Gospel Story Finder

I continue with an experience I heard from a valued associate, which I share with his permission. After the death of his beloved wife and the mother of his children, a father remarried. Some grown children strongly objected to the remarriage and sought the counsel of a close relative who was a respected Church leader. After hearing the reasons for their objections, which focused on conditions and relationships in the spirit world or in the kingdoms of glory that follow the Final Judgment, this leader said: “You are worried about the wrong things. You should be worried about whether you will get to those places. Concentrate on that. If you get there, all of it will be more wonderful than you can imagine.”

Not many weeks after the Church was organized, the Lord directed Emma Smith to “make a selection of sacred hymns, … which is pleasing unto me, to be had in my church” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:11). The Saints needed ways to learn newly revealed gospel truths and to unite in praising God. And hymns would be at the heart of their worship and learning.
Years ago, when my family joined the Church, my parents encouraged us to learn the music of our new faith. I have some vivid memories of that time:
Memorizing “Prayer Is the Soul’s Sincere Desire” (Hymns, no. 145) with my family.
Hearing “O My Father” (Hymns, no. 292) and learning that I have a Heavenly Father and Mother whom I can see again one day.
Feeling God’s love while singing “My Heavenly Father Loves Me” (Children’s Songbook, 228–29)—even though I lived in a desert and had never actually seen a lilac tree!
Fast forward to a sacrament meeting in late February 2020. Several members of our ward were dealing with cancer, and I felt deeply comforted when the ward choir sang “How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85). A few weeks later, a series of unnerving events came along: quarantines, church cancellations, and a series of earthquakes and aftershocks. And that hymn started playing through my mind again:
Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.

Giving gifts of love and service to those less fortunate has been a hallmark of the prophets’ Christmas experiences. In 1931, during the Great Depression, President Harold B. Lee was president of a large stake in Salt Lake City, Utah. President Lee determined that he would know the needs of his stake members and do everything he could to alleviate their want. By survey he learned that more than half of his stake, almost 5,000 people, were dependent on others for help, including almost 1,000 children under the age of 10. He mobilized members to collect toys and organized workshops to repair, paint, and clean old toys or make new ones so no child would be without on Christmas. He decided that every family in the stake should have a dinner for Christmas and solicited food donations to make that happen.1 Later as an Apostle, Elder Lee was asked to organize the Church’s welfare program based on similar principles of service, sacrifice, and work.

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.
He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”
This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”
Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

Jenny rested her head against the school bus window. This was the first time she had ridden the bus to school, and she felt strange—sort of lonely, despite the greetings by the other children.
When the bus stopped at the corner of Cedar and Oak, she noticed an old man with white hair standing by the curb. He looked at the bus and waited. Just as the bus began to move again, he quickly raised his arm and gave a friendly wave.
“He waved to us,” Jenny blurted out to Billy who had sat down next to her. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know. He just does. He’s just some old man.”
One morning before Halloween, Jenny said, “Look, Billy. There’s a cardboard pumpkin on the old man’s door.” When the old man waved, Jenny smiled and waved back. She felt good inside.
By late November, the days grew colder. One morning, as a bitter chill frosted up the windows, Jenny said, “I wonder if the old man will be there today?” She crooked her neck to look up ahead. She saw him tacking up a colorful turkey decoration. “Hurray!” she exclaimed.
In the days that followed, Jenny didn’t wonder anymore if the old man would be there. She knew that he would be. It was as simple as that.
Time drew near for school to let out for the December holidays. Every morning Jenny anxiously glanced at the old man’s door. On a cold and dismal morning just before school let out, Jenny spotted a snowman decoration on the old man’s door. In spite of the cold, she felt sunshine inside when the old man smiled and waved.
A light snow was falling when school started again in January. Bundled up snugly, Jenny bounded up the steps of the bus. It sputtered and shuddered as it neared Cedar and Oak. When everyone began to cheer and shout, Jenny knew that the old man was there.
And then one morning, as a February drizzle fell in a gray and dreary mist, Jenny thought, Valentine Day is almost here. I wonder what the old man will put on his door. Her eyes searched for him. He wasn’t at the curb, or on the sidewalk, or on his porch. As the bus rolled by, she pressed her hands against the window, peered at his house through the streaks of dribbling rain, and felt sad. Where’s the old man? she wondered. She turned to Billy. “Do you know his name?”
“Mr. Brown. He’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
But the next morning he wasn’t there, either. Nor the next morning. Nor the next.
Finally Jenny said, “We have to call and find out where he is.”
Billy rolled his eyes. “There are hundreds of Browns.”
“But we know his address—717 Cedar.”
At lunchtime Jenny and Billy found a telephone book in the office. “Just look at the Browns one at a time,” Jenny said. “Not the name, just the address.”
“OK, but this could take days,” Billy moaned.
Jenny lowered her head. “Just start looking,” she said firmly.
With a steady rain beating against the windows, they read through the listings on the first page, then the next. Just as Billy licked his finger to turn the page, Jenny shouted, “Here it is—717 Cedar! Brown, Quincy. Let’s call.”
“Not me. Maybe he’s not there anymore.”
“But maybe he is.” Jenny picked up the phone and dialed the number.
After two rings, a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
Jenny gulped. “Mrs. Brown?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jenny. A friend of Mr. Brown. Is he there?”
“A friend of his?”
“Sort of. I used to see him from the school bus every morning.”
“Oh, the school bus. He’s been worried about that.”
“Worried? That’s great! I mean, I’m glad to know he still lives on Cedar.”
“Oh, yes, but he’s been in bed with the flu. He’s over the worst of it, but until he gets his strength back, he has to stay inside. Unless the sun is out. Sunshine would do him a world of good.”
Jenny thanked Mrs. Brown and hung up. Sunshine, she thought. She raised an eyebrow and looked at Billy. “You’re thinking,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m thinking about sunshine. We have a few more days before Valentine Day. And I know just what we can do.”
When Valentine Day finally arrived, the sky was cloudy as they rode to school.
“All set?” Jenny asked.
“All set,” Billy said. “But the sun isn’t out.”
“The bus driver said it will be OK. He checked with Mrs. Brown. She’ll be there if Mr. Brown can’t be.”
As the bus rumbled along, Jenny could hardly breathe. But even though she wished as hard as she could, the sun did not come out.
“It’s not going to work,” Billy said. “Maybe we should wait.”
“We can’t,” Jenny said with a sigh. “Valentine Day is today. I guess we’ll have to give them to Mrs. Brown.”
The brakes whined as the bus slowed to a stop. When Mrs. Brown came outside, Billy and the others rifled through their backpacks and found the valentines they had made, and Jenny reached under the seat and pulled out the huge red heart trimmed in white that they had all signed. They watched silently as the bus driver collected them and gave them with a grin to Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown smiled at everyone on the bus, then hurried back to the house.
“We didn’t even get to see him,” Jenny mumbled.
That afternoon as the closing school bell rang, bright rays of sunshine streamed in through the classroom window. “Great!” Jenny grumped as she frowned at the clear blue sky. “Where were you this morning?”
She slumped in her seat as they rode the bus back home. Even though the sun was shining now, inside she felt as if the clouds had not gone away.
When they reached the corner of Cedar and Oak, Billy poked her with his elbow. “Look!”
Jenny turned her head and peered out the window. “Wow! There it is,” she said. “The heart we made is on Mr. Brown’s door.” She bounced up and down and clapped her hands. “And look at that.”
A roar went up, and everyone clambered for the windows on that side of the bus. Valentines filled Mr. Brown’s yard. Red hearts on long skinny sticks poked up all over the place. As they got closer, Jenny squinted her eyes. “They’re ours,” she squealed. “The ones we made for him.”
“Look over there, Jenny,” Billy said, as another cheer came from the bus.
There, standing in the sunshine and waving from the curb, was the old man at Cedar and Oak. Jenny beamed as she waved back.
“Well,” Billy said, “the old man is back, and things are just the way they were.”
Jenny’s eyes sparkled. She felt warm and snug inside. “No,” she said with a smile. “Mr. Brown is back, and things will never be the same old way again.”

Everyone in my school class was supposed to bring a gift to exchange at our Christmas party. We put our gifts under the tree, and then we could pick any gift except for the one we brought. When the last boy was called to pick a gift, he said the one gift that was left was the one he had brought. It was only a folded-up piece of paper. No one wanted to trade their gift for the piece of paper. After a few seconds of silence, I said I would trade. A wonderful feeling came over me as I handed him my unwrapped gift and took the piece of paper from him. Even though I didn’t get a gift like the rest of my class, I felt happy because I knew I did the right thing. That is the best gift of all.

We can plan for and mitigate the risk arising from a world that becomes more and more distracting and noisy. Let me illustrate with an experience I had many years ago.
I was flying an airplane from my home in Kalispell, Montana, to Las Vegas, Nevada, to pick up my father-in-law for a business trip. The airplane I was flying was very sophisticated, and my co-pilot was very experienced. Together, we had more than 60 years in the cockpits of different aircraft. We checked the weather, filed a flight plan, and made other preparations for the flight.
The weather in Kalispell was a beautiful, clear night, and we were prepared to leave just as the skies darkened in the cool of the spring evening. I was excited. I was flying a fabulous airplane, I had a co-pilot who was a dear friend, we had great weather, and there was the prospect of another business venture with my father-in-law. We had made a flight plan with numerous waypoints along the route.
After flying for about an hour and a half, air traffic control gave us descent instructions into the Las Vegas area. We descended into a storm that we had been comfortably flying over for some time. Suddenly, the static electricity from the storm overwhelmed the radios, and we could no longer speak to the controllers on the ground. We were flying into some of the busiest airspace in the world, with no ability to see anything outside the aircraft and no ability to speak to the controllers on the ground, whose job was to keep the aircraft separated.
Neither of us had ever experienced anything like this storm. However, we knew exactly what to do. The Federal Aviation Administration (governing body of all flights in the US) has a rule. If a pilot loses communications with the ground, he should fly “last clearance then flight plan route,” which means you do what the controller last told you and then keep to the plan you have made.
Soon, we flew out of the storm. When we finally connected with air traffic control, they told us, “We could hear you. You just couldn’t hear us.” We could not hear because the static had overwhelmed our radios, but by keeping with our plan, we were able to stay safe.

Shortly after my baptism in August 1984, I heard about a fun activity with music and barbeque not far from where I lived in Kwekwe, Zimbabwe. My friends and I were excited to go, but it was on Sunday. My friends were not members of the Church.
I told them, “I’ll go to church but sneak out after sacrament meeting and join you.”
My friends, who knew my weakness, said, “If you do that you will miss out. By the time you come, the barbecue will be over.”
I had a decision to make. Do I go to church or the barbecue? I chose the barbecue but found out Sunday morning that it had been canceled. By that time, it was too late to go to church, so I just stayed in my little rented room.
Early that afternoon, I heard a voice: “Does Eddie Dube live here?”
It was my branch president, John Newbold, with his wife, Jean. I wanted to hide under my bed! But before I could do anything, they stood by the curtain that separated my room from the rest of the house.
“Oh, Eddie,” they said, “we missed you at church today.”
We talked a while, and after they left, their kind words, “Eddie, we missed you,” continued to go through my mind. I am grateful for John and Jean Newbold. Since that day, I have been blessed because they helped me see, in a personal way, our Savior Jesus Christ’s love and concern for the one.
To this day, I am still in touch with John and Jean Newbold. Over all these years, I feel joy because of the love they extended to me. And they have felt joy in seeing me progress in the gospel. This is what can happen when we minister—we and those we serve become closer to one another and more connected with the Savior.

When Newel Knight informed his wife, Lydia, that the Saints would have to leave Nauvoo and move yet again, she responded with tenacious faith, saying, “Well, there’s nothing to discuss. Our place is with the Kingdom of God. Let us at once set about making preparations to leave.” Brother Knight had moved his family several times already as many of the Saints had moved from New York to Ohio to Missouri and to Illinois. Lydia Knight’s devoted submission to what she knew was God’s will typifies powerfully the faith of those heroic early Saints. With their faith in mind, the words of a familiar hymn take on added meaning:
Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword;
Oh, how our hearts beat high with joy
Whene’er we hear that glorious word.
Faith of our fathers, holy faith,
We will be true to thee till death!
Though winter’s chill was not yet past, heightened fears of mob attacks and swirling rumors of government intervention compelled President Young to set things in motion to get the Saints under way. He directed the first company of pioneer families to leave Nauvoo on February 4, 1846, a cold winter day. They drove their laden wagons and their livestock down Parley Street—a street that became known as the “Street of Tears”—to a landing where they were ferried across the river to Iowa. Chunks of ice floating in the river crunched against the sides of the flatboats and barges that carried the wagons across the Mississippi. A few weeks later, temperatures dropped even further and wagons could cross the river more easily over a bridge of ice.
Sister Wirthlin and I visited Nauvoo in early March this year. The weather was bitterly cold. As we stood in the chilling wind, looking out across the broad expanse of the Mississippi, we felt a deeper sense of appreciation and gratitude for those Saints as they left their beloved city. We wondered how they ever survived. What a sacrifice to leave behind so much for the uncertain future that lay ahead! No wonder so many tears were shed as the fleeing pioneers drove their wagons rumbling down Parley Street to cross the river with no hope of ever returning to their “City Beautiful.”
Once across the river, they camped temporarily at Sugar Creek before starting their trek west toward the Rocky Mountains. The journey, which historian H. H. Bancroft described as a migration without “parallel in the world’s history,” had begun.
When President Brigham Young joined the departing pioneers at their campsite in Iowa on February 15, 1846, the Lord revealed to him to begin organizing a modern “Camp of Israel.” On the first of March the advance company began its push westward across Iowa. Hardships caused by cold, snow, rain, mud, sickness, hunger, and death challenged the faith of these hardy pioneers. But they were determined to follow their leaders and to do, no matter the cost, what they believed fervently to be the will of God. Their faith was challenged, and for some it faltered in especially difficult times. But it did not fail them. Many were sustained by the assurances they had received in temple ordinances performed in the Nauvoo Temple.
One of the more difficult hardships endured by many of the sisters was delivering their babies under harsh, extreme conditions along the trail. Eliza R. Snow wrote that as the pioneers “journeyed onward, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances imaginable, except those to which they had been accustomed; some in tents, others in wagons—in rainstorms and in snowstorms.” Sister Snow went on to record in her journal that she “heard of one birth which occurred under the rude shelter of a hut, the sides of which were formed of blankets fastened to poles stuck in the ground, with a bark roof through which the rain was dripping. Kind sisters stood holding dishes to catch the water … , thus protecting the [little one] and its mother from a showerbath [on its entrance to] the stage of human life.”
What a sacrifice these good sisters made! Some mothers lost their own lives in childbirth. Many babies did not survive. My wife’s grandmother, Elizabeth Riter, was born at Winter Quarters in the back of a covered wagon during a rainstorm. Fortunately, both the mother and the newborn infant survived. With great love for the woman who gave life to her, Elizabeth often lovingly recounted how an umbrella was held over her mother throughout the ordeal to shield her from the water leaking through the wagon’s cover.
Let us never forget the faith of our fathers and the selfless sacrifice of our mothers, those pioneering Saints who set such an inspiring example of obedience. Let us remember them as we strive to be valiant servants in our work to “invite all to come unto Christ” and “be perfected in him.”

Difficulties at home did not prevent the Church from growing elsewhere. In various parts of the eastern United States, missionary work prospered, and conversions in Canada led to the expansion of the work across the Atlantic. In April 1836 Elder Parley P. Pratt of the Council of the Twelve was sent to Canada where he preached in the Toronto area. There he met John Taylor, a Methodist preacher who was looking for the restoration of the original church of Christ. After three weeks of investigation, the future third president of the Church, John Taylor and his wife were baptized, and within two years he was called as one of the Twelve.

Sara, her mentally retarded brother Charlie, and her pretty older sister Wanda all live with Aunt Willie. It has been an impossible summer for Sara, but one day white swans appear on the lake near their home. Charlie is fascinated by the great white birds. That night Charlie disappears. Sara spends anguished hours searching for him the next day. Finally Charlie is found. Sara also finds that things were not as she had thought, and that this and no other summer will be the same.
This book has just won the Newbery Award for the most distinguished children’s book for 1971.

It was the day before my football team’s first practice of the season. That night I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I had saved up my money over the summer so I could pay all the fees myself. And now, at the age of 14, I was finally going to fulfill my dream.
During practice the next day, something really surprised me. It wasn’t how hard my coaches pushed us—I was expecting that. No, I was shocked at the filthy, vulgar language all the players and coaches were using. At first I tried to ignore it and not let it bother me, but after awhile it started to take its toll.
I found myself thinking those words, and even worse, repeating them when I was stressed. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and asked Him to help me be strong. Then, I made a promise to myself and to the Lord that I wouldn’t swear.
Later in the season we played a game against our biggest rivals. Right before the game started, our coach gathered us together to say a cheer. He told us the cheer that he wanted us to say, and unfortunately it required us to say a swear word. I remembered the promise that I made to myself and to Heavenly Father. I decided to say the cheer except for the swear word. I would just replace it with a more appropriate word.
When the cheer was over, the player next to me noticed what I had said and started to make fun of me. He went up to the coach and said, “Harsh is Mormon, and he’s not man enough to swear. He’s too churchy!”
I thought the coach would get mad at me or start to make fun of me as well, but instead he stood up for me and told my teammate, “Hey, leave Harsh alone. He has a lot of heart and can show you up on the football field any time!”
I was surprised. I thought my coach would respect me if I swore like everyone else. But actually, he respected me more because I was true to my standards.
I don’t know how big of an impact my example had on my teammates and coaches, but I realized later how strong that experience made me. Now, a few years later, it is easier for me to stand up for what I believe. I also realize that when we make a decision to obey the commandments, we are not alone. The Holy Ghost will help and support us through our trials.

On the large Idaho farm where I grew up in the 1940s, the work horses had been displaced by the tractor, so my father left them to graze, except when we children wanted to ride them. I always chose Banner, despite his thick, aging, work-worn body.
On summer evenings, my father helped me saddle Banner, then sent us off to bring the cows home for milking. The cows pastured in a field fenced on three sides but open on the fourth to the Teton River. Beyond the river’s main channel, a large flood plain was crisscrossed by lesser channels. In springtime, the swollen river formed many islands and swamps crowded with brush.
Occasionally the cows would notice untouched grass across the river and swim across the swift current to eat it. They then wandered into the thick brush and could be hard to find. Father had given me strict orders that if the cows ventured across the river, I was never to go after them but must return home for help.
One Saturday evening in early spring just after my seventh birthday, I was in a great hurry to bring the cows home for milking because my parents had promised that we could go to a movie if we got our chores done in time. I trotted Banner as much as he could endure at his advanced age, but when I arrived at the pasture, I saw that the cows had swum across the river, even though it ran at high flood stage.
I didn’t know what to do. I knew that if I went for help, the movie would probably be half over before we could find the cows, milk them, and get the other chores done. I decided to go after the cows myself, even though I had been warned many times not to.
I knew that horses could swim well, as I had seen them cross the river before, but Banner hesitated as I urged him down into the cold, swift stream. As he swam with quick, jerking motions, his head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on him would also have had his head above water, but at my age, the water quickly covered me. I had to grip the saddle horn to keep from washing downstream in the treacherous current. That kept me underwater, though, except when Banner lunged forward several times, bringing my head above water enough to gasp for air.
When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me.
Banner and I wandered for some time across the flooded plain, crossing swamps and streams and searching in the thick brush for the cows. In the dusk I began to realize that I might not find them at all. Further, I didn’t know for sure where I was, and I began to fear that I couldn’t find my way back.
Finally I heard the cows in the distance and found them on a small island. We crossed to that island and began rounding up the cattle just as full darkness fell. Normally at milking time, the cows would be eager to return to the barn, but on this night, because of the darkness and the cold water they would have to swim across, they had no desire to leave. I tried every way I knew to get them to move, but just as we approached the water, they always turned and ran back to the center of the small island. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid, and, worst of all, well aware that my disobedience had landed me in this fix.
I began to cry as I climbed down from Banner and fell to the ground by his feet. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, simple but deeply sincere, as I repeated over and over to my Father in Heaven, “I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!”
I prayed for some time with my head bowed, and when I finally looked up, I saw a figure dressed in white come up out of the river and walk toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move as the figure approached, but felt overwhelmed by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
Then a familiar voice said, “I’ve been looking for you, Son.” I recognized my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me for several moments until I finally stopped the emotional sobs. He then said gently, “I was worried. I’m glad I found you.”
I tried to tell him how I felt, but only disjointed words—“Thank you … dark … afraid … river … alone”—came out of my trembling lips.
I will never understand how my father coordinated the next few minutes. We both climbed on Banner and started herding the cows. Father gave a piercing whistle, and the cows seemed to line up in single file and march through the numerous channels of the river toward home. I learned later that when my father noticed that I had not returned from the pasture, he drove the pickup truck out to investigate. When he couldn’t find me or the cows, he knew that I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark, he did not take time to go for additional help but removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam the treacherous river in search of me.
He was a hero to me. He had saved me from the most terrible experience of my young life and replaced fear and danger with love and security. I will always remember what it was like to ride on Banner encircled by my father’s warm arms and hearing him say, “Everything is fine now. You’re safe.”
I had been disobedient and had learned the fear and regret that come with it. My father had searched for me, his lost son, and brought me safely home. I had never felt greater gratitude to my Heavenly Father, recognizing that when I exercise poor judgment and disregard his commandments, he still is willing to rescue me as I repent and turn to him again.

Many people would think Paula was doing all she could, but she decided that her peers needed to do more than escape bad situations; they needed chances to participate in good ones. Paula noticed that a large number of athletically talented Hispanic students were not involved in school sports. When she invited them to join her on the track team, she found that the problem was not lack of talent or desire, but a lack of money to provide physical exams, sports insurance, and track shoes.
Paula found a local health facility that was willing to do the examinations for free if each person was prompt for the appointments. She then petitioned service clubs and individuals to give financial aid for shoes and insurance. Donations finally covered costs. The track team got several new members.

A couple of years ago, my grandson Christian was turning eight and planning his baptismal service with great anticipation. He asked his mother if I could be one of the speakers and share my conversion story. When I asked him why he wanted me to do that, he replied, “Grandma, that is so important. Do you realize that if you hadn’t accepted the gospel, I wouldn’t be getting baptized? I wouldn’t even be who I am.”

I don’t know if missionaries realize the far-reaching impact of their work. In my own family, the blessings of the gospel have now touched four generations. Didn’t President Gordon B. Hinckley say that “when we save a girl, we save generations”? I got married in the temple and have eight children. They are all faithful members of the Church, endowed in the temple. Six of them are now married and have their own children. At present there are 34 of us. And that is not all. Both my husband and I served missions, and our two sons and three of our six daughters have also served missions. Collectively we have helped hundreds embrace the gospel in many countries. Some of those converts and their children have also served missions.

Missionary work is the lifeblood of the Church. There is no greater work, no more important work. It blesses the lives of all those who participate in it. It will continue blessing future generations.

Some years ago we stopped at a small restaurant. The young woman who served our meal was courteous but very sober. When she handed me the check, I said, “Can you tell us which road we take to get out of town?” Suddenly she burst into tears and said, “Mister, I don’t even know how I got into this town.”
I have wished more than once that we could have gone to a table in the corner and talked. Perhaps we could have helped her.

The two towns that these five youth live in are more than 100 watery miles apart, which is the equivalent of running around a high school track 400 times—a little too far to travel each Sunday. But endless miles can’t keep the youth from sticking together. They recently had the chance to meet each other for the first time face-to-face. The youth, along with their parents, flew to Anchorage to perform baptisms for the dead in the Anchorage Alaska Temple. They had never been to the temple before, so it was a great experience for them. “It was fun to introduce ourselves and see who it was we’ve been talking to over the phone,” says 14-year-old Harrison.
As they drove into the parking lot of the temple, each felt the Spirit strongly and knew that the temple was the Lord’s house. “I can’t believe I’m actually here,” says Jaenell as she recalls her experience. “I felt a subtle, peaceful feeling of absolute contentment and happiness.”
The best part of the weekend trip was performing baptisms and confirmations for the dead in the temple. “We helped those people who couldn’t help themselves,” Zach says. He enjoyed looking at the names and dates of each person for whom he was baptized.
“I could feel the Spirit, and it felt very peaceful,” Jennifer says.
“When we were in the waiting room, I read an article by President Monson in the Ensign about the bridges Christ has built,” says Jaenell. “It really made me appreciate the things that the Savior has done, because we can’t build the bridges by ourselves.”
The trip strengthened each person’s testimony of Jesus Christ, a testimony that helps them in their everyday lives. Although they’re miles apart from each other, they’re only a phone call away.

David and Linda Bradshaw, Rachel Bennett, Martin Reynolds, and Gwen Craig are the only Latter-day Saints at their school, so seminary has proved especially helpful to them when their peers have questioned their beliefs.
“My close friend, Mandy, came to school loaded with anti-Mormon literature,” says Linda, “but because I had studied the scriptures I was able to find answers for her that I wouldn’t have known two years ago. Even if she doesn’t accept the gospel now, at least I’ve been able to put right all the strange ideas she had about the Church. And who can tell,” she added, “as Mandy grows older she may remember and inquire again.”

The last colorful rays of the setting sun had faded into the western horizon, and the dark of the night was beginning to settle down over the desert. My father and I were finishing our evening meal and making plans for the night and the next day.
Father was a large, strong man with a kind heart, and he was happy to have his oldest son with him on this trip. We were going to drive 500 sheep we had just purchased to their new home on the other side of the 135 kilometer wide desert. In the desert there was little water, and the days would be hot and the nights cool. The plan was to drive the sheep in the cool of the night and allow them to rest during the heat of the day. We hoped that by doing this the sheep could go without water for three days. Arriving on the other side of the desert, they would be met by a wagon loaded with barrels of water for the thirsty sheep. Our own drinking water for the journey was carried in a 19 liter milk can in the back of our old car.
My father was a gentle and considerate man, and he said to me. “I’ll drive the sheep tonight while you sleep. After you awaken in the morning, eat your breakfast, gather up our camp gear, pack it in the car, and then drive down the trail until you reach me and the sheep.”
Everything went as planned. Father drove the sheep through the night into the desolate area. When I awakened the next morning, I ate a hurried breakfast and packed the car. As I drove the old car along the uncertain wagon trail in the desert, it was difficult to see signs of Father and the sheep, and their trail was especially hard to follow through some of the rocky areas. Still, everything went pretty well for the first few kilometers until there was a fork in the road. I wished Father were there to tell me which road to take. Finally, I decided to take the better road on the right. I drove along without incident for a few kilometers until I came to a deep washout. There the road faded out completely.
Without a map or road signs, fear gripped my heart. I am lost! I thought. What shall I do? Then I remembered the words of my Scout leader: “If you are lost, stop and wait. Then give some kind of a warning signal.”
I took the old rifle from the car and fired three quick shots into the air, praying that Father would hear; then I waited and prayed and waited some more.
After what seemed like such a long time, I saw Father in the distance, running toward me and waving his arms! It wasn’t long after that wonderful meeting until we were safely home with the sheep. How relieved and thankful I was for a father who cared and who could show me the right way to go.

In late 2020, a group of women from the Como Ward Relief Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints organised a collection of various items to donate to the Lifehouse project. The Relief Society motto—charity never faileth—invites women to seek out and help those in need, so the members gathered suitable contributions over a period of two months.
Steve Klomp, the president of RTLWA expressed his appreciation to Relief Society member Geri Campbell for the donations which were delivered in “bootloads” via her car. He said he was “particularly impressed with how the Church has the ability to organise and mobilise its members when there is a community project or a need to be filled.”