Gospel Story Finder

Another faithful missionary was Carl A. Carlquist, born near Vänersborg in 1857. At age 17, he felt a strong desire to preach the gospel and was called to distribute Church tracts around Jönköping. He was poor, so members of his branch, seven widows and their children, obtained a suit coat and boots for him. Carl didn’t own an overcoat when the winter season came, but he was allowed to borrow one a few hours every day from some of the members when they didn’t need theirs.5

Carl later emigrated to Utah and married Hulda Östergren, a Swedish immigrant. He returned to Sweden two more times on missions, including as mission president of the Scandinavian Mission. Much of his last mission was spent correcting false reports published about the Church by Reverend P. E. Åslev, a pastor who had lived in Salt Lake City and was hired to promote anti-Mormon sentiment in Sweden. For instance, in 1912, Åslev wrote an article in the newspaper Svenska Dagbladet in which he claimed that Brother Carlquist was a polygamist.6 Carl’s efforts included meeting with King Gustaf V and refuting Åslev’s claims in public meetings.7

There is a story told of a dishonest character who approached a trusted employee to help him steal a considerable amount of money from the company. The employee constantly refused until finally, after being offered one million dollars, he gave in to the idea.
After the two had successfully committed the crime, the criminal offered the employee one hundred dollars for his help. The employee was furious. In a voice filled with anger the employee said, “What do you think I am, a criminal?” The man who had planned the crime said in a voice filled with contempt, “We already know what you are; now we are just arguing over how much you get paid.”

I want to share with you a few comments made about one of our graduates who, through a life of service, has helped to burnish the Brigham Young University name. This was written by one of her seven children—six sons and one daughter—who nominated their mother for the Service to Family Award:

[Alice Schindler Cannon] graduated from BYU in 1958 and went to law school at Duke University. Because of a long-distance courtship with our father, she moved to Illinois and graduated from the University of Illinois as a lawyer. During this time they married, and upon graduating our mother decided not to begin a law practice because she was expecting her first child. Her priority was family.

The letters of recommendation noted that tragedy struck this family in 1993 when an accident took their father. It was then that the award nominee assumed the role as head of the household and monitored the family construction business as secretary/treasurer. Her family further notes that she has served in virtually every Church organization and calling, including Relief Society president twice, both stake and ward Young Women president, and Primary president.

At her daughter’s report to the high council after her mission, the stake president asked this outstanding mother and BYU graduate where she had sent her children on their missions. After she replied, with tears in his eyes the stake president noted, “Sister, you have sent your children to all parts of the world to teach the gospel, and the men and women of this world honor your name.”

Kate’s stomach dropped when the soccer field came into view from the car window. She knew the Bulldogs were the best in the league. But she didn’t think this many people would show up for tryouts.
She tightened her grip on her bag when she realized tryouts must have already started. It looked like they were doing drills. The girls were weaving between cones and sprinting across the grass. She was late! Kate jumped out of the car as soon as her mom pulled up.
She only made it a few steps before she remembered something important. She needed to say thank you! She circled back. “Thanks, Mom,” she called. “Thanks for driving me and for breakfast!”
Saying thank you wasn’t a big deal to a lot of people, but it was to Kate. Her favorite scripture story was the story of the ten lepers. She couldn’t believe that out of the ten people Jesus healed, only one said thank you! She’d made it a goal ever since to always say thank you.
Remembering that story made the tight feeling she had inside loosen a little bit. At least until she joined the other girls in doing drills and saw how good they were. She couldn’t help worrying. What if everyone else is way better than me? she thought. What if I’m the worst one here?
But soon the coach divided them into teams for a practice game, and Kate stopped thinking of anything other than the black-and-white ball moving like lightning from one girl to the next.
She was breathing hard by the time the coach blew the whistle to end tryouts. “Great job, everyone,” he said. “I’ll make decisions in the next few days and let you know.”
Kate walked slowly over to her bag. Her whole body was splattered with mud. And her legs felt like slow, heavy elephant legs. Worst of all, she had no idea if she’d even come close to making the team.
She was one of the last girls to leave. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the coach. He just gave her a short nod and turned back to his clipboard. But Kate felt a little better as she walked away. She might not make the team, but at least she’d been grateful.
Later that night, Kate was washing dishes with her dad when the phone rang.
“I think it’s the soccer coach,” Dad said, looking at the number. Kate’s heart started pounding. He took the phone to the next room. Kate stayed at the sink, trying to focus all of her attention on washing the dishes.
When she heard Dad come in a few minutes later, she kept her eyes down. “What’d he say?” she asked.
“Just that my Katie is going to be a Bulldog,” he said, nudging her shoulder.
Her heart skipped a beat. “I made the team?” she said, finally looking up. Dad nodded with a big smile. Kate did a happy dance, splashing water over both of them.
“Hey!” Dad said with a laugh. “I have something even better to tell you once you quit being a human water fountain.” Kate paused mid-twirl. What could be better than making the number-one team in the league?
“Did you thank the coach at the end of tryouts?” he asked. Kate nodded. “Well, he wanted me to tell you that he was really impressed by that. Of the 34 people who tried out, you were the only one that said thank you. He said to thank you for saying thank you.”
Dad’s smile was even bigger than before. Kate knew her own smile was just as big. Just like the story of the ten lepers, she thought. Being grateful did matter!

They couldn’t hold another quorum meeting without Bill. So, with cooperation from Bill’s mother, Brother Perry and the young men he led entered Bill’s bedroom one Sunday morning.
“We started the meeting with a spirited opening hymn,” said Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Bill came up out of those sheets like he had been shot out of a gun.” By meeting’s end, however, Bill knew he was valued and appreciated.1

One time, early in the morning after Mama and I had spent the night with him and Grandma, Grandpa and I went to buy a morning newspaper because the funnies are the best thing to read before breakfast. On the way, he found a big broken branch that made a good walking stick. He pretended to hobble with it, then did a silly hop, skip, and jump. We had more fun than anything!
When we got home, Grandma took one look at Grandpa’s stick and said, “You get that dirty old thing out of the house!” Grandpa just laughed. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around.
“Put me down!” she screeched, but she was laughing too.
Grandpa kissed her before we went into the living room to read the funnies to each other.
That’s the way it used to be.

I remember, when very young, helping my mother and dad in our movie theater in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. I enjoyed it because we were together—selling popcorn or tickets. When it came time to clean the big theater, I had the privilege of doing it with my dad. We each had our own jobs to do and yet we did them together. I noted later in life that I had retained the desire to keep things neat and orderly.

In December of last year, the Kingstown Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints joined with the National Emergency Management Organization on the World Day of Service to hold educational sessions for church members and their friends on food and water storage and disaster preparedness. In addition to the presentations, seeds were provided to all attendees so they could plant their own gardens.
The following month, district and branch presidencies in St. Vincent and the Grenadines encouraged members to refocus their efforts toward being self-reliant both temporally and spiritually. Members took this counsel to heart and did what they could to increase their food and water storage despite their limited financial resources. Some even planted their own gardens. Since then, there have been many reminders to start preparing, even in small ways. Some sisters began purchasing water bottles and sharing them with others who showed interest. Others planted gardens and added to their food supply.
These preparations have been very beneficial as they have been used since the La Soufriere volcano began erupting on April 9, spewing ash into the air.
Sister Nichole Franklyn, Relief Society president in the Kingstown Branch, recalls, “We started a kitchen garden. We were happy, but it took a lot of work. We prayed each night over the crops, and Heavenly Father heard our prayers and blessed them.” Their simple garden has grown and is producing.
Not all the produce in their garden is ready to harvest, but they are reaping cucumbers and sweet peppers. They were worried that the ash fall would ruin their garden as it has much of the agriculture on the island. “Many crops have been completely wiped out, but God has spared ours. We were able to reap cucumbers. Right now, we can sell our cucumbers for five dollars per pound, but we opted to share with three shelters,” Sister Franklyn said.
The members were also encouraged to become spiritually self-reliant. Following the example of a group that started in St. Lucia where a group of sisters are meeting for prayer and scripture study at 5:00 am each morning from Monday to Saturday, the sisters in St. Vincent also began in earnest. They meet on Zoom with other members of the Church in the Caribbean Area at the same time. Despite the prevailing circumstances, the members are strong and without fear, and they continue to meet morning after morning.
Sister Franklyn is grateful for the blessings that her garden has brought to her family and to those in the shelters. “The Lord watches out for His children and provides when we are able to follow His teachings through our leaders,” she said. “It really feels good to give rather than to receive at this time.”

The day I arrived in Hawai’i as a new BYU–Hawaii student was January 1, 2004. It was supposed to be a fresh start—something exciting and hopeful. But the moment I landed at the Honolulu airport, I called my parents to say I had arrived and learned that my grandmother had just passed away. I remember walking through the Honolulu airport in tears, completely overwhelmed—grieving, far from home, and unsure of what I had just stepped into. Moving forward into my new life at BYU–Hawaii, far away from home, felt impossible.

A dear friend I met while we both attended BYU–Idaho, Jihye Jean, was actually from Laie and picked me up from the airport that day. She and her childhood friend I did not know at the time, but now also call a dear friend, Caryn Lesuma, received me, my giant suitcase, and tear-stained face with such immediate and sincere kindness. I stayed with the Jean family for over a week until I could get into my student housing up on Naupaka Street—also known as the Point. I ate homemade Korean food her mother lovingly made, I watched Korean dramas with them, we took beach walks at night as she patiently let me cry up and down the shore, and slowly—very slowly—something began to shift. It wasn’t that everything was suddenly okay. But through their kindness, and through the kindness of so many students and faculty I would come to know, I began to feel that maybe things were possible again.

Looking back, I can see that I was not alone in that moment, even though I felt like I was. There were angels all around me. In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord gives this promise:
“…I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” [1] At the time, I didn’t have the language for it—but I was being borne up. I didn’t fully recognize it then, but that experience taught me something I have come back to again and again: We are not meant to do hard things alone.

Fortunately there are still those who observe such principles of personal rectitude. Recently we rode a train from Osaka to Nagoya, Japan. At the station were friends to greet us, and in the excitement my wife left her purse on the train. We called the Tokyo station to report it. When the train arrived at its destination some three hours later, the railroad telephoned to say the purse was there. We were not returning via Tokyo, and more than a month passed before it was delivered to us in Salt Lake City. Everything left in the purse was there when it was returned.

A correlation exists between hope and gratitude. To illustrate, let me share a personal experience. Last Thanksgiving, Sister Nelson and I hosted a memorable gathering. All of our locally available daughters, sons, and grandchildren were there, among others. We counted sixty-three people at the feast. As part of our after-dinner program, Sister Nelson distributed a sheet of paper to each individual, headed, “This year, I am thankful for. . .” The remainder of the page was blank. She asked each to complete the thought, either in writing or by drawing a picture. The papers were then collected, redistributed, and read aloud. We were asked to guess who composed each reply, which, incidentally, was not very difficult.

Meanwhile, I observed a pattern. Generally, the children were thankful for food, clothing, shelter, family (and, occasionally, pets). Their pictures were precious, though not likely to be shown in an art gallery. Our youth broadened their expressions to include gratitude for their country, freedom, and church. The adults noted most of those items, but in addition mentioned the temple, their love of the Lord, and appreciation for his atonement. Their hopes were combined with gratitude. Counting blessings is better than recounting problems.

Years ago, as a campus stake president, I called a local Tongan brother to serve on the stake high council. "But how can I serve in a university stake?" He protested, "I know very little English. I’ve had no formal education. I will be a laughing stock among all those smart students." This man recited a list of reasons why he couldn’t possibly serve among smart people. I held to my conviction that this appointment was from the Lord. His wife finally said in her own native tongue, "I know my husband. I know his weaknesses. He is a good man and if the Lord wants him to speak in any language, I know he will find a way to do it."

This man did serve in the BYU-Hawaii Stake for several years. For the first few weeks, he was in torment with fears and feelings of inferiority but he took his calling seriously. When he had to speak in his role as high councilor, he prepared with all his might, mind and strength. He practiced in front of his mirror. He memorized and recited and repeated over and over the difficult lines. You can all predict what happened. This brother became one of the most popular speakers in the Stake. He never became fluent in English but he had a humble style and a fervor and wonderfully fresh ways of putting words together. That made him beloved and appreciated. When he stood at the pulpit before all those smart people, they paid rapt attention. He fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty and liberated the captive.

Nearly a century ago, a family from Oregon was vacationing in Indiana—over 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away—when they lost their beloved dog, Bobbie. The frantic family searched for the dog everywhere but to no avail. Bobbie could not be found.
Heartbroken, they made the trip home, each mile taking them farther away from their cherished pet.
Six months later, the family was stunned to find Bobbie on their doorstep in Oregon. “Mangy, scrawny, feet worn to the bone—[he] appeared to have walked the entire distance … by himself.”1 Bobbie’s story captured the imagination of people across the United States, and he became known as Bobbie the Wonder Dog.

Next, think of something you particularly like to do but have yet to achieve total mastery. For example, I absolutely love to garden, or at least I love the idea of it. I don't think much about it until late spring, and then I give it a wholehearted effort for a couple of summer months. As you look at this picture, you may think, "Wow, what a garden! Look at all that green! Look at all that growth!" However, those with gardening awareness may soon realize that much of that green is, unfortunately, weeds. Still, I give it a go. So, what do you like to do but still have some inadequacy or lack of total commitment? Keep this in mind as well.

We've now considered an ability you've developed as well as a work in progress.

I have loved the idea of gardening and even dabbled for a few years in a small patch with dependable plants, but this year, with a sizeable plot of my own, I gave it a hearty try. I’d do anything for a pot of creamed peas and potatoes! I learned that my researched design was strong. I discovered, however, that crowded rows of corn won’t reach maturity. I over-planted zucchini and wonder why most experienced gardeners continue making this very same mistake. Finally, I needed a bit more knowledge and effort to master weeds. My gardening expertise is not there—yet.

Despite this lack of knowhow, there is something I can do about it. I have the world at my fingertips. I can study plants and fertilizers, visit nurseries and neighbors’ gardens, or find a YouTube tutorial. I can continue learning through trial and error. I may not have been born with a green thumb, but I have the capacity to be a proficient gardener.

In my early childhood I lost both my parents. Aunt Gu Ma, a spinster sister of my father, kept my brother and me together. She brought us up in a little farming village where she grew vegetables for a living. Every morning she would carry the produce to the market in two big baskets, one on each end of a long pole resting on her shoulders. She then would bring home rice and meat purchased with the proceeds of her vegetable sales.
I can remember cooking rice in a huge wok on top of a reed-burning stove. I was then six years old. The wok was so big that my brother and I had to lift it together, each standing on a stool while grasping a handle on opposite sides. Our occasional dinner special was either half-cooked or burnt rice, or both.
Aunt Gu Ma was a wonderful person. Although she had no formal education, she had a noble philosophy of life. She instilled in us correct principles, stern self-reliance, and the value of hard work. We are forever grateful for her love and sacrifice in our behalf.

Wendi and I had been dating for nearly a year and a half. She was ready to get married, but I figured if I just kept the status quo and dated Wendi while studying and playing soccer for BYU, I would not have additional financial pressure or feel FOMO on carefree single life. Wendi wisely told me: “Corey, we can accomplish so much more together than you can on your own.” Yet, I still wavered.

One afternoon I approached Billy and explained why I thought I should wait another year before taking the leap. But Billy knew how to tell me things straight up. He said, “Corey, you’re an idiot!” Perhaps I can paraphrase Jacob in this instance: “[Billy] speaketh the truth and lieth not. Wherefore, [he] speaketh of things as they really are, and of things as they really will be; wherefore, these things [were] manifested unto [me] plainly.” [34]

He told me I was being unfair to Wendi. He told me if I lost Wendi, he would never speak to me again. He told me she was my only chance at celestial glory. Then he pulled out a calendar. Knowing my soccer schedule, he calculated the only possible wedding date that summer. He pointed and declared: “Saturday, July 18!”, then went next door and taped a large poster in the front window facing the street, announcing that July 18 was the day that Corey was marrying Wendi. To make sure I could not remove it, they locked the door and refused to answer when I knocked.

And July 18 was the day!

Nearly 34 years later, I remain grateful for that great check.

It wasn’t easy. When we got married, we had enough in our checking account to pay for one month of rent. Wendi had one semester left at BYU. I had two years remaining. We ate spaghetti with watered-down sauce because adding meat was too expensive. We bought an old, ragged couch for 15 dollars. We went to the grocery store deli late at night to buy discounted food before it was thrown away.

But those early years became some of the most meaningful of our lives. We learned to live within our means. We learned to rely on Heavenly Father and each other. We were able to find joy, even when it was hard.

Thomas woke up one sunny morning to the sounds of his big brothers, Jonathan and Matthew, talking quietly. He smiled as he realized it was Sunday. Thomas loved Sundays. He loved looking handsome in his Sunday clothes. He loved singing Primary songs. And he especially loved his Primary teacher, Sister Brandon. He couldn’t wait to go to church!
Then Thomas frowned. He remembered that church didn’t start until after lunch. Sunday mornings seemed to drag on forever. What could he do until it was time to get ready for church?
After breakfast, Mom came into Thomas’s room. “Thomas, hurry and put away your toys,” she said, smiling. “We’re going to do something new that I think you will like.”
Thomas quickly picked up his toys and went into the living room, where his brothers and sisters were waiting. “Today we’re going to do Sunday stations,” Mom announced.
Thomas had never heard of Sunday stations before. He hoped he would like them.
“One station will be at the table,” Mom explained. “Two will be on the couches, and one will be at the computer. You will have 10 minutes at each station.”
Now Thomas was really curious. Usually he wasn’t allowed to use the computer on Sundays. Mom gave a few more instructions and then let each child go to a different station.
Thomas headed straight for the computer, but his sister Katrina had beat him to it. So Thomas sat down at the table instead. There he saw the Faith in God and Duty to God booklets that belonged to his sisters and brothers. “What can I do here?” he asked Mom. “I’m not old enough to have a Faith in God book.”
Mom pointed to a sheet of paper and a box of markers. “You don’t have a Faith in God book yet, but you do have faith, and you can make a goal to help it get stronger,” she said.
“How?” Thomas asked.
“Well, just think of something you can do this week to follow Jesus,” Mom suggested. “Then write your goal on this paper so you can remember it.” Mom patted Thomas on the back and set the kitchen timer for 10 minutes.
Thomas thought hard about how he could follow Jesus. He watched Mom helping his brothers and sisters with their stations. “I know,” he thought. “Mom is like Jesus because she is nice.” He smiled as he carefully wrote the words I will be nice on his paper.
Mom came over and gave Thomas a hug. Then she showed him where his sister Miriam had glued her picture inside the cover of her booklet. Mom drew a square on his paper, and Thomas drew a picture of himself in his Sunday clothes and colored it with markers. He was admiring his picture when the timer went off.
The next station was the computer. Mom explained that Thomas could send an e-mail to someone he loved. He decided to send a message to his cousin Moroni, who had been sick. “Hi, Moroni,” he wrote. “How are you? I hope you are feeling better.”
Just then the timer went off. “Time sure goes by fast when I’m doing stations,” Thomas thought. Then he typed his name, clicked on “send,” and hurried to the couch.
At the next station, Thomas found a phone. “I know what this is for,” he thought. Mom helped him dial Grandpa’s phone number. Thomas was surprised to learn that Grandpa didn’t know about Sunday stations. Usually, Thomas was the one who had a question, and Grandpa had the answer. So Thomas explained about Sunday stations. He and Grandpa had a great time talking. When he heard the timer, Thomas said, “I love you, Grandpa!” and handed the phone to Mom.
The reading station on the couch was Thomas’s last station. Mom listened to Thomas read the story of Captain Moroni and the title of liberty. Then they had just enough time for Mom to read a letter in the Friend.
When the timer went off for the last time, everyone stood up and stretched. “Let’s pick up and make lunch now,” Mom said. Wow! It was lunchtime already. Then it would be time to get dressed for church.
As Thomas gathered the magazines and scripture storybooks from the couch, he had a happy feeling inside. “Mom,” he asked, “can we do Sunday stations again next week?” He could tell by Mom’s smile that they would.

Michelle pushed her hair from her face and quickened her pace into the biting wind. Her shoes tapped lightly on the sidewalk and echoed faintly through the night air. Every now and again a car passed by, but other than that she was alone. Alone … at last. How strange—wasn’t aloneness what she was fighting? No, she thought, aloneness and loneliness are two entirely different things.
Michelle couldn’t help but think of the contrast between this deepening silence and the boisterous laughter that was probably going on in her apartment with her five roommates and their friends all talking at once about their plans for the weekend. She loved visitors, but once in awhile, like tonight, she felt an overwhelming need to be by herself.
Just where was she headed, Michelle wondered? Oh, sure, she had goals. Right now she was an art major, and eventually she wanted to do artwork for a living. She had always enjoyed recreating those things she thought beautiful. But somehow, at this moment, she wasn’t completely satisfied. A deepening sense of isolation and loneliness had been taking hold of her, despite the fact that she was constantly around other people. It was as if she were an outsider, or perhaps a cameraman, watching everyone else laugh and joke with one another, but she herself was unable to take an active part in the fun. And since nobody seemed to notice, she was finding it harder and harder to step outside her own mind into the world next to her.
And she had her long-term goals, too. Yet there were times when she resented the emphasis on marriage that was almost unconsciously a part of every conversation. Perhaps if she were nearer that goal, she wouldn’t be so sensitive about the subject. But as it was, the constant discussion of boyfriends and engagements only served to bring her to a more painful awareness of the fact that she rarely dated. Even going home for spring break was not as exciting as it should be. How was she supposed to explain her lack of social triumphs to her family and old friends?
It wasn’t only that, though. She could have endured the dateless weekends—because after all, she was just a plain, freckle-faced redhead—but it was the friendless weekdays that were getting her down. Of the six in her apartment, she was the only one who never received phone calls or visitors. Janice, the bubbly blond, had a knack for making new friends, so she never had a lack of attention. Bobbi and Kay were members of the ballroom dance team, and their dance partners were with them day in and day out. And Pauline, a curly headed brunette with winning dimples, was active in two singing groups on campus, so she had no trouble in meeting new people. Even Kerri, her best friend and special roommate who was not quite as active and outgoing as the others, still had the warmth of personality that attracted many close companions.
It was hard for her not to feel sorry for herself when the only phone calls she ever got were from either her mother or a ward officer asking her to give a talk or help out in the ward nursery.
Michelle shivered suddenly. Her hair was wet from the snow that had melted on it, and now the wind was beginning to blow again. She decided to turn around and start back. Being alone was getting her nowhere but further along the road to self-pity. She shivered again, but this time it felt as if she had swallowed an ice cube and the cold was coming from the pit of her stomach rather than from the icy wind. A hopelessness even greater than before settled over her, and she leaned forward at a hurried gait to reach the warmth of her apartment.
Finally she was among the old familiar homes and apartment buildings that lined the street she lived on. A glance around told her that it must be late since fewer cars than usual were driving by and lights in many apartments were out. She looked ahead at the white brick complex that was now her second home. Almost half of the 16 apartments looked dark, including her own. She cut across the snow-covered lawn and tried the door. It was locked, but immediately Kerri’s face appeared peeping through the curtains in the living room.
“Where have you been?” she asked, throwing open the door. Her face was covered with her special weekly oatmeal facial and her short, brown hair was half up in rollers. Michelle couldn’t help laughing faintly.
“Just been out walking and thinking. Nothing serious.”
“Oh yeah? Since when is thinking not serious around this place? The truth now. Who were you following? He must have been a real winner to keep you out in a storm like this.”
Michelle closed the door and followed Kerri through the living room down the hall to their bedroom.
“Yes, but I lost him after a few blocks. He just disappeared like all the rest of the men around this campus.”
“Can’t win ’em all. But seriously, Michelle, is anything wrong?” She looked at her through the mirror as she finished her hair.
“Nothing dramatic.”
“All right. Tell me, though, if you need anything.”
Michelle hung up her coat and pulled a towel out of her drawer to dry her hair.
“Is everyone else in bed?”
“Unusual, huh? We ran out of gossip early tonight. Oops, there’s the phone. I’ll get it—maybe it’s my prince charming.”
Michelle sat down on the side of the bed and closed her eyes. Thank goodness she had fun-loving, easy-going Kerri for a friend.
A shout from the other room made her open her eyes.
“Hey, Michelle, it’s for you! And it’s a man!”
Michelle groaned inwardly. What tact! If by some miracle a guy had called to ask her out, he’d have been scared away by now. Who could it be, she wondered? She stepped lightly down the hall to the kitchen and took the receiver from Kerri who winked mischievously.
“Hello …”
“Hello, Michelle?”
“Yes.”
“Michelle, this is Gary Feldman, the ward chairman for service projects. Listen, I know this is late notice, but the girl who was asked to go visit an elderly member lady at the nursing home tomorrow had an emergency, and I heard you were dependable so … well, I was wondering if you would mind going instead?”
“Oh … oh, well I’d be glad to.” Despite her struggle to sound cheerful, she knew her voice had betrayed a little of the disappointment she had felt. She should have known—it hadn’t been her mother so she should have expected the obvious alternative. How could she pretend interest in an old lady when nobody cared a nickel for her?
“Do you or one of your roommates have a car so you can get there all right?”
“Sure. What time shall I be there?”
“As soon as you’re through with classes, if possible. The home is in the center of town and the room is 313. I think the lady is Sister Zwindli. Hey, I really do appreciate this on such short notice.”
“Well, you’re very welcome. Bye now.”
Michelle slowly put down the receiver and sank into a nearby kitchen chair.
“Well, who was it?” came a shout from the next room.
“Only someone calling to ask a favor.”
“How dull and boring!”
“At least it was a phone call.” This time her voice sounded more cheerful than she felt, and an uncontrollable tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently and got up to go get ready for bed.
Pauline dropped Michelle off at the rest home at 5:00 the next afternoon. The sun had been shining brightly all day, and as she climbed from the car, she was almost blinded by its glaring reflection on the snow that had fallen the night before. The stabbing pain at the back of her eyes made her stop and wait a minute before they adjusted to the brightness. After a moment she looked up to read the “Friendship Gardens” sign above the glass doors of the red brick building.
As she stepped in through the doors, she was almost immediately overcome by the sickeningly sweet odors of medicine and sickness. She tried to calm her nausea as she haltingly walked up to the reception desk. A smiling, robot-type nurse in a starchy white uniform gazed at her through businesslike eyes.
“What can I help you with?”
Suddenly Michelle felt very self-conscious and out of place. After all, what did she have to say to a sick old lady whose entire life probably consisted of watching TV and getting shots to go to sleep? She stared back at the receptionist.
“Well … uh, I … that is, is it all right if I see the lady in 313? I think the name is Zwindli.”
“Mmmmmm. Let me check.” She leafed through her records and brought one out of the pile. “Oh yes. She’s down the hall on your left. Just go right on in.”
Now that she was here, she was frightened. What had they expected of her anyway? She hadn’t had time to make anything for Sister Zwindli, and surely anything she might have to say wouldn’t be of any interest to this lady. She had grabbed her sketchbook on her way out of the apartment as an afterthought, thinking that this woman might enjoy watching her draw, but now she felt unsure of herself. Maybe Sister Zwindli had poor eyesight and didn’t want to do anything but lie in bed and be left alone.
309, 311, and there it was—313. She stepped slowly through the door and looked cautiously around. There was a bed up against the wall in the near left corner. Michelle could see a thin form beneath the white sheets, but as she drew nearer, she could tell that Sister Zwindli was asleep.
Not sure of what to do next, she decided to sit on the chair near the bed and wait a few minutes to see if she would wake up on her own. Michelle let her eyes roam around the room. It was just like a hospital on a smaller scale. White walls, white curtains, white bed covers, a white metal nightstand, and even the gray-white tile floor that is so common in hospitals.
Then she took her first good look at Sister Zwindli. She was lying on her side so her features were clearly visible. On a sudden impulse Michelle got out her sketchbook and began to draw a rough outline of Sister Zwindli’s face. It was a thin face and looked taut and drawn, despite the fact that it was deeply lined above the brows and beneath the eyes as if she had suffered through many trials. Her wispy, gray hair looked like curls of smoke that might disappear at any moment. It gathered softly above her delicately high forehead and down around the temples and back to the ears. Her eyes were widely set above a thin, yet beautifully proportioned nose. Tiny creases radiated from the corners of the eyes, telling Michelle that in spite of her suffering, she had smiled often enough to leave the traces. In her mind Michelle imagined that Sister Zwindli had once been very vivacious, with delicate features set in a peaches-and-cream complexion to add to her dainty build and warm personality. But now sickness and pain had yellowed that skin and set down its story in the wrinkled brow that seemed too much for the weary eyes to bear.
Just as she was about to sketch in the mouth and begin the shading, a nurse walked in. This one did not look as inhuman as the one out at the desk. She was in her mid-50s and had a warm, congenial glow about her. As she caught sight of Michelle, she slowed and smiled gradually as if she were remembering something.
“You wouldn’t happen to be here on a service project, would you?”
“Why, yes I am.” She wondered vaguely how this nurse knew because she hadn’t mentioned that to the receptionist.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re finally here. You see, I was the one who called and asked to have someone take time out to come and see her once in a while. I knew Miss Zwindli was a Mormon, so I just called her church. But I’m afraid now just happens to be a bad time. She was in a great deal of pain earlier, so we had to give her a pain shot, and now she won’t be awake for at least another hour or so.”
“Would it be better for me to come another day?” She felt let down, for after having studied Sister Zwindli’s face, she had imagined she had recognized a sort of strength there—something she wanted to know more about.
“If you like—but it upsets me that she missed you because after I told her that she might be getting company, she talked of nothing else. Poor dear, she never has visitors other than the doctors and nurses.”
A guilty feeling swept through Michelle. Here was someone who truly had no one. She at least had a family and five wonderful roommates; and she had been feeling sorry for herself.
“Doesn’t she have any brothers or sisters?”
“Oh, I have heard her mention an older brother and two younger sisters. But they’re all back in Switzerland. You see Miss Zwindli joined the Mormon church when she was about 14, and consequently her parents disowned her, so she came over alone to America. An uncle from Boston paid her way and met her when she arrived in New York. But for some reason or other he tried to dissuade her from continuing in her church. Said he’d even pay for a college education in music and vocal lessons, which was what she had always wanted, but she refused, so he disowned her, too.”
“How did she manage all alone?” Michelle found herself wishing that she had been there to befriend that little girl who had been so brave and yet probably so frightened.
“She said she took whatever work was available at the time—housework or factory work. It took her a whole year to scrape together enough money to ride the train from Boston to Salt Lake—course that was back in 1920.
“After she got there, it was like a dream come true, being with people who believed as she did. From what she’s told me, it seems like she had a good life there—working, teaching in her church, singing in choirs.”
“Why didn’t she ever marry? She looks like she was once a very beautiful lady.”
“Oh, she had opportunities, but she never found the one she wanted to marry. That didn’t stop her, though. She kept right on working and serving.”
“Why is she here now?”
“She came to Boston a few months ago hoping she could locate some of her cousins. Seems they’ve all moved away. Then she got sick. Her doctor brought her in after he discovered she had stomach cancer. She’s been here now for a month, but the doctor didn’t expect her to last more than a few weeks. She was so resigned and accepting that it just about broke my heart. She never complains but instead is always going around in her wheelchair seeing if there is anything she can do for anyone else. She hardly has strength to do anything for herself.
“But for the last week she’s been unable to get out of bed. I’m glad you made an effort to come talk to her. She’ll appreciate the thought.”
Michelle looked over at the tired, worn face with the sunken eyes. She felt as if she had known this woman for a long time, although she had not even spoken to her. She couldn’t force herself to leave immediately, and as she gazed on silently, the nurse left the room to go help another patient who was crying out down the hall.
Tears burned in her eyes as she contemplated the great loneliness and suffering that this unselfish lady had lived through. She looked down at the drawing in her lap and realized how little of the inner struggle that must have taken place was evident in that sketch. She closed the pad and got up to leave, but as she glanced over once again at the bed, she saw that those sunken eyes were looking up questioningly at her.
“Oh, Sister Zwindli, I’m so glad that you’re awake. You don’t know me, but my name is Michelle. I know this may sound unusual, but I came over to visit with you because I needed a friend. I think God led me to you.”
The deep brown eyes widened and then seemed to take on a new depth of understanding. Suddenly she was crying, the tears streaming down her lined face.
“My dear child. He sent you just in time. We both need a friend.”
She took a thin, veiny hand from beneath the blankets and reached for Michelle’s. For half an hour Michelle did nothing but sit by the bed and hold that hand. Her heart was still heavy, but the despondency that had so long been there was gone. Finally she laid the hand gently on the edge of the bed.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered, “I’ll be back soon.”

May I conclude by telling you about a man I knew who grew up with love for the Church. But when he became involved in his business career, obsessed with ambition, he began in effect to deny the faith. The manner of his living became almost a repudiation of his loyalty. Then fortunately, before he had gone too far, he heard the whisperings of the still, small voice. There came a saving sense of remorse. He turned around, and today he stands as the president of a great stake of Zion, while also serving as a senior officer in one of the leading industrial corporations of the nation and of the world.

Several members of the Snow family, including 17-year-old Lorenzo, clambered into the carriage and drove off toward the Johnson farm, four miles away. The year was 1831, and recently a new religious group known as Mormons had sprung up in the area.
Word had been circulated that the Mormon Prophet, Joseph Smith, was to speak at a meeting at the Johnson place and the Snows, curious perhaps, decided to attend.
The Prophet was standing in the doorway of the house, addressing the group. Lorenzo later recorded his impressions thus: “He was only 25 years of age and was not, at that time, what would be called a fluent speaker. His remarks were confined principally to his own experiences, especially the visitation of the angel, giving a strong and powerful testimony in regard to these marvelous manifestations.”
Lorenzo concluded that Joseph Smith had not been deceived. Either the Mormon leader had, indeed, talked with the Father and the Son or he was an outright fraud. The boy was not religiously inclined at the time, and did not bother to find which of the possibilities was true.