Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago a special child was born to a young mother. This child was born without eyes. It was normal in all other respects except there was nothing to resemble eyes or sockets above the nose. This mother might in bitterness have said, “Why did this have to happen to my child?” or “Why did this have to happen to me?” Instead she said, “The Lord must really love us and have confidence in us. We really must be favored to have been given this child. To think the Lord picked our home, knowing how much special love and care this child would need, is very humbling and comforting. We are grateful for this special child and for the blessings it will bring to our home.”

Although I prayed every day, I’d never felt like my prayers could be described as anything but ordinary. I wondered if the heroes in the scriptures were the only ones whose prayers could be described as “mighty.”
One day, a friend called and described a beautiful prayer experience she had had. “It was like real two-way communication with my Father in Heaven,” she said. “Heaven felt so close around me.”
Her experience caused me to wonder, “Is that what the scriptures meant by mighty prayer?” That was what happened with Enos when he knelt in prayer. Since I couldn’t remember ever having this experience when I prayed, I decided to find out what makes prayer mighty and how I could make my prayers more meaningful.
I started by making a list of the things I thought would work. My main problem was falling asleep during my prayers. It may seem silly, but the first thing on my list was to try praying in more uncomfortable places. This really worked to keep me awake, but my prayers still felt the same as they always did.
I thought I might try longer prayers, like Enos. Surely that would let Heavenly Father know that I really wanted to communicate with Him. Nothing changed. And although I was sure Heavenly Father was blessing me and listening to my prayers, I wanted to feel closer to Him than I was feeling.
Over a period of time I tried many other techniques, such as concentrating harder, writing down everything I needed to pray for so I wouldn’t forget anything, and praying out loud. Nothing seemed to make my prayers feel mighty.
Then one day that all changed. It happened to be near Christmastime and I was listening to “O Holy Night” in my bedroom. As I pondered the Savior and His mission, the music penetrated my heart. A feeling of joy and gratitude washed over me as I thought of the Savior’s love and His great Atonement. I got on my knees and uttered a simple prayer of thanksgiving, with the hope that I could become more like Him. As a gentle warmth and happiness enveloped my heart, heaven felt very near, and the Spirit helped me to understand that this is what it meant to have mighty prayer.

Leaders of the Church have counseled us to cultivate a garden at our homes. Recently, members from the Mountain View Ward in Nairobi, Kenya heeded that counsel, and following their bishop’s assignment and worked hard to create a ward shamba (the word ‘shamba’ means ‘garden’ in Swahili). Ward members joined hands and applied their knowledge in transforming the thickets and shrubs into a bountiful harvest.
Brother Michael Bahati mentioned he had always wanted to apply his farming skills on the shamba, saying that it had been neglected for as long as he could remember. Brother Bahati made sure that he had reserved enough time to dig, dung, graft and prune. It would have grieved him if he had lost the harvest, which was not only for himself but was stored up for the benefit of all the ward members.
The words from Jacob 5:62, “Wherefore let us go to and labor with our might” described Bishop Musaka’s efforts as well. He drove to the Church on the weekends, rolled up his sleeves and labored diligently. He knew his members, understood their needs, and worked alongside them. As the bishop is also president of the priests quorum, he made sure that the priests were not left behind, and he invited them to work.
Brother Bonabol was among those who took heed of the bishop’s call. He took the responsibility to ensure there was food enough to provide for the members. He saw it as his priesthood duty, and he fulfilled it with honor.
Sister Omondi used to exercise every morning, running from her home to Uthiru. Then she thought there was something more she could do. She contacted Brother Vidonyi, who informed her there was work to be done in the shamba. That is how her morning run was alternated with work at the shamba.
Ward members who previously worked there had little training in planting, so Sister Omondi taught them how to dig and plough. She explained her experience this way: “I doubted if the groundnuts (peanuts) would grow, but they did and despite growing the potatoes in the wrong format, they caught root.” Sister Omondi’s main responsibility was to water the plants and she learned her duty and acted in her appointed office with strict obedience.
As much as it was a learning opportunity for Brother Omondi, he also taught others. The soil at the church was not foreign to him and he understood what would flourish best in the shamba.
Sister Mahindi was concerned about her daughter’s illness but she trusted that she could take her mind off of that. She felt that by busily working at the shamba, things would get better—and they did. She gained comfort and peace as her daughter recovered.
Bishop Mukasa made it possible for the members to irrigate the plants. He made sure there were enough pipes to use as they still waited for the water sprinklers. He described, “As the plants need water to be nourished, the members also need nourishment from the holy scriptures.” The plants couldn’t go a day without water, just as members shouldn’t go a day without studying their scriptures.
Missionaries also managed to bring investigators to come work in the shamba. What a privilege those investigators were given to receive the restored gospel at the same time they received food from the garden in which they had worked.
Finally, the day came when the rewards were quite visible and abundant. The Mountain View Ward members’ hard work proved itself. There was an abundance of food, ranging from bananas to mboga to beans and they are about to harvest the maize. It was clear that the members’ aim wasn’t for instant gratification. They understood that in all harvests, some blessings don’t come until later, so they chose to be patient with the sweet potatoes and cassava.
As I worked in the shamba and saw it progress, I noted the change in myself. If the plant tamed by the Master came out as He desired, can I also involve the Lord and allow Him to guide me to reach my potential and live within my privileges? My lesson from the shamba is a resounding, “Yes!”
Marc Otieno is ward mission leader in the Mountain View Ward, Nairobi West Stake.

I fidgeted impatiently in the backseat of the car, excited as much by the prospect of an end to our long ride from California to Kansas as by the thought of seeing my grandparents again.
“Do you think she’ll like my hair short? Last time she saw me I was wearing it in braids. Can you imagine? I must have been about ten or eleven. I hated those braids! Remember when Grandpa offered to cut them off with the hedge clippers?”
My mother exchanged glances with my father. “Don,” she began.
Dad cleared his throat and spoke to me in the rearview mirror. “Tara, you realize that they’ve changed. People do as they get older. You’ve changed, and they will have, too. You have to expect that.”
“I know, I know.” Impatiently I brushed aside the warning in his voice. “But I’m eager to see them.”
“So are we, dear,” Mom said, but there was an edge to her voice that I didn’t understand.
We reached the edge of the little town where my grandparents lived, and Dad turned down their street. Grandpa was waiting for us on the front porch.
I shot from the car and hugged him as tightly as I could. He seemed thinner than I’d remembered, almost fragile, so I released my grip on him.
He held me at arm’s length. “Tara, you look wonderful. But whatever happened to those beautiful braids?”
“Well, one day I was trimming a hedge and they just happened to get caught in the clippers,” I teased.
We laughed and hugged again.
“How’s it going, Dad?” Mom asked him. “You holding up okay?”
Grandpa kissed her soundly on the cheek. “You bet.” He turned to Dad and clapped him on the back. “Good trip out?”
Dad shrugged. “Can’t complain.”
I couldn’t stand this exchange of pleasantries any longer. “Where’s Grandma?” I interrupted.
Grandpa looked at Mom and she nodded.
“She’s at the rest home by the courthouse. We can see her tonight,” he said.
“Oh, can’t we go now?” I begged. “I want to see her.”
“Well, Tara, you’ve come all the way from California, and your father probably wants to rest after such a long drive. We’ll go tonight.”
“Please?” I wheedled. “Pretty please with sugar on top?” It had been my favorite childhood phrase when I had wanted something very badly, and I could see him weakening.
Dad solved it. “Let me unpack the car. You three go, and I’ll snooze a bit while you’re gone.”
I threw my arms around Dad. “You sweetie!” I turned to Mom and Grandpa enthusiastically. “Let’s go!”
We pulled up in front of the sedate red brick rest home. As Grandpa got out of the car, my mother leaned over the back of the seat to speak to me.
“Don’t forget,” she cautioned in a tight voice, “she’s not the same grandmother you remember.”
Not the same grandmother? Of course she was. Oh, I knew from Grandpa’s letters that sometimes her memory slipped and she couldn’t remember people’s names, but she was still my grandmother, the same one who had read me Winnie-the-Pooh when I had scarlet fever, the same one who had let me name the barn cats, the same one who had taught me how to make the world’s best grape jelly. The same one.
I leaped from the car and began to sprint across the vast green lawns of the nursing home, until I remembered that Grandpa was with us, so I waited patiently in the quiet Kansas afternoon for him to catch up to me.
My grandfather led us confidently, like a tour guide, through the cool halls of the nursing home, holding a jar of peaches he had put up himself. “They’re her favorite, you know,” he said. “Bring her some each time I come.”
We stopped outside Grandma’s room, and Mom reached over to squeeze my arm, perhaps to reassure herself as much as me. I ignored her touch and opened the door.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost engulfed in a flowered robe that was much too big for her. She looked up as we entered.
Her eyes looked past me and found my grandfather. “Oh, there’s the nice man with the peaches,” she said.
My mother dropped on the bed beside her and put an arm around her. “Hey, Mom,” she said, “remember me? I’m Annie.”
Grandma ignored her and held out her hand for the peaches. “It’s so nice of you to bring me peaches each time you come.”
I wanted to say triumphantly to Mom, “See? She does remember. She is the same grandmother.”
Then Grandma cocked her head and looked quizzically at Grandpa. “Now, what did you say your name was?”
I wanted to leave. I wanted to be outside in the cleansing heat of the summer day, where the sun could burn this scene from my mind. I wanted to forget it had ever happened. It was changing my entire world.
But my grandfather was speaking to Grandma. “I’m Frank. And this is your daughter, Annie, and your granddaughter, Tara.” He spoke slowly and patiently.
“Hello,” Grandma said politely to Mom, and held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Tara,” I blurted.
A smile lit up her face, and my heart with it. She remembered me!
“Why, that’s my name, too!” She peered closely at me. “Will you be going to my school?”
I looked helplessly at my mother. She was crying silently, her face in her hands. My grandfather touched my shoulder and gently nodded.
I took a deep breath. “I hope so,” I said.
“Good. We’ll have great times. I hope you don’t live too far from me.”
I didn’t know what to do. She obviously expected me to say something. Suddenly I decided what to do. I plunged into her world.
“Tell me about the other people who go to the school,” I prompted.
Grandma’s eyes looked back 60 years. “Well, there’s Edith Scott. She’s nice and has the most beautiful red hair. And there’s Rob Anders, but stay as far away from him as you can. He’s trouble. And there’s Frankie Gleason.” A sly smile stole over her face. “I’ll bet he goes for you in a big way.”
My grandfather caught my eye and winked.
“Oh, no, I don’t think he will,” I said. “I think he likes you.”
Grandma blushed and smoothed the lap of her robe. “Well, some have thought so, but I don’t know. He is a nice fellow, though.”
“Why, I’ll bet that one day you and Frankie Gleason get married and have a beautiful daughter,” I teased. My mother looked up at me startled, and I wrinkled my nose at her. I was beginning to enjoy this.
Just then a nurse walked in. “Are you ready for your lunch, Mrs. Gleason?” she asked my grandmother.
Grandma’s face brightened. “Can I have peaches?”
In the middle of the night, the phone rang. A few minutes later my mother came into my room and sat on my bed.
“Tara, that was the nursing home. Grandma’s had a stroke, and it’s a bad one.” Her voice broke. “They don’t expect her to make it to morning.”
I sat up, suddenly awake. “Are we going?”
Mom touched my forehead, smoothing away stray hairs. “You don’t have to go.”
“But I want to go!” I cried. “She’s my grandma!”
Mom bit her lip and looked at me before she nodded. “Okay. Get dressed. We’re going right away.”
The nursing home looked different at night. “It looks so asleep!” I burst out. Grandpa patted my arm.
As we crossed the lawn, I noticed something in Grandpa’s hand.
“Peaches,” he said, embarrassed. “Her favorite. Bring her some each …” His voice cracked.
It was my turn to pat his arm.
Inside, the only person in the lobby was a nurse, who nodded understandingly at us and said softly, “Go ahead.”
Grandma’s room was brightly lit, and a doctor stood beside her bed.
“How is she?” asked my mother.
The doctor shrugged helplessly. “I never know what to say. It’s been a massive stroke, and her heart isn’t strong.”
Grandma looked very small on the bed. She looked past my mother and my grandfather to me. “Tara! How kind of you to come see me.” Her voice faltered. “I don’t think I’ll be in school tomorrow. I don’t feel very good.”
“That’s all right,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “I’ll explain to the teacher. By the way, I brought someone with me to see you. Frankie Gleason.”
We stood in a stiff line at the cemetery to “accept condolences,” as my mother put it. I felt numbed, yet painfully aware of what was happening. Grandpa seemed to shrink even more as his friends filed by to lay gnarled hands on his shoulders and wordlessly offer looks of understanding with eyes that had seen other loved ones laid to rest in this same grassy stretch. This man who had been the strongest man in the world to me when I was a child suddenly looked vulnerable, and I moved closer to him, instinctively wanting to protect him.
After the other people had left, Dad cleared his throat. “They’re serving lunch at the church. Come on, Tara.”
I hung back, reluctant to let Grandpa stay there alone, yet not wanting to hurry him into a premature separation from Grandma.
“I’ll wait and go with Grandpa,” I said.
Mom looked up sharply. “Tara …”
Grandpa stopped her. “Let her stay, Ann. We’ll meet you at the church after I say . …” His voice wavered. “After I say good-bye.”
When we were alone, I told Grandpa I’d wait for him in the car. He nodded absently. In a rush of empathy, I put my arms around him. He held on to me, and I could feel his thin shoulders shaking. Tears collected in my eyes, and I blinked helplessly as they ran unchecked down my cheeks.
“I’ll miss her, too,” I said. “But you know what makes me feel good, really good? Out of the millions of people in the world, I got her for my grandma. I feel very lucky and very grateful to whoever picks grandmas.” I leaned my head against his. “And grandpas.”
Grandpa lifted his head and smiled at me. “And granddaughters.” He took a large white handkerchief from his suit pocket and blew his nose.
I patted his arm. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
When he got to the car, I offered to drive. I started the car, and as I pulled out of the parking lot, something rolled out from under the car seat and tapped my foot. I stopped the car and reached down to pick it up. It was a jar.
“Peaches,” Grandpa said. “They’re her favorite, you know. Bring her some each …” He buried his face in his hands.
I laid my hand on his arm. “Let’s take them to her.”
Grandpa raised his head and looked at me. Then he nodded.
He carried the peaches in one hand and held my hand with the other. Together we walked back to the grave.
Grandpa knelt with difficulty and placed the jar of peaches in the midst of the flowers. Then he turned to me.
“Looks kind of simple here with all those showy flowers.”
I smiled at him. “You’re a nice man, Frankie Gleason.”

At a 20-year high school reunion, one of the graduates had a surprising conversation with one of her classmates that went something like this:
“I came to this reunion after all these years hoping you would be here so I could thank you. My high school experience was hard for me. You may not have known it, but you were the only friend I had in high school. I wondered if maybe the seminary teacher had assigned you to be nice to me. Did he?”
“No, he didn’t assign me.”
“Well, you didn’t know it, but every day I looked for you because I knew that you would talk to me. You made me feel better about myself. Now I am married and have a large family. During these past years I have thought many times of what you meant to me, and I wanted to tell you that.”

“Today is the happiest morning in this year. Today is the first [day of] morning seminary,” wrote a Church member in Russia. “How and when [did this thought] originate about daily morning seminary? I remember there was a lesson for our CES teachers that mentioned about the daily seminary program in the United States and Europe and that got stuck in my mind. At that lesson I felt the power of the Holy Ghost which brought a thought unto me that we should have seminary here. Then I felt that the Lord endows everything for this job: possibility, strength and help. We have to have just willingness to accept such a gift.
“After that meeting I felt great inspiration. Some mothers got frightened a little with the idea because children will have to get up early in the morning and in school, they are overloaded, and some finish the school this year and will be entering higher educational institutions. But fathers, who have the priesthood, completely supported me, having said that daily studying of the scriptures is so needed for youth, will teach them discipline, and also will help them gain the Holy Ghost which during the day time and school lessons will help to withstand the temptations of Satan” (comments from Maria Rupysheva, Vyborg, Russia, fall 1996).

I too was questioned by my friends, classmates, and even my teachers in school about our standards. They said that our Church standards are so strict. Instead of arguing with them, I asked for their time to share with them all about our Church standards. I simply showed them that I am very happy and comfortable living with our standards. I also did not use our standards as an excuse to miss some school activities. Instead, I suggested some ideas for the school activities to follow our Church standards. I also shared with them the advantages of following those standards.
Ailyn L., 19, Davao, Philippines

Things didn’t turn around all at once. The coaches considered it a building year because the team was so young, with Colin and his cocaptain as the only seniors. The “building year” was evident early in the season, when a rivalry meet was a disaster. Afterward, Colin told his team, “I’m not angry at our loss. You don’t have to win everything; you just have to give it your best.”
From then on, the team worked together toward the same goal, and everything changed. They started building success. As he worked with and instructed others, Colin’s own wrestling improved. “The greatest way to learn is to teach,” he said. At the end of the season, the team won their league and sent seven wrestlers to postseason tournaments.

In my hand I hold a letter received two days ago from a faithful, brokenhearted father whose son, about the same age as the others, took his own life, notwithstanding the efforts of loving parents and a fine, wholesome family. I wish there were time to read a description of how hard these marvelous parents have tried. This is a missionary family, a committed family, a stay-together family; yet this boy, convinced of his own worthlessness, that he was a failure and that the mistakes he had made were disqualifying, took his own life. His father sent a copy of the note he left, and asked me to make such use of his letter and this letter as judgment and my feelings suggested.
I read you just a sentence from the letter left by the boy who ended his own life: “I have no hope, only dreams that have died. I was never able to obtain satisfactory interpersonal relationships. I feared the future and a lot of other things. I felt inferior. I have almost no will to achieve, perseverance, or sense of worth, so goodbye. I should have listened to you but I didn’t. I started using acid last summer. It’s purgatory.” What a tragic story!

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love,
Abby
Eight-year-old Abby was underlining the word love when her brother, Zac, marched into the living room. “What are you doing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at six-year-old Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why not?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It was strange not having them here for Thanksgiving. I missed Grandpa’s great stories about the turkey hunts he used to go on with his dad. And it didn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought that if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the small table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the two shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because someone told them. But, Zac,” she added as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find some and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I want to make my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the nativity scene. She smiled and gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”

Tamra Goldsberry is making an important statement to the local media in her hometown of Lilburn, Georgia. But this 16-year-old from the Lilburn Georgia Stake is also making an important statement by setting the example of serving others.
Tamra, along with several other young people and the adult leaders in her stake, recently helped to can 600 cans of tomato soup for a nearby children’s shelter. The youth service project not only attracted the attention of the evening news, but also an interfaith broadcast in the Atlanta area which will include information about the canning project and information about a typical LDS Sunday service.

I left on my mission but continued to communicate with Juan and Francisco.
I wrote them frequent letters sharing with them the gospel and my testimony of Jesus Christ. I invited them to repent and to attend church. To my great surprise, one of them actually went.
I had frequently invited my friends to Sunday meetings before, but none had accepted until now. Although I couldn’t attend with Juan, my brothers and my father were there to help him and fellowship him. My family accepted him, and Juan felt very comfortable at church.
He started changing little by little until he made the decision to get baptized. I was thrilled for him and even more thrilled when he told me he had learned to love Jesus Christ because of my letters. When I came home from my mission, I also stayed close with Francisco, and after some time, he and his wife also got baptized. Today, Juan and Francisco are still two of my closest friends.

Ministering on the Sabbath is something Sister Zola Adjei came to love while growing up in the Kpong Branch in Ghana. While home from boarding school during the summers, she and other youth would go in groups to visit members of their branch they hadn’t seen in a while. “It was a sacrifice because most of us felt very hungry after church, and we were so far from our homes that we didn’t have time to eat and gather again,” Sister Adjei said. But the sacrifice was worth it, as they were able to pray and sing hymns with their fellow branch members and invite them to church and activities. One of the youth would offer to walk with them to church the next Sunday.

“This practice formed a bond amongst us,” Sister Adjei said. “Some of us have stayed strong friends from the decisions we made to go out and bring back our lost friends by giving up a few hours of our Sabbath day.”

I was raised a deeply devout Roman Catholic, going to church every day. Studying the Bible was a normal every day event which I loved. My testimony of Jesus Christ was well established. He was my cornerstone, my iron rod. I had never visited any other church and was unfamiliar with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I often prayed that I could be a good Christian example to my children.
During one of my prayer sessions, I experienced a very personal and sacred spiritual encounter. I shared this encounter with a local parish priest and was told these things don’t happen today, so I kept this to myself for many years. But it became foundational to my testimony.
When I moved to Utah, I became involved in the local Catholic community. I didn’t drive back then, so my husband would take me and the children. One Sunday we were running late for church and took a different route. On this route, we passed a building with a sign which read: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” Immediately, a presence came over me. Even though we were going about fifty miles, it felt like time had stood still. After mass, I mentioned to the parish priest that I saw a sign that said “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints”. I expressed an appreciation for the name and asked, since we are the true church, why aren’t Catholics called this? He admonished me not to have anything to do with Mormons. This was the first time I had heard this word but the seed had been planted.
Some time later, there was a knock on my door. I assumed they were Jehovah Witnesses so I told them I wasn’t interested and they started to walk away. For some reason I called them back and asked them who they were. They mentioned they were members of “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” This captured my attention, and I invited them in. They left me a Book of Mormon which began a friendship with two ladies who were members of the local Relief Society.
A few months later, my husband was asked to work on Sundays so I had no way of getting to my local church. Around the same time, my children began to interact with other children in the neighbourhood, which led to me being invited to activities at their local church. On my first visit to my neighbour‘s church, they were showing a film of Joseph Smith‘s first vision. It was new to me, but when it came to the part he was bound, from my own experience years before, I knew this to be true.
As mentioned I wanted my children to know of Jesus as I knew of him, so I started to attend the Sunday services. I grew up in a Latin based church service where prayers and hymns were all in Latin, so this was the first time I had ever entered another church and heard hymns in English. I remember the first hymn I heard was “O my Father Thou That Dwellest.” It filled me with awe and is now my favourite hymn.
Thereafter, I was invited to the Relief Society and then my baptism came around. I think the whole stake came out to see this young Scottish girl being baptised in Utah. I have since held many positions in the church, such as Relief Society President, Primary President, Stake Primary President, and Sunday school teacher. Currently, I am in charge of Public Relations and Communications for the Greenock Branch.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t thank the Lord for my brother who saved my life. I can remember that terrible day as if it were yesterday. I love my brother and would do anything to pay him back. I was quite young at the time, but the impact that this experience had on my life will be eternal.
It was a bright, sunny Saturday early in June. We lived in the city in a neighborhood that was very typical—a lot of kids and a lot of cars. That morning while my brother was mowing the lawn, I was playing in the driveway with my friend Jeff, who lived two houses down. Jeff was my best friend, and we were having a great time seeing who could hit the baseball past the other person. Jay, my older brother, was like no other brother in the whole world. He watched after me and was always willing to help me, even with little problems that seemed important to me. He was my example of true brotherly love. He took me everywhere; we were inseparable. Even though he was many years older than I was, I could tell he was as proud of me as I was of him. I loved my big brother, and I know he loved me.
Jeff and I were still playing hard as Jay finished mowing the lawn directly in front of the house and began to mow the small patch of grass that separated the sidewalk from the street. I admired the way Jay worked, especially when he worked hard. He was my example of what I wanted to be. Suddenly the lawn mower stopped. I guessed he hit a rock with the blade and it caused the motor to stall. I turned to see if he needed help to restart it. As I turned to Jay, Jeff let go with a throw that made me look silly. The ball zoomed out into the street, and I sped after it, not noticing the speeding truck that was coming right for me. Evidently Jay saw the truck and came running into the street after me. I never did see the truck but felt a powerful push causing me to be hurled to the other side of the street. As I fell to the ground, I could hear the sound of screeching brakes and a thud accompanied by a painful groan. My heart sank into my stomach as I picked myself up off the ground and ran over to Jay, who was lying halfway under the truck that had hit him. With tears in my eyes I sat down next to him and put my arms tightly around him in a way that only a little brother can.
“Jay, please wake up! Jay, please wake up!” I pleaded with all my heart through the tears. “Jay, please wake up!” I loved my big brother.
Soon Mom came running out of the house to see what had happened. Seeing her son on the ground, she burst into tears. She slowly bent down and put her arms around Jay, and together in the middle of the street we shared tears over the one we loved. I could hear sirens in the distance; they were going to take my big brother away. That only made me tighten my arms and cry harder. Jay was limp and becoming cold. I was scared and didn’t want to leave my brother. Dad got home from work just as the ambulance arrived, and Mom got up and ran to him. Dad came running over to Jay with tears in his eyes. He motioned me to let go so that they could lift Jay into the ambulance. As I got up, I leaned over and whispered in Jay’s ear, “I love you, Jay. Please come home.”
The drivers closed the back doors of the ambulance after Dad got in with Jay, and they began to drive off down the street. The siren was so loud and seemed to hurt as Mom picked me up in her arms. Crying together we went into the house. Mom set me down and went up to her room to be alone. She was crying harder than I’d ever seen her cry before. I, too, cried and cried hard. Even as I went to my room and kneeled down to pray, the tears still streamed down my face. I took a deep breath and began to pray through the gasps of tears, “Father in Heaven, please help Jay be well. Don’t let him die. I love Jay. Please don’t let him die!”
My tears still flowed as Mom came downstairs and slowly opened my door. She was trying hard not to cry. There was a moment of silence while she looked at me with greater love and greater sorrow than ever before. A moment passed, and then she ran over to me, picked me up in her arms, and through newly formed tears she whispered in my ear, “Kirk, I love you.” We cried together for hours.
Dad didn’t come home that night; neither did Jay. I never saw my big brother again after I held him in my arms as he lay cold and limp on the street. I was alive and Jay was dead. What had I done to deserve to live? His life was so much better than mine. My brother died for me! He died so that I could live. He saved my life.
Many years have passed since Jay pushed me out of the way of that truck. My life was changed in a matter of minutes, and I have taken it upon myself to tell the world what my brother did to save my life. I have tried to live my life in a way that will in part pay my older brother back for his sacrifice. My life was saved because someone loved me enough to suffer his life to be taken.

While working on my Personal Progress, I came across a goal that required me to read the Book of Mormon (Virtue value project) and invited me to pray afterward to know if it’s true.
Over several months I read the Book of Mormon. When I finished, I eagerly went to my room, kneeled at my bed, and asked God to let me know if it’s true.
Nothing happened.
I rephrased the question several times and still felt nothing.
The next Sunday during fast and testimony meeting, a sister told a story about when she’d followed Moroni’s invitation to pray to know if the Book of Mormon is true. She didn’t receive an answer, so she prayed again and again. As the days passed, she worried about whether the Church was really true. Finally, she felt the Spirit speak to her mind: “You already know it is true.”
As I listened, I realized that God was answering my prayer through this woman’s testimony.
I learned that day that He does care. I have a testimony now that God answers our prayers, if we pray sincerely, because He answered mine.

One priesthood bearer remembered as a young boy a meeting at his home in which Eliza R. Snow, Zina D. Young, Clara Kimball, and other leaders of the Relief Society were present. While he was playing on the floor, he heard Sister Snow, by the gift of tongues, and Zina D. Young, by interpretation, promise that he should grow to manhood and become an apostle of the Lord. The man recalling the incident was President Heber J. Grant.

[In the evening, CATHERINE ANN and MATTHEW manage to get together down by the swings, where they talk of the Order, life on the “outside,” and what people really need.]
MATTHEW: Everything you really need you can get right out of the Order storehouse.
CATHERINE ANN: People need lots of things besides food and a roof over their heads. At least I do.
MATTHEW: Like what?
CATHERINE ANN: Like lots of things. Like—
[She sings.]
A little lace on the curtains,
A rug in every room,
Floors you can see your face in,
And soap that smells of perfume.
MATTHEW: Our soap don’t smell too bad—if you use it quick.
CATHERINE ANN:
A few lovely things
That belong just to her—
A girl can hardly do without.
Oh, I need—yes, I need—
A few things I don’t really need.
A music box in the bedroom,
Little pink flowers on the plates,
Plenty of sugar in the cellar,
And ivy growing up the gate.
MATTHEW: There’s pumpkin vines all over the vats at the tannery.
CATHERINE ANN:
People have got to be different at times;
They’re not just like cattle or sheep.
We each need a piece
Of something in this world,
To choose for ourself,
And use for ourself—
That’s our very own thing to keep.
I need some—
Shoes with silver buckles
That click and glitter and shine.
A bonnet with bows and ribbons,
And a dining room that’s all mine.
MATTHEW: If you go at five in the morning, there’s hardly anybody there.
CATHERINE ANN:
A few lovely things
That belong just to her—
A girl can hardly do without.
Oh, I need—yes, I need—
A few things I don’t really need.
And do you know what else I need, Matthew? Need so bad it hurts?
MATTHEW: What?
CATHERINE ANN: A piano. Oh, a piano! Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of having one. I remember there was a little place on our kitchen table that was broken. And when I’d plunk it, it was just like a piano key. I used to sit there for hours. Plunk. Plunk. Mama always said I could have one someday, but things kept getting worse. And then she died.
MATTHEW: I’m sorry.
CATHERINE ANN: That’s all right. Only, Matthew, a person needs a little beauty in his life.
MATTHEW [looking at her dreamily]: I hope you get it, Catherine Ann. Your piano. I hope you do. [The bugle sounds “O Ye Mountains High.”] Well—
CATHERINE ANN: Do they sound the bugle if you’re in the swings too long?
MATTHEW [laughing]: No.
CATHERINE ANN: Well, they do for everything else.
MATTHEW [as they start out]: Only for gettin’ up, going to prayer, eatin’ breakfast, going to work, eatin’ dinner, going to evenin’ prayer, and going to bed.
CATHERINE ANN: Oh. Is that all?
[As Act Two opens CATHERINE ANN has been placed in charge of setting the tables in the common dining hall. After seeing the condition of the old tablecloths, she has requested some new ones. MATTHEW’s father, EZRA, has just explained to her that the Order is low on funds and must go slow on purchases for awhile. MATTHEW is also present.]
CATHERINE ANN: But I didn’t ask for lace or even linen. Just something white and clean that doesn’t have years of stains and spots.
MATTHEW [hesitantly]: Maybe you could teach the girls to set the tables so as to cover up the spots?
CATHERINE ANN [exploding]: Matthew Cooper, you don’t know anything! You can’t just make do all your life.
EZRA: Now, Catherine Ann, coverings for a table can’t be all that important.
CATHERINE ANN: For some, no. For others, yes. That’s what’s wrong with the Order, Brother Cooper. It doesn’t make allowance for the fact that everybody is different. And the Lord must have meant them to be different. One person’ll have no use in the world for a thing, and without it the soul of the next person’ll just wither up. We’ve got to have some room to be different, some right to a little different step if we want. We’ve got to!
EZRA [after a moment’s pause]: I can’t say you’re wrong, Catherine Ann. But then I can’t say you’re entirely right, either. ’Scuse me. Think I’m needed inside. [He goes into the house.]
[MATTHEW goes to CATHERINE ANN.]
CATHERINE ANN [throwing her arms around him]: Oh, Matthew, let’s go away. Please.
MATTHEW: Leave the Order? Oh, I couldn’t.
CATHERINE ANN: It wouldn’t be a sin. There’s lots of good Saints that don’t have to live the United Order.
MATTHEW [seriously]: But I do, Catherine Ann. I have to.
CATHERINE ANN [turning away]: You’re just like your sheep!
You don’t even have a mind of your own.
MATTHEW: Yes, I do. I said I have to live the Order. But also, I want to.
CATHERINE ANN: Why?
MATTHEW: Catherine Ann, don’t you think I’d like for you to have a piano? I’d like it very much. But I believe in what we’re trying to do down here, even though there’s a lot of hurt goes along with it. It’s wonderful to know that you live where nobody takes advantage of his neighbor. And that if you’ve got enough to eat, then he does too. And that there’s nobody whose feet freeze ’cause he’s got no stockings. That’s something, Catherine Ann. It’s not a piano, but it is something.
CATHERINE ANN [desperately]:You can do it, Matthew. I—I can’t.
[CATHERINE ANN runs off.MATTHEW goes a few steps after her, then stops.] [Later on CATHERINE ANN and her father are alone.]
CATHERINE ANN: Oh, Papa! Papa, why do we love people that we shouldn’t love?
BROTHER RUSSELL: I don’t think that’s possible, Catherine Ann. Sometimes we love them in ways, maybe, that we shouldn’t—ways that hurt us and them too.
CATHERINE ANN: I embarrassed him awful, Papa. And in front of everybody.
BROTHER RUSSELL [stroking her hair]: Oh, oh.
CATHERINE ANN: I didn’t mean to. Yes I did. [She gets up.] And I told them I was leaving Orderville. Said I was never coming back.
BROTHER RUSSELL: Catherine Ann, I’ve been thinking. Maybe you ought to leave.
CATHERINE ANN: What?
BROTHER RUSSELL: For a while. Help you get your mind sorted out—and your heart.
CATHERINE ANN: But where?
BROTHER RUSSELL: Salt Lake City. In fact, I’ve written your Uncle Alfred about it. I know you’ve been unhappy here. And I don’t like to see that.
CATHERINE ANN: But I couldn’t leave you—not feeling well like you are.
BROTHER RUSSELL: I’m better. I am. And the thing that’d perk me up more’n anything would be knowing that my girl was happy.
CATHERINE ANN: What’d Uncle Alfred say?
BROTHER RUSSELL: Said they’d be pleased to have you. They got a nice home up there, you know.
CATHERINE ANN: I remember. And a beautiful parlor, with a—a piano.
BROTHER RUSSELL: Bet you’d have a wonderful time. Only once in a while, when you’re sitting there playing your piano, I’d like you to remember something.
CATHERINE ANN: What, Papa?
BROTHER RUSSELL: Eternity’s a long time. Bet it’s long enough to learn how to play the piano and the violin and the accordion, and a dozen other instruments if you wanted. But the Lord sort of earmarked this earth life for one special learning to come first. And that’s learning how to play yourself. How well you learn that, Catherine Ann, determines the kind of tunes you’ll be playin’ for a long, long time.
CATHERINE ANN [hugs him]: I’ll remember. I’ll miss you, Papa. But I’ll be back in the spring.
BROTHER RUSSELL: I’ll miss you too.
CATHERINE ANN: Oh, Papa. How come life hurts so much?
BROTHER RUSSELL: Don’t know. One hurt passes, then another comes. But so do the joys. Reckon the hurt you’ve got now is called growing up. That’s one of the worst.
CATHERINE ANN: Must be. It’s way down deep, where I never felt anything before. Guess you learn a lot in growing up. [She sings.]
So long ago I used to muse
Within a childish wonder deep,
And ask myself with great concern
Do weeping willows really weep?
And when I went to school to learn
Those things one learns to make one wise,
I thought, How foolish! Trees don’t weep,
For weeping things have tearful eyes.
But now that I have tasted more
Of learning than the wise men taught,
I sit again beneath my tree
With wisdom much more dearly bought.
My eyes are pale, blue-desert dry,
As with the swaying leaves I sigh:
Oh, foolish they who cannot see
The weeping of the willow tree—
The weeping of the tree—
And me.
[BROTHER RUSSELL goes to her, puts an arm around her, and together they go into the house.]

Aioo Suisala just turned 19. He works to earn money for his mission. On Saturdays and during school vacations he works with Letane and Sosaia at nearby plantations with many of the other people from the village. They get to the fields either by walking or riding horses. At the plantations they weed the taro plants, fumigate, pick bananas, and check how the pineapples are ripening.
On Sundays Aioo, who is assistant ward clerk, Sosaia, and Letane attend Church meetings and take care of their responsibilities in the ward. Their chapel is less than ten years old, and the local Saints helped to build it. Aioo and Sosaia both remember working on it.
Aioo stands in stake conference in Pesega as he is sustained to be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood. He has been looking forward to and preparing for this day for a long time because it means that he is almost ready to go on his mission.

When I was serving as a branch president in a young single adult branch in Florida, we had a young man that learned about the Church through the sister missionaries and shortly after was baptized. He was the only member of the Church in his family, and he did not have any friends in the Church prior to meeting the missionaries. However, I recall that on the day of his baptism, the other members of the branch embraced him and loved him without any judgments. It was a beautiful baptism service. It felt like he was among old friends. And this happened because the members of the branch loved him and cared for him even before his baptism. They participated in his missionary lessons with the sisters. They invited him to attend family home evenings every Monday. They made sure that he was enrolled in and attending institute every week. After he was baptized, they took the time to help him to prepare a name and take it to the temple and perform the baptism for his ancestor. All these interactions occurred in a normal and natural way, and he felt that he belonged.
This was the result of a combined effort from all the members of the branch and the full-time missionaries, as we are all called to assist.