Gospel Story Finder

With a few months left in my mission in eastern Canada, I was transferred to a new area. The day I arrived, Elder Miller, my new companion, could not stop talking about one family with four boys—Jason, 14; Dawson, 11; Tyson, 8; and Robin, 5. Elder Miller was excited about this family. He said the Lord had truly prepared them.
The four boys all loved sports, especially baseball. I was elated since I thrived on sports of any kind. On our visits, the gospel and sports were our major topics of conversation. Occasionally we were able to play catch with the boys on their front lawn or watch them participate in athletic events.
My first discussion with the White family is forever embedded in my memory. That evening as we spoke about the plan of our Heavenly Father, the spirit of the Holy Ghost fell upon all of us. As the Spirit prompted us, my companion and I knew it was time to invite these good people to be baptized. We turned to the father and extended the invitation to baptism. He accepted. We then turned to his wife and asked her. She replied, “I do not feel ready at this time.”
Normally when someone says that they do not feel ready for baptism, missionaries ask them why. This time we did not even attempt to ask her why.
Next, we turned to the oldest son, Jason. We invited Jason to be baptized and he said yes.
His mother was a little shocked at his quick acceptance. She turned to him and said, “Jason, why do you want to be baptized?”
Jason started, “Well, Mom, you know how you feel when you win a championship game? You know how it makes you feel inside?”
She nodded.
“Well,” said Jason, “that’s how I feel right now, and because of that, I want to be baptized.”
As Jason concluded his comments, tears flowed from his mother’s eyes. She then turned to my companion and me and said, “I too would like to be baptized.”
Jason had powerfully taught us all that the Holy Ghost’s promptings are real and must be acted upon.
A few days later this faithful family was baptized.

My wife, Carmen, and I just had our first child when I was called to be the bishop of our ward. At the time, we struggled financially. It became stressful for me to provide for my family and at the same time watch over and care for the members of our ward.
One Sunday, I noticed a single mother with her four little children in sacrament meeting. She sat on the last bench in the chapel and tried her best to keep her children quiet. I knew she was struggling financially as well, but she never asked for help. Weeks passed, and every Sunday she came to church with her children.
One day, I received my paycheck. Blessed to receive a bonus, I decided to use the extra money to purchase supplies for much-needed repairs on my house. But while I was heading to the market, this sister and her children came to my mind. I felt I should use the extra money to buy food for them. I called Carmen and told her what I felt I needed to do. She agreed.
As I shopped, my eyes fell on some cookies. I thought that maybe the children would like some sweets. I filled two bags with food and made my way to this sister’s house.
I knocked on the worn wooden door several times. When I was about to leave, the door finally opened. “Bishop,” the sister said, “I am surprised to see you here.” Instantly, her children ran out from behind her.
“I brought you some food,” I said.
One of her daughters found the cookies and shouted, “Cookies!” Her brothers and sisters excitedly gathered around. A seven-year-old daughter hugged me. “Thank you, Bishop!” she said.
I looked inside their home and saw that this sister had been washing clothes in a pan on the floor. The family had no table and slept on a mattress on the floor. I realized how much they were in need. I made arrangements to make sure they would have a table and that each would have a bed.
This experience helped me to recognize that the Lord guides and blesses His servants. We do not need a special calling in order to help our brothers and sisters. We just need to be in tune with the Spirit, recognize who needs our help, and be willing to be instruments in the Lord’s hands.

When I hugged Ashley good-bye a day before graduation, I thought I would see her again before she set off on a yearlong journey across the nation to help children. But less than a month after graduation, Ashley died in a car accident.
At 17, I’d never experienced the loss of a loved one, and I didn’t know how to handle this tragedy. I had never met Ashley’s family, so I didn’t feel that I could share my grief with them. My other friends hadn’t been as close to her as I had.
So I mourned alone in my room at night, with tears trickling into my ears as I lay on my bed. “Okay,” I thought, “this is natural. I’ll have my cry and then go to sleep.” But to my surprise, the pain didn’t end. I was frightened to feel a great hole growing inside of me, and it felt bottomless.
In desperation, I pulled out my scriptures and read blindly until a measure of calm stopped the aching, and I slept. But the sadness continued. For about a week it was hard to sleep, and the tears kept falling.
I started to get angry. I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I knew that death was not the end and that Ashley was in a better and happier place. I was aware that I would see her again. I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time getting over her death while knowing these things were true. I’d always heard that members of the Church weren’t as sad at funerals because they know about our life after death, and I felt ashamed of my sorrow.
As time passed, so did the ache, but occasionally something would remind me of my friend, and I would have a hard time controlling my emotions.
It’s now been over three years since Ashley’s death, and I’ve finally come to a better understanding of my grief. Jesus Christ blesses those who mourn and commands us to “live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
My tears for the loss of my friend were not wrong. These tears did not indicate a lack of faith in God’s plan. Comfort can reach us. It will sit beside the grief, and while not replacing sorrow, will at least keep it from overpowering one’s heart entirely.
I still think of Ashley occasionally. I picture her in her favorite striped sweater and with the hundreds of friends she had from all areas of the high school. Many times I have thanked my Heavenly Father for not answering my prayer that first day of choir class to be seated by someone I knew. If He had, I never would have experienced the joy of knowing such an inspiring person before she left this earth.

When Goethe wrote his Faust, I believe he was inspired to utter some truths about the method of attack by the enemy of our souls. You recall that the man Faust, an old man, was anxious to be made a youth again. He prayed for such a transformation. But the thing he sought for was unlawful, and the Lord had no answer for him. But he persisted in his prayers, and when we persist, not willing to say “Father, thy will, not mine, be done,” it is quite possible that the devil may answer us, as he did Faust. And so the devil said: “I will do this thing for you. I will make you a youth, and when you are a youth you will want a maiden.” And a vision of the beautiful Marguerite was shown. “But if I do this for you I want you to sign a contract that when you are done with this body your spirit belongs to me.”

It is not bodies, it is immortal spirits that the devil wants. And he tries to capture them through the body, for the body can enslave the spirit, but the spirit can keep the body a servant and be its master.

So the contract is entered into. Then as Faust is made a young man he remembers the promise of the virgin, the maiden, and the two go in search of her. They find her as she enters the church. Suddenly Faust rushes forward to seize her, but the devil holds him back and says: “Not so fast, not that way.” Here is a truth. The devil cannot capture any man or woman that way. He cannot suddenly sweep them off their feet and bind them as his slaves against their wills. The power is given to every man and woman that lives to speak as Christ did: “Get thee hence, Satan;” and he will leave you as quickly as he left the Master. He cannot capture a single soul unless we are willing to go. He is limited. He must win men and women.

So with Marguerite. He must win her. They study her and find her weakness. She is a chaste, virtuous, wonderful girl, yet she has a weakness. It is vanity. So they play upon that weak link. Jewels are placed in the garden, and with them the mirror. She discovers these things. Vanity prompts her to put the jewels on and suggest she look in the mirror and see how beautiful she is. At the psychological moment the tempter appears and offers them as a gift from her would-be lover. She is prompted to keep them.

The lovers spend the afternoon together, and the mother’s voice is heard calling Marguerite to come in from the garden, but she is loath to leave her new-found lover. Again at the psychological moment the tempter, the devil, appears, placing a pill in the hand of Faust with the assurance that if this is placed in the mother’s evening drink the mother will soon be asleep and the lovers will be undisturbed. As I have listened to the sad stories of more than one girl who has stolen away from her mother’s influence and come to sorrow and distress, I wonder why the warning is not sufficient to give every girl the assurance that the safest place in the world for her is as close to her mother as she can get.

The mother takes the potion and goes to sleep. The lovers spend the night together. Early morning brings the brother Valentino upon the scene, and he finds his mother—dead for it is the sleep of death—and a stranger in the house with his sister Marguerite. A quarrel follows, and a duel is fought in which Valentino, the brother, is slain. Now Marguerite comes to an awakening sense of her full situation and the consequences of her own act. She has slain her mother, brought the death of her brother, and—worse than her own death—she has lost her virtue. She is next seen weeping and tearing her hair, and the devil comes laughing upon the scene. He has captured another soul. Strongly fortified as she was, she had one weakness, and through that the enemy entered her citadel and she fell.

Family history has helped the Shamolas become more united.
Working together, Brother and Sister Shamola helped their children create FamilySearch accounts as part of a family home evening activity. As they do family history activities together, the Shamola family says they feel closer. The children look forward to participating.
“It is very important to learn about family history because it will help our children and other generations come to know where they came from,” says Sister Shamola.

One young woman from Haiti in the Caribbean showed her desire to be a disciple of Christ by inviting her friend who was not a member of the Church to come with her to an FSY conference. At first her friend’s father did not want to give his daughter permission to go. Church leaders explained about the positive experiences that awaited her and the wonderful young adult counselors who would be watching over her. The father gave permission for his daughter to attend, and after seeing the difference it made in her life, he also gave her permission to attend Church meetings and—six months later—be baptized.

Now, as a reminder to members of our obligation to share the gospel I repeat an account from the history of the Church.
In the late 1850s many converts from Europe were struggling to reach the Great Salt Lake Valley. Many were too poor to afford the open and the covered wagons and had to walk, pushing their meager belongings in handcarts. Some of the most touching and tragic moments in the history of the Church accompanied these handcart pioneers.
One such company was commanded by a Brother McArthur. Archer Walters, an English convert who was with the company, recorded in his diary under July 2, 1856, this sentence:
“Brother Parker’s little boy, age six, was lost, and the father went back to hunt him.” (LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, Pioneers Ed. Glendale, California, The Arthur H. Clark Co., 1960, p. 61.)
The boy, Arthur, was next youngest of four children of Robert and Ann Parker. Three days earlier the company had hurriedly made camp in the face of a sudden thunderstorm. It was then the boy was missed. The parents had thought him to be playing along the way with the other children.
Someone remembered earlier in the day, when they had stopped, that they had seen the little boy settle down to rest under the shade of some brush.
Now most of you have little children and you know how quickly a tired little six-year-old could fall asleep on a sultry summer day and how soundly he could sleep, so that even the noise of the camp moving on might not awaken him.
For two days the company remained, and all of the men searched for him. Then on July 2, with no alternative, the company was ordered west.
Robert Parker, as the diary records, went back alone to search once more for his little son. As he was leaving camp, his wife pinned a bright shawl about his shoulders with words such as these:
“If you find him dead, wrap him in the shawl to bury him. If you find him alive, you could use this as a flag to signal us.”
She, with the other little children, took the handcart and struggled along with the company.
Out on the trail each night Ann Parker kept watch. At sundown on July 5, as they were watching, they saw a figure approaching from the east! Then, in the rays of the setting sun, she saw the glimmer of the bright red shawl.
One of the diaries records: “Ann Parker fell in a pitiful heap upon the sand, and that night, for the first time in six nights, she slept.”
Under July 5, Brother Walters recorded:
“Brother Parker came into camp with a little boy that had been lost. Great joy through the camp. The mother’s joy I cannot describe.” (Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 61.)
We do not know all of the details. A nameless woodsman—I’ve often wondered how unlikely it was that a woodsman should be there—found the little boy and described him as being sick with illness and with terror, and he cared for him until his father found him.
So here a story, commonplace in its day, ends—except for a question. How would you, in Ann Parker’s place, feel toward the nameless woodsman had he saved your little son? Would there be any end to your gratitude?
To sense this is to feel something of the gratitude our Father must feel toward any of us who saves one of his children. Such gratitude is a prize dearly to be won, for the Lord has said, “If it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15.) Even so, I might add, if that soul should be our own.

At one community event he and Sister Faust attended, a leader of another faith criticized the Church. Sister Faust recalled, “I became steamier and steamier as he went on, but Jim just listened patiently. Afterwards, he went up to this man and said, ‘Now, Reverend, if you feel that way, we must be doing something wrong. I’d like for us to have lunch together so that you can let me know what your concerns are.’ They did, and the two have been good friends ever since.”

I grew up in the Church, and my parents did their best to provide me with the things I needed to gain a strong testimony, such as learning how to pray and how to study the Book of Mormon and Church magazines. When I was close to missionary age, it wasn’t a question of if I would go—it was only a question of when. So when the news came from my bishop that I did not meet the medical requirements to serve a full-time mission, I was heartbroken.
Often I prayed asking why I could not fulfill my desire to be a missionary. My loving mother would remind me that a service mission was still an option, but my reply was always, “That doesn’t count.” The months went by, and even though I was old enough to serve, I remained at home. Each day, the plea “every member a missionary” rang through my mind until I eventually decided to look into a Church-service mission.
I browsed through the options and came across one that stood out to me. Through prayer I received the firm approval of the Spirit. When I talked with my bishop about it, he told me that the Lord had saved me for this Church-service mission rather than a full-time proselyting mission. I must admit that I agree with him now. The experiences and blessings surpass anything I could ever have imagined.
Soon I will complete my Church-service mission, and I want the youth of the Church to know that a mission changes lives, even if it’s a Church-service mission. If a health problem or other situation keeps you from entering the full-time mission field, it does not mean the Lord does not want your service. It just means that He needs you somewhere else.
Take it from a Church-service missionary.

As I sat at home trying to calm my anxiety over what was going on in the world, I opened my journal randomly and landed on the following: “There are so many fears that come with getting up each day in this world, but with faith in the teachings of the gospel, we can put one foot in front of the other. … Faith always defeats fear.”
I knew that I had just received powerful personal revelation and that Heavenly Father gave it to me through my own journal entries from several years before. I was blessed with a moment of peace and the knowledge that Heavenly Father was with me back then, and He’s right here with me now.
Danette Gray, Utah, USA

When you look at Jason Nicholl’s medical history, it’s no wonder he eventually wants to become a doctor. He’s certainly visited enough of them in his life. Even less surprising is the fact Jason worked as an emergency medical technician before leaving to serve a full-time mission in the Nevada Las Vegas Mission. After being helped for all these years, he figures he needs to start giving back and helping others.
“I’ve always been a klutz. On every Scout campout, I’d do something to hurt myself,” says Jason. Let’s see, there was the time he sliced off the top of his finger while closing a pocketknife. There was the speed-cutting contest where he was chopping with an ax that hit a knot in the log, flew up, and embedded itself in his ankle.
He’d like to remember the time he was night skiing when one of his skis came off, hit him in the face, broke his nose and knocked him out. He spent four days in the hospital, but he’s still a little foggy about that episode.
Besides his nose, Jason has broken two of his ribs, his arm, his hand, and his foot. To this day he can’t tell you how many fingers he’s broken. “Countless,” he says. But as the youngest emergency medical technician for an ambulance company in Salt Lake City, Jason began working toward the goal he’s had since he was six years old. “One day when I was six, I was sitting in front of the TV watching this health channel where they were showing some surgical procedure. It fascinated me,” Jason recalls. “That’s when I decided I wanted to be a doctor.”
Jason knows he has a lot of schooling ahead of him once he returns from his mission. However, he’s already learned much about the body because of the training he has received as an EMT. Many EMTs use their training as stepping-stones to jobs in law enforcement or related medical careers.
In fact, when Jason returns from his mission, he hopes to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a paramedic. While EMTs are trained in basic life support, paramedics know advanced life support techniques and are able to perform emergency procedures EMTs can’t. Jason sees this as the next logical step toward his ultimate career goal.
He knows that after spending two years as a missionary, it will take some time to get his skills back when he returns. But it’s a tradeoff he’s willing to make. “I believe in the gospel and I believe in the work,” Jason says.
Besides, when he gets back he’ll have the rest of his life ahead of him.

A positive experience from my life may illustrate the power of example:
Some years ago as a police officer assigned to a ghetto area, I encountered the problem of foul language among my fellow officers and many of the citizens of the area. I simply did the best I could to maintain the standards we are taught, by (1) refusing to use foul language myself, and (2) discouraging offensive talk whenever I could without offending others in the process. I soon noticed that in my presence the use of foul language was at a minimum. I felt that the other men respected and honored my example, even though they did not accept my standards for themselves when they were out of my presence. I never asked for this deference; it was given almost unconsciously.
I think I appreciated this deference the most the night an angry citizen who was quite prominent in the community made a complaint against me for excessive force and abuse when writing him a traffic citation. Because of this citizen’s position in the community and to calm him, it was likely that I would receive a reprimand. However, in his complaint this citizen swore that I had used foul language and cursed him. My fellow officers and superiors, knowing that I would not have done such a thing, immediately rejected the complaint on that basis.
I believe that when we first decide how we will act, and then follow the course we have chosen and endure in it, others who associate with us will be encouraged to follow that example. Many people will recognize the merits of decent action and some may in time begin to act decently themselves. At the very least they will begin to understand it, and although they may not accept it for themselves, they will respect our actions and even insist that others respect our actions. If they do accept our example, they will endure in this course long after we are gone and will become an influence on others as well.
Certainly there are times when firmness, tempered with love, is required. I like the example of a well-known lecturer who, after the speech to a group of college students, was answering questions from the audience. One young man prefaced his question by commenting on some of the negative effects of television on our society. In particular, he mentioned “women and their lousy soap operas.”
The speaker didn’t let the remark pass. “Before I try to answer your question,” he said, with kindness in his voice, “let me say that I am uncomfortable with the feelings you expressed about women and soap operas. I think it’s an unfair and inaccurate stereotype. And even if it were true, we men have enough bad habits of our own that we should be very timid indeed about giving any kind of criticism …” And then he went on in a friendly way.
No one in the audience was offended. In fact, an invisible wave of approval swept through the audience, and, to his credit, the young man nodded, acknowledging that he felt chastened but not offended. The rest of the discussion was very relaxed and open.
It seems to me that sustaining the Lord’s example for us is not such a fearful thing when we do it in this way. My experience is that by taking this course, not only will we not offend our fellow workers and friends with complaints and indignant lectures, we will, in fact, make it comfortable for them to honor our feelings and be encouraged by our actions to change their own attitudes. Righteous influence through example requires patience, tolerance, and long-suffering, but it can bring about change.

Youth from the Pittsburgh Stake and Wintersville, Ohio District became TV stars, thanks to their service project/youth conference. They cleaned up a cemetery that contained pre-Revolutionary graves, and the local media found the project so unique it was covered by television and newspapers.
Cemetery trustee Earl Nicodemus found the event unique as well. “I expected something like a Cub Scout troop,” he said, “and you could have knocked me over with a feather when they told me there would be as many as 200 kids here.”
The youth spent an entire day weeding, painting, fixing head stones, and copying family history information from the graves. The next two days were spent feeding the information they’d collected into the Church records.
“I think it’s really neat,” said Sarah Lee Altman, 17, of Pittsburgh. “It makes you excited to do genealogy because you want to learn about all these people and what they did.”

That’s when I really got to know my Mormon friend, Walt. When everybody else was partying, he and I would find something better to do. Walt made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studies hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other Latter-day Saint youth.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be very bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be very good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.

M?l? e lelei! I’m Lui, and I shine my light by sharing what I have with others.
I live on a big island in Tonga. I have six sisters and four brothers. We live close to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple.
Our beautiful island has many plants and animals. I’m in class four at the Ocean of Light Primary School, and science is my favorite subject.
My father grows crops, so we have plenty to eat. But many widows (women whose husbands have died) and other families don’t have their own crops. So my parents take them some of our food. I like going along to help!
The widows we visit use coconut husks to make fires to cook their food. When we take food to them, I remind my parents to take coconut husks too. I like to help get the fire going!
Heavenly Father blesses me when I help others—not with money but with wisdom and knowledge. I love to help and share what I have with others.

When Elder Wirthlin was young, he loved to go fishing with his father, Joseph L. Wirthlin, who would later become the Presiding Bishop of the Church.
“When I was a boy, I spent a lot of time with my father and loved to be with him. One time we went on a fishing trip on the upper part of the Provo River, southeast of Heber City, Utah. We were walking through a meadow, and I was some distance behind him. Father disappeared over a rise in the meadow, and he fell into a deep pond of water!
“When I came over the rise, there was his hat floating on the surface of the water. He finally came up gasping for air, and I reached down and helped him get out of the pond so that he didn’t drown.
“Even though I was young and very small, I learned in a dramatic way that there are many things that we can do to help our parents on a daily basis, or even in a lifesaving situation. We should always be willing to reach out to help our loved ones, regardless of the situation.”

Ouch! Have you ever been attacked by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to clothes, skin, or whatever else they can hook their spines into.
The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Before the city of Albuquerque approved the plans for the temple, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing to prepare for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.
“We’re so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, age 12.
Amber Chee, age 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and someday getting married in the Albuquerque temple. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have done baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for temple trips come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth, who have had to travel at least eight hours to get to a temple.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it is hard work.
Besides concentrating on the cactus plants, Michelle Williams is thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she is cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King is waiting for his call as a full-time missionary. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of being worthy to attend the temple. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them have become excited about doing family history, knowing they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s family history center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will strengthen the youth. Among the large number of young people in the area, they have seen a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, age 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can do baptisms more often. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is eager to tell others why she loves going to the temple. She talks to her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are enjoying the opportunity to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, age 14. She’s also been telling her friends about the temple. “The best part of building a temple is having people ask about it,” she says.
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also working hard at the cleanup. They say members in the area feel that the temple will bring many blessings to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer from California. Many missionaries have similar stories.
The temple will be built in a valley where it can be seen from far away. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5) rang out over the crowd of thousands that had gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, age 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know how we sounded, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know yet all the ways the temple will change their lives, but they are grateful to have been able to take a small part in the temple-building project. They are looking forward to the temple’s dedication in the year 2000 and to even greater blessings and opportunities to come.

Julie’s first day at Flower Elementary School just happened to be the day before Valentine Day. At breakfast that morning she felt sick.
“You’re probably just nervous,” her mom said. “Going to a new school can be scary.”
Julie did feel scared as she walked into the school yard. Everywhere she looked, she saw children she didn’t know. She wondered if she’d ever make friends.
Julie and her mom found her classroom and met her new teacher. Then Mom went home.
The teacher asked each of Julie’s new classmates to give his name and tell about something that he liked. Julie tried to remember everyone, but it was too hard.
After all the children had introduced themselves, the teacher talked about the valentine party for the next day. “You’re here just in time for the fun,” she said to Julie, handing her a written list of everyone’s name.
After school Julie told her mom about her day. “I’ll feel bad at the party because I don’t really know anyone yet.”
“Why not use the party to make new friends?” Mom suggested. “Give a special valentine to everyone in your class.”
Yes, Julie thought, I can do that. I’ll try to make extra-special valentines.
The first name on the list that her teacher had given her was Kim Anderson. Julie remembered Kim because she seemed nice. “I like cats and picnics,” Kim had said. So I’ll draw a picture of a cat having a picnic for Kim’s valentine, Julie decided.
She read the other names on the list and remembered what six of the children had said that they liked. For those that she couldn’t remember, she decided to draw hearts and cute stuffed animals.
When Julie explained her plan, Mom smiled and took her to the crafts store for supplies. Julie was picking out poster board when her stomach began to itch. She scratched it with her left hand and grabbed a sheet of pink poster board with her right one.
Back in the car Julie scratched her stomach again. Mom peeked under Julie’s sweater. “Oh, honey,” she said, “you’re coming down with the chicken pox. No wonder you didn’t feel well this morning.”
They drove right to Dr. Elder’s. “You just have a mild case of chicken pox,” he said. “Take it easy and don’t scratch. And no school for about a week.”
“No school!” Julie wailed when she got home. “Can’t I at least go to the party? I was going to make lots of friends with my special valentines.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but there will be other ways to make new friends when you can go back to school—you’ll see.”
The next morning Julie watched through the living room window as other children walked to school. She saw Kim and another girl from her class and plenty of children whom she didn’t know. They all chattered happily as they walked, making Julie feel lonelier than ever.
Even though Mom smeared lotion on Julie’s itchy blisters and read stories to her and played games with her, when two o’clock came, she felt especially sad because that was the time that the valentine party was supposed to start.
“I would have taken your valentines to school if I’d realized how much it meant to you,” Mom said.
“I didn’t make them, anyway,” Julie reminded her mom. “I was too tired to cut out that many hearts.”
Mom nodded. “That’s too much cutting for a girl with chicken pox.”
Then Julie had an idea. She could make one valentine by the time the children walked home from school. Working fast, she drew a giant heart on the poster board and cut it out and used a red crayon to write “Let’s be friends” on it. Then she drew a cat having a picnic, a truck, a horse, a baseball bat, a dog, some flowers, and some hearts. At the bottom she added, “I’m sick with chicken pox, but I’d still like to be your valentine. Julie.”
Mom helped her tape the giant heart to the living room window.
Soon dozens of children were walking past her house. They all looked at her valentine, but she didn’t recognize any of them. Then Kim came down the street. As soon as she saw the window, she pointed at it and called to other kids. Julie recognized them—they were her new classmates! She waved to them, but they had gathered together and were talking and didn’t wave back. Still talking, they sat on Julie’s lawn and acted very busy.
At last they stood, walked up to Julie’s front door, dropped envelopes into the mail slot and grinned and waved to her as they went on down the street.
Julie waved back enthusiastically, a big smile on her own face. Then she sat on the sofa and opened the envelopes. What fun it was. She had valentines from five children in her class—and even some from children in other classes! Her favorite one had a picture of a cat saying:
“To my chicken-pox valentine—
Get well so that we can have a picnic together.
Your friend,Kim.”

“I forgot my sash!”
Erin looked across the dressing room to where a dark-haired girl named Dinah was frantically searching through her bag of dance costumes.
“I think I forgot to put it in,” Dinah moaned.
“Too bad,” Erin thought, pulling out her own carefully folded blue-satin sash—her favorite part of the costume. Mom had said that it brought out the blue of Erin’s eyes.
“What am I going to do?” Dinah was on the verge of tears. “There’s no time to go home and get it.”
Erin didn’t know Dinah very well. They lived in different towns and went to different wards and schools. But Erin could imagine how embarrassing it would feel to be the only dancer in the recital missing part of the costume. It would be hard to remember the dance steps if you thought everyone in the audience was staring at you and wondering why your costume was different.
Then Erin had an idea. She knew what she could do to help Dinah, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Erin silently prayed for strength to do the right thing. Then, with a sigh, she put the lovely blue sash back in her bag. “This is a group dance, not a solo,” she told herself.
Erin quickly explained her idea to the other dancers. She was relieved when they all agreed happily.
As the music began and they took the stage, their dance teacher, Mrs. Davis, gave them a quizzical look from the audience. The girls simply smiled at her and moved to the music. They performed the routine flawlessly.
Afterward, Mrs. Davis came backstage. “What happened to your costumes, girls?” she asked. “Weren’t you all supposed to be wearing blue sashes?”
“Well,” Dinah said, looking gratefully at Erin, “we decided we’d do better if we didn’t wear our sashes tonight.”
“I’m not sure why it made such a difference, but you were right,” Mrs. Davis said. “That was the best performance you’ve ever given. You girls were really together tonight, just like real dancers.”
“Just like real friends,” Dinah said.
The girls grinned, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders in a group bow. Erin’s smile was the brightest of all. She had discovered that sometimes when you give something up, you find something better.

Monday had finally arrived and Janet was excited. At last it was time for her first day of school in the city.
Janet sat up in bed and stretched. Then she started to unbutton her pajamas.
“Mother! Come quick!” she called.
Mother came running with the juice pitcher still in her hand.
“What are these red spots all over me?” Janet asked.
“You have the measles,” Mother said softly.
“Measles!” Janet echoed. “But I have to go to school!”
“I’m sorry,” Mother said as she tucked Janet back into bed. “You’ll have to wait at least a week to go to school. Now if you’ll lie still, I’ll bring your breakfast to you on a tray.”
Janet lay back on the pillow trying not to cry. “I wish we’d never moved to this new place,” she said to herself. “I’ll never have any friends now.”
“Are you itchy and uncomfortable?” Mother asked when she returned with Janet’s breakfast tray.
“No, it’s just—” A tear rolled down Janet’s cheek. She tried to brush it away, but another soon took its place. “Oh, Mother,” she cried, “I miss my friends so much! How will I ever make new friends when I can’t even go to school?”
Mother put her arm around Janet. “Remember what I told you a long time ago,” she answered. “The only way to have a friend is to be one.”
Janet looked up and asked, “How can I be a friend when there’s no one around?”
“Just keep your eyes open,” said Mother. “You never know when you’ll have the chance to be a friend.”
Janet spent a long lonely day in bed. The next morning she felt better, but the red spots still covered her chest, face, and arms.
After breakfast Mother told her she could put on her robe and sit by the window for a little change.
It seemed strange to look out and see only the wall of another apartment house instead of a beautiful backyard.
Suddenly there was a movement at the window directly across from her. Janet watched as a girl about her age settled herself in front of the window and began to read.
Janet waved to get her attention, but the girl did not see her. Janet had an idea. She took a large sheet of paper and wrote HI on it in large letters. Then she taped the paper to the window and waited impatiently to see what might happen.
A short time later the girl across the way stopped reading and glanced out the window.
In a few minutes she held up a large piece of paper with HI written on it. Under the paper stood a girl with a big smile on her face.
The girls waved at each other. Quickly Janet made another sign. My name is Janet, she wrote. I have measles. Under the words she drew a funny picture of a girl with red spots all over.
The other girl giggled at Janet’s sign. Then she disappeared for a few minutes. Soon she returned with a sign.
I’m Kelly, Janet read. I have a cold. Below the words she had drawn a face with a funny big red nose.
The girls exchanged several more messages. Then Janet asked Kelly for her phone number.
“Look, Mother, no more measles,” Janet said the next Monday morning. “Today I can start school!”
“You really sound happy about that,” Mother replied.
“I am!” Janet said. “I’ll be in the same class as Kelly. She’s going to introduce me to all her friends.” Then she added, “You were right—the only way to have a friend is to be one, and making friends in a big city isn’t any different than it is anywhere else.”