Gospel Story Finder

Wilford Woodruff’s family suffered along with the others. In October, while Wilford cut timber, a falling tree struck him and broke some of his ribs. Soon after, his little son Joseph caught a severe cold. Wilford and Phebe attended to the boy constantly, but nothing they did helped, and soon they buried his body in the settlement’s newly plotted cemetery.
Some weeks after Joseph’s death, Phebe delivered a baby prematurely, and the child died two days later. One evening, Wilford came home and found Phebe distraught, looking at a portrait of herself holding Joseph. Losing the children pained them both, and Wilford longed for when the Saints would find a home, live in peace, and enjoy the blessings and safety of Zion.
“I pray my Heavenly Father to lengthen out my days,” he wrote in his journal, “to behold the house of God stand upon the tops of the mountains and to see the standard of liberty reared up as an ensign to the nations.”27

Compared with prices in the 1980s, food and merchandise were very inexpensive. Low prices were a blessing to the Saints, yet there were a significant number who lacked even pennies to purchase their needs. Hundreds fleeing from persecution in Missouri had lost all of their possessions, and many new converts came from backgrounds of poverty. Such people were often touched by the Prophet’s kindness and generosity, as he drew upon the resources of the store in their behalf. For example, Jane Elizabeth Manning, a freeborn black convert from Wilton, Connecticut, came to Nauvoo in the late fall of 1843 with her mother, Eliza, four brothers and sisters, a brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and Jane’s small son, Sylvester. They had walked nearly 800 miles: “We lay in bushes, and in barns and outdoors, and traveled until there was a frost just like a snow, and we had to walk on that frost. … I wanted to go to Brother Joseph.”
When the family arrived in Nauvoo, the Prophet and his wife Emma hosted them in the Mansion House until they could find homes in which to live.
“When I [came to Nauvoo] I only had two things on me, no shoes nor stockings, wore them all out on the road. I had a trunk full of beautiful clothes, which I had sent around by [boat], and I was thinking of having them when I got to Nauvoo, and they stole them at St. Louis, and I did not have a rag of them. … One morning, before [Joseph] came in, I had been up to the landing and found all my clothes were gone. Well, I sat there crying. He came in and looked around. … To Sister Emma, he said, ‘go and clothe her up, go down to the store and clothe her up.’ Sister Emma did.” (“Joseph Smith, the Prophet,” Young Woman’s Journal, December 1905, pp. 551–52).

Meet Mike Johnson and Curt Brinkman, two of the greatest wheelchair athletes. They’re breaking records and winning an impressive number of medals and trophies, not only in United States competitions, but at the Olympics as well.
First, here’s Curt. Today he is 25, but he has no difficulty recalling his 16th summer. “I was 2 meters tall, and I loved to play ball, especially basketball. I played on our high school team and even had dreams of playing professional basketball in New York.”
Curt grew up in Shelley, Idaho, where he could always find work on the neighboring farms. “I enjoyed working. I saved everything I earned as a boy, trying to get my missionary and college funds together.” Curt had saved six thousand dollars.
Curt’s accident happened one day during a break in his job.
“You know, sometimes young kids try crazy things. I looked at an electrical pole and thought, ‘That looks like something challenging to climb.’ So I did.” Witnesses told him that three electrical shocks held him in midair before he fell 7.6 meters and landed in mud. “The doctor said the impact of falling that far started my heart again, so now I’m alive. I lay there in the mud and thought, ‘I’ll never play ball again.’”
Curt spent six painful months in the hospital. He recalls that his family and friends helped greatly during that time. His close friends visited him regularly. His father kindly insisted he learn to be independent. The town held fund-raising campaigns to help pay medical expenses. When he returned to school, his classmates encouraged him and helped him see the brighter side of life. Curt graduated with his class.
Curt’s testimony helped him, too. He says, “I’m grateful to be a Mormon. I know this life is just a small speck in eternity. Someday I’ll have my legs and run again.”
Curt majored in business at Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho, for a couple of years. There he met Bonnie Hymas. They were married December 20, 1975, in the Idaho Falls Temple. By coincidence, Mike and Jan Cryer were married a day earlier in the Provo Temple. The two couples had not met at that time. Bonnie and Curt now have a son, Gregory Adam, two years old, and a daughter, Lorian, five months. Gregory likes to somersault over the back of Curt’s wheelchair into Bonnie’s arms.
Mike and Jan have two sons, Seth, 2 1/2, and Matt, 1 1/2, and a daughter, Rachel, eight months. Mike is a few years older than Curt. He just turned 31, and Jan teases him about that. But he isn’t too old for wheelchair competitions. Mike says a man in his 50s won the slalom for class two in California.
Mike grew up in West Virginia, where his parents are members of the Church. He came to BYU as a freshman and fell in love with the mountains. He spent many hours hiking and hunting. Now he makes up wildlife stories each night for his sons. “I’d rather do that,” says Mike, “than just read a story from a book.”
Jan says Seth will listen carefully and then when a story is finished, say, “I didn’t like that story. Tell me another one.”
After his freshman year at BYU, Mike joined the marines. In Vietnam he stepped on a booby trap. Both of his legs had to be amputated. Like Curt, Mike’s recovery was a rough time. He, too, is grateful for the support of his family. Mike recalls: “My parents helped a lot. Dad told me to do my best and not to quit. He helped me have a desire to live.”
Mike returned to BYU in 1971. It was there he first saw Curt. “I watched him get out of his car. He really handled himself well, and I thought he’d make a good player on our wheelchair basketball team. I left a note on his car inviting him to come play.” That invitation started a continuing friendship.
They became involved in other competitions after a man they played basketball with in Denver, Colorado, told them they ought to get involved in track. This man sent information about national wheelchair competitions, and the two started working out on the BYU track. That was in 1976.
That same year they went to Denver, Colorado, and placed first in some track events there. Then they went to San Jose, California, and placed, and on to the Nationals in New York and the Olympics in Toronto, Canada. Forty-six countries participated in the Olympics. Together, Mike and Curt brought home three gold, one silver, and three bronze medals. That’s quite a record for their first year of competition!
Mike and Curt do not compete against each other. Curt competes in class five, and Mike in class four. Each athlete is put in a class according to his disability. The classes span from one to five, with class one for the most disabled.
Now look at their accomplishments individually.
Mike is outstanding in javelin throwing. He holds the national record of 26.74 meters for class four. Mike is also the best wheelchair competitor in the United States in the slalom. The slalom is an obstacle course to test skill and quickness, and Mike is very quick. Jan loves to watch the slalom competition. She exclaims: “It’s so exciting! Everybody watching it just goes wild.”
Jan recalls that because she couldn’t attend the Olympics, Mike called her after each event, and he placed in each event! He took first place in lawn bowling, even though he’d never competed in that before. He placed first in table tennis, second in the 100-meter dash, and third in javelin. Mike also holds gold medals in the 0.8 kilometers race, the 91 meter dash, and swimming.
At the Denver meet in 1976, Mike won five golds and one silver medal and the trophy for the Most Outstanding Male Athlete at the meet.
This year, Mike played 30 basketball games around the country. He is second in the nation for scoring. He also played tennis and has never been defeated in tennis in Utah in a singles match. How does he win at tennis? He says, “As soon as the ball leaves the other player’s racquet, I’ve got to know where it’s going. And I have quick reflexes.”
Mike didn’t travel to compete in track or field this year, even though he especially enjoys that area of competition. He says, “The games kept me away from home too much. I miss my track and field, but my family comes first.”
Jan adds, “Mike made the decision. He was the one who decided to stay home and be a husband, father, and gardener.”
Curt’s record is impressive, too. He placed second in the wheelchair division in April 1977 and again in 1978 at the Boston Marathon in Massachusetts. He completed the 41.8 kilometer (352 meter race) in two hours, 34 minutes, and 15 seconds.
The Boston Marathon is the biggest and oldest race in the U.S. and only the top athletes are selected to participate. This year there were 20 wheelchair competitors racing in temperatures below 40° Fahrenheit.
The wheelchair winner of the Boston Marathon this year was Ken Archer, a Mormon from Akron, Ohio. Curt says: “Ken is one of the greatest fellows I’ll ever meet. When he won, he came across the finish line with his hands raised in triumph and his head bowed in humility.”
In 1977 Curt placed in every event in Denver, Colorado, taking two first places in the 91 meter dash and the 1.6 kilometer push. In San Diego, California, he placed either second or third in five events. At San Jose, California, he took first in the 100 meters, breaking the world record. He also placed third in lawn bowling and discus and fourth in shotput.
The same year, Curt placed first in the wheelchair division at both the Deseret News Marathon in Salt Lake City, Utah, and the Pioneer Marathon in St. George, Utah. In 1978 he took first in the New York City Marathon and now holds the national record in the 1500-meter run.
Curt was voted Most Outstanding Athlete in 1978 and 1979 at the Denver Rocky Mountain Regional.
Both Mike and Curt are also involved in their careers. Mike has counseled at the State Hospital in Provo, Utah, worked as a draftsman for the Bureau of Reclamation, and is now majoring in health sciences at BYU. His goal is to coach college basketball.
Curt has gained experiences in various jobs. He was an insurance salesman, a desk clerk at a motel, a switchboard operator, and an insurance clerk for a hospital. Now he works at Handicapped Awareness, Inc. in Provo. He graduated with a B.S. degree in psychology from BYU in 1978 and is in the process of getting his masters in rehabilitation administration.
Church activities form another part of their lives. Mike works with the Explorers in the Alpine Fourth Ward, Alpine Utah Stake.
Curt and Bonnie are members of the Provo West Stake, Sunset Third Ward. Curt was the elders quorum president in a previous ward and is now the first counselor in the quorum presidency.
Service is another important part of their lives. To earn money for a specially equipped bus for the handicapped in Utah County, Mike and Curt earned pledges and then wheeled 185 kilometers around Utah Lake in 16 hours. As a sidelight they shattered the world record, which was 173.8 kilometers in eight days.
In May of 1978, Curt wheeled 457 kilometers from Cedar City, Utah, to Salt Lake City in five days, raising nearly twelve thousand dollars in pledges for Easter Seals (fund raising for research and help for the handicapped).
Curt says traveling has provided an opportunity for missionary work. He was invited to a party in Boston, Massachusetts, for 50 top athletes. When asked why he wouldn’t drink, he had the opportunity to share the gospel.
Curt finds it interesting that people are so concerned about what to do and say when they meet a handicapped person. He says that usually it’s what people don’t say that hurts. For example, when a child runs up and asks why he doesn’t have any legs, Curt wishes the parents would let him answer the question rather than hushing the child and rushing off. He explains, “The child grows up feeling he shouldn’t associate with the handicapped, and that’s not good for either the child or the handicapped person.”
Mike has some advice of his own, and he says it applies to everyone, whether they’re handicapped or not. First, he says, he doesn’t like quitters. Then he adds:
“Don’t be afraid to try things you think you might not be able to do. Whatever you want, go after it one hundred and ten percent. Whether your goals concern work, church, school, jobs, marriage, or whatever, just don’t, don’t, don’t ever quit!”

November 2024 marked the 50th anniversary of my encounter on Exhibition Road in West London with Benny Latham, at the time a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Latham saw me approaching and felt a strong impulse to ask me a singular question, “Excuse me sir, do you believe in God?” He had never used this approach before; they didn’t seem like his words.
For my part, a young student, hungry and tired at the end of a busy Monday, I had logged this gentleman threatening to interrupt my brisk walk home to food and rest and had determined to walk on by.
But that question! It stopped me dead in my tracks. I had thought about God a certain amount, but nobody had ever asked me so directly as to whether I actually believed. “I don’t know,” was the response of my soul.
At that moment there was a connection between us. He invited me back to see him the following Monday in the church building behind him. And I came.
The missionaries started teaching me about the “Restored Gospel” and I was intrigued, but I resisted with a strong dose of rational skepticism.
At the end of every session, they invited me to pray. Again I resisted. I had never prayed and felt very awkward at the very thought. Eventually, they wore me down – I agreed. They suggested a simple format, and I knelt and voiced a prayer.
And while I grappled for words, I felt a bright effusion of light in my mind. It was something real and profound. I suddenly felt that there were other ways of knowing beyond the limits of human reason. This spiritual experience unlocked my soul to God and all the associated possibilities.
I read the Book of Mormon and the Bible with new eyes and a new heart. One morning I came across a passage that once again penetrated my defences.
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever [suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to him in vain] the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.” (Mosiah 4:16-18)
This spoke to the fact that I was ignoring a beggar who lived on the street on the way to college. I would cross the road to avoid her petition. I told myself it was her fault she was in that position. Suddenly I was convicted as having “no interest in the kingdom of God.” I was determined to change.
A couple of days later, I was confronted in the street by a rough-looking man who asked me for £2.68 - the cost, apparently, of the local night shelter. For a moment, I felt hard-hearted, but then remembered my resolve – I gave him the money, and continued.
Almost immediately, my being was overtaken by a warmth that spread from the centre out through my arms and legs. Again, it was real and profound. I understood from the missionaries that this experience was a confirmation from the Holy Spirit. But of what, exactly? I felt that it was not a reward for being charitable, but a witness that I had read the word of God (in the Book of Mormon) and applied it in my life. I had repented, and that was pleasing to Him.
These three life events have a common root: the influence of the Holy Spirit as a vehicle for God’s grace and love.
The Spirit placed meaningful words in Elder Latham’s mouth, replied to my reaching prayer with deep peace and light, and fired my desire to be transformed by living the doctrine of Christ.
It was later that I read Alma’s address on planting the seed (Alma 32:27-35). He describes the other ways of knowing in these terms – Swell, Enlarge, Enlighten, Delicious – SEED.
He goes on to ask, “Is not this real?[…] Yea” He is saying that there are more ways of knowing just as real as the fruits of thought and reason. To know God we need the full spectrum: thought experiments, soul experiments, and experiments of intention. And not just one-off, but over a lifetime.
Fifty years and counting.

When twenty-one-year-old Sunita Kumari, an Indian sister, wanted to join the Church, her older brother tried to stop her by arranging a marriage for her. After the members of the Rakiraki Branch fasted and prayed with Sunita the marriage fell through, and she was baptized.
A few months later, branch members again fasted and prayed with Sunita, this time that she might be able to find a job. She had been looking for work since she had completed her schooling four years earlier, but now she felt it was especially important to earn money “so that I could pay my tithing and help the poor people.” A week later, Sunita was offered a job as a secretary for a new business. Since that time, she has served as a missionary in the Suva Fiji Mission.

I was born in Armenia when it was part of the Soviet Union. My parents taught me and my two siblings to be honest, good, and morally clean, and they did everything to give us a good education. But one of the first things I learned in kindergarten was a philosophy that religion is the opium of the people. And until I was 12 years old, I never knew there was a God.
When I was 12, a terrible earthquake destroyed 90 percent of my hometown, killing more than 50,000 people. I was in school when the noise became louder and louder, and everything around us began to shake. I was pulled into the crowd, trying to escape the building. Amid all the confusion, I suddenly realized I might never see my family again. In that moment, I saw a red knit scarf my mother had made for me hanging in a large hallway to the right of the stairwell. Following an impression, I broke from the crowd and went to retrieve the scarf. In that instant the ground shook for the third and last time, and I witnessed the stairwell collapse with all my friends in its ruins. Upon regaining my senses, I found that the whole school was a huge mass of rubble—with the exception of that tiny area housing me and my red knit scarf.
My entire family of five survived. When my father saw my mom, my eight-month-old sister, my seven-year-old brother, and me sitting in the middle of the street after seven hours of searching for us, the only thing he said was, “Blessed be Thy name, God.” I had lost my home, but for the first time I heard the name of God.
Eleven years passed. I had just graduated from the medical university in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, where I was a medical resident in ophthalmology. While doing some volunteer work, I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries and we became good friends. They were welcomed in our home just as anyone else, but as soon as they started to talk about God, the whole atmosphere became tense. My parents told me that missionaries “teaching their religion” were not welcome in our home. Personally, I was not interested in religion, but I had not stopped them because there was something different in the eyes of those missionaries—something so innocent, pure, and magnificent. I was very interested in finding the source of the light I noticed in their eyes.
After my parents expressed their disapproval, I avoided meeting with the missionaries and finally arranged to meet them at their church building but just to say I was too busy to proceed with our discussions. Arriving at our appointment one hour early, I entered a room with lots of chairs and about 15 people in it. As I sat quietly, trying not to disturb anyone, I was astonished by the unusual but unbelievably familiar feelings. I felt just like I had when I was five years old and could run home, hug my mom, and tell her all that I had done—certain that she loved me, that she would always be there for me, and that everything was all right. After the long years of wandering in spirit, I knew I was home.
That night for the first time in my life, I knelt and prayed to God. If there was a Heavenly Father, I wanted Him to answer me, to tell me if the things the missionaries taught were true, to show me why I felt so different. It is hard to describe what happened next. I had never before felt the presence of my Heavenly Father so tangibly. I knew He loved me. He knew me. He had always been there. I slept that night knowing with all the strength of my heart that I had found my way home.
I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.
The following year was full of blessings. In addition to responsibilities in my branch and much volunteer work, I found work in a private hospital and was able to continue my education. My mother came to Church meetings several times after my baptism, and she joined the Church five months later. But most important, I had my Heavenly Father’s love as part of my life, and I had the assurance that I was finally on my way home.

It was difficult, and it took me nearly two years. As I read in 3 Nephi about the Savior’s visit to the Nephites after His Resurrection, where He blesses their children and angels descend from heaven and encircle them, it was as though I stood among the Nephites and saw with my own eyes that miraculous event. The Holy Ghost bore witness of that great moment.

I could not read any more, as my eyes blurred with tears. When I regained my composure, I continued reading. A few more weeks passed, and I finished the book, knelt, and prayed to know if it was true. But I got no answer.

Days passed with me kneeling regularly and pleading to know if the book was true, if the Church was true, but still I got no answer. Despairing, weeks after I’d finished reading, I knelt one more time and asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true?” The answer that came was not what I expected: “I have already told you. You know it is.”

I had gained my testimony weeks before, when I read about Christ blessing the children. I knew that this Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, is the kingdom of God on earth, restored by a prophet and led by a prophet, as in days of old.

In that same revelation the Lord said concerning Oliver Cowdery some interesting and remarkable things:
“In me he shall have glory, and not of himself, whether in weakness or in strength, whether in bonds or free;
“And at all times, and in all places, he shall open his mouth and declare my gospel as with the voice of a trump, both day and night. And I will give unto him strength such as is not known among men.” (D&C 24:11–12.)
Oliver, with Joseph Smith, received the Aaronic Priesthood under the hands of John the Baptist, and subsequently the Melchizedek Priesthood under the hands of Peter, James, and John. He magnified that priesthood as a witness to the Book of Mormon, as a Counselor to the Prophet, as one to select the Twelve Apostles and to instruct them, as a missionary in moving the Church across the frontiers of the western territories, and as a teacher and speaker whose voice rang with great and persuasive power.
But he turned and began to look through the wrong end of the lens. He found fault. He complained. His calling shrank, he diminished his priesthood, he distanced himself from those in authority in the Church.
Gone was the voice of persuasion, gone was the power of the priesthood of God which he once held and magnified. For eleven years, he walked almost alone, without friends. He walked in poverty and in sickness.
Then in the fall of 1848, he and his family made their way to Council Bluffs and found themselves again among many of the Saints who at that time were moving to the West. At a conference held in Kanesville on the 24th of October, 1848, he stood and said:
“Friends and Brethren:
“My name is Cowdery—Oliver Cowdery. In the history of the Church I stood … in her councils. Not because I was better than other men was I called … to fill the purposes of God. He called me to a high and holy calling. I wrote with my own pen the entire Book of Mormon (save a few pages) as it fell from the lips of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and he translated it by the power and gift of God, by means of the Urim and Thummim, or as it is called by that book, ‘Holy Interpreter.’
“I beheld with my eyes and handled with my hands, the gold plates from which it was translated. … That book is true, Sidney Rigdon did not write it; Mr. Spaulding did not write it; I wrote it myself as it fell from the lips of the Prophet. …
“I was present with Joseph when an Holy Angel from Heaven came down and conferred upon us … the Aaronic Priesthood, and said to us, at the same time, that it should remain on earth while the earth stands. I was also present with Joseph when the Higher or Melchizedek Priesthood was conferred by the Holy Angels from on high. …
“Brethren, for a number of years, I have been separated from you. I now desire to come back. I wish to come humble and be one in your midst. I seek no station. I only wish to be identified with you. I am out of the Church, but I wish to become a member. I wish to come in at the door: I know the door, I have not come here to seek precedence. I come humbly and throw myself upon the decision of the body, knowing as I do, that its decisions are right.” (In Stanley R. Gunn, Oliver Cowdery: Second Elder and Scribe, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1962, pp. 203–4.)
He was accepted. He was baptized again. He longed to gather with the Saints in the valleys of the mountains, but he died March 3, 1850, without ever realizing that dream.
His is one of the most touching, pathetic stories in the history of this great work. So long as he magnified his calling, he was magnified. When he diminished that calling, he shrank to oblivion and poverty. He came back, but he never regained his previous stature. He never regained the incomparable promise given him by the Lord that, conditioned upon his faithfulness, he should have glory and be given “strength such as is not known among men.” (D&C 24:12.)

On May 15 of this year, an event occurred in our home that is repeated literally hundreds of times per week in Latter-day Saint homes throughout the Church. After a period of anxious anticipation, a letter from the prophet containing a mission call for our son Bradley arrived. This was the third such letter that we have received in our family, but each time really is the first time. The letter arrived on a day when mission business had me away from home, so the unopened letter sat on Brad’s desk in the mission home in Vienna, Austria, until late that night. Finally the moment arrived, and we were all gathered together—Mom, Dad, younger brother Stephen, and, of course, Bradley.
As in many families, there is also a sort of tradition in our family that accompanies the opening of a mission call. Each of us handled the envelope, turning it in our hands and holding it up to the light as if we could somehow discern its contents. Each of us took a piece of paper and recorded our own predictions for Bradley’s call: Japan, New Zealand, and France. Then there was the inevitable fumbling at opening the envelope, extending the excitement for all of us. The letter was at last in Brad’s hands: “Dear Elder Neuenschwander, you are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Poland Warsaw Mission.”
Tears flow easily at such moments, perhaps for different reasons. Mom’s eyes are moist at the thought of another son leaving the nest and facing the world. Dad recalls so vividly a day long ago when he received his call to serve in Finland. Stephen understands that this last departure of older brothers means that he will finally be the oldest at home, but his tears also mean a quiet commitment that his letter will not be far behind.
There were phone calls to returned missionary brothers at home in America, each happy but playfully disappointed that Brad’s call was not to New Mexico or Munich, where they had served. Grandparents were thrilled that yet another grandson was worthy to serve the Lord.
Busy days of preparation began. July 10 came all too soon, and it was time for Brad to leave. Bidding farewell to a missionary son, as many of you know, at the MTC definitely does not get easier with practice.
In our quiet moments, Brad and I spoke of his mission. For four years he had watched missionaries come and go through the mission home. Some had even gone to Poland. Yet there are things I would share with him and with you as this great missionary experience now becomes his.
Your mission will be exactly what you decide to make it. Your excellent mission president, President Whipple, and good missionary companions will help you along the way, but keep in mind that you are the central and decisive factor in the success of your own mission. Your young but strong shoulders bear the responsibility of the call you willingly and happily accepted. You have seen missionaries in a variety of countries and circumstances. You have also observed that in rather similar situations one missionary is successful, another a little less so. The difference lay in the attitude and desire of the individual missionary. Make the inevitable challenges of missionary work stepping stones for your own spiritual growth. Determine now that nothing will keep you from magnifying with honor your missionary call.
As most missionaries, Brad, you come from school years, rich in their variety of choice and activity. But your success as a missionary will depend, in part, on your ability to simplify your life and focus on the purpose of your call. You now move from a life centered on your own needs to one concerned with the welfare of others. Some missionaries struggle, not wanting to let go of the past and consequently never fully committing themselves to the labor at hand. There is no way a successful missionary can have one foot in the world and one in his missionary labors. Successful missionaries make that transition. They leave behind everything that may distract them from their primary purpose. Resist bringing extra luggage with you into the mission field, both in your suitcase and in your mind.
Whatever calling you hold in the Church, someone will always preside over you. That person will teach and encourage you in your responsibilities. Brad, be wise enough and humble enough to learn from them. Elder Boyd K. Packer taught us new mission presidents in 1987 that if we would learn to be silent, the Brethren could teach us a lot. I considered it good advice, and I have learned since that in the mission field, as well as in all Church callings, a person who can be taught is also one who can be trusted.
Mission rules are important in the same way commandments are important. We all need to keep them, understanding that they give us strength, direction, and limits. The smart missionary will learn the intent of the rules and make them work for him. Your mission is a time of discipline and single-minded focus. You will be required to go without some things common to your current life-style: music, TV, videos, novels, even girls. There is nothing wrong with any of these things, Brad, but then again, there is nothing wrong with food either, unless you are fasting, in which case even a teaspoon of water is improper.
Missionaries sometimes feel they need doctrinal reference books to enhance their understanding of the gospel. Believe me, Brad, they are not necessary for your gospel study in the mission field. Make the scriptures the basic doctrinal textbook of your mission. The Lord has told his elders: “Teach the children of men the things which I have put into your hands by the power of my Spirit;
“And ye are to be taught from on high. Sanctify yourselves and ye shall be endowed with power, that ye may give even as I have spoken” (D&C 43:15–16).
You will find the Lord to be a man of his word. The promise he extends to you as a missionary is true.
There are few men in the Church who are referred to as “Elder,” but one is you—a full-time missionary. Respect that title, Brad; refer to it with reverence. Many men have brought honor to it, including your brothers. You do the same.
The real success of a mission is not measured on a chart—it is etched in your heart and in the hearts of those whose lives are eternally changed because of you. Share your testimony often. I have seen nothing in a missionary that exerts more power and positive influence than the bearing of pure and simple testimony. Your testimony is the first step in the conversion of those whom you teach. Have courage to invite others to change their lives and come to Christ through obedience to the principles and ordinances of the gospel.
The Lord taught the Nephites: “Now this is the commandment: Repent, all ye ends of the earth, and come unto me and be baptized in my name, that ye may be sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost, that ye may stand spotless before me at the last day.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, this is my gospel” (3 Ne. 27:20–21).
Bless the lives of others with your priesthood and your presence.
Brad, love every minute of your service to those wonderful Polish people. Love their country, their food, customs, language, and heritage. They will enrich your life and understanding.
The work in which you are engaged is true. You are teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It is the promise of salvation to all who will listen and accept your message. Of this I bear my witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Illustration by Toby Newsome
I will never be able to think about Christmas without thinking about my dad. The two seem inherently connected after years of his meticulous gift giving, tree-chopping, music-playing, cookie-decorating, and utterly festive spirit. So when he died just a few months before last Christmas, I had a hard time feeling anything but sadness and resentment about the wonderful man I had lost. Nobody could parallel his spirit, his enthusiasm, his Christlike love. Or so I thought.
Eventually Christmas Day came around with what seemed to me to be insincere fanfare since my dad wasn’t there. I simply didn’t want to get up: I missed my dad, I missed my family, I missed those nostalgic, apparently perfect Christmas mornings filled with laughter and love and everything I couldn’t imagine feeling without him.
But over the next 12 hours, I discovered exactly how meaningful the holiday could be despite my loss. My entire family got gifts from anonymous members of our ward, everything clearly picked out intentionally. I experienced an outpouring of love from numerous friends and ward members wishing me a merry Christmas through texts or phone calls or surprise presents. I received a dozen assorted homemade gifts from my siblings. I spent time interacting with the family which I had somehow forgotten had experienced the exact same loss I had and which I had frankly ignored for too long.
And somehow every part of the day came together, not just materially but emotionally. I felt people thinking of me, praying that my day would be amazing, and somehow, it was. I felt like my dad was rooting for me, the closest connection I’d had with him since he passed. I felt Jesus Christ’s love permeating every moment of that afternoon. I felt joyful and grateful, and I felt good for the first time in weeks.
I know that my Heavenly Father was looking out for me on that day that initially brought such painful memories. I know my fellow Church members felt impressed to reach out to me because of Heavenly Father’s love. I know that though a crucial part of my family is now gone, it is only temporary, and I will see my dad again. I have a testimony of Jesus Christ that grows ever stronger because of those experiences. And I will never forget the gratitude and love I felt on that incredible Christmas day.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

Several years ago I became acquainted with a family who made some wonderful changes in their lives, and it all came about because of the faith of their eleven-year-old daughter.
The father of this family was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. However, some of his habits kept him from being active, and the mother was not a member of any church. Neither parent cared which church, if any, their daughter attended.
By the time she was eleven years old, she had been to a number of different churches in the community. Then one day she went to a Latter-day Saint Sunday School, and her life changed.
Every week after that this girl was in her Sunday School class where she learned all she could about the gospel. It was there that she began to understand the importance of asking a blessing on food and also why members of the Church fast one Sunday a month.
Soon her family was blessing the food before each meal and the parents knew that their daughter felt it was important not to eat breakfast on Fast Sunday.
One morning, however, the girl forgot it was Fast Sunday and ate the delicious breakfast her mother had prepared for the rest of the family. When she came home from meeting that day, she cried, “Oh, Mother, why didn’t you tell me that today was Fast Sunday?”
The mother didn’t understand much about fasting but she was so touched by her daughter’s deep concern and by her tears that she wanted to know more about the purpose for fasting.
The girl was able to explain the importance of the principle of fasting to her. She also told her mother many things about other principles of the gospel and how much the Church meant in her life.
All of this was amazing to the mother who asked her daughter’s forgiveness for not realizing how important it was to observe the fast. Then she prayed to the Lord that He, too, might forgive her.
The more the mother thought about what her daughter had told her, the more impressed she felt to learn more about the gospel. She began attending Sunday School and sacrament meeting with her daughter and young son.
The missionaries were soon invited to come into their home to teach the family. Before long the mother and her daughter were ready for baptism and the father had become active and worthy to perform this sacred ordinance. Later, when their son turned eight, the father baptized him.
In time the father was set apart as a counselor in the branch presidency. On the parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary, the family was able to go to the Los Angeles Temple where they were married for time and all eternity and their children were sealed to them. It was a glorious day for this family.
How true are the words of the prophet Isaiah, “… and a little child shall lead them.”

Priscilla’s grandparents lived in a beautiful home in Liverpool, England. Though Priscilla was the fourth of nine children and had many cousins, Grandfather and Grandmother Mitchell made her feel like their favorite person in the entire world. She loved to be in their home, and they were always buying gifts for her.
Then, one day, everything changed. Missionaries from America taught her family the gospel, and her parents were baptized. Priscilla and her brothers and sisters planned to be baptized, too. When Grandfather found out, he was angry.
Priscilla had never known Grandfather to be angry before. It frightened her. He shouted unforgettable, sickening words to Priscilla’s father: “Hezekiah, take your family and leave. Don’t ever come back!”
At home, the stunned family gathered around the fireplace. Father had never looked so sad. Mother hadn’t stopped crying since they had left their grandparents’ home.
Priscilla was confused and heartbroken. “Why don’t Grandmother and Grandfather love us anymore?” she cried.
Father tried to explain. “Grandfather is opposed to our new church. He wants no part of it, and he wants no part of us if we continue with it.” Father stood tall. “But I know that Jesus Christ lives. This is His true Church. He will help us find the way, as long as we do everything we can to be like Him.”
Priscilla’s family tried to be happy, but everything seemed to get worse. Father lost his job as a minister in their former church, so money was scarce even though he taught school. Mother mended clothes instead of replacing them. Priscilla tried not to complain, but life seemed to get harder every day. She longed to visit her grandparents. If she could only talk to them …
A knock sounded at the door. Priscilla’s heart leaped with hope, but it wasn’t her grandparents. Uncle George and Aunt Hannah stood on the porch with gifts and a basket of food. Priscilla was happy to see them, but all too soon she was sent outside so they could talk to her parents. It sounded serious.
“Priscilla,” Aunt Hannah finally called. “How would you like to come live with us?” They had no children and wanted to adopt her, Uncle George explained. There would be plenty of room for her in their mansion, and she could receive better schooling.
“It will leave more of the basics for your brothers and sisters, too,” Aunt Hannah added. Priscilla knew that it was a struggle for her parents to feed and clothe all nine of their children. If she went, it would make things easier for her family.
Father gazed sadly at the floor. Mother sobbed into her handkerchief. The offer was kind, but accepting it would not be easy. Priscilla packed her bags and bid her family farewell.
“This will be your bedroom,” Aunt Hannah said. Priscilla had always shared a room with her four sisters. Now she had a room of her own and a maid to clean it.
Aunt Hannah took her shopping to buy pretty dresses. In no time, the closet was full of them. Her aunt and uncle planned parties so Priscilla could meet new friends. Priscilla had many advantages, but she missed being with her family and listening to Father teach as they sat around the fireplace.
On the morning of her 10th birthday, Priscilla was making dancing dolls out of hollyhock blooms in the garden. She was excited for the party to be held that afternoon, but she wished her sisters could come.
Suddenly, she spotted a tall, thin man coming up the road with a walking stick. Priscilla ran to meet him.
“Happy birthday, Princess Priscilla,” Father said. He swept her into his arms and swung her around.
“Oh, Father, you remembered!” she exclaimed.
Together they walked inside. Father pulled a letter from his pocket. “Priscilla, Uncle George and Aunt Hannah have requested to officially adopt you.” Priscilla knew what that meant—she would inherit great wealth and a respected name. She would never need to worry about money again.
“I have more news,” Father said. “Soon your mother, brothers, sisters, and I are going to America.”
“Will you ever come back?” Priscilla asked.
Father shook his head. “George and Hannah love you. They will take care of you and give you more wealth and opportunities than I can ever offer. On the other hand, life in America with the new church will be difficult and require many sacrifices.” Father looked into his daughter’s eyes. “You must choose for yourself, Priscilla.”
Priscilla didn’t hesitate. She ran to Aunt Hannah and hugged and kissed her. “I love you, Aunt Hannah, and I will always remember you,” she said. “But I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I must go to America with my family and be baptized.”
And that is exactly what she did.

As Sarah walked quickly down the street, she thought about her problem. Mother’s Day was only a few weeks away, and she wanted to give her mother a present. She already knew what she’d like. At the garden shop Sarah had seen her mother admiring the illustrations of some beautiful irises above a tangle of iris roots. But today when Sarah counted the money in her china bank, she realized that she didn’t have enough for the iris roots. How can I earn some more money? she wondered.
“Oh, well,” she sighed, “maybe I’ll think of something. It’s only Monday.” Then she hurried into the thrift shop where her mother volunteered her time one day each week.
“Hi, sweetie,” Sarah’s mother greeted her. “How was school today?”
“Fine as usual,” answered Sarah. “Did you get any interesting new donations?”
“Yes we did, and I’m glad you’re here to help me. You can sort through that big box in the corner. Put the dresses on hangers and match up the shoes. You know the routine.”
Sarah enjoyed looking through the boxes of rummage items that had once been treasured by someone. The new box seemed to be full of old clothes, shoes, and kitchen gadgets. Near the bottom Sarah spied a black leather purse that looked quite new. She picked it up and examined it carefully. As she opened the clasp, she saw a five-dollar bill tucked into a side pocket.
Without stopping to think, Sarah took the money out and put it into her skirt pocket. She laid the purse aside and finished sorting the clothes. Now I have enough money for mother’s present, she thought. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t feel very happy about it.
“You’re quiet today,” Sarah’s mother said coming up behind her daughter.
“Mom, where did this box come from?”
“It was picked up at Mrs. Peterson’s. She’s a widow who lives over on Green Street. Why?”
“Well,” said Sarah, “I found this purse in the box and it doesn’t look old like the rest of the things.”
“I’ll call Mrs. Peterson and ask if she meant to give it away,” Mother said. During the telephone conversation, Mrs. Peterson explained that she had misplaced the black purse that morning and had been looking all over for it. She guessed it must have fallen into the box she was preparing for the thrift shop.
“My daughter Sarah found your purse, and she will bring it over to you,” Mother promised Mrs. Peterson on the phone.
As Sarah walked to Mrs. Peterson’s home, she argued with herself. I could just keep the money. She would never know where it went. Mother would love to have the iris starts. But then Sarah remembered what they had been studying in Primary—Jesus would know, and I’d know too! She opened the purse, replaced the money, and closed it. She felt so relieved that she skipped the rest of the way to Mrs. Peterson’s house.
“You look happy,” said Mrs. Peterson when she opened the door. “And I’m happy too, because you found my missing purse. Thank you very much.”
Sarah noticed that Mrs. Peterson had a hard time walking. Suddenly she found herself asking, “Do you need any help around your house? I’m a good worker and can do all kinds of jobs.”
“What a dear child,” responded Mrs. Peterson. “I do have a hard time with my arthritis, but I couldn’t pay you anything. I only have a small pension.”
“That’s OK,” said Sarah with a smile. But she was really disappointed. Instead of finding a paying job, she had agreed to work for nothing.
Sarah offered to help Mrs. Peterson after school each Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. She swept the walks, washed windows, vacuumed, and carried trash. Afterward she’d have juice and visit with Mrs. Peterson. They quickly became good friends, and Sarah enjoyed listening to the wonderful stories that Mrs. Peterson told of her youth. One day Sarah felt glum as she realized Mother’s Day would soon be here.
“What’s your problem, Sarah?” asked Mrs. Peterson. “You seem preoccupied today.” Sarah slowly began telling Mrs. Peterson about her plan for a Mother’s Day gift that hadn’t worked out.
“I think I can help you there,” Mrs. Peterson suggested happily. “My iris bed hasn’t been cleaned in years, and the roots need dividing. If you could do the digging, I could help you separate them. Some of them are pretty enough to be show winners.”
Sarah placed a chair for Mrs. Peterson beside the flower bed and found a hand trowel and a box for the roots. She carefully dug into the dirt and lifted clump after clump of the bulbous roots, and Mrs. Peterson helped her sort and divide them. Then Sarah replanted many of the roots in Mrs. Peterson’s flower garden.
In the house, Mrs. Peterson found a pretty box and some pink ribbon. Carefully they prepared the gift for Sarah’s mother. As they worked, Sarah counted the roots and was excited to see that she had over two dozen, more than she had ever hoped to buy.
“Thank you so much for helping me with my spring housecleaning and garden work,” said Mrs. Peterson as Sarah prepared to leave.
“Thank you!” said Sarah happily. “You have given me far more than I ever hoped to earn, and besides, now I have a wonderful new friend!”

The temptation your children will face will not come at home nor in the seminary class. It will come later, when they are away from both teacher and parent. One day you must set them free. When that day comes, how free will they be, and how safe? It will depend on how much truth they have received. I know of a young missionary who, half a world away from his parents and teachers, faced the testing that comes to young manhood. There, beyond the control of either of them, he made a decision. Later he wrote: “I’m so glad I stayed, because during this last month I found something—I found myself.”

When the time came for my mission, I felt prepared. I had attended seminary for two years, I took the missionary preparation class, and I went to institute. I felt spiritually strong at the time, but my parents began to increase their persecution. My whole family was involved in trying to get me out of the Church.
I submitted my mission papers and received my call to serve in the Brazil Recife Mission. I told my parents I was going to Recife to represent Jesus Christ as a missionary. My father fought with me, and my mother went so far as to burn my church clothes and throw my books away. They were very angry.
I did not go on a mission. This was the hardest time in my life. I wanted to serve a mission, but I faced great opposition. I did nothing wrong, but I became discouraged and depressed, and I still suffered persecution at home. My parents hoped I would give up and not go to church anymore.
It was difficult for me to be a young man and to not be on a mission. I felt inferior to my friends who had already left on missions, and I felt alone at church. Some people thought I did not go because I was unworthy. But I did my best to remain firm in the faith.
During this time I met Kelly, who would become my wife. When I met her, my depression lifted and I was able to see myself as a child of God. Kelly was not a member of the Church when we started dating. We were eventually married, and after some time I baptized her. It was a special and sacred moment for me.
After our first child, Rafael, was born, we brought him to church to receive a blessing. My parents attended the blessing. It was the first time they ever went to church. From then on they started to hear the missionary lessons in their home. I eventually had the privilege to baptize my brothers and my parents.
It is funny because my father was very systematic about it. He said, “My son, when are you going to baptize me?” When he was baptized, I raised him out of the water and he hugged me. It was such an extraordinary moment in my life!
Years later I met with Elder Jairo Mazzagardi of the Seventy when he came to reorganize our stake. He asked me about my mission.
Elder Mazzagardi said, “Brother Murilo, I see that you were baptized when you were 16, but you did not serve a mission.”
“I did not serve a mission,” I said, starting to cry.
“But I do everything possible so the Lord will forgive me. I have served as a branch president for seven months, and I try to be a missionary and give my best. I work hard to help others. I want the Lord to forgive me. I do not want this blemish at the last day.”
“Brother Murilo,” he said, “do not look back; look forward. Whoever looks back walks backwards, and whoever looks forward walks forward. You are clean.”
I was happy to hear this! I felt light, happy, and peaceful.
It felt like a six-ton backpack was lifted off my back.
He told me to return with my wife and called me to serve as stake president.
Elder Mazzagardi then said, “Your experiences will help you be stake president. You will be able to help young people who have difficulties or who do not have the support of their parents. You did not have the opportunity to serve a mission, but this is your mission now. You will help send young people on missions.”
As stake president one of my main goals is to help young men and young women prepare to serve missions. The Lord has given me the right words at the right time to talk to these young people. I am grateful the Lord has given me the opportunity to help others choose to serve missions.

Long years ago a severe drought struck the Salt Lake Valley. The commodities at the storehouse on Welfare Square had not been of their usual quality, nor were they found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. As I was a young bishop, worrying about the needs of the many widows in my ward, my prayer one evening is especially sacred to me. I pleaded for these widows, who were among the finest women I knew in mortality and whose needs were simple and conservative, because they had no resources on which they might rely.
The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business situated in our ward. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted, and then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed. Bishop Jesse M. Drury, that beloved welfare pioneer and storekeeper, said he had never witnessed a day like it before. He described the occasion with one word: “Wonderful!”
The wife of that generous businessman is today a widow. I know the decision her husband and she made has brought her sweet memories and comforting peace to her soul.

Indeed, our Heavenly Father has a special love for each person who makes the covenant with Him in the waters of baptism. That divine love deepens as additional covenants are made in the house of the Lord and are faithfully kept.
Nathalie and I experienced this divine love during a very difficult time in our lives as husband and wife and eternal companions. We have been blessed with 10 children. When I mention this, many younger people ask, “How?” And I respond, “This is simply how it is.”
We experienced the death of four of our children at the beginning of our marriage. After the passing of three of our children, Nathalie and I wondered and asked ourselves so many questions, like the Prophet Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail: “Heavenly Father, where art Thou? Do You hear our cries and prayers?”
We soon learned that this was not the end of our trials when Allan Mutombo, our nine-month-old baby, passed away. I found him in his crib. Holding his body in my arms, I cried that day, begging for a miracle. However, as you know, God’s plan for us is perfect, and that day He decided to take Allan back to Him. My prayers did not change His mind and will.
To add to this challenge, after the funeral, our extended families gathered and decided, without consulting us, that tradition required Nathalie and me to separate, and they asked me to take my wife’s belongings outside the house because we had lost many children.
I went into the house and prayed, asking for strength to face this adversity. The words of the wonderful hymn, written by Emma Lou Thayne, came to my mind: “Where can I turn for peace?”
I also remembered the words of our temple sealing and the promises we made to God and to each other. I felt great peace and reassurance that Nathalie and I are a daughter and a son of a loving and caring Heavenly Father.
I felt the Savior’s love and His hand lifting me up.
I came out with empty hands and told the people who were there, “I’m sorry, but Nathalie is my eternal companion. We are striving together to build an eternal family, and the Savior is helping us achieve it.”
They opposed my decision, but exercising my faith in Jesus Christ made me stronger.
The miracle Nathalie and I prayed for happened after we stood for the truth and the light that is in Jesus the Christ. We received a strong confirmation that Christ works miracles according to our faith in Him. Sometimes things do not work out in mortality as we hope, and sometimes we need the faith in Jesus Christ that all will work out in the end.

In August 1989, the whole family went to the temple—father, mother, their eleven living children (one of their twelve children had died), and the husband and children of their oldest daughter—a total of nineteen family members. “We left home at 1:00 A.M., ” says Zulma. “The sun wasn’t up yet, and it was totally dark. And it was raining and was terribly muddy. We were drenched as we walked barefoot in the mud, carrying our shoes, our bags, and the little children, until we reached town. As we walked through the darkness, we sang hymns. I remember singing, ‘Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven.’” (See Hymns, 1985, number 27, verse 4.)
From town, they took a series of buses—joining with other groups of Church members along the way—and finally arrived at the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple at 6:00 the next morning. It had been a journey of twenty-nine hours.
“We entered the temple, received our endowment, and were sealed as a family,” says Sister Torales. “The temple was a spiritual, beautiful place. The Spirit bore witness to me that this really was the house of the Lord.” Their deceased daughter was sealed to them. And their oldest daughter and her husband and children were sealed as a family. Then they had to leave the temple and travel back home.
On their way back, they stopped in Encarnación and attended Church meetings with the branch members there. Then, for the last hour and a half of the trip back to their farm, they were again on foot in the mud—carrying their shoes and bags and children. “As we walked, we sang more than before because of our joy,” says Sister Torales. “We sang, ‘Count your many blessings!’” (See Hymns, 1985, number 241.)
Indeed, says President Torales, “we have many blessings.”

Some years ago, I was called to serve as the bishop of a large ward. One evening, my telephone rang. I heard a voice say, “Bishop Monson, this is the hospital calling. Kathleen McKee, a member of your congregation, has just passed away. Your name is listed as the one to be notified of her death. Could you come to the hospital right away?”
Upon arriving there, I was presented with a key to the apartment in which Kathleen had lived. I entered her apartment, turned the light switch, and discovered a letter. It read:
“Bishop Monson,
“I think I shall not return from the hospital. In the kitchen are my three precious canaries. Two of them are beautiful, yellow-gold in color and perfectly marked. On their cages I have noted the names of friends to whom they are to be given. In the third cage is ‘Billie.’ He is my favorite. Billie looks a bit scrubby, and his yellow hue [color] is marred by gray on his wings. Will you and your family make a home for him? He isn’t the prettiest, but his song is the best.”
Kathleen McKee had befriended many neighbors in need. She had brightened each life she touched. Kathleen was much like “Billie,” her prized yellow canary with gray on its wings. She was not blessed with beauty. Yet her song helped others to more willingly bear their burdens.