Gospel Story Finder

Two missionaries tracting in Helsinki, Finland, in the spring of 1960 met an angry woman when they knocked at one door. She told them that if they were there to talk about a church, she didn’t want anything to do with it. One of the missionaries put his foot in the door in order to finish explaining that they represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To the missionaries’ surprise, as soon as the woman heard the name of the Church, she opened the door and invited them in. So began a conversion that has touched the lives of many people in many countries.
The woman was Anna-Liisa Rinne. By profession she was a pediatrician. She was also divorced, the single mother of four children. “When the missionaries mentioned the name of the Church,” she now recalls, “I suddenly remembered reading a newspaper article in 1946, when Elder Ezra Taft Benson was visiting Finland to dedicate this country for missionary work. I remembered the Church’s long and peculiar name in Finnish. I had thought then that if there were a true church in the world, it must be that one.”
The missionaries taught her about the Book of Mormon. Anna-Liisa Rinne believed. In fact, she says, “I believed in such a childlike way that the next day I asked my colleagues at work whether they had heard that the origin of the American Indians had been discovered.” When she told them about the Book of Mormon, they all laughed at her. “For the first time I noticed that something exceptional was happening to me,” she recalls.
The gospel message seemed familiar to her, and she continued to receive the missionaries when she moved from Helsinki to Kuopio. But when the missionaries told her that they intended to baptize her, she asked them to stop coming. “I was afraid of people’s opinions,” she explains. “In my professional friendships, belonging to a religious group was not considered acceptable. I didn’t want to be different.”
But the matter kept bothering her until she finally went to a Church meeting. Soon the missionaries were coming again. “When I stopped drinking coffee, I received a testimony. I knew that the Church was true, and I had to join it.”
Three of her four children joined the Church with her, and all of them are still active Latter-day Saints. “When I was first being taught, the children would laugh behind the door. After I received my own testimony of the gospel, I got them to promise that they would listen to one discussion. I told the missionaries that they had better be good, because the children had promised to listen just this once. The elders prepared a very fine flannel-board presentation, after which the children promised that they would also join the Church. It is true, though, that the youngest son, Eikki, later said the reason he joined the Church was that his mother told him to,” Sister Rinne says, laughing.
Sister Rinne’s daughter, Kaarina Merenluoto, remembers that joining the Church changed their family life greatly. “Mother seemed much closer to us; we talked together more. She even looked quite a bit younger. Guests began to visit us, whereas before we had lived a fairly isolated life. Often the whole branch would meet at our place, as we had a large apartment, and we made many friends. Arguments between us brothers and sisters decreased. It is difficult to explain just what happened, but the whole atmosphere in the home changed.”
In the Kuopio Branch, Anna-Liisa Rinne soon became a central figure. She was Relief Society president while the branch was building a chapel, and she also served as interpreter and messenger for the construction supervisor. “At that time, I was the only one in the branch with a driver’s license,” she explains. “Therefore I had to take care of business with the hardware supplier. At the same time, I had to oversee the delivery of lunches to the construction workers.” For a while, the hospital’s pediatrician was “on call” at the church construction site.
Sister Anna-Kaarina Roto, a former member of the Kuopio Branch, now a doctor herself, remembers those times. “As the chapel was being built, she did all kinds of work and climbed the highest scaffolds. Later, after the chapel was completed, members took turns cleaning it. Seeing how conscientiously Sister Rinne swept the floors when it was her turn, no one dared to complain about his own turn.”
As a Young Women leader for years, Anna-Liisa Rinne had an enduring influence on the lives of many girls. One of those young women, Raili Jouttenus, now the wife of the bishop of the Tampere Ward, remembers, “Sister Rinne was a legendary teacher. I remember many of her talks and teachings vividly, even now after twenty years. She really cared about us young people. The doors to her house were always open, and she had time to listen to our questions, which were sometimes rather silly. In dealing with youth, she followed Joseph Smith’s concept: teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves. She never forced us into doing anything, but rather she was warm and encouraging. She showed that she believed in the youth, but she never compromised her correct principles. If something was wrong, she said so clearly.”
Sister Rinne also remembers her work with the Young Women fondly. “Many of the youth were the only members of the Church in their families and schools, and they had a very strong faith and testimony. We started to organize youth temple excursions in Kuopio, and the spiritual experiences we had on those trips were the best rewards of those years.”
Missionary work has been an important part of Sister Rinne’s life in many ways, although she did not at first expect that it would be. “When I returned home from the baptismal service, I thought, ‘Well, I have done the right thing in joining this church, but I will never tell anyone.’ But when we arrived home, Heikki changed his clothes and ran to tell all the neighbors that we were Mormons now,” Sister Rinne remembers, smiling.
Sister Rinne received her first missionary assignments after she moved to Jyväskylä, where she served twice as a district missionary. “In those days there were so many baptisms in Jyväskylä you could hear the roar of the water,” she recalls. “The Lord just sent us the people who were ready to hear the gospel.”
One of Anna-Liisa Rinne’s companions as a district missionary was Sister Kerttu Harinen, who has many good memories of that time. “Sister Rinne was my first companion in missionary work. I myself was still a little timid. I grew at her side and received courage enough to serve as a district missionary for many years afterwards. Our first investigator was baptized before we had been companions one month. We had asked that we could practice our missionary discussions with a family whose father did not belong to the Church. So it happened that as the result of our ‘practice’ the father of the family was baptized.”
In 1974, Anna-Liisa Rinne retired from her work as a doctor. In January 1975, she left for an eighteen-month health mission to Samoa. “Up to that point in life I had imagined that I was something of an important person. But a missionary is on one of the lowest steps in society, something like a private in the army,” she explains. Finding her own sense of worth was an important lesson of that experience.
Even before leaving Samoa, Sister Rinne received a new mission call to Tonga. An important experience there was getting to know her mission president, Tonga Toutai Paletu‘a, now president of the temple. “He was a man who performed one or two miracles every day. His absolute faith and positive attitude were a great example to everyone,” Anna-Liisa Rinne recalls.
During her time as a missionary in the Pacific area, Sister Rinne experienced many miraculous testimonies of the nearness of Heavenly Father. When she arrived in Tonga, hardly knowing the language at all, she was sent to speak in a certain village. In her pocket she had a ten-minute talk written on paper. But when she arrived, she learned that she was to be the only speaker for an hour-long meeting. “I was horrified in the face of this assignment. As I was sitting there afraid, I heard clearly the words: ‘But I am here.’ All fear vanished, and I spoke for the whole hour.”
In 1978, Anna-Liisa Rinne returned home to Finland, only to receive another mission call. In 1979 she left for Scotland as a proselyting missionary. “I had only young companions, and I was their trainer. We had a rule that the senior companion had to prepare breakfast until the junior companion learned the discussions. I always made Finnish oatmeal for breakfast, so these American girls learned the discussions very fast,” says Sister Rinne, laughing. For health reasons, she had to interrupt the mission after eleven months, but this did not mean a slowdown in her activity—just the opposite.
After twice serving as a volunteer temple worker in the Swiss Temple, she received a 1982 call to a temple mission. “It was valuable to me to work with older people who have had a long experience in life and to try every day to be pure in heart.” Then she was called as a counselor to the temple matron. “After completing my mission I still went back to work in the temple, and I would probably have stayed who knows how long, except that it was difficult to take care of my health there,” Sister Rinne says.
After returning from Switzerland to Finland, Anna-Liisa Rinne became involved with an assignment she had received even before she was called to temple work, writing a history of the Church in Finland. But before the work was finished a call came again—this time to the Stockholm Temple.
If Anna-Liisa Rinne’s work career has been exceptionally varied and broad, her hobbies have not quite been ordinary either. This grandmother of sixteen likes surfing, and last summer she taught almost all her grandchildren to surf. She also owns a small sailboat, and has passed a coast-guard class which finally resulted in an international sailing permit. A diving class and pistol shooting are still in her plans.
Looking back over her life to this point, Sister Rinne says, “I have continually sought my own identity in all phases of my life: who and what am I?” It is the gospel that has provided the answers to Sister Rinne’s quest. “In some ways, I have been a very lonely person, but this has forced me to seek Christ for protection. I have had to depend on him many times, and I have always received help from him,” she says.
In return, Anna-Liisa Rinne has been ready to serve wherever the Lord has needed her. And in so doing, she has verified Christ’s words: “He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

My concerns were not completely resolved as I entered the mission home in Salt Lake City, today's equivalent of the MTC. That period in the mission home answered one of the most basic issues I faced: does God still speak to the Church today? Is the Church guided by revelation from God?

The teachers at the mission home were mostly General Authorities of the Church. One of them was Elder Joseph F. Merrill of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles. A noted Ph.D. scholar in physics, he had been a professor at the University of Utah before his call to the Twelve in 1931, the year I was born. He spoke on that very issue and testified to us matter-of-factly with his scientific approach that revelation has continued in and guided the Church. When he allowed questions, one elder asked Elder Merrill: "When did the Church receive the last revelation from God?" Elder Merrill answered quickly and emphatically, "Last Thursday in the Salt Lake Temple."

Elder Merrill then paused a moment in thought, and added: "We expect President Don Colton (the mission president), to come through the door at the end of the hour, is that right?" President Colton's approach was to introduce each speaker at the beginning of the hour and then return to introduce the next speaker at the end of the hour. We were in the middle of Elder Merrill's hour and thus did not expect President Colton. Elder Merrill said simply: "President Colton will shortly enter the room." The door almost immediately opened and President Colton entered with a message for one of the missionaries. Elder Merrill had calmly received a message from above and we all knew it.

“I’ve wanted to fly airplanes for as long as I can remember,” 17-year-old Lamar F. says. When a friend from his wheelchair racing days told him about a British charity that helps people with disabilities learn to fly, Lamar was eager to try.
He signed up for two of the charity’s programs. One of them, the Junior Aspiring Pilots Program (JAPP), was created especially for youth between the ages of 12 and 18. These programs and other solo lessons are all propelling him one step closer to his big goal—getting his Private Pilot License.
Part of his inspiration comes from his family. Lamar’s foster dad was the first person to get him hooked on flight, taking him to airshows every year. Later, after he was adopted by another family at age four, Lamar’s interest in aviation continued to thrive as he watched his adoptive father pursue a pilot’s license. “He’s my inspiration for wanting to be a pilot,” Lamar says. Now Lamar’s dad can ride with him in the single-propeller, five-seater airplanes Lamar is learning to fly.
Lamar’s parents (pictured here on either side of him) are some of his biggest supports.

On a cold winter day several years ago, I visited one of the branches in Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine. It was fast Sunday, and we warmed ourselves in the glow of the testimonies borne in the poorly heated, rented space where we were meeting.
I especially recall the testimony of one sister whose inspired face I can still see in my mind. She was a single mother. She and her one-year-old child lived in the dormitory of the factory where she worked. Economic conditions were not good. Her wages were low and paid irregularly. Despair and then eventual hope in God brought her to the gospel.
Not long after her baptism, she was preparing food for herself and her child when a young woman who lived in the same building said: “I know things are difficult for you. Like me, you are a single mother, earning low wages, with no place of your own to live. There is little hope of a good future for yourself and your child. Like me, you have a gray, dull life. Like me, you fear for your child and the uncertainty of tomorrow. But why are you always smiling and your eyes always shining? Why does joy light up your face?”
The questions made this sister stop and think about the changes that had occurred since her baptism. As she gained faith in Jesus Christ, the fear that had corroded her life had disappeared. The path back to the Father that opened before her had permitted her to have hope, which had led her to baptism and developed within her a certainty of a tranquil and happy future for her small family. By receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, she had received a firm testimony. The false values of the world gradually gave way to the higher values of the gospel, and these higher values became a firm foundation for both thought and deed. She realized that it was precisely these changes that had given her a new outlook on the world. Long-awaited joy and peace had come into her life.

Braden and Dad carried heavy buckets of alligator pellets toward the feeding dock. The tops of the alligators’ heads came to the surface and glided toward them. When Braden and Dad reached the feeding spot, some of the alligators had their mouths open.
But Braden wasn’t scared. Working with Dad on the alligator farm was the best.
“Feeding time!” Braden said. He picked up a scoop of pellets and tossed them into the water.
Chomp. Chomp. Splash.
Some of the alligators caught the pellets in the air. Others snapped at them when they hit the water. Braden and Dad kept tossing the food until their buckets were empty.
“Thanks for helping me,” Dad said. “Let’s go. The missionaries will be coming soon.”
Braden and his family had started talking with the missionaries a few months ago. He liked the missionaries! And he liked learning about the Church. Dad was a member of the Church, but he hadn’t been going to church very much. Mom and Braden had never been baptized.
“Last week you set a goal to read Mosiah 18,” Sister Cox said that evening. “How did that go?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other and were quiet for a moment. “We were busy this week,” Mom said.
“I read it!” Braden said.
“Great job!” Sister Blood said, reaching over for a high five. “How did you feel after you read it?”
Braden gave a big smile. “Really good. And I prayed about being baptized. I really want to.”
“That’s great! I know that makes Heavenly Father very happy,” Sister Cox said. She turned to Braden’s mom. “How are you feeling about it?”
“I’m still not sure. I think I need a little more time,” Mom said.
Braden felt a little sad during the rest of the lesson. He wished both his parents were members of the Church. And he wanted to be a member of the Church too!
When the missionaries left, he told his parents that he meant what he said earlier. “I really want to be baptized. And …” Braden took a deep breath. “I really want Dad to baptize me.”
After a moment, Dad spoke up. “I really want that too.”
Mom was quiet. “Let’s pray about it.”
Braden knelt down with his family and asked Heavenly Father if he and Mom should be baptized. He felt warm and loved.
For the next few weeks, Braden read the scriptures and prayed every day. At first, he was always the one asking his parents if they would pray and read with him. But soon, they started asking him. When he and Dad fed the alligators, they would talk about the scriptures or what they learned at church. He and Mom would talk about the missionary lessons. Every day, Mom and Dad seemed a little happier.
One day during a lesson with the missionaries, Mom said the words Braden had been waiting for: “I want to be baptized.”
For the next few weeks, Braden felt like he was floating on clouds.
Finally, it was the day of Mom and Braden’s baptism. When Braden came up out of the water, he felt Heavenly Father’s love for him and his family. He gave Dad a big hug.
Dad held Braden close and whispered, “Thank you for being a good example and helping us. I love you.”

This was the worst day ever! I got home from school and threw my bag down. Then I flopped into the chair and tried not to think about my best friend.
“Want some choc balls?” Mum held the bag out to me. “I just bought some.”
“Not today,” I answered.
That’s when Mum figured out something was wrong. She knows I hardly ever pass up chocolate.
“Everything OK?”
I let out a long sigh. “Not really. I just found out Tim’s moving next week. We promised to keep in touch, and he’s coming back for spring break and all, but it won’t be the same. I won’t have anyone to play with after school!”
Mum patted my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. It’s never easy when friends move away.”
She glanced across the room at our dog. “You know, Ralphie looks like he could use a friend too. Why don’t you take him for a walk?”
“I dunno, Mum …” Taking Ralphie out was the last thing I felt like doing. But I couldn’t remember the last time I took him out, because I had been with Timmy so much. When I looked over at Ralphie, he looked sadder than I did. He whimpered as he ran over and stared up at me with big eyes. How could I say no to a cute face like that?
“I get the message.” I laughed as Ralphie’s tail started wagging when I put the lead on. He knocked me back a step and licked my face. Then he turned and ran out the door so fast that I fell over.
“Whoa!” I shouted as I tried to grab the lead. It slipped right through my hands.
“Wait up, Ralphie!” I got up and raced after him, but all I could see was his bushy tail bouncing through the dusty streets and then into the forest.
Branches whipped my face as I sprinted after Ralphie through the trees. We’d explored all through this forest, but never this part before. Where was he going?
“Ralphie!” I caught a glimpse of him as sunlight cut through the shadows. He had stopped and was waiting on a huge brown rock up ahead.
His happy woofing sounds told me he’d found something great. I raced over to see. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I looked around.
“Wow, this place is awesome! Good find, Ralphie!”
A huge white waterfall crashed over rocks. We crossed the stream below the waterfall and discovered rocks covered in moss.
Bright flowers surrounded the waterfall, and birds flew over our heads.
We even found a sandy beach with deep pools of water. Perfect for fishing! The sand was as soft as candy floss. I took off my shoes and dug my toes into the sand.
The sun hung over the trees like a big golden ball. As I sat there, I felt its warmth hug me like a thick blanket. God’s love surrounded me, and I no longer felt alone. I didn’t ever want to leave.
Finally, after some more exploring, Ralphie and I headed home. Mum asked how the walk went.
“Ralphie found an amazing place! It has a great waterfall with beautiful flowers and everything.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Mum said. Then she grinned. “Want those choc balls now?”
“Yes, please!”
The next day Tim sat by me at lunch. “Sorry I couldn’t hang out yesterday. I had to pack.”
“That’s OK. I took Ralphie for a walk and found an awesome place where we can go fishing when you visit. Sound like a plan?”
“Deal!” he said as we knocked knuckles, something we always did when we made a promise.
Even though I may feel lonely sometimes, I know I’m never alone. God is always with me.

A few years ago the Wall Street Journal recounted a heartwarming tale of one who magnified his talents in providing compassionate Christlike service to one of God’s children. More than twenty years ago, Dr. Ian Jackson, a world-famous craniofacial surgeon, was on a charity medical mission from his native Scotland to Peru. There he met David Lopez, a tiny Indian boy just two years old who had virtually no face at all. A gaping hole covered the area where his mouth and nose should have been. There were no upper teeth or upper jaw. To drink, David simply tilted back his head and poured the liquid straight down. His lower teeth could actually touch his forehead. Most of David’s face had literally been eaten away by a terrible parasitic disease called leishmaniasis.

Relief workers begged Dr. Jackson to help. He was leaving for Scotland the next day but agreed to try to rebuild David’s face if the boy could come to Scotland. Eventually a way was found, and the Jacksons went to Glasgow Airport to pick up David. As he walked down the ramp, they saw a tiny boy wearing scuffed white boots and a hand-knit poncho. A woolen cap was pulled so low on his head that only his big brown eyes and the round hole beneath them were visible.

The Jacksons took David into their home and into their hearts. There followed long years of surgery—more than eighty operations in all—as Dr. Jackson attempted to give David a new face. All of the doctor’s services were donated. Each summer, as other children played, David was in the hospital, his head swathed in bandages.

The painstaking, pioneering surgical efforts to rebuild David’s face went on for fifteen years. Today David looks like a young man who has been in a serious automobile accident, but he is well-adjusted and fully functional. He used to be teased and tormented about his looks, but over the years that has died away.

In 1982 Mrs. Jackson flew to Peru to try to find David’s parents. After a long journey downriver from a remote Catholic mission, David’s father was found. He explained that the boy had been born healthy but that he developed leishmaniasis after having been bitten by an infected sand fly. The father took his son to the mission to seek treatment.

The father gave permission to the Jacksons—who had developed a deep love for David—to adopt him as their own. Since 1984 David Lopez has been David Jackson. (See Neal Templin, “Look of Love: As His Face Is Molded, Boy Finds His Surgeon Becoming His Father,” Wall Street Journal, 13 November 1992, A1.)

Last January, seven-year-old Sailor Gutzler and her family were flying from Florida to Illinois in a private airplane. Sailor’s father was at the controls. Just after nightfall, the aircraft developed mechanical problems and crashed in the pitch-dark hills of Kentucky, upside down in very rough terrain. Everyone but Sailor died in the accident. Her wrist was broken in the crash. She suffered cuts and scrapes and had lost her shoes. The temperature was 38 degrees Fahrenheit (or 3 degrees Celsius)—it was a cold, rainy Kentucky winter’s night—and Sailor was wearing only shorts, a T-shirt, and one sock.
She cried out for her mother and father, but no one answered. Summoning every ounce of courage, she set off barefoot across the countryside in search of help, wading through creeks, crossing ditches, and braving blackberry briars. From the top of one small hill, Sailor spotted a light in the distance, about a mile away. Stumbling through the darkness and brush toward that light, she eventually arrived at the home of a kind man she had never met before who sprang to her care. Sailor was safe. She would soon be taken to a hospital and helped on her way to recovery.
Sailor survived because she saw a light in the distance and fought her way to it—notwithstanding the wild countryside, the depth of the tragedy she faced, and the injuries she had sustained. It is hard to imagine how Sailor managed to do what she did that night. But what we do know is that she recognized in the light of that distant house a chance for rescue. There was hope. She took courage in the fact that no matter how bad things were, her rescue would be found in that light.
After the crash, Sailor had a choice. She could have chosen to stay by the airplane in the dark, alone and afraid. But there was a long night ahead, and it was just going to get colder. She chose another way. Sailor climbed up a hill, and there she saw a light on the horizon.
Gradually, as she made her way through the night toward the light, it grew brighter. Still, there must have been times when she could not see it. Perhaps it went out of view when she was in a ravine or behind trees or bushes, but she pressed on. Whenever she could see the light, Sailor had evidence that she was on the right path. She did not yet know precisely what that light was, but she kept walking toward it based on what she knew, trusting and hoping that she would see it again if she kept moving in the right direction. By so doing, she may have saved her life.
Just as Sailor had to believe that she would find safety in that distant light, so we too must choose to open our hearts to the divine reality of the Savior—to His eternal light and His healing mercy. Prophets across the ages have encouraged us and even implored us to believe in Christ. Their exhortations reflect a fundamental fact: God does not force us to believe. Instead He invites us to believe by sending living prophets and apostles to teach us, by providing scriptures, and by beckoning to us through His Spirit. We are the ones who must choose to embrace those spiritual invitations, electing to see with inward eyes the spiritual light with which He calls us. The decision to believe is the most important choice we ever make. It shapes all our other decisions.
Sailor could not know at first if what she was doing as she pushed her way through the underbrush would actually work. She was lost and injured; it was dark and cold. But she left the crash site and ventured out in hope of rescue, crawling and scraping her way forward until she saw a light in the distance. Once she had seen it, she did her best to move toward it, remembering what she had seen.

I was in a fast and testimony meeting only last Sunday. A 15- or 16-year-old boy stood before the congregation and said that he had decided to be baptized.
Then one by one boys of the teachers quorum stepped to the microphone to express their love for him, to tell him that he was doing the right thing, and to assure him that they would stand with him and help him. It was a wonderful experience to hear those young men speak words of appreciation and encouragement to their friend. I am satisfied that all of those boys, including the one who was baptized last week, will go on missions.

Lydia watched Mommy get ready for work. Mommy put on pretty pink lipstick. She looked beautiful.
Lydia looked in the mirror. She felt sad. “I don’t have any lipstick,” Lydia said. “So I’m not beautiful.”
Mommy hugged her tight. “Wearing lipstick isn’t what makes people beautiful. Being strong and kind makes people beautiful.”
“Strong like having lots of muscles?” Lydia asked.
Mommy smiled. “No. This kind of strong means choosing the right.”
“How?” asked Lydia.
“Well, you are strong and kind when your hands help others,” Mommy said.
“You are strong and kind when your heart loves everyone.
“And you are strong and kind when you smile. That makes everyone happy too.
“Being strong and kind makes you beautiful inside, not just outside.”
Lydia wanted to be strong and kind!
She used her hands to carry the mail in for Grandpa. She gave her last cookie to her cousin.
She felt love in her heart when she played with a new neighbor. And she felt love when she gave coins to a girl collecting money for people who didn’t have homes.
She smiled at people she saw. They all smiled back.
That night Lydia told Mommy, “You are right! I feel strong and kind. I used my hands and my heart and my smile today.”
Mommy smiled. “You are strong and kind, just like Jesus wants you to be!”

For many years, I carried a quiet but persistent desire in my heart—to find more names to add to my family tree. As a Church leader, I often encouraged others to engage in family history and temple work, but in my own journey, I kept hitting barriers. I spoke to older relatives, made calls, asked questions, but it felt like every path led to a dead end. Some family members had passed on, others could not remember, and some simply were not willing to talk. It was discouraging, and at times I wondered if my family’s history would remain forever hidden.
Still, I kept praying.
One day, I received an unexpected phone call from my brother who lives in the United States. He told me he would be travelling to attend a village reunion—a gathering of people from our ancestral hometown, now living abroad. At the reunion he said, “You won’t believe who I found.” It was a distant relative we had been searching for over the years, someone who had moved away and lost contact with the rest of the family.
But that was not all. This family member had preserved something I never imagined—a detailed family organogram (family organization chart) with dozens of names and family connections, some going back generations. When my brother sent me the files and shared voice notes explaining the stories behind each name, I was overwhelmed. It felt like heaven had opened a door that had been shut for so long.
As I reviewed the names and saw the faces in old photos, I felt the spirit of Elijah very strongly. These were not just names—they were my ancestors, real people, children of God who had been waiting for their temple ordinances. I felt their presence, and I knew they were aware that the time had finally come. The Lord had remembered them.
I shared this miracle during a FamilySearch training recently. I told the participants, “We may feel like we are working in darkness sometimes, but when we move forward in faith, the Lord brings light. He prepares the way. He hears our prayers—even the quiet ones.”
Through this experience, I have come to know with even greater certainty that God knows every family. He is not limited by distance or time. If we persist, if we pray, and if we act, He will guide us to the people we need—and to those who need us.

Living in the deserts of Saudi Arabia are tribes of nomads called Bedouins. These people live in tents made of goat’s hair or wool, and they survive by keeping herds of sheep, goats, and camels. In one of these Bedouin tribes there once lived a very rich man. His name was Sheikh Bushnir, and he was the chief of his tribe.
One day Sheikh Bushnir became so ill with a fever that he thought he might die. It was true that he had a son to live on after him, but Ahmed, his son, was not a good man. He never tended the sheep or milked the goats, he was very greedy, and he was always spending his father’s money foolishly.
Even so, Sheikh Bushnir loved his son very much. One day the sheikh called his son to his bedside. “Ahmed,” he said weakly, “I am about to pass into the next life.”
Listening intently to his father’s words, Ahmed began to cry. Even though he was not a good man, he loved his father.
“Do not cry, my son,” said Sheikh Bushnir kindly. “All men—no matter how rich or great they are—must die. Now listen to what I have to say. Before I die, I want to give you a most wonderful gift.”
Ahmed wiped away his tears and moved closer to his father. “A gift?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered his father. “A most wonderful gift, a gift to be cherished above all others.”
“Is it worth more than a herd of camels?” asked Ahmed, his concern for his father replaced by his greed.
“It is worth much more than a herd of camels,” said his father.
“Is it worth more than gold or jewels?” asked Ahmed.
“More than even gold or jewels, my son. But the gift lies at the end of a long journey.”
Slowly Ahmed’s father spread out a map on the bed. The map was very wrinkled from having been folded and unfolded many times. “Here is where it is,” said Ahmed’s father as he pointed to a dark, round spot on the map.
“But that is in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali (Empty Quarter)!” gasped Ahmed.
“Yes,” said his father. “That is where the gift is buried.”
Ahmed looked sad as his father folded up the map. The Rub’ al Khali was a great desert where no one lived. Even for a Bedouin who was used to the hot desert, it would be a dangerous trip.
“Do you want the gift enough to risk your life for it?” asked his father.
Ahmed was silent for a long time. Finally his greed overcame his prudence. “Yes!” he cried. “For such a wonderful gift I will make the journey, no matter how dangerous it is.”
“Good,” said the sheikh. “You must leave at once. My mind will not rest until I know that you have made the journey and returned safely.”
“I shall do as you say,” said Ahmed, and he dashed from his father’s tent to make preparations.
The next morning Ahmed said good-bye to his father. Then he climbed onto his camel and set out alone into the desert. He knew that it would be safer to travel with one of the other young men from his tribe, but he did not want to share the wonderful gift with anyone.
The map outlined mile after mile of desert, but it revealed nothing about the burning sun and the hot desert winds. Whenever Ahmed thought of turning back, though, he remembered the wonderful gift waiting ahead, and his journey did not seem quite so harsh.
For three days Ahmed pushed deeper and deeper into the desert. His water was running low. He had been so anxious to leave that he had not planned well for the journey. Soon only one of his two goatskin bags of water remained. In the desert heat even a camel needs some water. But because Ahmed thought only of himself, he gave none of the water to his mount. That night while Ahmed slept, the camel ran off in search of water.
The next morning Ahmed realized that he should have shared the water with the camel. With the water that was left, Ahmed thought he might be able to make it back to the camp of a traveling caravan he had seen. However, his greed was too strong to allow him to go back without the gift, so he foolishly continued his journey on foot.
By the end of the fourth day Ahmed had used the rest of his water. He had only one wish: to see the wonderful gift before he died.
By the morning of the fifth day Ahmed was so weak that he could only crawl across the burning sand. Huge red blisters covered his hands and feet and knees. His eyes were almost swollen shut from the relentless pelting of the blowing sand. His lips were cracked and bleeding. Finally, when he thought he could go no farther, he came upon a small circle of stones. According to the map, this was where the gift lay buried!
Ahmed became frustrated as he scratched and clawed at the earth. Each time he pulled a handful of sand from the hole he was digging, more sand poured down from the sides. For hours he worked under the blistering sun. Finally Ahmed’s fingers touched a hard surface. He brushed the sand away and discovered a wooden chest. With his remaining strength, he tugged and pulled the chest from the hole.
Ahmed stared at the chest he had traveled so far to find. He was about to receive the most wonderful gift in the world, and he would not be able to enjoy it. As he fumbled with the latch on the chest, he thought, At least I can look at the gift I’ve given my life to find.
Ahmed began to cry when he saw what was in the chest. There were no jewels or golden coins. But there was something much more wonderful—three goatskin bags filled with water!
With gratitude and joy, Ahmed unstoppered one of the bags and brought it to his lips. Never before had water tasted so good. Never before had life seemed so sweet.
When he finished drinking, Ahmed looked more closely at the chest. Under one of the remaining goatskin bags was a note. He quickly opened it and read:
My Beloved Son,
I hope you are not disappointed by what you have found in the chest. I sent my men ahead of you to bury the priceless water. I knew that when I told you about the “wonderful gift,” you would rush foolishly into the desert. I also knew that because of your greed, you would give no thought for your life. That is why I buried water, not gold.
I did not lie to you, my son, when I told you of the wonderful gift. For the water in this chest has probably saved your life. And life, my son, is the most wonderful gift a man can receive.
Go now, Ahmed, with your gift of life and spend it as you like. Prize it above all other things, and you shall never be poor.
Love,
Your father
Ahmed carefully folded up the note and wiped the tears from his eyes. Feeling stronger, he tied the three goatskin bags together and tossed them over his shoulder.
Slowly Ahmed stood. He looked at the wooden chest one last time and smiled. Never again would he risk his life for gold or jewels. He would cherish his life and use it wisely. Yes, he had come a long way to find a gift that had always been his. But surely he was a richer man returning home than when he had left.

Make scripture study a part of your life—not only by reading regularly but also by relying on the scriptures to help you make important decisions. When I was a mission president in northern Germany, I had a very difficult problem. I had searched in vain for an answer for many weeks. One morning I was reading in the Book of Mormon where Nephi was commanded to build a ship: “And I, Nephi, did go into the mount oft, and I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things” (1 Nephi 18:3). As I read that small passage, the impression came to me, “That is what I need to do.” I pondered and prayed, and finally the answer came, and I knew what I needed to do. I am grateful for that little window of inspiration that came—as I was searching the scriptures. As I received my answer, I felt that I was “standing in a holy place.” I know that you too can have similar experiences as you search, ponder, and pray about the scriptures.

“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” Michelle Mukund (10) greets the ward as she stands to bear her testimony on fast Sunday.
“Good morning, Michelle,” they answer.
Then Michelle bears witness of Jesus Christ, the gospel, and her love for her family and the Saints. Everyone knows that Michelle isn’t just saying words. She has proven by her actions that she loves the Lord with all her heart, and her neighbor as herself.
She especially loves little children. At church she can often be seen with a baby in her arms. It could be any baby in the ward because she adores them all. Children her own age often come to her for advice—and for comfort, too, because she really listens and really cares.
Michelle is close to her family. She enjoys playing with her two-year-old brother, George, who loves saying prayers and can already bear his testimony. She also has fun with her sister, Maxine (15), who is kind and helpful and a talented artist. She looks up to her grown-up cousins Rejieli Rigamoto and Myra Tiraknoa, who live with the family. Rejieli is a returned missionary and an expert baker. Myra is an excellent cook.
Michelle especially appreciates her father and mother. “I’m very happy that I have parents like Mum and Dad,” she says. “They tell me often that they love me.” Her father, Bal, is a gentle man who makes up funny jokes. If children quarrel, he sometimes says, “An angry man is a hungry man,” and brings them something good to eat. Before long everyone is laughing.
Her mother, Susau, is a happy person who laughs a lot. She is also a good cook, and Michelle especially loves her chicken chop suey and her chicken and chips. Under her mother’s instruction, Michelle is becoming a pretty good cook herself. Her specialty is roti, an Indian dish. (Fiji, a South Pacific nation of many islands, has a large Indian population.)
Sister Mukund says, “Michelle really tries to live a Christlike life. When I’m sad or feel lonely, she always notices. She comes to me and says, ‘Mum, what’s wrong? How can I help you?’ She is always willing to help each of us in the family. She is so trustworthy that I can send her alone to visit friends on other islands. I thank Heavenly Father for giving me this beautiful girl as a daughter.”
“Michelle is self-reliant,” her father says. “She can wash her own clothes, prepare her own meals, do the housework, sew, whatever is needed. She’s a bright girl with a desire to learn, explore, and investigate. She’s very creative. She makes her own greeting cards and gives them away freely. She has a very kind heart and likes to share. If she sees someone who lacks something, she tries to provide it. And if she can’t, she asks if we can help.”
Most of all, Michelle loves Jesus Christ. “I love Him so much, and I know that He loves me, too. I’m happy that He’s my Savior. I know that He died for our sins. He did not want us to suffer, so He suffered instead. When I read about Him blessing the little children in the Book of Mormon, I wish I was one of them. I want to help Him take care of children now.”
Because of her strong desire to help children, Michelle plans on being a school teacher and eventually a principal. When teachers at her school hold a staff meeting during school hours, she is often left in charge of the younger students. They know they can trust her.
Michelle earns excellent grades in school. She not only studies faithfully but prays for help, too. She once prayed hard that she would pass a maths test, because maths was her weakest subject. She scored ninety-four percent, the second highest in the class, and she has since become much more at ease with numbers.
Michelle is not a slave to her studies, however. She also enjoys playing basketball, netball, and volleyball. She is the only LDS student at her school, but she has made good friends there. Her best friend is Neha, a Hindu girl.
At home, one of Michelle’s favorite hobbies is reading. If she isn’t working, she very likely has a book in her hands. She devours storybooks and the Friend. After reading the stories, she does all the puzzles and makes the recipes and the crafts, then shares the results with the family.
Two things that keep the family close are family home evening and scripture study. The family members take turns presenting family home evening lessons. Michelle likes to give lessons about Jesus, the prophets, and things she finds in the Friend. After family home evening, there is a council in which everyone can share complaints, suggestions, or concerns. Scripture study rotates among the different books of scripture. Right now they’re studying the book of Ether in the Book of Mormon. Michelle’s favorite prophet from the scriptures is Nephi, but her favorite of all time is President Hinckley.
Michelle gladly fasts each fast Sunday and pays her tithing each week without prompting. She also loves her Primary teachers and listens carefully to the lessons. She especially looks forward to testimony meeting and is usually the first person to bear testimony after the bishop or a counselor invites the congregation to share their testimonies.
She feels a special bond with the missionaries who work in her area. The Mukund home is a kind of refuge for the missionaries, where they are fed, rested, loved, and helped in the work. The family has a scrapbook full of photos of past elders and sisters, and they receive cards and letters from returned missionaries all over the world.
Not surprisingly, Michelle wants to go on a mission herself someday. She’s practicing by telling her friends about the gospel and inviting them to church. Unfortunately they seldom come. This doesn’t hurt the friendships, but it does sometimes hurt Michelle. Sadly, one friend who did listen with great interest died in a tragic fire. “I was crying,” Michelle says. “I missed her very much. We went to her church service. It was a sad, rainy day, but I prayed, and I felt that I didn’t have to be sad anymore, because I would meet her again. We went to her mom’s house, and her mom was crying. I said, ‘You’ll meet her again in the next life,’ and it seemed to help.”
Michelle’s love for others is not limited by race or culture. Her father is of Indian descent, her mother Fijian, and Michelle loves both of these cultures as well as the others that are represented in Fiji’s islands. She speaks two Indian dialects as well as Fijian and English. Sometimes she becomes sad when she hears of the suffering of people in other lands, but prayer helps her feel better. There is enough room in her heart to love everyone everywhere. No matter who you are or where you live, she loves you, too.

My given name has led me to think a lot about this kind of all-encompassing stewardship. It might surprise you to learn how often someone I don't know walks up and asks me whether I'm related to my father, President Henry B. Eyring. (All right, maybe it wouldn't surprise you that much.) Some people actually mistake me for my father.

For example, several years ago on this campus, I passed a young woman who was walking in the opposite direction. She stared at me, and I knew what she was thinking. She passed out of my sight, but then I heard a squeal behind me. Before I could turn around, I felt an arm wrapping around one of mine. The young woman looked up at me with a big smile, and said, "I'll bet I know who yo-ou are!" Caught off-guard by her forwardness, I looked down and said, "I'll bet you do-on't!"

Throughout my life I have been conscious of my name. Henry was not a common name for young Californians in the 1960s. In fact, thanks to Herman's Hermits and their hit song, "I'm Henery the Eighth, I Am," even my friends liked to have fun with my name.

As I grew older, I had mixed feelings about sharing my father's name. Of course I admired him, but I wanted to be my own person. When we moved to Rexburg in 1971, I hoped to be more than just the son of the President of Ricks College. Even as I tried to emulate my father's many outstanding qualities, I was glad for the differences between us. For example, when I learned that the baldness gene is inherited through a boy's mother, I took great comfort in the thought that my maternal grandfather and uncle had thick, full heads of hair.

However, thanks to a relatively rare hair-loss condition called alopecia, I now share both my father's name and his hairstyle. As it happened, my hair fell out in 1995, the year that he was called to serve in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As his profile in the Church rose, mine seemed to be swallowed up. That was a time of soul-searching for me. After a period of spiritual grumbling and some self-pity, I realized that I had only two choices: I could either resent my name and association with my father or embrace it. Though I might try to ignore the connection to him, those around me wouldn't, and they would continually remind me of it.

I began to see that, like it or not, I was in a position of responsibility. If I behaved in ways that my father wouldn't, I could do great damage, not only to him and the Church, but to those who might observe my behavior and have their faith weakened. On the other hand, to the extent that I carried myself as he does and expressed both my love and his to those who approached me as his son, I could build faith and goodwill toward the Church and its leaders. Once I got over my personal pride, the right choice was clear and relatively easy to make. I do not have all of my father's good attributes, but that is not what people expect. I can perform my duty as his son simply by trying my best. And, in the process, I become a better, happier person. My small sacrifice yields rich personal blessings.

When John Batty was eight years old, his family was taught the gospel by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was 1854, and the Battys lived in Pilley, Yorkshire, England.
A few years later, George and Encora Batty and their children joined the Church and applied for passage on a ship sailing from Liverpool to New York City. They were going to Utah to be with the Saints.
A few months before leaving England, eleven-year-old John was skipping up a dirt path toward his home. As he went along the hard-packed trail, he noticed a large apple orchard in a nearby field. He could see that the trees were covered with ripe, red apples. His mouth watered, and he decided to take an apple from the nearest tree.
There was only one problem. The trees did not belong to John, and his father and mother had taught him that being honest was the best way to live. “Never take anything that does not belong to you,” his father had told him many times.
Ignoring his parents’ teachings, John quickly climbed a tree next to the path and picked three large apples. Placing one in each of his pants pockets and one in his mouth, he quickly slid down the tree trunk and raced up the road toward home. Before he got there, he had eaten all three apples and his stomach had begun to ache.
“What gave you a stomachache?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know,” John replied, being dishonest again. He knew that if he told his mother about the apples, she would ask where he got them.
John was tucked into bed to sleep off his illness. As he lay on his straw tick mattress that night, he made a promise to himself: He would work and save enough money to pay for those three apples. And he would tell the owner of the orchard that he had climbed the tree and stolen them.
Before he could keep his promise, however, his family sailed for America. John thought about those stolen apples every day during the long weeks it took to sail across the Atlantic Ocean.
From New York, his family went by boat, stagecoach, covered wagon, and foot to Council Bluffs, Nebraska. There they bought a handcart and piled their belongings in it for the long walk to Utah. Young John Batty walked and helped push the cart all the way. He wore out the only pair of shoes that he owned.
When the Battys arrived in Salt Lake City in September of 1857, President Brigham Young asked them to move on to southern Utah to live among the Indians in a small settlement called Toquerville at “the head of the Ash Creek.”
Barefoot, young John Batty walked the three hundred miles to Toquerville. Every day he thought about the stolen fruit. His conscience was so hurt that he could not even eat an apple.
Thirty years later, long after he was grown up and married, John Batty was called on a mission. He was asked to return to England to preach the gospel to his former friends and family living in the Yorkshire and Nottingham areas of England.
Upon his arrival in Liverpool, John made his way by train back to Pilley. Walking along a path toward the edge of town, he passed the same orchard from which he had stolen the apples as a boy. Standing among the trees was a very old, stooped, white-haired man.
John called out to him, “Do you own this orchard?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
“Have you owned it for a long time?”
“Fifty years.”
Here was John’s chance to repent of stealing those apples. “Sir,” he said, “I used to live nearby when I was just a boy. One day before my family sailed for America, I climbed one of those trees and stole three apples from you. I have been sorry ever since. I would like to ask your forgiveness and also pay you for them.”
“Certainly,” the man said, “but they will cost you three times as much as they cost clear back then.”
“That is fair,” John replied with a smile.
With only a little change in his pocket, John paid for the three stolen apples and bought another one to eat. In his journal that night, he wrote, “That was the sweetest apple I ever tasted!”

She was kneeling in the chrysanthemums when she saw them coming.
“Turn up!” she whispered. “Turn up!” They looked right and left, they both saw her and waved, and then together they turned away. Her heart sank like a rock in a lake. She felt as if a building was falling on her, making her hands and mind feel heavy. She watched silently as they rode a little way and then stopped. They were talking to one another. She just sat in the flowers thinking that they were gone and she’d have to try again tomorrow. She considered just going to their small apartment to talk with them.
“I could bring something nice like fresh cookies,” she whispered to her small spade, knowing that she would never find the strength to do it.
The elders sat on their bikes looking back at their neighbor.
“What makes you think she wants to talk to us, Elder? The only things she talks about are her flowers.”
“I know, but did you see the way she was watching us? Did you see her eyes? I have a little sister who used to wait by the big window every day when I came home from work, and I could see in her eyes that she wanted to tell me what had happened to her in kindergarten that day.”
“So?”
“Well, Elder, look at her eyes, and besides that, she didn’t even wave at us. She always waves.”
“Maybe she’s mad.”
“I don’t really think so. Let’s just ask her if we can help her in some way. Look, she’s still watching us.”
“Okay, let’s go chat.”
They turned their bikes around and came back. When they stopped, Elder Lyon said, “Ah, ma’am? Could we help you?”
She just looked at them, and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Elder,” she said, through a slightly cracking voice. “Let’s go in the house, and you … well … I’ve got some questions I need some answers to.”
They walked up the stairs and onto the front porch. Before they went in, a thought came to her, and she said, “I hope this won’t take all morning, because there is an old man I must see today, an old man who suffered a stroke in the early spring. He must be awfully depressed watching his beautiful lawn go unattended. I think I’ll take him some flowers, flowers of forgiveness.”

I used to hear the story, when I first came under President Harold B. Lee’s influence in the welfare program, about a man whom they could not get to work. He wanted to be taken care of. The Church or government, so he thought, owed him a living because he had paid his tithing and taxes. He did not have anything to eat and refused to labor to care for himself. Out of desperation and disgust they decided they might as well take him to the cemetery.

On the way, one man said, “We can’t do this. I have some corn I will give to him.”

So they explained this to the man, and he said, “Is it husked?”

They said, “No.”

He said, “Well, then, drive on.”

This would not be humorous if it were not so close to the truth. You cannot save a man who has such an attitude, and a nation made up of men and women with similar attitudes is vulnerable to the problems which led to the fall of Rome. The saddest day of a person’s life is when he sits down to work out a means whereby he can live thereafter without his own effort. One of the most demeaning things a government can do is to teach people that the government owes them a living.

When Arlene Carter goes to a school dance, the question posed by admiring boys tends to be, “May I sit this one out?” It’s not that Arlene doesn’t like dancing or music—she’s usually within ear range of her eight-track tape system at home—and she’s not worried about guys stepping on her toes. But three years ago Arlene, her mother, and two others were in a car that plunged off an overpass onto a railroad track below. Arlene’s back was broken in more than 20 places; her mother was killed.
After the accident Arlene really got the chance to test her lifelong philosophy—change what you can; learn to live happily with what you can’t. She spent the next 16 weeks in a Salt Lake City hospital. For the first four she was strapped in a Stryker frame. (“They’re like ironing boards. They’d turn me over every two hours. I couldn’t see anything but the ceiling or the floor. I used to hate vacuuming, but while I was between those boards, I’d have done anything to be able to vacuum.”) Rehabilitation took another 12 weeks.
She wondered if she would ever see her old friends and the familiar countryside of her hometown, Nephi, Utah. She also had some serious doubts.
“After the accident I felt I hadn’t deserved it. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I felt that if Heavenly Father loved me, he wouldn’t let something like this happen. It wasn’t fair.”
Arlene told her father she was paralyzed before the doctors told her. When the doctors finally told her she would never walk again, she just lay there and cried.
“Finally there was nothing I could do but turn to my Heavenly Father the way I’d been taught since I was in Primary. I prayed and knew that He did love me and I would receive blessings if I’d heed his counsel.”
Arlene is in a wheelchair now, and, of course, it’s natural that she misses the dancing, running, and mobility she had before her accident. But now she can “pop wheelies.” She didn’t learn this from a finishing school, but Arlene can rear up “hi-ho Silver” style, spin her wheelchair around, and rock back and forth. “I can sit like this for hours, and I’ve never fallen over yet!”
Everyone who knows or meets Arlene realizes that she’s a girl who keeps her wheels turning—literally. Last year she was student body president of Juab High School, and she didn’t believe in sitting down on the job.
After serving as vice-president of the school, she launched a campaign for the presidency with posters that read, “Vote for Arlene. She’ll get things rolling” and “Arlene will ‘wheelie’ be a great president.”
Before the accident, stairs were the only way into the school, but a special ramp was built for her. “Just coming down the ramp was exciting because of the brick wall at the end. You could always tell where I’d been; I was the only one who left tracks.” She could get around to most places except her English class because it was upstairs. Instead, she and Chaucer had to do it alone.
Arlene was also the yearbook editor, and the Nebonian met each of its deadlines—no easy task for anyone in publishing. She wrote features for the school paper and was voted Best Citizen by the faculty. She was the second attendant to Miss Juab, the school’s queen. Arlene didn’t believe in just spinning her wheels—she really got things rolling at Juab.
With all her extra-curricular activities and despite having missed so much school, she kept up with her classes and graduated with a 3.94 gpa. When she missed a month of school for further training with leg braces, Arlene came bouncing back to get the highest grade in her algebra class. She took a physics class and couldn’t help but note, “The ratio was great—5 1/2 boys to each girl.”
Being in a wheelchair doesn’t hold Arlene back. She dates a lot of different boys and enjoys parties and long talks with her friends. And they let her know she’s something pretty special too.
On her birthday her friends decorated her wheelchair with crepe paper and a big “Happy Birthday” sign on the back. Once she drove a group of fellow student body officers to a district workshop in a car with hand controls. While in Moab, Utah, for the meetings, she and others also went on a river run.
Arlene makes her own clothes on her sewing machine and even creates her own patterns. To sew, she puts the foot pedal behind her back and presses on it. She cuts fabric on the family’s round kitchen table. By wheeling around it, she is able to reach all sections of the material. When the corduroy comes off the table, Arlene is likely to replace it with a double batch of chocolate chip cookies. She’s been known to come home, sneak in a baking session, and rush off to a basketball game before her dad reaches home and the chock-full cookie jar.
“There’s never a dull moment with her around,” says her grandmother who lives with Arlene and her father. And you’d know that if you walked into Arlene’s room. “No Minors” warns a sign—but Arlene is just kidding. The posters, mini-garden of plants, and knick-knacks, including campaign memorabilia, are gifts from friends. The room is a four-wall collage of important people, places, ideas, and goals in her life. It also reflects Arlene and her I’m-ready-and-willing-if-you-are out-look on about everything.
But there is also another side of Arlene—she has a deeply sincere and reverent attitude for the gospel and the gift of life itself.
“I went to a Laurel standards night recently, and some of the girls wouldn’t even sit by their mothers. It made me feel so bad; I would have given anything to have had my mother there so I could talk to her. But I really do know that problems make us grow and become better people. I try to be happy with what I have instead of being unhappy about what I don’t have.”
Being asked to speak before Church and civic groups has made her somewhat of an orator. Arlene has spoken everywhere from a girls’ camp in the mountains to the Utah State Prison. She’s modest about it, but everyone knows that she draws big crowds and has given as many as four or five talks in a day. Some wards have had to put up every chair in the building when she comes.
“I often tell people to appreciate simple things. What most people think are their rights, I think are privileges—like sitting up, taking baths, or walking.” She always shares her testimony of the gospel with others and considers this “one of the greatest things in my life.
“Everyone should gain a testimony. People who don’t have one don’t know what they’re missing. I’d like to lend mine out for test drives.”
In her ward Arlene taught a Sunday School class of four-year-olds, which was an exercise in itself. “They were lots of fun. Sometimes I taught the three-year-olds too. The only thing I worried about was when they would push me down the hall. They were not tall enough to see around the wheelchair.” But she never crashed.
When she is home many of Nephi’s missionaries stop to visit her just before they enter the Missionary Home. Her faith reminds them of what is most meaningful in life. They may be looking down at Arlene in her chair, but in their hearts and esteem they look up to her.
This fall Arlene entered college. She was offered several scholarships and decided to study at BYU. She’d like to become a rehabilitation counselor. “A lot of people come into a hospital and tell patients to cheer up, but they don’t know what it’s like. I’ve been there. I think I can help others in the same circumstances or people with other problems.”
Even with her physics studies and understanding Newton’s laws of gravity, Arlene knows life in a wheelchair doesn’t need to be an uphill battle—especially with a loving family, stick-with-you friends, and a deep faith in a caring Father in heaven. Knowing her own limitations she says, “I don’t think people have any reason to feel sorry for me.” She realizes she’s not the only one confronted by obstacles. Recently she wrote this poem:
Prisoners
We are all in a prison,
Some for a lifetime, some for a day.
Some are there for what they do—
Some for what they say.
Some prisons have bars and locks,
But in comparison, just a few.
The ones most common aren’t tangible.
Think, what imprisons you?
Yet there is one I know quite well
Who is captive to a chair with wheels
But she holds her prison keys in hand,
Because freedom is the way one feels.
After all, it takes a special kind of courage to attend a high school dance in a wheelchair the first night after you’ve been released from the hospital.

[The scene shifts and a spotlight focuses on CATHERINE ANN, who is in Salt Lake City living with her uncle. She is reading a letter that has just arrived.]
CATHERINE ANN: “We’re awful sorry, Miss Russell, to have to give you this sad news by letter. Your father was as fine a man as we knew, and the Order’s going to miss him. Enclosed is a letter he gave us for you just before he died.” [Opening the other letter] Oh, Papa! “My Dearest Catherine Ann, I think I will not see you again, so I must leave you my love on paper. You mustn’t sorrow much. Only look forward to us being together again when things get more permanent. It makes it easier for me to go—knowing that I can have again the people that I love. Don’t forget, my darling, all that really matters in the world are the people that you love. Your Uncle Alfred will let you stay with them as long as you want. He says you’re a fine influence, and that makes me proud. I am proud of you, Catherine Ann. One thing more. I don’t want you to feel guilty about leaving the Order. It wasn’t meant for people to be clear perfect in this life, just to be getting a little bit better each day. That’s what I hope for you, Catherine Ann, and I know you will. Just a little better each day. And when we’re all the way perfect, that’ll be heaven. Till then, I leave you my love and my blessing. Your Father.”
Oh, Papa! [Reading again] “P.S. Your necklace is under my mattress.”
[CATHERINE ANN presses the letter to her heart and looks up.]
Things aren’t very important, are they, Papa?
[She sings softly.]
A few lovely things that belong to just her
A girl can hardly do without.
Oh, I need—yes, I need—
[She breaks off, turns, and runs out.]
[The play closes with CATHERINE ANN returning to Orderville. She has resolved in her own mind what is most important in life and has decided that her love for MATTHEW is real. The couple approach one another for the first time since being separated.]
MATTHEW [hesitantly]: I was awful sorry about your father.
CATHERINE ANN [nodding]: Sometimes it takes bad things to teach us good things, I guess. [He doesn’t answer.] A man doesn’t take a lot with him when he dies. Mostly he just takes what he’s given away. I’ve been wondering if I’ll have as much to take as Papa did. Oh, I’ve been learning some things, Matthew.
MATTHEW [hopefully]: About what?
CATHERINE ANN: About love. About me—and you. [She holds out her arms to MATTHEW. He comes to her, and they embrace.] Oh, Matthew, I’ve come home.
MATTHEW: I’m glad. I’m awful glad.
CATHERINE ANN: And I want to stay right here. Here in Orderville. I told you there were lots of things I needed that the storehouse couldn’t provide. Guess there still are. But you’re the only thing I can’t do without. And there’ll be time for the others. Besides, I want to learn more about giving. And I can’t think of a better place to do it.