge upon. I had the honor recently of being assigned to visit the Samoa Apia Mission and attend some stake conferences in that country. I found the missionaries all well and the work progressing. One afternoon following our meeting, the mission president, Patrick Peters—who is a native Samoan—said, “Elder Dunn, there is something I’d like to show you.” We drove a few miles from the mission home and climbed the brow of a small hill to a place that was isolated by palm trees and other tropical vegetation. I suddenly realized that we were in a very old graveyard.
At the center of this graveyard was a plot that was surrounded by a cement wall low enough to step over. President and Sister Peters told me this was where some of the first missionaries in Samoa were buried. There were eight graves.
The thing that struck my interest was that out of the eight graves, four represented children under the age of two and one was a 21-year-old wife and mother. What role could these have possibly played in missionary work in Samoa?
During the next two days, when time would permit, I searched the history of the mission for an answer. While I was unable to gather information on all of the eight, I did discover the following.
In the early days of the Church it was common for young married couples to be called on missions, and some of these young couples were called to Samoa. The first person to be buried in that plot was Sister Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. She and her husband had only been on a mission for three months when she took sick and gave birth to a premature child. The child died the next day. The history says the following:
“An hour after the death of the child, the mother called Sister Lee (wife of the mission president) to her bedside and, after thanking her for waiting on her during the sickness, said that she was ‘going to die,’ that she ‘could not stay because they had come for her.’ She then talked with her husband, kissed him good-bye, and all was over. The mother and baby boy were buried in one coffin.” After his mission, Brother Merrill took the remains of his wife and infant son back to Utah for burial.
Elder Thomas H. Hilton and Sister Sarah M. Hilton were serving on a mission in Samoa where they lost three of their children between 1891 and 1894. Little Jeanette lived less than a year, George Emmett for only seven days, and Thomas Harold for a year and a half.
Of the death of Thomas Harold the record says: “On Sunday the 11th, he was not feeling very well. … For two days following he appeared to be improving, but on the morning of the 14th, his mother again became concerned about his welfare. From then until his death, on March 17, 1894, everything that loving hands could do was done for his recovery, but he grew rapidly worse. …
“Oh how loath we all were to believe that it was so! How sad to see our dear sister again bereft, and her so far from dear parents and friends who she has left for the gospel’s sake.
“Thomas Harold Hilton was about one and a half years old, a beautiful little boy and very dearly beloved by all the missionaries, as well as the natives who knew him. Much sympathy is felt for the bereaved parents and the blessings of the Lord are invoked upon them.”
At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.
His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.
The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.
Another entry was Friday, March 2, 1900: “Little Loi Roberts was given up to die by Dr. Stuttaford at the sanatorium [in Apia]. The patient little sufferer was administered to daily, and each time he would get relief. …
His parents [Elder and Sister E. T. Roberts] were untiring in their efforts to allay pain and sufferings.”
Saturday, March 3: “Little Loi died at the sanatorium in Apia in the morning, making another sad day in the history of the mission.” Small wonder that the tombstone contained the words, “Rest sweet Loi, rest.” He was one and a half years old.
And that brings us to Elder William A. Moody and his bride, Adelia Moody. They were called on a mission from Thatcher, Graham County, Arizona, arriving in Samoa in November 1894. They must have had the same hopes and aspirations of any young couple just starting out. She gave birth to an eight-pound daughter on May 3, 1895. Three weeks later she passed away. The daughter, little Hazel Moody, was taken care of by local Saints while her father continued his mission. Finally, one year later we read the following about a steamer leaving for the United States, whose passengers included four returning elders and “also Elder Moody’s daughter, Hazel, one-year-old, who will be delivered to loving relatives in Zion.”
A price has been paid for the establishment of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the land of Samoa. It is interesting to note that much of that price was paid by little children. I suspect that there are many obscure cemeteries in many of the nations of the world similar to that little plot in Samoa. They are a mute witness to the trials and suffering that went into the beginnings of missionary work in this dispensation.
Because of advancements in the standard of living and medical technology, these kinds of trials are almost a thing of the past. In Samoa, for instance, I found the missionaries well. There are even health missionaries, including a young couple and their two children who are helping to improve the health standards of the members and looking after the health of the missionaries where needed.
The sacrifice today is mostly a sacrifice of time and money. A sacrifice of 24 months is asked of worthy young men to help move the cause of the Lord forward. Others gave their lives to get the work started, but the Lord only requires that we sacrifice some time and our means to keep his work moving throughout the world.
The story is told that toward the end of World War II an allied general came to the front lines one night to inspect his troops. As he walked along he would point out into no-man’s-land and say “Can you see them? Can you see them?”
Finally, someone said, “General, we can see nothing. What do you mean?” He said, “Can’t you see them? They’re your buddies; they are the ones who gave their lives today, yesterday, and the day before. They’re out there alright, watching you, wondering what you are going to do; wondering if they have died in vain.”
As members of this church we can ask ourselves the same question, “Can you see them?” They are the ones who paid, and some with their lives, that the gospel of the kingdom might be established in these, the last, days. They are the Hiltons, and the Robertses, and the Stevens, and the Moodys, and many others—people like you and me, who answered a call from God. I am sure they are allowed to look in on us from time to time to see how the work is going, to see what we are doing with their spiritual heritage, to see if they have died in vain.
I wonder, young man, how successful you would be in convincing a young father who had buried three of his babies in an obscure graveyard halfway around the world because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that a mission is too much of a sacrifice because you want to buy that car or that stereo, or you don’t want to interrupt your schooling, or for some other reason.
As members of the Church, I wonder how convincing we would be in telling someone that we are just too busy and maybe just a little embarrassed to share the gospel with our neighbor, especially if that someone were a young father who had buried his bride while on his mission and sent his little girl home to be taken care of by relatives while he finished his service to the Lord.
Is it not time that we listen to a prophet’s voice? Is it not time that we lengthen our stride? Is it not time that we teach the gospel of the kingdom to the world, to our neighbor?

Traveling without purse or scrip, Brigham found that $13.50 given them by the Saints and kept in his trunk became like the Old Testament widow’s cruse of oil and barrel of flour that were continually replenished; drawn from again and again, it provided $87 worth of fares and meals as they traveled by stage across Indiana and Ohio to Kirtland. There they found John Taylor; he had left earlier while in good health but had been stricken enroute by a near fatal illness from which he was just then recovering. Brigham, showing the expanding dimensions of his spiritual leadership, met with the apostles in the temple where he anointed and blessed Elder Taylor and washed the apostles’ feet.25

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
It was very nice of you to invite me over for Thanksgiving dinner.
It’s our pleasure. You’re a great neighbor and one of our favorite people.
You folks have been wonderful to me since my Bill died. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.
Well, our lives would be a lot poorer without you too.
And you’re my “next-door grandma.”
“How come you’re crying, Next-door Grandma?”
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that it’s my first Thanksgiving without Bill, and you’re all being so sweet.
Don’t you worry about it for a second. We consider you part of our family, and if you can’t cry with your own family, where can you?
I don’t want to spoil your lovely dinner. It just hits me sometimes that I’ll never see him again.
You will see him again, Next-door Grandma! Next-door Grandpa is with Heavenly Father—I know he is!
Oh, Mandy, I wish I knew that the way you do. But it makes me feel peaceful somehow to hear you say it. So you just go right on telling me, OK?
OK.

At the beginning of my freshman year on my high school basketball team, I told my coach that Sunday practices were out for me because I had church. The team practiced from 10:00 a.m. to noon, but I never went.
Then during my sophomore year, things changed. “I moved Sunday practice so everyone can go to church first,” my coach told us. “Everybody’s going to be at practice at 3:00 p.m.”
Sports is a religion here in Louisiana. But now I had to explain to my coach that not practicing on Sunday was an all-day thing out of reverence. It wasn’t easy.
“Hey, Coach,” I texted him, “I wanted to let you know I can’t make practice on Sunday for the same reasons as last year. I believe the whole Sunday is the Sabbath, and my family and I don’t do any sports on that day.”
I was really worried my coach would be upset and kick me off the team. But in his text back to me, he said, “I completely respect this decision. You are one of the hardest workers in our program. I can’t promise you’ll score like Steph Curry. Ha-ha. But I can promise that you put yourself in a great position to help your team because of your work ethic.”
It’s not easy to say no in a situation like that. And not going to practice on Sunday doesn’t mean the Lord will bless you to be some great athlete. You still have to work hard. But the blessings are there if you have an eternal perspective.
Merrick R., Louisiana, USA

When Mrs. Johnson’s poodle, Ricky, died, all the children in the neighborhood were sad. Ricky had been a nice dog, and the children loved to pet him and play with him. They thought that the man who ran over him must have been very mean, and they wanted to help Mrs. Johnson get even with him.
One day when Julie and Sandy were on their way home from school, they saw Mrs. Johnson sitting in the swing on her porch. They thought about passing by her house without talking to her because they didn’t know what to say. But Mrs. Johnson called to them, and they knew that it wouldn’t be very nice to just ignore her.
“I guess you heard about what happened to Ricky,” Mrs. Johnson said. Her voice was very sad.
“Yes,” said Julie, “and if we ever find out who did it, we’ll help you get even.”
“We’ll make him sorry that he ever ran over a nice dog like Ricky,” Sandy chimed in.
Mrs. Johnson moved to one side of her swing and asked them to sit next to her. “I don’t want you to get even for me,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Wouldn’t be right?” Julie asked.
“After what he did to you,” Sandy said, “I thought that you would want to get even.”
“Oh no,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “I miss Ricky very much. But getting even with the man who hit him won’t bring him back to me.”
“Well, that’s true,” Julie said, “but it should make you feel better to know that you made him feel as bad as you do.”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Johnson said quickly. Then she asked, “How would you feel if you had been the one who ran over Ricky?”
“I would feel awful,” the children said together.
“Well,” Mrs. Johnson told them, “I think that the man who hit Ricky felt very bad too.”
“You mean you talked to him?” Julie asked.
“Oh yes,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “He came to my door right after it happened and told me that he was sorry. I could tell that he really meant what he said.”
Just then a car pulled up in front of Mrs. Johnson’s house, and a young man got out. He was carrying something small wrapped in a blanket. “Mrs. Johnson,” he said softly, “I have something for you. I know that he won’t take Ricky’s place, but I hope that you’ll like him.”
When the young man opened the blanket, the children saw a small black puppy. It did not look like Ricky, but its tail was wagging and it had big brown eyes.
Mrs. Johnson smiled as she picked the puppy up and gave it a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very nice of you.”
“I’m glad that you like him,” said the young man. Then he went back to his car and drove away.
Sandy and Julie stayed to play with the new puppy while Mrs. Johnson went to the store to buy dog food. They were very happy that Mrs. Johnson had a new friend to stay with her now. They were also surprised that the man who had run over Ricky was so nice.
“You know, there is one thing that I’m glad we didn’t do,” said Sandy to Julie after a while.
“What’s that?” asked Julie as she rolled a small rubber ball across the porch for the puppy to chase.
“I’m really glad that we never had a chance to get even,” Sandy replied.

I should like to repeat a beautiful experience, which is very touching to me. I hope Bishop Featherstone won’t mind my mentioning him as the one about whom I am going to speak. This happened just after they moved here from their lovely home, where they had many friends and were very popular. He had come home after work and had gotten into his lounging clothes, and his young son, Joe, said, “Dad, I wish you would give me a special blessing so that I can adjust and feel at home and be happy here.”

His father went upstairs and changed his clothes. As he was coming down, his wife said, “Surely you are not going out tonight.” He said, “I am going to give someone a blessing.” And then he said, “Joe has asked for a special blessing, and I wanted to be dressed and ready to honor the priesthood and to show Joe the interest I have in him, and to make it possible for him to enjoy the blessings through the faith he has in me and the priesthood.”

Brethren, that is the spirit to have. And, of course, as he told his wife, you can naturally imagine what happened. She shed tears as she realized she had a husband, the father of her son, who would be an example and be so interested in him that he would be prepared to represent the Lord in the priesthood that he holds.

Although he loved to play softball in his youth, President Thomas S. Monson was a tall, skinny boy who felt disappointed each time he was chosen last for the team. He was not particularly athletic at first, but one day that changed.
“As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their teams. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know. I was there.
“How I hoped that the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
“As though it were just yesterday, I remember the moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. The ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a silent prayer as I ran, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game! This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team” (Ensign, May 1989, 43).

Ammon sighed as he and Dad left the soccer game. “I don’t get it,” he said. “We have so many good players. Why can’t we score?”
Dad was a good soccer player. Maybe he could help.
“I think you need to learn to work as a team,” Dad said. “You all want to score goals, right?”
“Yes,” Ammon said. “But we can’t all be the one to score. Is that what you mean?”
Dad nodded. “You can’t score a goal on your own. First the defenders need to take the ball from the other team, right?”
Ammon laughed. “It’s pretty hard to score if you don’t have the ball.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Then the defenders give it to someone who can score. No one can do it alone.”
“I guess,” Ammon said.
When they got home, Mom was holding the baby while she made dinner. “How was the game?” she asked.
“We lost again,” Ammon said. “But we’ll do better next time.”
“That’s a good attitude,” Mom said.
“I’m starving!” Lorrin shouted as he, Seth, and Spencer ran in.
“Boys, can you help set the table and put the toys away?” Mom asked.
All four boys groaned.
“But I didn’t play with the toys,” Seth said.
“It will take forever!” Lorrin wailed.
Dad laughed. “I think our family has the same problem as Ammon’s team.”
“What’s that?” Seth asked.
“We aren’t working together,” Ammon said. “We all want to score a goal by eating dinner. But we’re leaving it all to Mom.”
“Right!” Dad said. “How can we work as a team?”
Ammon had an idea. “What if Seth and I set the table? The other boys can pick up the toys.”
“Great idea!” Dad said.
Soon dinner was ready. Ammon folded his arms for prayer. He was glad his family had worked as a team. He hoped his soccer team could do the same thing.

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Dad, my rock collection got put on the truck, didn’t it?
It sure did. One of the movers lifted the box and asked if it was full of rocks. He was joking, but I had to tell him yes.
Thanks for letting me bring them. Mom made me throw away my worm collection.
Your worms probably wouldn’t have liked the trip anyway. So why do you need your rocks?
Well, I want to show them to Franco. He’s a kid in my new class. He’s funny and really smart. And he says he’ll help me catch up with the math we’re doing.
That’s great. Sounds like you made a new friend pretty quickly.
Well, we ate lunch together today ’cause he was eating alone and I didn’t have anybody to sit with either.
Oh, here they are! Dad, can I use your wheelbarrow to take these over to Franco’s house on Saturday?
Why don’t you invite him to come over here?
Well, this would be easier because Franco can’t walk very well. He’s kinda hard to understand too, if you don’t listen hard. But he’s funny and smart and—
Tell you what. Why don’t I drive you over there on Saturday? I always like to meet your friends and their parents.

This story happened in the Philippines.
“I miss G-pop,” Macy told her grandma. She called her grandparents G-pop and G-mom. “Ever since he went to the hospital, I’ve wanted to help him. But I don’t know how.”
Macy pushed around the food on her plate. It was her favorite breakfast—rice, eggs, and hot dogs. But she felt too sad to eat.
G-mom put her arm around Macy. “I understand. Sometimes we feel helpless when someone we love is going through a difficult time. But remember, there are two people who love us even more than we can imagine.”
“Who?” Macy asked.
“Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” G-mom said. “When we have faith in Them, They guide us and give us strength.”
As Macy listened, her heart felt hopeful. She knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus could help G-pop.
That night, Macy knelt by her bed and closed her eyes.
“Heavenly Father, please watch over G-pop and help him feel better. I love him, and I love Thee too. Please help me to know what I can do for him.”
The next morning, Macy woke up to the sun shining through her curtains. She had an idea! Singing Primary songs and Church hymns was one of the things she and G-pop loved to do together. Maybe that would bring him comfort!
She got up, said her morning prayer, then asked G-mom if she could visit G-pop. Soon, they were on their way to the hospital together. She was excited to finally see G-pop again and hopefully make him smile.
When Macy walked into the hospital room, G-pop was sitting up in bed with a blanket over his legs. He looked tired. But when he saw Macy, his face lit up with joy. She ran to him and gave him a gentle hug.
“Good morning, G-pop!”
“What brings you here, my little lang-lang Macy?”
Lang-lang meant “love.” It was G-pop’s favorite nickname for Macy.
“I want to sing for you,” Macy said. She sat beside him on his bed and opened her songbook. “I am a child of God, and He has sent me here . . .” she began.
G-pop’s eyes filled with tears of joy. He joined in and started singing too.
“. . . has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.”*
Their voices filled the small hospital room. Soon, G-mom joined in too. Macy had a peaceful feeling in her heart as they sang together.
When they finished, Macy reached out her hand, and G-pop held it tightly.
“Let’s pray, G-pop.”
Together they prayed, and Macy asked Heavenly Father to bless G-pop with strength and healing.
After the prayer, G-pop looked at Macy. “Thank you for your beautiful songs and prayers. You’ve helped me feel better. Even though you’re small, you have a big heart filled with love.”
Macy smiled. She was happy that her love and faith had helped G-pop feel better. She knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would always be there to help her family in hard times.
Illustrations by Chrisanne Serafin

Hi! We’re Kynzley and Jayme. We did a service project to help a family in our ward. We raised a lamb and a pig and then sold them at our county fair.
Our friends’ dad was really sick. He went to see the doctor many times. Their family couldn’t go to church for a long time. We missed our friends in Primary. We wanted to help!
We decided to give the family the money we made when we sold our animals at the county fair. The money could help them pay medical bills.
We worked for nine months on our project. We prayed and fasted that we would pick good animals to raise. As we raised our lamb and pig, we spent a lot of time planning for the county fair. We made shirts, walked in parades, asked for donations, and helped organize the sale.
On the day of the fair, our animals were healthy and strong. We did a great job showing them at the livestock show. We were happy we could give the money we made to the family. We ended our project with a fast for them.
Working on this project helped us come closer to Heavenly Father. We learned to trust Him more. We did our best and let Him help us as we listened to the Holy Ghost. We struggled when our animals did not do what we wanted. But we remembered why we were raising them. We did our best to earn as much money as we could. We relied on the Lord and just worked hard.
We know that Heavenly Father cares about all of us and wants to help us. We are glad that we could help others too!
Illustration by Kiersten Eagan