Gospel Story Finder

“If you don’t like the missionaries, just tell them,” Maryann Naga begged her husband, Inosi. “They are human beings, too. Don’t keep making appointments you won’t keep.”
It had been nearly a year since Inosi had first met Latter-day Saints missionaries. And for almost that long, Maryann had made excuses to the elders while her husband avoided their appointments. But Maryann’s pleading didn’t change Inosi; he didn’t want to hear the missionaries’ message. He just didn’t know how to send them away tactfully.
Inosi Naga, private secretary to Fiji’s minister of agriculture, had seen the missionaries one day as he walked through the streets of Nausori, Fiji, on his lunch hour. He didn’t want to accept the book they offered him, but they were so persistent that he finally agreed. “This is a golden book,” they said. When the missionaries tried to set up a meeting with him, he told them that his home was far away—he really lived nearby—and that he was too busy to see them at his office. Then he introduced the elders to his brother-in-law, who happened to walk by, and quickly slipped away.
Two weeks later, Inosi was shocked to find those same two elders at his door; his brother-in-law had given them his address. Inosi invited the missionaries to stay for dinner, “but inside I was saying, Go away, go away,” he remembers.
After that, the missionaries returned regularly. On nights when Inosi knew they were coming, he didn’t come home until he was sure they had left.
Looking back, Inosi says his attitude began to change in April 1974, when Maryann gave birth to a baby boy who lived for only a day. Losing his son made Inosi think seriously about God and religion. So when two new missionaries came to the Naga home during the second week of June, Inosi was ready to listen. After one of the elders learned that the family had been meeting with the missionaries for more than a year, he challenged them to be baptized.
Inosi agreed.
Maryann couldn’t believe what she had heard. “I was afraid that this was another one of his ‘appointments,’” she says. “But when I asked him directly, I could see from his face that he was telling the truth.”
Maryann was elated. “I knew this would be the biggest change for our family,” she remembers.
The missionaries taught the Nagas every day that week, and the couple were baptized on 14 June 1974.
Soon after the Nagas joined the Church, their branch president encouraged the family to prepare to go to the temple. “Every time he spoke of the temple, he had tears in his eyes,” remembers Brother Naga. “And every time I saw that, I said to myself, It must be true. His testimony penetrates to my soul.”
Maryann and Inosi accepted the challenge. But they had no savings. How could they manage the trip financially? The couple decided that their family could quit eating beef and stop drinking cocoa and milo (a cereal drink). Instead, they would eat bele (a vegetable similar to spinach) and tinned fish and drink lemon-leaf tea; they would put away the money they saved on food and use it to travel to the temple. When they told their four young daughters of their plan, “they loved the idea,” remembers Brother Naga. “And they reminded us of our goal continually.”
About that time, Inosi and Maryann moved their family to Suva. They had lived in furnished quarters in Nausori, so they had no furniture for their new home; they spread mats on the floor on which they slept and ate. Some friends and family members ridiculed them. “They thought that since I was a civil servant, I should be able to afford nice things,” says Brother Naga. “But we wanted to save our money for the temple trip.”
In October 1976, directors of the Church Educational System offered Inosi a job as coordinator of the seminary program in Fiji. He hesitated to accept the position until Joseph Sokia, director of the Church Educational System in Fiji, told him, “If you accept the seminary job, you will have the chance to change the lives of our young people.”
That touched Inosi. He remembered that his district president had asked him once in an interview whether he would be willing to work full-time for the Church if he was needed. Inosi had said he would. Now was the time to keep that commitment.
Leaving government employment after twelve years was hard; Inosi lost his pension, his government benefits, and his opportunities for overseas travel. “But I knew I needed to go,” he says. Some of Inosi’s extended family and some people of his village were frustrated with his decision. They were proud of Inosi’s government position and told him he was making a mistake. But Maryann supported him, telling him, “Wherever you take us, we will follow.”
When Inosi resigned from his job, he asked to be paid for the leave that was due to him rather than taking the days off. Because her husband would have to travel frequently in his new assignment, Maryann also resigned from her job and asked to be paid for the leave that she had earned. When the couple added that money to what they had already saved, they found it was enough to take them and their daughters to the temple.
“When we got on the plane,” Brother Naga says, “I had 102 New Zealand dollars in my pocket. That was all our money. We didn’t know how we were going to pay our living expenses for the two weeks we would be in New Zealand.”
But Church members met the Nagas at the airport, arranged for lodging in a member’s home, and provided food and transportation.
“After we came back from the temple, the Lord blessed us,” Brother Naga says. “Not only were we able to buy furniture, we were able to extend our house.”
On 12 June 1983, Elder Howard W. Hunter created the Suva Fiji Stake and called Inosi as its first president. “I didn’t know what to say, because I think there were men who were more capable of fulfilling the calling,” he remembers. “But I am grateful to have been able to serve my brothers and sisters on this island. It has been a great privilege and opportunity.”
Shortly afterward, President Naga was interviewed to be associate area director of the Church Educational System. When he declined because he did not feel he had the proper education or qualifications to serve well in that position, his supervisor, Robert Perrington, disagreed. “I’ve been sitting up all night thinking about this,” he said. “At four o’clock this morning your name came clearly to me.”
President Naga went home to consult his wife. After the couple prayed for some time, Maryann said, “You go back and tell Brother Perrington that if the Brethren want you to do it, you will do it.”
President Naga has been blessed as he carries out his responsibilities. “When the Lord calls you to a position,” he says, “he provides a way for you to fulfill it.”
Now, nine years later, Inosi Naga oversees the Church Educational System in Fiji, New Caledonia, Vanuatu, and Tuvalu. He was recently released as stake president, and now serves as the Church’s Fiji Public Affairs director. Maryann is ward Primary president, and the six Naga children—Ana, twenty-two; Emily, twenty; Keresi, eighteen; Vilimaina, fifteen; Leua, thirteen; and Inosi, nine—are growing up knowing the strength that the gospel can bring to a family.
In the few short years since Inosi Naga received that book from the missionaries, his life and those of his family have been changed eternally. The elders were right—the book was golden.

Although his present-day performance is peppered with good humor, Brigham has moments of solemness. He tells the audience of the time he was stumping for Joseph Smith’s candidacy as president of the United States in 1844 and learned of the martyrdom in Illinois. He was in New York when he received notice of the assassination. “My first thought was whether Joseph had taken the keys to the kingdom with him. Then bringing my hand down on my knee I told them, ‘No, the keys of the kingdom are right here in the Church.’”
He then recounts that he and others of the Twelve who were then back east returned promptly to Nauvoo where they halted Sidney Rigdon’s effort to wrest control of the Church and proclaim himself guardian of the Saints and spokesman for Joseph.

Priscilla Sampson-Davis was given a Book of Mormon while she was visiting Holland in 1963, but the Church was not organized in her homeland of Ghana until 1979. For sixteen years, she met regularly with other converts in Africa, awaiting baptism.
One of the sisters whom she visit-taught could not read. So, to give this sister the opportunity to drink deeply of gospel truths, Sister Sampson-Davis read the scriptures to her often and explained their meaning. She lived the counsel Paul gave to Timothy: “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12).
Naaman’s nameless servant and Sister Sampson-Davis each took time to teach someone important lessons. They exemplify the counsel given us in Doctrine and Covenants 88:77–78: “And I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.” [D&C 88:77–78]

Build spirituality. Young people are capable of rising to meet spiritual challenges. For a youth conference a few years ago, stake leaders took the young people to an amusement park. The next year they tried a different type of activity. Following the counsel of Church leaders, they decided to take the focus off entertainment and put it on experiencing true joy by planning spiritual workshops and service projects. At first the teenagers weren’t very excited about the change, but as the conference progressed, they began to see things in a new light. The testimony meeting at the end of that conference was far different from the one a year earlier when, as one of the leaders described it, “Most of the youth just sat and giggled and poked each other.” This time, the young people were eager to express their joy at having served others and their love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

One day I was talking to a friend, who is not a member of our church, and we almost got to the point where we started putting each other’s churches down, but I didn’t want it to get to that point, so I just bore my testimony and stopped. A few weeks later I got some pamphlets and magazines in the mail from her. I could have kept them so that I would know what some writers think about our church, but I didn’t. This experience made me want to be more prepared when things like this happen.Alexandria M., 15, Oregon

On the morning of 4 February 1976, in the central Guatemal highlands, one of the most devastating natural disasters ever to hit Central America occurred: a killer earthquake, responsible for more than 24,000 deaths.
After it was over, my companion and I were assigned to secure information concerning the welfare of our elders and Church members in the central highlands in order to make a preliminary report to Salt Lake City. We stopped in several small towns, and finally encountered Elder Choc and his companion making their way to Daniel’s home. They had worked all morning helping the wounded and taking care of the dead, and then, having done all they could in their assigned area of labor, they started for Patzicia. My companion and I went with them.
When we came upon what used to be Daniel’s home, we saw his father, looking lost, uncertain, and afraid, stumbling through the rubble. Daniel rushed over and embraced him. After a moment of silence, they both broke into tears as Daniel’s father whispered that his wife, then carrying their unborn eighth child, and two young sons had been crushed to death by the heavy adobe walls of their home when the quake began.
President Choc was deeply hurt, and the stress was almost more than he could bear. But after a long time of weeping, Daniel composed himself, looked into his father’s eyes, and said: “Can you remember the sacrifices we made for almost twenty years to go to the temple of God, and how special it was to know that we had been sealed for time and all eternity? We will all be together again. I know it! Father, the Lord has blessed you. You are his servant in this part of his vineyard. Take this bruised and broken people by the hand and comfort them. Organize them and lead them in prayer, will you?”
And then, as Nephi of old had turned to Lehi in the desert to encourage him as a leader, Elder Choc said, “Help us, Father, to exercise our faith.”
President Choc did organize the members of his branch and began the massive task of salvaging and rebuilding. He was a pillar of strength from that day on to all those associated with him.

Zachary found the shiny star the Sunday before Christmas. He asked Mommy, “Where does it go?”
“I think I know,” she said. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
Zachary looked at the Christmas tree, but the star at the top was still there. “Do you know where this star goes?” he asked Daddy.
“I think I know,” Daddy said. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
Zachary looked at Mommy’s ears, then said to himself, “It’s too big to be one of Mommy’s earrings.”
He asked his big brother, Keith, “Do you know where this star goes?”
“I think I know,” Keith told him. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
“OK,” Zachary said. He closed his eyes tightly and thought. But he couldn’t think where the star belonged. He went to play with the nativity scene while he waited for family home evening to start. As he tried to stand the angel on top of the stable, he had an idea.
When family home evening started, Daddy asked, “Who has something to share with us?”
“I do,” said Zachary. He put the star on top of the stable in the nativity scene. “Here is where the star goes—above Baby Jesus.”

In 2022 I ran the 3,000-meter steeplechase in the United States national championships. The race is about seven-and-a-half laps around the track, and there are five wooden barriers per lap that you have to jump over, including one right before a pit of water.
I was two laps into the race when the guy in front of me stumbled, and I almost ran into him. He made it over the barrier, but I didn’t—I fell.
I popped back up kind of slowly because I felt a little deflated. I thought, “Do I quit and just step off the track?” But I was prepared. I’d decided beforehand that I’d keep going if I fell, so I started running again. I still wanted to give it everything I had even if I didn’t win.
It took me two laps before I even caught up to the guy at the back of the front pack. Soon there were three laps to go and then two laps to go. I started to think I might be able to make the top three. But I was pretty tired, and I got passed by a couple of guys with half a lap left. I was in fourth, but then I had a really good last water jump. And I thought, “Oh man, I might be able to win this thing.”
As I finished that last 50 meters, I realized I was going to win. It was very surreal. I thought, “Wow, am I actually winning this thing right now?” And I did. I won the race after falling.

When he was in the navy during World War II, there were those in the great and spacious building who made fun of his principles, but two of his shipmates, Dale Maddox and Don Davidson, took note and did not. They asked, “Sabin, why are you so different from everyone else? You have high morals and don’t drink, smoke, or swear, but you seem calm and happy.”
Their positive impression of my father did not match what they had been taught about the Mormons, and my father was able to teach and baptize both shipmates. Dale’s parents were very upset and warned him that if he joined the Church he would lose his sweetheart, Mary Olive, but she met with the missionaries at his request and was also baptized.
Near the end of the war, President Heber J. Grant called for missionaries, including some married men. In 1946, Dale and his wife, Mary Olive, decided Dale should serve even though they were expecting their first child. They eventually had nine children—three boys and six girls. All nine served missions, followed by Dale and Mary Olive, who served three missions of their own. Dozens of grandchildren have also served. Two of their sons, John and Matthew Maddox, are currently members of the Tabernacle Choir, as is Matthew’s son-in-law Ryan. The Maddox family now numbers 144 and are wonderful examples of being “all in.”
In going through my dad’s papers, we came across a letter from Jennifer Richards, one of the five daughters of the other shipmate, Don Davidson. She wrote: “Your righteousness changed our lives. It is hard to comprehend what our lives would be like without the Church. My dad died loving the gospel and trying to live it to the end.”

Seventeen-year-old Mackenzie H. took President Pickup’s challenge to heart and began indexing, and she helped her siblings, parents, and grandparents become involved as well. In less than two years, Mackenzie indexed more than 44,000 names. More importantly, Mackenzie and her family felt prompted to seek out their own family names, take them to the temple, and participate in the saving ordinances.

It’s 5:00 a.m. at the Old St. Augustine Road chapel on a Saturday morning in October. All three boys who have gathered in the parking lot in Jacksonville, Florida, are used to getting up early. But 4:30 in the morning?
“I’m usually here at the chapel for seminary. But that’s at 6:00 on school days,” says Jake Livsey, a teacher in the Mandarin First Ward of the Jacksonville Florida East Stake. He’s yawning when he sees Austin Pearce and his father pull into the lot. Austin, also a teacher, is a member of the St. Johns Ward. Before long, Travis Stevenson of the Mandarin Second Ward arrives with his father. Jake, Austin, and Travis are in the same stake but different wards, and they go to three different high schools. Yet this day they have one purpose.
About four hours after arriving at the ward building, the three boys are in Melbourne, a central Florida city that Hurricane Jeanne hit hard. They’re part of a huge group of Latter-day Saints who arrived in the city to provide hurricane relief. As they’re getting their assignments from a local bishop who is steering the volunteer effort, they look around at the destruction. Trees are down, roof shingles are scattered, and debris is everywhere. The job looks overwhelming, especially after hearing that the young men’s assignment is to work on houses at a trailer park.
“It’s interesting to see what the hurricane has done,” says Jake. “We didn’t have much damage in Jacksonville. But to see these houses that had been blown apart, I realize that, wow, this was where somebody lived.”
As they begin to haul siding and insulation to the curb, they notice an older man standing amid the rubble that had been a portion of his house before it collapsed. “Just get rid of everything,” the man says. “None of it is worth saving.” The boys introduce themselves, and the man, named Leo, looks around. “You’re saying this isn’t going to cost me anything? Now who are you again?”
Well, since he asked, they’re Aaronic Priesthood holders, giving up a weekend to help people in need.
“The biggest thing I’ve learned is that there is always somebody worse off than you are,” says Travis. “It is sad to see what the hurricane did. I’m glad I can help.”
About a half-hour after they had arrived at Leo’s house, everything is cleared from what used to be the south side of his home. All the wet carpeting has been torn up, and the ruined furniture is piled on the curb. “I can’t believe it,” Leo says. “I didn’t know what to do. I could have never done all this, and you guys did in 30 minutes what would have taken me weeks.”
“That was a highlight,” says Austin as he walks away after shaking Leo’s hand. “He was so appreciative of what we did.”
“We didn’t need to get credit. But it was fun to meet Leo and see the look on his face and see how what we were doing was affecting him,” says Jake. “Maybe we left him with good feelings about the Church.”
After a couple of small jobs at other people’s homes, the boys find themselves amid the rubble of a house that was hit by a tornado that followed the hurricane. Many houses in the neighborhood are damaged. “It looks like a bomb went off,” says Austin, as he looks at a roof that was blown off a trailer.
He looks at Jake, grabs a claw hammer, and the two go to work. Austin figures that, even with help from adults, they could have the roof torn apart in about an hour. Four hours later the group is still hacking away trying to break the thing into pieces they can move. The sun is high in a cloudless sky. Temperatures are reaching the mid-90s, and the humidity is relentless. “This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” says Austin of his work on the roof. “But it’s been a lot of fun.”
By the time the three had cut up the last piece of aluminum and hauled it to the huge pile near the street, Jake, Austin, and Travis look more than a little tired. They take a break to eat sandwiches and wash them down with their 8th or 11th or 18th (who can keep track?) bottle of water. Rejuvenated, it’s on to another job. Once they’re done there, it’s time to think about getting ready for a two-hour meeting the three want to attend.
It’s October 2, and the priesthood session of general conference begins in about two hours. There will be very few white shirts and ties this night. It is a come-as-you-are affair for priesthood holders.
“I’m totally beat,” says Jake. “We’re all dirty, most of us haven’t showered, and some of us are still in our work clothes. But it’s cool to look around and see all these boys and men in the chapel for priesthood meeting who have been working all day.”
It’s then that the three young men stop and think about their experience with Leo. Jake, Austin, and Travis are grateful to be seated in the air-conditioned chapel ready for the priesthood session. But they know the priesthood was really in action a few hours earlier when they were sweating, working, serving, and smiling the entire time.

I rest for a moment and watch the pink sky brighten. Early mornings are so special that I wonder why I hated them as a child. I spent my thirteenth summer at my grandmother’s house in Preston, Idaho. I wanted to eat raspberries, swim in the canal, and read books, but my stern grandmother insisted that I tend the roses, pick the strawberries, and learn to sew. I used to hide under the covers and pretend to be asleep as I heard my grandmother making breakfast. She called to me to come outside and work in her garden, but I ignored her when I could and let the clicking of her pruning shears and the rustling of the bushes lull me back to sleep.

When I had to work in the garden, I complained. Yet talking to my grandmother as the sun spun its way across the sky, I came to love her. In the garden, she didn’t seem so austere and forbidding as she usually did. She told me of her love for my grandfather and how she had never given up on him, though for years he was not a member of the Church. Her eyes grew misty and she smiled as she told me that the happiest day of her life was the day Grandfather took their family to the temple to be sealed.

I hear Jon’s motorcycle as he roars off to work, and I rest for a moment. My tears drop like rain as my heart follows him. Then I remember my grandmother. I remember watching her graft a branch from one of her most beautiful rosebushes onto an old, half-dead bush. Her voice echoes to me from years ago. “I won’t give up on this bush without a fight,” she had said to me on that long-ago morning. “It’s too precious not to try to reclaim.”

It was Christmas Eve. Grandpa had come down to our house to get Mama to cut his hair. He was going into town for a little celebrating, so he asked her to also trim his eyebrows. They were so overgrown that they looked like pyracantha at a vacant lot. Grandpa’s eyes were deep set and penetrating—mostly serious except when he was whistling “Strawberry Roan” or “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” Grandpa had donned his best bib overalls with white and blue stripes. “They are a little classier,” he used to say. He wore his suit coat and red tie with matching handkerchief.
Grandpa Jode Howes was a sheepherder; but since this is going to be a Christmas story, let’s call him a shepherd. He was a good shepherd, too. He prided himself on a well-trained dog and a clean camp.
Grandpa had found Grandma in good shape when he got home from camp. There was still flour in the bin, apples in the cellar, jerky in the barn, and love in her heart. Oh, the farm wasn’t Grandma’s first love. When she met Grandpa Jode, she was an aristocrat—a red-headed, curly-lashed school mistress who came down to our parts to spend the winter; and well, she spent plenty of winters and had wintered well. Her hair had been mixed with white, and now that she was “pink haired,” some of “the girls” wondered if Grandma might be a phony. But Grandma wasn’t phony; she was real and had a real big heart. It had to be big to support her stature. We all called her “Big Grandma.” This referred to her “insides” as well as her “outs.”
In town during shopping, Grandpa heard that his friend Sim had some horses he wanted Grandpa to see. So Grandpa rode to the corrals, made a good inspection, and was about to throw a bale of hay out to the animals for the night when he saw a slight figure crouching behind the bale where a new lamb fed. It was a boy who seemed to be hiding.
“Come out, son,” Grandpa said. “What goes with you, lad? Can I help you?” The boy only shook his head and trembled. Sim reported that the last traders through town had left the kid and said they didn’t want him.
“Get rid of him for us, can you, Sim?”
“Well, by golly,” Grandpa Jode had said, “I can’t see much use for any of the horses, but I’ll take the kid.”
After a little coaxing, the boy got into the DeSoto with Grandpa and they started for home.
“You’ve got a name, haven’t you, boy?” Grandpa asked. “Where are you from? I’ve got a nice bed for a guy like you at home—for a guy with a name.”
After some warm pats on the knee and kindly smiles, the little urchin uttered, “My name’s Hady.”
“Hady,” Grandpa repeated, “now that’s a right good name. Where did you get that one?” He laughed, tousling the boy’s curly locks, with his gnarled hand.
Silence from the boy.
“From your mom, I bet,” Grandpa assured him.
Hady’s eyes dropped.
“Your dad read it in a story?”
“No, no!” Hady screamed and bit Grandpa’s hand.
“Well,” Grandpa said with a laugh, patting Hady’s little legs, “your name has as much snap as your bite, and I like them both. Hady is fine for me. And you know what? That’s what all of us at our house are going to call you.” Grandpa’s voice softened and dropped a few decibels as it often did when he got dead serious, and he whispered, “And it means something because I found you like a surprise Christmas package behind a bale of hay. And you know what else? You’re going to like that name and all of us, too.”
Grandpa’s DeSoto turned down the lane to the house. When the car was parked, Grandpa and the little fellow entered the kitchen. Hady ducked his head to avoid the blinding brightness of the electric lights and scampered behind the Heatrola in Big Grandma’s living room. It was there that he stayed, trembling like the aspen leaves that sheltered the sheep camp. But it was not the gentle wind that made him shake. It was there behind the Heatrola that he stayed during the festivities, occasionally popping his little head out (when he was quite certain that no one was watching) to survey the new family that was to be his. If his eyes met those of another, he quickly ducked away in retreat.
Most of the kids didn’t notice Hady during the first part of the evening, until we saw Grandpa rolling peanuts behind the Heatrola. They didn’t roll out the other side, and the shells didn’t pile up. It was a clean sweep; Hady had eaten them shell and all.
There seemed to be some quiet muttering about the child but nothing strained nor curious. Grandpa told us that he had brought us home a new friend. He did that quite often. Once it was a Collie dog; another time he carried home a little lame lamb and said he hoped that we’d take good care of each other.
I watched Mama’s face to see if I’d like the boy, and I did. I put my hand out to see if he was real, but Mama told me not to stare and please not touch the burrs in his long, snarled curls.
“And if you sniff a new sort of odor—well, sheep smell that way,” Mama carefully explained as she made her eyes twinkle and her nose wrinkle. Then she coaxed the urchin from his hiding place behind the Heatrola to be “spotted off.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“None of your business.”
“Bet you can’t read,” I nipped, and Mama pulled me close under one arm and the kid under the other.
“He looks about the right age to try though,” Mama said, refereeing eye glances.
“Yeah, I’m about ready to be learning.”
Mama lifted up Hady’s long hair and washed his neck. It made the air smell like our kitchen when Mama presses Daddy’s wool suit with a wet rag, but her face looked happy and her nose kept straight out as she asked me to run for the Bon Ami. I wished afterward that I hadn’t said anything about stinking. Mama hated the word and always asked us to use smell instead. Hady must have found that word unwelcome also, for it drove him back behind the shelter of the stove.
Big Grandma, her pink hair freshly finger-waved and her silk blouse newly beaded, took her place in the chair by the glittering tree and turned out the lights. Grandpa, in his bib overalls, crisp white shirt, and bright red tie told the story of Christmas, using cutouts and a flash light. Then in black silence he gave a Christmas prayer.
“Oh, Lord, we thank thee for the blessings of this season, for the gift of thy Son, the Good Shepherd, who calls us all to his fold. We thank thee for our flocks and our fields and the bounties of life, for the sheep and the shepherd. Keep us safely in the fold we pray, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
When the lights were turned on again, we all knew that it was “present-getting time in the old corral,” as Grandpa joked.
During the prayer all was dark, and Hady crawled from behind the stove and stayed out by the side to see the Christmas story and watch the gifts being unwrapped. Big Grandma read the names out. “Merry Christmas to our fine missionary.” That was Paul, my cousin. “Merry Christmas to our little girl with Shirley Temple curls,” Grandma called. That was me, and I pranced forward with my curls like bed springs dangling down the back of my dress. “Merry Christmas to our new brother, Hady.”
This sound so frightened Hady that he retreated again to his cozy security, and Grandpa had to push the present behind to him. He looked pleased and grabbed anxiously for the gift; then he became suspicious, but mustered courage and walked to Grandma’s chair to return it. But Mama went to the tattered, beautiful waif, took his grimy little face in her kindly hands, and coaxed, “Take it, honey; you’ll like it.” She then patted his pink flushed cheeks.
Hady rubbed his fingers over the waxy glossed paper and fondled the tinseled bow, unbelieving. Carefully unwrapping the package to preserve its beauty, he revealed with delight a shiny, new, red lunch bucket. I was glad that he liked the bucket. I could tell that he did by his almost smile. But it was my lunch bucket with a red thermos and a snap cork, and I wasn’t sure that I was glad that I had said yes to Mama when she coaxed.
“But everyone here will have a present—everyone but Hady.”
“It’s mine. I bought it with my own weeding money (20 rows of corn) to take to school.”
“Well, next year they’ll be making better buckets; and we can get you another,” Mother consoled.
I really didn’t want to give it, but I couldn’t stand to see Mama’s face disappointed, so I did.
Hady clutched my lunch bucket, my shiny red bucket, like it was all his—his first personally owned, somebody-gave-you present.
Cousin Jimmy stared at the bucket, the tattered clothes, and the long, straggly curls and hissed, “You’re a girl, aren’t you?” and ran his fingers covetously over the edge of the opened bucket as Hady snapped the lid.
He caught Jim’s fingers and sent him yelping to Grandma. Realizing his mistake, Hady hastily retreated to the Heatrola where he felt warm, secure, justified, fortified, and even armed in the event that it became necessary to defend his possession again.
“Let’s have Jana play carols on her violin while we sing,” everyone demanded. Then Grandma served carrot pudding with caramel sauce, and the festivities were over. As we went into the chill of the night, Hady pulled on Mama’s coat to get her attention, and with downcast eyes too emotional and embarrassed to look up, he muttered, “Thank you,” pointing to the bucket held tight in his arms.
“Thanks for coming to our party,” Mama said. She always said things to make people feel right. “But I didn’t give you the present; Jana did,” and she pointed to me.
Bashfully I sidled up to the new one and whispered, “I like you to be here.”
“Oh,” was the quiet reply.
Left alone with Grandpa and Grandma, Hady looked about shyly and said to Big Grandma, who was gathering up crumpled paper, “Hey, you, where does a fellow hit the hay around here?”
Grandma showed him to the cold, east bedroom. It was the guest room where all us kids slept overnight with Grandpa. Later when Big Grandma went into the bedroom to check his sleep, Hady still clutched the handle of the red lunch bucket tight in his fist as it rested on the pillow beside him. Sniffles broke the silence of the room, and soft tender sobs indicated the sweet comfort of tears.
Hady’s identity was never really certain. He signed his name Hady Howes, but when he got angry, he’d yell at Grandma, saying, “Hey, you, I’m not your boy. I’m Hady Querry. Querry is my name.”
We never knew if that was really his name. We thought maybe he’d tell us when he turned 16 and got his driver’s license, but when he found out he’d have to apply for it in his own name, he never did.
Hady stayed with us for exactly ten years. I remember because he had come on Christmas and he left on Christmas, too. He left no note, not a word to Grandpa or Grandma. Their Little Boy Blue had gone as strangely as he had come, on Christmas.
We all missed Hady, but I did especially. We had herded cows along the ditch bank together, picked green apples from the manure spreader, ridden horses to the mountains to round up cattle, churned butter, made wire fly traps, plowed fields, bottled fruit, and watered lucerne in the dead of the night.
Hady had become a part of me, and the cold, east bedroom echoed with emptiness. But the passing of 20 years eventually eased the loneliness into forgetting.
I was stringing twinkle lights on the entrance sign of our newly acquired business, “Pleasant Way Trailer Court.” This year the pines on either side of the neon sign were large enough to be decorated impressively. The tenants had agreed that the entire mobile community should be connected with long strings of lights, and I liked that cozy, friendly feeling. Music ran through the courtyard.
Peace and goodwill filled my heart as I rang the bell of trailer No. 15. It was answered by a slightly grayed, handsome man with wavy hair. He smiled shyly, apologizing for the Christmas wreath that had fallen as I knocked. His eyes were soft and blue.
That voice, that man—could it be! It was! “Hady!” I cried. “Aren’t you Hady?”
He looked with a strange but certain recognition; then he threw his arms around me. “It’s you—you’re Jana!”
“Do you remember?” I asked.
“Jana,” Hady’s voice trembled, “how could I forget? You’ve come at Christmastime. How did you know?”
Holding me in a warm embrace, he recalled, “You were the first person ever to offer me love and the first to ever give me a present.” Then, laughingly, he added, “Remember that most wonderful shiny red lunch bucket, the first possession I ever called mine?”
Then still standing in the doorway with the Christmas music from the court ringing out, he remembered nostalgically, “You were the first to offer friendship to me—a kid who had never known love, love of any kind, Jana.”
As the music of the court swelled, so did the love in the hearts of two who knew the meaning of the words:
“For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: … thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in.” (Matt. 25:35.)
A blithe, beautiful 16-year-old slipped shyly into the room, her long curls sweeping the table top, her violin under her arm.
“I’m ready, Daddy,” she said, and then in recognition of me added, “Are you Daddy’s friend? Merry Christmas, I’m Jana.”
“Oh yes, my darling,” I exclaimed thrillingly, tears suddenly swelling, “and so am I.”

Brigham Young was still feeling sick in late August when he and the return company left the Salt Lake Valley for their trip back to Winter Quarters. Over the next three days, the small company traveled rapidly through dusty canyons and over steep Rocky Mountain passes.24 When they arrived on the other side, Brigham was glad to learn that Parley Pratt and John Taylor’s large caravan of Saints was only a few hundred miles away.
Brigham’s joy vanished a short time later, however, when he learned that the caravan was four hundred wagons larger than he had anticipated. The Twelve had spent all winter organizing Saints into companies according to the revealed will of the Lord. Now it appeared that Parley and John had disregarded that revelation and acted of their own accord.25
A few days later, Brigham and the return company met up with the caravan. Parley was in one of the lead companies, so Brigham quickly called a council with Church leaders to ask him why he and John had disobeyed the quorum’s instructions.26
“If I’ve done anything wrong, I am willing to right it,” Parley told the council. But he insisted that he and John had acted within their authority as apostles. Hundreds of Saints had died that year in Winter Quarters and other settlements along the Missouri River. And many families had been desperate to leave the area before another deadly season set in. Since some Saints in the companies the Twelve had organized were not yet prepared to leave, he and John had chosen to form new companies to accommodate those who were ready.27
“Our companies were perfectly organized,” Brigham countered, “and if they could not get through, we were responsible to them.” The Word and Will of the Lord had clearly directed each company to “bear an equal proportion” of the poor and the families of the men serving in the Mormon Battalion. Yet Parley and John had left many of these people behind.28
Brigham also disagreed that two apostles could overturn the decision of the quorum. “If the Quorum of the Twelve do a thing, it is not in the power of two of them to rip it up,” he said. “When we got the machine moving, it was not your business to stick your hands among the cogs to stop the wheel.”29
“I’ve done the best I could,” Parley said. “You say I could have done better, and if I am to take blame in it, and say I’ve done wrong—I’ve done wrong. I am guilty of an error and am sorry for it.”
“I forgive you,” Brigham replied. “And if I don’t do right,” he added, “I want every man so to live in the sunshine of glory to correct me when I’m wrong. I feel bowed down to the grave with the burden of this great people.”30
Brigham’s weariness was evident in his face and gaunt frame. “I look upon myself as a weak, poor little man. I was called by the providence of God to preside,” he said. “I want you to go right into the celestial kingdom with me.”
“I want to know if the brethren are satisfied with me,” Parley said.
“God bless you forever and ever,” Brigham said. “Don’t think any more about it.”31

“I got started in eighth grade in Tucson, Arizona,” Richard Olson said. “I was in a math class with four friends. One day one of them brought a maze he had made and started a contest to see who could make the best maze. After a while the other four stopped making them, but I haven’t yet.
“I would make mazes at home and take them to school. Some of my friends got excited about them and started copying them, and that kept me excited about them.
“When I feel like doing a maze, I sit down and think of movies I’ve seen, books I’ve read, anything that might bring me an idea. I’ve taken art classes all through school, but I don’t have any particular tricks I use in drawing mazes, though I do like to continue a particular path a long way and then end it before I finally create the one good path. Usually, I just sit down and start drawing, and the idea works itself out as I go along.”
It was Richard’s father who first thought of publishing the mazes in a book to earn money for his mission. “I promised the Lord that all the money would go into my mission fund,” Richard said. “The books weren’t selling too well to begin with, but then we got more orders than books and had to have some more printed.” They have now published more than 1,000 copies.
Now Richard is serving in the Texas San Antonio Mission, and mazes have become less important. “In the mission field,” he says, “I don’t have time to draw one, because it takes about two or three hours. Besides, there are more important things to do.” When he returns home, though, he’ll probably go back to the drawing board again.

Robin stared into the swimming pool. He tried not to think about how far he had to swim. All that mattered was earning the badge. The Seepferdchen (seahorse) badge would show everybody in Germany that he knew how to swim all by himself.
I can do this! Robin thought. He took a deep breath and jumped.
SPLASH!
The cool water felt great on such a hot day.
Take it one meter at a time, Dad had told him. Don’t think about all 25 meters at once.
Robin kept his head down. He moved his arms and legs the way he’d been practicing for months. Every few seconds he pulled up for air.
Kick. Stroke. Kick. Stroke.
Suddenly, the swimming teacher blew her whistle. Robin looked up in surprise.
“Way to go,” his teacher said.
He’d done it!
Robin laughed and did a few underwater somersaults to celebrate. He was a seahorse!
When Robin got home, he hurried to find Dad.
“Dad, look!”
As soon as Dad saw the Seepferdchen badge, he smiled wide.
“On your first try?” Dad gave Robin a big hug. “What do you want to do to celebrate?”
Robin thought for a second. “What I would really like is to go to the pool with you. I want to show you what I can do.”
Dad smiled even bigger. “Now that would be a celebration for both of us. As soon as I have some time, we’ll go.”
Robin pumped his fist in the air. He couldn’t wait to have the badge sewn onto his swimsuit and go swimming with Dad.
Several days passed. Robin kept asking about the pool, but something was always in the way. Dad always seemed to be busy.
One morning Robin knelt by his bed to pray. At the end of the prayer, he added one more thing.
“Please give my dad some extra time so we can go to the pool. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As Robin opened his eyes, he heard Dad knock on the door.
“Let’s head to the pool. I want to see you in action!”
Robin’s jaw dropped. “Dad! You won’t believe this. I just prayed that you would get some extra time so we could go.”
Dad folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Now, isn’t that interesting? You see, I just heard a quiet message from the Holy Ghost that I should take you to the pool. Why don’t we go now?”
They had a fantastic trip. Robin showed Dad how he could swim for 25 meters without stopping. Dad was impressed. And Robin was impressed with Dad’s underwater somersaults. Dad could do five in a row!
“I’m glad Heavenly Father gave you some extra time today,” Robin said.
“Actually,” Dad said, “I think I was just letting myself get too busy. I think the Holy Ghost was reminding me that we have to make time for each other, don’t you think? I promise to do my part.”
Robin smiled. “Me too!”
Dad’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “One more thing. Have I ever told you that I’ve never lost a splash fight?”
Robin grinned back. “The day’s not over yet!”
This story takes place in Germany! Read more about Germany on pages 12–13.

Illustration by Ben Simonsen
At my school a lot of people have boyfriends and girlfriends. On my first day of school as an eighth grader, I met someone named Paul. We got along well together. Paul was a great friend.
The next day after school he asked me out on a date. I told him I couldn’t, and he asked why. I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we’re not supposed to date until age 16. Paul asked why, and I realized that I didn’t actually know.
That night I went home and pondered Paul’s question. I did research on LDS.org and read my scriptures. I found a quote by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “The Lord has made us attractive one to another for a great purpose. But this very attraction becomes as a powder keg unless it is kept under control. … It is for this reason that the Church counsels against early dating.”1
I also looked in For the Strength of Youth. It says dating “can help you learn and practice social skills, develop friendships, have wholesome fun, and eventually find an eternal companion.”2
The next day I showed Paul the For the Strength of Youth booklet. Other people saw Paul reading it, and my LDS friends helped me answer my classmates’ questions. I was happy to have an answer to Paul’s question.
For the Strength of Youth says that dating before age 16 and forming serious relationships in our youth can lead to immorality and limit the number of people we meet.3 My mother also tells me that we shouldn’t date before 16 because it can distract us from studies and opportunities that can be vital to success in the future. I’ve seen friends of mine become depressed because of an emotional breakup at age 13.
I was glad I was able to find out for myself why we shouldn’t date before age 16 and then give Paul an answer without hurting his feelings. I’ve made a great friend, and I hope we will be friends for a long time. I am thankful the Lord has given us friends and the opportunity to date at the appropriate age so that we may all one day find faithful eternal companions.

We found a house across the street from one Protestant church and a block from another, but we lived 45 minutes from the nearest LDS meetinghouse. Every Sunday, as well as a couple of times during the week, we made the trek to our meetinghouse. During those seven years, my husband served in the bishopric, and I served as Primary president and then as Young Women president.
We knew that the social life and heartbeat of small towns exist in the local churches. To be accepted, we knew we had to get involved. Our three young children soon bonded with other ward children, but we also wanted them to feel a sense of belonging to our neighborhood. We encouraged them to become involved during the week in local church activities, including family suppers on Wednesday nights at one church.
We put our son and our girls in local youth programs. Our children also attended Vacation Bible School at both nearby churches. Our girls sang in a local church youth choir; one daughter even became a soloist in the choir. Our son attended a local church youth group.
Often a visiting revival minister preached against the “Mormons,” but our neighbors knew we were nothing like the people the preachers warned them about.
Every summer the regional churches of one Protestant sect sponsored a youth camp on St. Simons Island, Georgia. After one such camp, the minister said from the pulpit, “The only youth to go to camp this summer was our good little Mormon girl, Kelly Grant.”
Our Protestant neighbors embraced us because we had embraced them. We never had to compromise our standards or principles.

Sister Elaine Cannon is a master of communication. A gifted author, editor, and speaker, she has a talent for sharing her heart with those who listen or read. The following article includes excerpts from Sister Cannon’s books, talks, and interviews. How better can we meet a master of communication than through her own words?
“Life is a wonderful adventure. Experience it deeply. Get involved. Record it in your journal. Live it all the way. Make friends with the seasons. Experience snow in your face. Breathe the spring, and press petals of summer; caress a baby’s softness, but stroke the wrinkles of age while marveling at the plan of life.”
Sister Elaine Cannon, General President of the Young Women, knows how to follow her own advice. She has lived the kind of rich, full life she recommends to others, and she has recorded it in her journal.
In fact, her journal held prophetic echoes of the future. When she was 11 years old she wrote: “I’m writing this down so that when I’m a grown-up working with youth I will remember what it felt like to be young.”
Understanding the feelings of others is among the finest of Sister Cannon’s many talents. She has a rare gift for recognizing and understanding the sorrows, concerns, and troubles of her fellow beings and providing the comfort they need. A multitude of people can testify that she gave them selfless and compassionate service when they needed it desperately, with no thought of recompense. She has taken many young people into her home and her heart to help them weather crises in their lives. She has shown an uncanny ability to recognize the unexpressed concerns of those around her. Her present calling constantly demands this gift of love and insight.
“I love these girls so much. I really feel that I’m an agent of Christ in loving these young women. And they need it. They need approval. It’s as if they’re saying, ‘I need someone to love me anyway—no matter how I look or what I’m doing or what I’m listening to.’ I feel that if I can love them, then maybe they will believe that Heavenly Father and the Savior can love them. It moves them a step closer to that faith. One of the great opportunities of this job is being in a position to perceive the need of people and respond to it, to validate people in their own minds.
“I feel that I have been called to use everything I am and everything I have ever learned to help Heavenly Father’s children. And I take this responsibility very seriously. I try to stay close to the Lord, and I find that he really does care about the individual. I feel his guidance in the decisions I make. I am very much aware that this is not my program, and so I must always try to know what he wants me to do.”
Sister Cannon’s greatest hope for the youth of the Church is that they will come to know their Savior. “You must come to know Christ. There just isn’t anything so relevant. Some people say to me, ‘What does anybody who lived 2,000 years ago have to say that could mean anything to me today?’ and the answer is ‘everything.’ The gospel of Jesus Christ is always relevant. The answers are there. Christ’s teachings really work. They work for every one of the concerns of youth today. Our challenge is to come to know what Christ is saying. I say to kids, ‘You’ve got to find out for yourselves. Does Christ live? Is he the Son of God?’ There is a plan that operates. God is at the helm. We cannot be happy unless we know this. It is sometimes the one thing that will keep a young man and young woman from making serious mistakes. They must love the Lord more strongly than they are drawn to each other.
“You can talk yourself out of anything, but if you’ve got real faith in the Lord, it will work when mother isn’t there, when the Church system isn’t there, when embarrassment doesn’t apply anymore and conscience may have gone sort of dead. If you love the Lord, you’ll say, ‘I can’t hurt him. He loves me. He cares.’ This was a marvelous thing for the dejected little girl I held in my arms in New York recently. She said, ‘nobody cares.’ I helped her to understand that the Lord cares. And suddenly she could care about herself when she knew that the Greatest of all cares.”

“I used to go hunting sometimes with my father. After he died I went alone, but quickly realized that I hadn’t enjoyed hunting much—what I had really enjoyed was being with him. Dad was the kind of father who, when his two sons were hoeing weeds and knew they were going to die if they didn’t stop to get a drink, would say, ‘One more row, boys.’ And when we made ice cream he’d encourage, ‘Only ten more cranks, son.’ He taught me to be self-disciplined and to go to bed early and get up early. He always helped me ‘stretch’ my efforts.”