Gospel Story Finder

Janet: Keeping things in perspective as it relates to dealing with discouragement affected our own relationship early on and in a very important way. When Rex and I were dating at BYU, he surprised me one night by indicating that he felt our relationship was getting serious. But I had just begun to come to terms with my own feelings, and he was way ahead of me. All of my logic told me Rex had everything I could ever want in a husband, yet I needed that bolt of lightning to strike me and say, “This is the one!” Well, it came in a very unexpected way. For one entire week my concern was that he was getting too serious. Then one evening he suggested that we should date other people again. I was stunned, but I agreed and said good night. I was not prepared for the emotion I was about to feel. As the door closed behind me, the fear of losing him was more than I could bear. I stood frozen in the dark, leaning against the door for support. The world seemed to have stopped, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to start again without Rex there with me. I cried as though my heart would break. How clearly now I could see the priceless gem that was almost mine, but it seemed to be slipping away from my grasp. What other girl did he have in mind when he mentioned dating “others”?
Rex: The answer is simple: I really didn’t have anybody in mind.
Janet: Yeah, right. I think he’s lying.
Rex: That’s nonsense and she knows it. She can’t give you the name of anyone else because there was no one else. Actually, I was sure she was the one, and quite frankly I can’t explain why I suggested maybe we ought to date some other people for a while. It was probably just an irrational stalling technique.
During the intervening week I felt pretty good about the new “date other people” arrangement until she actually did what I suggested we do. That next Friday night, after having been away for a few days, I
came back to town looking forward to seeing Janet. I was stunned to learn that she was actually on a date with someone else. Apparently she had recovered from a broken heart and a world that had come to an end with amazing speed. At first I felt betrayed, then angry, and then within five minutes I realized I had brought the circumstance on myself and began to worry. When her roommates told me who her date was, my worry turned to panic. I knew the guy. How would she dare go out with someone like him? He was better looking than I, had a lot more money, and a lot better car. In terms of intelligence and righteousness, we were about dead even. But he definitely had a more engaging personality. The bottom line: On a ten-point scale, he beat me by three points. Was I now to lose out on the best deal that ever came into my life? So desperately I wanted to turn the clock back seven days, because I could see much more clearly than I had one week earlier how lucky I was to have what I had previously taken for granted.
I came back the next night. She wouldn’t come out of her room. The reason, she said, was that she had washed her hair and was blowing it dry. I never could figure that one out. In the first place, I wanted to see her—whether her hair was wet or dry didn’t matter two cents worth. Moreover, I’d washed my hair before. Drying time? A minute thirty seconds max.
Janet: Yes, but don’t you remember that during those days you had a crew cut? You could dry your hair with a towel.
Rex: All right, so you had more hair. But not even Samson and Rapunzel back-to-back should have taken the whole evening. Anyway, I did what any red-blooded American boy would do. I stood outside her dorm and threw rocks at her window. But all was not lost. By the next night she was ready to talk and for some reason was willing to overlook my three-point deficit.
Janet: Through that experience Rex and I came to the realization that we had brought about our own discouragement because we had lost perspective by not appreciating what we already had.

The movie actor Sal Mineo, who starred in Hollywood classics such as Giant and Exodus, was returning to his apartment at about one o’clock in the morning. As he left his car, a knife-wielding man stabbed him. Several neighbors heard his screams for help and called the police. A man ran into the alley and gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation as an effort to save him. The neighbors did not idly stand by.

The response of people to Sal Mineo being attacked shows that humans have compassion for others. However, the Kitty Genovese case demonstrates that people can have a callous disregard for another person’s welfare.

Isabelle was so excited that she almost skipped as she and her dad walked down the hallway. Her mom had just brushed her dark hair and zipped up the long white dress Isabelle would wear for her baptism. She stopped outside the room where everyone was waiting.
“Can anyone have one of those?” she asked her dad, pointing to copies of the Book of Mormon on a small table.
“Yes. They’re for people who want to know more about our church,” Dad said.
Isabelle peeked into the room. It was full of people she loved. Her grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins sat near the front. Her best friend, Grace, sat with her family at the back. But Isabelle didn’t see Miss Perkins, her schoolteacher.
“Let’s go in,” Dad said. “It’s time for the meeting to start.”
“Can we wait one more minute for Miss Perkins?”
Miss Perkins was Isabelle’s favorite teacher. She loved books, and Isabelle did too.
“It was nice of you to invite her, Isabelle, but she might not come,” Dad said gently.
Isabelle sighed and nodded. She and Dad walked into the room and sat in the front row. Right before the opening hymn, Isabelle turned around to look for her teacher one last time. There she was with Grace’s family! Isabelle smiled. Miss Perkins smiled back.
After Isabelle’s baptism the bishop asked everyone to squeeze together for a photo.
“Where is Isabelle?” he asked.
Everyone looked around. No Isabelle!
Grace went to find her friend. First she looked down the hallway, but Isabelle wasn’t there. Then she looked in the foyer, but she wasn’t there either. Finally, Grace looked outside and saw Isabelle standing on the steps of the meetinghouse talking to Miss Perkins.
“Thank you for coming to my baptism,” Isabelle said.
“You’re welcome,” said Miss Perkins. “I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly. I have another appointment today.”
“That’s OK. But I wanted to give you something.” Isabelle handed her teacher a Book of Mormon that she had picked up off the table in the hallway. “I know you love to read, and this is a really good book.”
“Thank you,” Miss Perkins said.
“Will you read it?” Isabelle asked.
“Yes, I will,” Miss Perkins said. “I promise.”
Isabelle felt so happy. She smiled as she turned and saw Grace waiting for her.
“What were you doing out there?” Grace asked. “Your mom wants a group picture.”
“I went to give Miss Perkins a Book of Mormon,” Isabelle said.
Grace’s eyes widened. “Were you scared?”
“A little. But I was more afraid that she would just put it away on a shelf somewhere. So I asked her if she would read it.”
“What did she say?” Grace asked.
“She promised that she would!”
“That’s great!” Grace said.
The two girls joined the group of friends and relatives.
“I’m glad Grace found you, Isabelle!” the bishop said. Then he asked everyone to squeeze together again for the picture. Isabelle stood right in the middle of the front row.
Afterward, Isabelle’s mom leaned over to hug her. “Now you can remember your baptism day forever!” she said.
Isabelle smiled. She knew that with or without a picture, she would never forget her baptism day and how good it felt to be a missionary.

This story happened in the Philippines.
“Mano po! Hello!” Arkin said to Grandma when he got home. He greeted her by bowing and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
Grandma smiled. “Your dad is waiting for you with the fish. Hurry and go help him!”
Arkin’s dad was a construction worker. He worked very hard to earn money for their family. But they didn’t have much. And sometimes Dad couldn’t find work. When that happened, Arkin helped him sell homemade tinapa (smoked fish).
Arkin and Dad put the packs of tinapa in a basket and carried it outside.
“Thank you for helping me,” said Dad. “I hope we sell enough to pay for a ride to church this week.”
Arkin’s family lived in a small village near rice fields and a fishpond. It was just him, Dad, Grandma, and his older sister. They were far away from the chapel. To get to church, they had to pay to ride a tricycle (a motorcycle with a sidecar). If they didn’t have the money, they had to walk for two hours.
“I have faith that Heavenly Father will help us,” Arkin said. “Let’s go!”
First they went to their neighbor Aling Nena’s house. She always bought tinapa from them.
“Good afternoon!” Arkin said.
Aling Nena opened the gate for them. “Oh, my two favorite people are here!” she said with a smile. She gave Dad some money, and he gave her two packs of tinapa.
“Thank you for buying from us!” Arkin said. “It really means a lot.”
Arkin and Dad walked back out to the street.
“Tinapa! Tinapa! Delicious tinapa!” Arkin called. More people bought fish from them.
It was hot outside, but Arkin didn’t mind. He and Dad sang “Count Your Blessings” as they walked. Every day was a blessing for them!
They kept singing and selling. Arkin almost didn’t notice that their basket was empty.
“Look, Dad! We sold all the fish!” Arkin said.
Dad smiled. “Yes, it’s a blessing.”
Arkin was glad they had sold so much tinapa. It would help pay some of their bills, and there was enough for a ride to church on Sunday!
But tomorrow was Saturday, and that was when they helped clean the church. So early the next morning, Arkin and Dad woke up to start the long walk to the church building. They always walked to save money for Sunday.
“Aren’t you tired of cleaning your church every Saturday?” asked Grandma before they left.
Dad put his hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Cleaning the church is one way we serve the Lord.”
Arkin nodded. “We get blessings for cleaning the church. Heavenly Father helps our tinapa sell out so we can buy food!”
While they walked, Arkin and Dad sang more hymns. Then they worked hard to clean the church. Arkin wiped the dust from all the windows and chairs. Dad swept and mopped the floor.
When they were done, the bishop shared pandesal (sweet rolls) with everyone who helped. Arkin ate his snack with a big smile. It would be a long walk home, but his heart felt joyful and thankful. When they came back to church tomorrow, the building would be clean for everyone to enjoy and remember Jesus Christ. He was happy he could help.
Illustration by Margarida Esteves

To begin, the health challenge.

In the middle of winter midterms in my junior year at BYU, I felt run-down. I had a full load of classes, worked as an American Heritage teaching assistant, and spent any free time I had with my roommates and friends. I was busy; it didn’t surprise me that I was also very tired. But when I started having to sit closer to the front of the class to see the board clearly and drink water almost constantly to alleviate my dry mouth, seeing a doctor seemed like a good idea.

I was completely unprepared for the type 1 diabetes diagnosis I received. I was admitted to the hospital with dangerously high blood sugar levels that doctors and nurses worked to stabilize. A diabetes educator taught me how to count carbohydrates and determine and deliver matching insulin doses.

When I was released from the hospital, I tried to reenter my normal life that, it turned out, was no longer normal at all. The settings were ­familiar—my parents’ home, my apartment in Provo, the TA lab. But life within these familiar settings was totally foreign, and it terrified me. I did not have a grasp on the new rules that governed how I had to live. I had been told that if I under-administered insulin, it would damage my body over time, and if I over-administered insulin, I could put myself into a coma. The uncertainty I felt about such common everyday events as eating a snack or drinking anything other than water was paralyzing. I was so scared.

A week after my diabetes diagnosis, I was back on campus and feeling like an imposter in my own life, pretending that I knew how to do it. With my usual confidence shattered, I desperately needed relief. I found a quiet spot on campus and opened my scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 122, a revelation received by the unjustly imprisoned Joseph Smith. There I read:

And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?

With these words, the Spirit brought to my remembrance what I knew to be true: Christ understood. He felt my pain, my fears, and my feelings of deep inadequacy. He intimately knew my burden and was eminently qualified to bear it with me.

I was humbled by the piercing question “Art thou greater than he?” As I considered my situation in the context of the Savior’s infinite atoning sacrifice, my concerns were immediately tempered. I felt physically lighter. A sacred peace filled me. I was not assured that I would be made well or healed from my illness. Remember, the Savior’s burden is still a burden. But I was assured that with Him, the burden of diabetes would be light. And, miraculously, it has been! With His help I have made inspired choices that have optimized my health. I have been guided to healthcare professionals who have given me excellent care. Through this challenge, Christ has helped me gain empathy and patience that allow me to better love my ­brothers and sisters. I am so grateful for His care!

Chris shuffled his feet a little to hear the brush, brush sound they made in the blue paper booties covering his shoes. He was standing in line with his family, waiting to go into the San Diego California Temple for the open house.
Dad bent down and put a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Temple open houses are very special,” he said. “I remember when I went to the Provo Utah Temple open house. I had watched the workers building it from just an empty field up to a finished temple. When we were inside, I knew it was Heavenly Father’s house. I was a little bit older than you are, but you’ll remember this your whole life, just like I did.”
Mom turned toward them. “That’s right. I remember when I went to the Seattle Washington Temple open house a long time ago. That’s why we drove all the way here. Getting to tour a temple before it’s dedicated is a very special opportunity.”
Chris thought about their long drive through the desert to get to San Diego. There had been nothing interesting to look at out the windows, and his little sister cried most of the way. Even his older sister got a little bit tired of all the driving. But since they had come so far, he knew it was important.
Chris folded his arms and walked as quietly as he could in his blue paper shoes through the temple tour. He couldn’t remember ever being somewhere so beautiful. The carpet was white. The windows were tall. The pictures on the walls were beautiful. It felt more reverent than any place he had been before.
As they walked up the stairs, Chris held tightly to the handrail. He was smiling brightly.
Mom whispered to him, “How do you feel?”
Chris looked up at her and Dad. “I feel like I’m holding the iron rod.”

While serving in the Philippines I remember starting a conversation with a young lawyer. We were in the lobby of a hotel in heavily populated Manila. During that animated conversation, we talked of many different things until I introduced the reason for my stay in that country. At the same time, I mentioned and made reference to a copy of the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ that I had in my hand.
When I mentioned the word "Mormon," the immediate reaction of this young and apparently well-educated lawyer was to tell me, "So you are a Mormon and you Mormons are not Christians."
I have dealt with similar situations in different circumstances and places, and in all of them--in every case--my testimony of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer, has been strengthened.
The thought that there are so many people talking about Christ without knowing Him is what has prompted me to talk about Christ, to rejoice in Christ, to preach of Christ, and to testify of Christ.

Throughout my life I have had numerous examples of being blessed when following the promptings of the Lord. When I was a missionary in the Philippines Davao mission there was a great deal of political furor over the desire by separatist groups wanting Mindinao, the largest island in the Visayan island group, to secede from the Philippines and become an independent Islamic state. On our P-day my companion and I were shopping at the only large department store in Davao when I heard a clear emphatic voice whisper to me saying, 'sister leave, leave now." I turned directly to my companion and said, 'sister I think we should leave," to which she responded, "yes you're right," there was no further discussion, we both put down the goods we had in our hands and left the store immediately. On our "jeepny" ride traveling back to our area we heard on the radio that a bomb had exploded in the department store we had been in less than a half hour earlier and according to initial reports there had been loss of life. Later we found out that 13 people were killed in that explosion. We were blessed by heeding the promptings of the spirit. D&C 84:47 states "every one that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God . . ." There was, and is no doubt in my mind that the Lord was watching over me and my companion. Heeding the Spirit brought us physical safety and brought us closer to the Lord through our enriched testimonies of the power of the Spirit.

Telii and Nabota were among the first Tubuaians to join the Church. They became Elder Pratt’s closest friends there and helped him preach the gospel. Telii translated Latter-day Saint hymns and scriptures and set them to himene, a local singing style. Many evenings, she gathered people together to teach them her songs. It was during these meetings, which sometimes lasted until midnight, that her relatives and friends first learned gospel concepts and scriptures. Several were soon baptized.

“You’ll probably never get to meet your grandparents, Son. They’re in Hickory County, Missouri, with all eight of my brothers and sisters. I still remember the last time I saw them. It was during a summer rainstorm, and the humidity wrapped around me like a wool blanket as I stood there on the front porch, facing my parents. They wouldn’t even come out the door to say good-bye. Nor did they let any of my siblings come outside that house to hug me—not even my twin sister, Nora.
“‘The day a body puts some crazy fool church before her own family is the day that body loses herself. She loses her family,’ my daddy told me through the screen door. My mama was behind him. I could see she was crying. Then he said, right before he slammed the door, ‘You are no longer my daughter.’ I’ve never seen any of them since.
“Now, Son, I don’t tell you this story to make you feel sorry for me. I tell you this because I want you to know how firmly I believe this church is the one true Church on the earth. I was willing to sacrifice my family to come here to Utah because of the truth.
“Was it hard? It was very hard! Did I ever feel lonely? Absolutely. Have I ever for one single minute regretted it? No, Son, I have not. The gospel is true. I would never deny it. If I hadn’t followed my heart and joined the Church, it would have driven me insane. I knew the Book of Mormon was true the first time I read it. Sometimes, Son, you have to do the right thing, even though everyone around you is telling you otherwise.
“One night when I was feeling very discouraged, I was kneeling to say my prayers and felt myself embraced by strong, warm arms. I suddenly felt safe and reassured. There was no one there—it was our Father in Heaven letting me know that He was there and that He loved me.
“When you have children of your own someday, you be sure to tell them how much their grandmother loves them. You tell them that the gospel is true and that it’s worth all the sacrifices they will have to make. Oh, and tell them that I’ll always be right there beside them, watching out for them—just as I will be for you.”

When I was in a young adult ward, I had family home evening with my ward family. One of the most memorable family home evenings I ever attended was a night when the full-time missionaries were in charge.
The elders invited several of the converts in our ward to share their conversion stories. As the converts spoke, the Spirit’s presence was undeniable.
After the stories had been shared, my mind returned to my own missionary experiences—as both a full-time and a lifetime missionary. I reevaluated my own actions in sharing the gospel on a day-to-day basis and continued to reflect on them for weeks to come.
When I was later called to be in charge of family home evening in the ward, I made it a point to continue “the conversion stories night” activity periodically, asking different converts in our ward to participate.
Janna McFerson, California, USA

I have spoken on three or four occasions to the women of the Church during the past ten years. I have received in response to these various talks a substantial number of letters. I have kept some of them in a file marked “Unhappy Women.”
These letters have come from many areas. But they are all written in the same tone. I wish to read you a portion of one of them which was received only last week. The writer has granted me permission to do so. I will not disclose any names.
Said she: “I met my husband when he was a freshman. He was from a very active family with many years of service in the Church. He was so enthused about serving a mission. I thought we shared the gospel as our most important value in this life. We both enjoyed music and nature and had a high priority on gaining knowledge. We dated a few months, easily fell in love, and wrote to one another while he served an honorable mission. When he came back home, he got back into school and we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. We followed the counsel of Church leaders and began our family. I had been attending [the university] on an Honors at Entrance scholarship, but I became pregnant and sick and left school to devote my time and energy to my husband and infant son.
“For the next eighteen years I supported my husband while he finished school, got some work experience, and started his own business. We both served in leadership positions in the Church and community. We had five wonderful children. I taught the children the gospel, how to work, how to serve, how to communicate, and how to play the piano. I baked bread; canned peaches, apples, tomatoes; sewed dresses and quilts; cleaned house; and tended my flowers and vegetables. In many ways it seemed that we were an ideal family. Our relationship was sometimes sweet and sometimes difficult. Things were never perfect because I am not a perfect woman and he is not a perfect man, but many things were good. I did not expect perfection; I just kept trying.
“Then came the crash. About a year ago he decided that he never loved me and that our marriage was a mistake from the beginning. He was convinced that there was nothing in our relationship for him. He filed for divorce and moved out. ‘Wait,’ I kept saying. ‘Oh, no. Stop! Don’t do this. Why are you leaving? What is wrong? Please, talk to me. Look at our children. What of all our dreams? Remember our covenants. No, no! Divorce is not the answer.’ He would not hear me. I thought I would die.
“Now I am a single parent. What an enormous load of heartache, pain, and loneliness is behind that statement. It explains so much trauma and so much anger from my teenage sons. It explains so many tears from my little girls. It explains so many sleepless nights, so many family demands and needs. Why am I in this mess? What did I choose wrong? How will I ever get through school? How will I get through this week? Where is my husband? Where is the father of my children? I join the ranks of tired women whose husbands leave them. I have no money, no job. I have children to care for, bills to pay, and not much hope.”

Nana Ninsin’s advocacy extends to education and menstrual health. She has introduced clubs like Women in Law and Development Africa in local schools, helping reduce dropout rates and teenage pregnancies. “Last year, I received an award from the Director of Education,” she shares proudly. “Now we don’t have pregnant girls in class.” But challenges remain. “My girls use banana stalks as sanitary pads,” she says. “Disabled girls can’t manage menstruation in schools without proper toilets.” She’s calling for support for sanitary pads, school supplies, and infrastructure improvements.

It was a sweaty Sunday afternoon, and the chapel was stifling. My wife was wrestling with the kids to keep them reverent, and I was wrestling with my eyelids to keep them open. We were both losing.
The speaker didn’t help me any in my fight against sacrament meeting slumber. He was a typical youth speaker, and he followed the pattern of most youth speakers in our ward—he read to us from the book Especially for Mormons.
As he droned on, my wife and I both surrendered: she took the kids out to the foyer, and I decided to grab some shut-eye. I assumed sacrament sleep position number one: weight forward, elbows on knees, head down, face in hands, and soon I was dozing comfortably.
Maybe I was too comfortable or maybe somebody poked me awake—it’s happened before. At any rate, my head slipped out of my hands and “thwap!” my forehead cracked the bench in front of me.
I don’t normally have such headaches in sacrament meeting, but a dull speaker and a stuffy chapel almost always make me drowsy.

As a social worker working as a child abuse investigator in Southern California, I was assigned to work in the drug unit of a local government agency. One of my duties was to provide services to new mothers who had delivered drug exposed babies. My job was to help the mothers identify their problems, overcome their substance abuse issues, and to reunify with their babies which had been removed from their care. On one occasion, I had a young mother on my caseload that suffered from a severe heroin addiction. She had given birth to a baby boy just days earlier while under the influence of this damaging substance. At her request, I met her next to a trash dumpster in a back alley of a rundown neighborhood. There sitting on the curb she told me that she knew what she was doing was wrong. She knew of the dangers she was inflicting upon herself and her unborn child. She explained to me that she had never wanted to have children due to her current lifestyle, but now it was too late. Now she was a mother. With tears in her eyes she asked me if I could help her become the best mother to her child. I knew she was talking about her divine nature, but she could not know of this—she only felt it. She knew of the important role of being a mother to this new baby and she had work to do to get there. I went on to help her get into a drug treatment program, a parenting class, and counseling. I assisted her along the way. Several years later a co-worker ran into her and she recognized her badge. It was the same type that I had worn when I worked with her. She asked this co-worker to let me know that she was working fulltime and that her son was doing well in her care. She wanted to let me know that she was thankful that I had treated her with respect and like a friend when nobody else would.

Dr. MacFarland also told about a World War II veteran who had heard him speak. This veteran sat down at his kitchen table and wrote a longhand letter to Dr. MacFarland. He wrote, “My wife and I don’t have much. I doubt we will ever have enough money to travel outside of Arizona. I was a soldier in World War II and was taken prisoner. For two years we didn’t hear one bit of news as to how the war was going. In all those months I never lost faith,” he said, “and then one morning I saw the American flag and a band of soldiers coming over the hill. I don’t know if anyone can understand the love I felt for my country that day, and have all of my life. I felt the same way the other night when I heard you talk.” Then he wrote, “Dr. MacFarland, you’re quite a guy. You just stay in there laying them on the landing deck.”

We are surrounded by many who have taught us by example the principles of faith, obedience, and sacrifice. In the Lectures on Faith we are taught, “The faith necessary unto the enjoyment of life and salvation never could be obtained without the sacrifice of all earthly things.”12

My grandfather J. Leo Seely received a mission call in 1914 to serve the Lord in Ireland. He left his wife and little children for two years. The depth of his sacrifice has become clear to us as we have read their letters. Upon his return he grabbed my grandmother in an embrace, and his little daughter Ina, who hadn’t seen her father for years, raced out to chastise this unfamiliar man, shouting, “You naughty man, leave my mother alone!”

Because of the power of this man’s example and that of my noble grandmother, my father served a mission, and then over fifty of his grandchildren and now his great-grandchildren have gone forth to serve the Lord in missions that cover the world. Great-Great-Grandfather Bramall crossed the plains seven times and served five missions to England. And Great-Grandmother Sumsion began a great tradition of sister missionary service followed by her daughter, her granddaughters, and now her great-granddaughters. As we watch our children—and as you watch your friends and families—open mission calls, we see the image of God in a person who is willing to follow in the footsteps of the Savior to sacrifice for the salvation of His children. They have the faith and the courage to go wherever the Lord calls them.

On Thursday, a group from the Mormon Battalion who had been released in New Mexico entered the valley and joined the Saints, increasing their number to about 400. These men from the battalion went to work immediately on the construction of a bowery on the southeast corner of the place designated as the Temple Block to serve as a place of assembly—a predecessor to this tabernacle. Poles were cut and brought from the mountains and planted in the ground to support a roof of leafy boughs. This first structure to be built in the valley was finished on Saturday, one week from the day of arrival. On the following day, Sunday, they were able to hold religious services under the shade of this bowery.

“During the St. Petersburg concert,” said James B. Kennard, “I kept making eye contact with a man in the audience. I found him afterwards and invited him to the fireside the next evening. He and his two sons came to the fireside and then invited us to their apartment, where we held a gospel discussion. They happily agreed to read the Book of Mormon and visit with the missionaries. At the evening’s end, our wives embraced and hugged each other.”

That evening at supper Beth was quiet.
“Is anything wrong, Beth?” her mother asked.
“How far away is Easter?”
“About four weeks,” her mother replied. “Why?”
“I’m going to make an Easter egg,” Beth said slowly.
“We always color eggs, Beth,” her mother said, puzzled. “Don’t you think this is a bit early to start?”
“No, because I want to make a fancy egg—like Gram has in her collection.”
A look of understanding spread across Mother’s face. “Were you helping Gram get her eggs ready for the library display this week?”
Beth nodded. “And do you know what? I found out that Gramps was the Phantom all along. Did you know that, Mom?”
“Did I ever! I remember all the eggs we used to eat. It’s a wonder I didn’t sprout feathers when I was growing up!” Mother smiled at the memory. “I never let on to Gramps that I knew though. It would have spoiled his fun. He got such a kick out of surprising Gram.”
“She’s really sad because this is going to be the first Easter in almost fifty years that she won’t be getting a Phantom egg,” Beth said. “I thought that if I could make her one, she might feel a little better. I know it wouldn’t be the same as one from the Phantom, but I’d like to try.”
Beth’s father, who had been listening quietly, smiled at his daughter. “I think that’s a great idea, Beth. It would remind Gram that she is still loved even though Gramps isn’t here anymore. If I can do anything to help, let me know.”
After school the next day Beth bicycled over to the library. She found several books to take home on the art of egg decorating. When she finished her homework and the dishes, she sat down to study the books before bedtime. As Mother gave her a kiss good night, Beth said, “Mom, some of those eggs that Gramps made took a lot of time and work. Why didn’t he make some to sell?”
“He only made them for Gram because he loved her, and he knew how much she liked decorated eggs. Have you decided what kind you’re going to make?”
“Not yet. But I’ve got the choice narrowed down. I’ll decide in the morning.” Beth yawned and snuggled down under the covers.
By Saturday Beth was eager to start her project. She had decided to try her hand at two different types of decorations. One involved an onion-skin dye. After the egg had been dyed, a design would be scratched onto its surface. The other type was a “sugar” egg. This required some diamond dust and floral cake decorations as well as glue, ribbons, and a special sugar frosting. Both types required starting with clean, whole, empty eggshells.
A few hours later Beth looked ruefully into a bowl of shell-less eggs. The yellow yolks seemed to be winking at her. She had only a few whole shells to show for her efforts.
She looked up when Mother came into the kitchen. “Mom, can I fix breakfast tomorrow morning?”
Mother put an arm around Beth’s shoulders and hugged her sympathetically. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll be happy to eat all the eggs we need to. If I never clucked before, I doubt that I will now.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’re super. This isn’t as easy as I thought.”
The weeks sped by. Beth practiced her egg craft every spare moment. The family ate omelets, angel food cake, souffles, custards, meringue pies, and anything else they could think of that used lots of eggs. Decorated eggshells lined every available space.
The day before Easter came quickly. Beth’s mother had rummaged through the attic and found a beautiful little basket that was the perfect size for one egg. Beth had lined it with soft Easter grass.
After supper Beth carefully positioned her prize egg in the basket. Pastel flowers shone softly through its glistening spun-sugar coating.
“Beth, that’s lovely,” her mother said.
“You’ve done a great job, honey,” her father agreed. “You should be proud of yourself. We are. I’m sure Gram will be very happy.”
“Thank you.” Beth smiled. “It did turn out nice, didn’t it? I’m glad I decided to do this kind instead of the onion-skin type. I like this kind better.”
“I like the smell better too.” Her dad wrinkled his nose in mock disgust at the remembered smell of boiling onion skins.
“Oh, Dad!” Beth laughed. “I can’t wait to see Gram’s face.”
Early the next morning they drove to Gram’s house and parked out of sight down the street. Beth cautiously crept up to the front door, put the basket on the steps, rang the bell, and scurried behind a huge lilac bush.
The front door opened slowly. Beth’s grandmother stepped out and peered around uncertainly. Shaking her head, she turned to go back inside. Suddenly she glanced down and froze as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.
Beth held her breath as Gram sat down on the step and placed the basket on her lap. She stared and stared at it. Beth could see tears on her grandmother’s cheeks. Gram lifted her head and called out, “If you’re out there, my new Phantom, how can I thank you? You’ve made me very happy. I’m going to call my granddaughter to tell her about your kindness. She’ll be delighted.”
As soon as Gram closed the door, Beth scooted back to the car. “Quick!” she told her parents. “We’ve got to get home. Gram is going to call me to tell me about the egg.”
The phone was ringing as Beth raced through the front door. Although Beth was winded from her run, her grandmother was too excited to notice it over the phone.
Easter dinner conversation revolved around the new Phantom egg which Gram had brought to show off. All the aunts, uncles, and cousins were impressed, and Beth glowed inwardly when Gram said, “Tomorrow I’m taking this egg right down to the library and have it put in the case with my other Phantom eggs. I’m going to make a nice card explaining what happened and how much this egg means to me. Somehow I’m sure that Gramps is pleased too.”