Gospel Story Finder

When Brother Newry returned to the Bahamas, he found a very small branch that had been formed while he was gone. The little branch met in homes and rented buildings until they built their own chapel. He remained faithful through the years and eventually received his endowment in the temple. Along the way his friend, Antoinette Russell, asked to attend church with him. She was impressed by the members’ warmth, and without telling Clarence, she began meeting with the missionaries. She says: “I knew we were each someone special. When the missionaries told me where we had come from, I knew it was true. I felt peace.”
Antoinette and Clarence Newry were married in March 1997 in the Orlando Florida Temple. Several other Bahamian couples have had their marriages sealed in the temple, but the Newrys were the first to be married in the temple.

I was feeling down one day at Young Women camp, so I decided to sit in the wooded arena where we gathered for skits. I sat there for about 10 minutes when I had the sudden thought to leave and go back to my cabin. At first, I ignored the idea and just remained where I was. The longer I sat, the more uneasy I felt, and the stronger the urge to go became.
Finally, I obeyed the prompting. I walked back up to my cabin and hung out with a few of my friends and some of the cabin leaders. Not more than 10 minutes later, everyone was forced to enter the cabins because there was a grizzly bear in the area. We found out later that the bear was spotted in the same place I’d been sitting moments earlier. I was so relieved that I had been prompted to move and that I had obeyed the prompting. I knew the Lord was watching over me. Then and there I could feel the love that God has for me. I knew that He knew me, and that was such a relief, especially since I had been feeling so sad earlier.

When I was getting ready to graduate from high school, my friend and I wanted to go to the senior all-night party. It seemed like everybody else was going, so we asked his father, who was our stake president, if we could go.

He said, “Absolutely not. The Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight.” Now, he knows the Holy Ghost doesn’t go to bed at midnight, but he also knows what tends to happen after midnight. Then he said something I will never forget: “Find something positive to do that you’ll be able to think of in years to come.”

We put our heads together and organized a progressive dinner. We went from one house to the next and had a wonderful evening. With planning and a well-placed suggestion from a caring priesthood leader, we were able to stay in holy places while our friends were in jeopardy of being subject to temptations.

One day during school, my friend and I were talking about religion. I began to talk about the things I believe as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a long conversation, and I had the privilege to explain about the power of God here on the earth, the organization of the Church, and most important, the Restoration of the gospel. I would have liked for him to meet with the missionaries and be baptized, but realistically that doesn’t always happen. I’m just grateful I had the opportunity to share truth. I felt strengthened by the Spirit and saw the importance of studying so that I can always be prepared to teach the gospel.
Luis H., São Paulo, Brazil

A few years ago, my family and I were driving home when we decided to stop by a friend’s house to see their new baby goats. My little sisters, in their excitement, managed to lock the keys in the van. We were far from home, and my dad was working, so he couldn’t bring us his set of keys.
My mother started to get frustrated. She enlisted the help of a local fireman who tried for 45 minutes to unlock the door, but to no avail. He threw a hopeless glance at my mother, said he was sorry, and walked back to the fire station across the street.
Once the fireman had retreated, six-year-old Leah plopped herself down on her knees and proceeded to offer a fervent prayer to help us get home. My mother watched in silence and gave Leah a giant hug as soon as she was finished.
About 10 minutes later, my mother’s friend pulled up. Her husband emerged from the car and asked what the problem was. After we explained, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I used to have an old Ford van just like this one. I still have the keys. Shall we give it a try?” We were all for it, and, miracle of miracles, the key fit!
We gave out a whoop and piled into the van. As my mom started the engine, little Leah approached her and said, “See, Mommy? Heavenly Father always helps us when we ask him.”
Once she heard these words, my mother’s eyes filled with tears. She praised Leah for doing the right thing. Leah taught us all a very important lesson that day—to turn to our Father in Heaven. We should all remember to have the faith of a little child.

One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.

Recently, our grandson, Adam, was traveling with Sister Stone and me on a trip to California. About noontime we stopped for lunch. When the waitress brought the bill I didn’t pay very close attention and after she gave me my change, I realized that she had charged me for only two sandwiches instead of three.
I knew that the girl would be short at the end of the day, and there suddenly flashed into my mind the thought of how my father had taught me to be honest. I felt this was a good time to talk to Adam about honesty, and so we sat down and I explained what had happened. I told him we had a problem.
I said we could leave now and keep the extra change and no one would ever know the difference, or we could tell the girl that we still owed her for a sandwich. Our decision wasn’t at all difficult to make when we decided that if we kept money that did not belong to us that we would be breaking the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” We agreed that our Heavenly Father would be displeased with us and we would be unhappy too because we would know in our hearts that we had not been honest.
Adam and I approached the girl at the counter, and I explained to her that she had undercharged us and that we owed almost a dollar more. Her face flushed in embarrassment for a moment, and then she thanked us for telling her of the mistake. We continued on our way with a good feeling, and I am sure our Heavenly Father approved of what we had done.

A true story from Canada.
Taylor helped Mom carry the supplies for the Primary activity toward the park. The sun was warm on her face, and the grass in the park was green again. It felt so good to be outside!
Spring was one thing that reminded her that Heavenly Father loved her. Taylor liked to look for God’s love in all things—like a blue sky or getting to see her friends at the Primary activity.
Taylor followed Mom to where the other Primary leaders were setting up games for the kids.
Sister Kingsley waved and said, “Jane is coming!”
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“Who’s Jane?” Taylor asked.
“She’s a new girl we invited. We hope you and the other kids can help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
Taylor felt a worried knot in her stomach. Talking to new people was hard for her. She wanted to be kind. But what if the new girl didn’t like her?
Soon, everyone arrived, including a girl Taylor didn’t know.
“Welcome to our Primary activity!” Sister Kingsley said. She put her hand on the new girl’s shoulder. “This is Jane. She’s joining us today. We hope everyone has fun playing together at the park.”
“Can we play grounders?” asked one of the Primary kids.
“Yes, please!” Taylor shouted.
She was so excited! Grounders was her favorite game. Taylor raced with the other kids to the playground. Then Taylor stopped when she saw Jane standing alone.
Heavenly Father had given her this beautiful and special day. She wanted to enjoy it, and she wanted Jane to enjoy it too. Taylor’s insides felt shaky, but she took a deep breath and walked back to Jane.
“Hi. I’m Taylor.”
“Hi.” Jane smiled a little, but she seemed nervous.
“Have you played grounders before?” Taylor asked.
Jane shook her head.
Taylor knew what it was like to be nervous about new things.
“It’s really fun!” Taylor said. “The person who is ‘it’ keeps their eyes closed while they try to tag someone on the playground equipment. Everyone else can run around. But if the person who is ‘it’ yells ‘grounders!’ then whoever’s feet are still on the ground is ‘it.’”
Jane still looked nervous.
“Do you want to stay by me for a little while?” Taylor asked.
Jane smiled. “Yes!”
Taylor and Jane walked to the playground. As they climbed to the top, other kids said hi to Jane. Jane stayed near Taylor at first, but soon the other kids were helping Jane too. For the rest of the Primary activity, Taylor and all the other kids talked to Jane. By the end, Taylor no longer felt nervous, and she was pretty sure Jane didn’t either.
“Does anyone want an ice pop?” Mom said as she opened a cooler.
After all the running and playing, Taylor felt happy to sit with her friends and cool off. When Jane went home, Taylor and the other kids said goodbye to her.
Soon it was just Taylor, her mom, and the other leaders. Taylor picked up ice pop wrappers and put them in a trash bag.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom said. “You and your friends shared Heavenly Father’s love with Jane today.”
Taylor thought about that. Even though she usually looked for ways Heavenly Father showed His love for her, today was different. Today, she’d been the one showing His love.
How do you feel God’s love? How can you share His love with a friend?
Illustration by Hollie Hibbert

One year my mum, my sister, and I went to my uncle’s house to spend the holidays. A day before we traveled, I deleted all my social media apps because they were really affecting my spirituality. I knew staying off social media was for the best, but I felt a bit lonely and left out. For several days after I left home, no one reached out to me, and I felt like no one really cared.
On New Year’s Day, I still felt lonely and sad. But then I received an unexpected text message from a friend, wishing me a happy New Year. We weren’t that close to each other, but his message meant so much to me—it meant that someone cared.
Then I got a prompting—why not send text messages to all my friends? I immediately went to work wishing each person a happy New Year and telling them how I was grateful for them. Maybe some of them needed someone to reach out to them too. Suddenly, it was easier for me to notice the music that was playing and the happiness on my cousins’ faces. I felt the Spirit, and my happy feeling lasted all day long.
I am so grateful to my friend for sending that text, and I’m glad I obeyed the prompting to send my own. In this case, it helped me reach out to others when I felt that I needed to be reached out to. I know these words of President M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023) are true: “We will find peace, joy, and happiness in our life when serving the Lord and our neighbors.”

I would like to start with a story from Church News:
He stood to bear his testimony and could barely see over the pulpit. The counselor in the bishopric lowered the podium and 8-year-old Brandon, with tears in his eyes, bore a heart-rending testimony with such emotion that his little voice quivered, and it truly touched the congregation. When he finished and turned to leave, the bishop saw that Brandon couldn't leave. His fingers had been pinched when the pulpit had been lowered. The bishop quickly motioned for his counselor to raise the pulpit and Brandon was released and quickly returned to his seat. He leaned over and quietly whispered to his mother, 'Now I understand why people cry when they bear their testimony!'[1]

Sue Preece, the Relief Society president of the Southport Ward, initiated a huge game of virtual tag, socially distanced, to brighten and lift the local area’s spirits, but it reached beyond local.
Sue explains the event, “We wanted to remind our members to take some time in their busy lives to stay in touch with each other and try to brighten someone’s day.”
On the designated day, the game began with Sue and her two councillors contacting two more people that they knew. They could use any means to make contact and let the person know they were being thought of, asking if there was any help they needed. Each person they contacted was then asked to contact two more friends, and so on.
Rebekah Brown (pictured), who took part in the project, said, “It all started as a bit of fun really, but it just grew and grew! It was amazing and touched so many lives. People just wanted to get involved, and contacts were made not just locally but worldwide. It was such a simple thing. It didn’t take too much time but was very effective.
“A lot of people went to bed that evening feeling cared for and loved. In this unprecedented period of social isolation, it’s essential to help lift each other’s spirits. We should be particularly concerned about those who need to continue shielding because of health issues. When the rest of us start to get back to a new sort of routine, it’s increasingly vital that we don’t forget the most vulnerable in our society.”

Several years ago, my children and I built a four-thousand-gallon saltwater pond in our backyard and stocked it with various forms of aquatic life.* When I came home from work one day, I found two of my sons frantically trying to net all the bullseye puffers in our pond to bring them inside. They had found them floating helplessly at the water’s surface, probably because of the low temperatures of the approaching winter. When the biggest puffer hit the warm water of our family-room aquarium, it was shocked into activity and swam rapidly up and down the ten-foot aquarium. Then it turned belly-up. Well, I thought, that’s the end of it.

The next morning, however, the fish was still alive, though in no better condition. I went to work, expecting to find it dead when I returned that evening. But that night the fish was still gulping air. It just wouldn’t die. However, it didn’t get any better, either.

Days passed; the puffer’s condition worsened. Its body became bloated, and a fungus began to grow over its eyes. It was then that I thought that perhaps I should pray for the fish. In thinking about it, however, I reasoned that the puffer was, after all, just a fish and that it would make little difference to the eternal plan of our Heavenly Father whether it lived or died.

It’s true that the life of a simple fish may not seem important. But there have been times when fish have played important roles in teaching men some very significant lessons. Remember the great fish that swallowed Jonah, showing him that there was no place where he could hide from the Lord? Or the few fishes that Jesus used to feed the multitude? Or the fish with the coin in its mouth, which Jesus told Peter to catch? Or the great harvest of fish that the Apostles took when they cast their nets under the direction of the Master? I began to wonder if my involvement with the puffer could be a personal trial of my faith.

Day after day part of me wanted to pray for the fish, but another part of me told me not to bother. Finally, just before I went to bed one night, as I was looking at the puffer fighting for its life, tears welled up in my eyes, and I folded my arms, bowed my head, and offered a prayer that the fish would be made well.

The next morning I rushed to the aquarium. There was the fish, and what a sorry sight it was. It had now lost its sense of balance completely and had sunk headfirst to the bottom of the tank. It had apparently spent the night trying to right itself, only to rub all the flesh from its bony jaws against the rough sand at the tank’s bottom. Thick scales covered its eyes, and the tiny blood vessels in its fins were bursting. I said to myself, “What a dummy you are to think that the Lord would be concerned about a simple fish.”

I was certain that my faith had failed both me and the puffer. But though mortals may fail, the Lord fails not; and I was soon to learn that faith in Him, once exercised, can never fail. When I viewed the fish on the following morning, I beheld an astonishing sight. The scales that had blinded the puffer’s eyes were gone. Its jawbones no longer protruded from open wounds; the missing flesh had been restored. And the profusely bleeding fins were now clear and functional. The fish glided gracefully about the tank. Equally remarkable, when I put a glass thermometer into the aquarium to check the water temperature, the puffer swam over and promptly bit it in half, attesting dramatically to its complete recovery.

In our neighborhood everyone is mostly Lutheran or Jewish, that is, if they admit to any religion at all. Mostly everyone is tolerant, and I have a lot of pretty good friends who aren’t LDS. They watch out for me, too—they know I don’t drink, so there’s always a can of soda for me. Whenever anyone felt a prayer was appropriate they’d call on one of the Mormons. They respected us.
Until the Cartchers moved in.
Cheryl Cartcher was nice enough. When they moved in a couple of blocks away had no idea they were members until I heard my mother saying Alice Cartcher was new in her visiting teaching district.
I asked, “That’s not Cheryl and David Cartcher’s mother, is it?”
Mom said, “Yes, I think those are her children’s names.”
“Oh, no,” I groaned. “They haven’t been coming to church, have they?”
“I’m afraid not,” my mother said. “The Relief Society presidency wanted me to help fellowship the family. They’re having some problems.”
“That’s an understatement,” I said. “They are problems. I hope nobody finds out they’re Mormons.”
“Marnee, whatever makes you say that?”
“Ever since they’ve been coming to school Dave Cartcher thinks he’s some big hotshot basketball player, only he fights with the referee and gets sidelined. He drives this big noisy black motorcycle around. And Cheryl …”
“What about Cheryl?”
“She’s okay. She just acts like a mouse. She’s about six inches taller than all the girls, only she hunches over and tries to look shorter, and she’s clumsy so she won’t try sports. She hardly says a word, either. Some example.”
I could feel my mother giving me “the look,” so I tried to slide out of the room without making eye contact.
“Marnee,” she said, using “the voice.”
“What?”
“We have an opportunity to help, don’t we?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I know you’re a good example to the kids at school. Less active members are no less important. Maybe even more important.”
“Yes, Mom.”
She waited. I sighed.
“All right, Mom,” I said. “I’ll fellowship Cheryl.”
That shouldn’t be too hard, I thought. Anyone who says five words in a row to Cheryl would be her friend forever. But Mom wasn’t through.
“What about Dave?” she said.
“Dave, too? Can’t you find some boy to fellowship him? He’ll just get the idea that I think he’s a hotshot, and he sure doesn’t need any more encouragement along that line.”
“All right, Marnee. Just be friendly. I don’t want the Cartchers to have any excuse to feel that they’re not welcome in church.”
No problem of that, I thought. They’ll never show up at church.
Cheryl was at sacrament meeting on Sunday. Maybe she’d been there before and I hadn’t noticed her. She was sitting in the back as if she wanted to melt into the wall. A lot of the time she didn’t look up, just sat with her head bowed. When the meeting ended she started to go out the front doors instead of toward the classrooms. I followed her out into the parking lot.
“Cheryl,” I called out.
She turned around, surprised. I motioned to her to come back in. She hung back. I motioned harder. “Come on,” I shouted.
Finally she came up the steps, looking like a five-foot, ten-inch cornered rabbit. “Hi, Marnee,” she said in a faint voice.
“You forgot we have Sunday School and Young Women next. Come on back inside.”
“I have to get home.”
“How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
It was my turn to be surprised. Their house was over three miles away. “We’ll give you a ride home. So you’ll have enough time anyway. Save wear and tear on your feet.”
Her presence in Sunday School class increased the number of girls to three. The boys looked her over without interest, and the other girl, Shanna who is everyone’s friend, said hi.
When we took her home it was a tight fit, with all eight members of my family besides, but she seemed to enjoy it. When we dropped her off I saw Dave practicing free throw shots at a backboard in the driveway. He didn’t even turn around. Cheryl waved until we drove out of sight.
After that she followed me around. She was a dreamy girl, living in a world of her own. One day she gave me some of her poems to read. I’m not real good with poetry, so I suggested she take them to the creative writing club that met during lunch. In fact, I took her there myself. They welcomed her with open arms. I stayed to listen, but I’m not the poetic type. Cheryl, however, spent every lunch hour there after that.
My family did take her to church every week and I thought I was doing my fellowshipping job pretty well.
Mom was having a harder time with Cheryl’s mother, though. Sister Cartcher worked at a truck stop, and her husband was a trucker. When he came home on weekends sometimes they’d take off together and leave Dave and Cheryl alone. Sister Cartcher wasn’t interested in Relief Society. Mom didn’t know what to do.
“Have you managed to become friendly with David Cartcher?” she asked one day in desperation. “I called to talk to Alice, and he was awfully rude.”
“Don’t take it personally, Mom,” I said. “He’s rude to everyone. In fact, I did say something to him once. I told him he was a pretty good basketball player.”
“And what did he say?”
“He stood there with his mouth hanging open. He must have thought I was going to lecture him for being a bad example.”
“Keep up the good work,” my mother said.
Actually he was a pretty good player. I even went to a basketball game. I’d been practicing with the golf team after school, and by the time we were finished, the basketball team had an early game going, so I went over to watch.
There weren’t that many people on the bleachers yet, but I saw Cheryl sitting next to a gray-haired couple that looked like they might be her grandparents. She waved at me to come sit next to her.
“This is my mother and father,” she said. “Mother, this is Marnee Wingate.”
“Wingate?” her mother said. She had light blue eyes and looked like she’d seen a lot of problems, and her mouth was set in an unsmiling line. “Are you Martha Wingate’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother has been trying to get me to go to church. You might as well tell her I don’t have time for that anymore. I used to be in the Relief Society presidency once, you know.”
Then they jumped up and cheered at a basket Dave made.
It was hard for me to imagine Alice Cartcher as a member of a Relief Society presidency, but then, you couldn’t tell Cheryl wrote poetry just by looking, either. Cheryl told me she was having three of her poems published in the school’s literary magazine. I said congratulations.
At halftime Dave came over to see us. Cheryl said, “Look who’s coming over to talk. Usually he acts like we aren’t here.”
“Do you always come to his basketball games?”
“Whenever Dad’s not on the road. Dad’s really proud of him, you know. Dave acts like it’s no big thing. But I think he really is glad we come.”
Dave talked to his parents, and he didn’t swear once. Then as he was leaving he gave me one of those chin-up nods like some guys do when they think they’re too good for you. I smiled anyway and waved. I guess this fellowshipping wasn’t so hard.
When I told Mom about it afterward she asked all about the Cartchers, what they had said, etc. I told her how the parents had their two kids when they were older, and sometimes Cheryl and Dave felt like they were imposing. It wasn’t like our family—I mean, our family may be like a three-ring circus, but it’s fun, and everyone pulls together. Mom and Dad are busy all the time, but we know they love each other and they love us. They want what’s best and they expect the best from us. I had a hard time describing my feelings.
Mom was nodding like she understood. “That was lovely what you said about our family, Marnee.”
I wished I could write a poem about it, like Cheryl, put it into words. Then I said to Mom, “The Cartchers act like they’re afraid to let their feelings show. I think they love each other, but I’m not sure any of them knows how much.”
“Maybe they don’t know how to be close, like you said,” my mother said. “But even Cheryl realizes that underneath they all really do care. Maybe they just need some encouragement. Keep trying, Marnee.”
One Sunday we took Cheryl home after church. Her parents’ cars were gone and so was Dave’s motorcycle, so I knew she’d be alone. I asked if she wanted to have lunch with us. She said she’d better make lunch for Dave. She stood in the yard and watched us go. The noisy, laughing Wingate bunch. I thought it might be nice to spend a quiet afternoon alone, like she did, but I’d probably never know.
Cheryl called that afternoon. Dave had been in an accident, and would we come down to the hospital with her?
Mom and Dad and I went to pick her up. I knew motorcycle accidents could be bad, but she hadn’t sounded as if it were a life and death situation. Still, you can’t help worrying until you get there and see how things are.
When she ran out of the house I couldn’t help thinking how different she was from when I first met her. She wasn’t hunched over anymore. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, like she was interested in life, not afraid of it.
When she got into the van she said, “Thanks so much for coming. Mom and Dad are in Las Vegas this weekend. Maybe they’ll call tonight. When they aren’t here I always think of you as my family. With your mom being our visiting teacher and your dad our home teacher, I guess I just thought of you first when there was a problem. They said at the hospital that Dave never lost consciousness. He broke some bones, but it’s not too serious. The other driver was driving a little foreign car and ran a stop sign. It’s good it wasn’t a big car. Oh, Marnee, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Mom was looking over the front seat at us with a big smile on her face. She’d never heard Cheryl chatter like that. I hadn’t either. In spite of the fact that we were on our way to the hospital, something good had happened.
Dave was sitting up in the hospital bed. His right leg was up on some sort of frame to hold the blankets off, and a sling was around his right wrist. He’d broken his shin bone just below the knee, and his wrist. He looked dazed and in pain, and his face was white. When we walked in, he asked Cheryl, “Did Mom and Dad call?”
“No, Dave.” She sat down beside him. “I came over as soon as I heard. The Wingates brought me. Brother Wingate says the home teachers can give you a blessing if you want one.” She handed him a card in an envelope. He opened it and read it, smiling at his sister shyly.
Then he looked straight at me, as if waiting for me to pass judgment on him. I said, “Hi, Dave. I’m glad … you weren’t hurt any worse. I mean, you could have been killed, but you just … broke some bones.
Talk about stupid. I’m sure that cheered him up immensely. My mother was standing there with a strained expression. Father had his best concerned look on. Cheryl started to chuckle, then to laugh out loud.
Dave started to laugh too. Finally I started laughing, too. When the laughing died down, I said, “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I meant we’re glad everything wasn’t worse.”
He sat there staring at me as if I’d said something profound. I decided not to try to say anything else. Then Brother Harker, Dad’s home teaching companion, walked in and saved me.
Dave had them give him a blessing. I always peek during the prayer, because sometimes it feels like there are angels in the room when my dad gives a blessing. Dave’s eyes were closed like a little boy’s, and there were tears on his cheeks.
On the way back home Cheryl said, “Do you know, Dave must respect you a lot.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He acts like a gentleman around you, and he listens to you,” she said. “You know that card I gave him? I wrote a poem telling him how much he means to me. I put in about how broken bones don’t matter as long as the spirit is safe. I think that’s why I laughed when you said what you did. I was so relieved it was just broken bones!”
After that Sister Cartcher came to church with Cheryl several times, and when Dave got his cast off he came on crutches. I never saw the dad. In the summer they moved away.
Cheryl wrote to me after they moved. She said her mother had better hours on her new job, so she was able to go to church more often. Dave got a scholarship to play basketball, and he was attending institute at the college he went to. She said that being friends with our family had changed their family, except her dad, but she wasn’t going to give up on him.
At the end of her letter there was a poem.

During World War II, I was in cadet training at Thunderbird Field near Scottsdale, Arizona. We would on occasion go into Phoenix on the weekend, and on Sunday afternoon, we would be finding a way back to our base. Scottsdale, Arizona, in those days was a rural suburb of Phoenix and consisted of not much more than two street crossings.
One Sunday, several of us were not able to get a ride, so we began the long walk back to the base. As we were hiking along, an old car drew up and a gentleman offered us a ride. There were more of us than could get in his old car, but there were small steps by the doors on which we could stand, and so he drove slowly along as we chatted. Several complained about the desert and how dry and dead and lifeless it was. Finally, he stopped the car and said he wanted to show us something.
He then told us he was a teacher of natural sciences, and we spent some time walking into the desert. He showed us plants and animals and living things and opened our eyes to a new world. He pointed out shriveled and supposedly dead plants.
Then he broke off a piece of a branch and held it up to us. “This,” he said, “is not dead. It is just dormant. There is life in it.” And then he explained that when the right conditions came, it would bud and bloom and become alive again.
That lesson made a deep impression on us. We had thought the desert was barren and lifeless, but he showed us that there was life there if we knew how to look for it. In the same way, the teacher must learn to see beyond the obvious and use familiar things to teach deeper truths.

I am embarrassed to admit it, but there was a time when I thought home teachers were more of a nuisance than a blessing. At such times I would find ways to absent myself from their visits so I could get my work done.
That’s why when Lincoln became our home teacher, I was especially annoyed. He never missed a visit. He always had a lesson prepared, and he faithfully carried out his home teaching duties. I appreciated his efforts but not enough to give him and his companion my undivided attention when they came for their monthly visit. Lincoln was always cordial; I was always a little rude.
One year during the early spring, I was out working in the yard. The day was clear and warm. Usually I find gardening therapeutic, but on this day I was distraught. My husband had just undergone debilitating back surgery, and as a family we faced some tough decisions.
Needing answers, I found myself kneeling in the garden. Tears flowed as I prayed fervently for direction from the Lord. If I could only feel some peace. If I could only have some assurance that our future would not be as dismal as it seemed at the moment. I prayed earnestly, speaking aloud at times, begging the Lord for hope but most of all for peace.
When I returned to the house after pleading with the Lord, I was spent. I was glad no one was home so I could get myself together. But no sooner had I taken off my work shoes when the doorbell rang. Lincoln was the last person on my mind, but when I opened the door, there he stood with his wife, minus lesson materials.
For the first time, I actually found myself happy to see him. I invited them in. We chatted, and Lincoln asked about my husband’s work, our five daughters, and other family matters. They didn’t stay long, but as they got up to go, Lincoln asked if he could leave a blessing on our home. I was grateful, wondering how he knew a prayer would be so welcome. We knelt, and as I listened to his words of comfort, he specifically asked for a blessing of peace on our home.
During that moment I felt a wave of comfort fill my soul. I knew then that the Lord was in charge and that everything was going to work out.
My prayers had been answered with clarity and assurance through Lincoln, our faithful home teacher. In honoring his stewardship and following the promptings of the Holy Ghost, he left me with a testimony of his sacred calling.

Dulcinea was the lady of a knight-errant but wasn’t sure she could be a lady. She had been the barmaid Aldonza all of her life until she met the knight Don Quixote, who gave her a new name and said she was a lady. “Take the clouds from your eyes and see me as I really am!” she yells at one point in the musical Man of La Mancha. “A lady? I’m not any kind of a lady. I am Aldonza!” Finally, at Quixote’s deathbed, Aldonza realizes that because of Quixote’s devotion, she has become the lady Dulcinea.

His love of drawing has given him a chance to cheer others and has helped him gain some interesting friends as well. When Brad was 11, he was watching a car race on television. He was stunned to see a car crash and burn in the pits. One of the men severely injured was Derrick Walker, the manager of a racing team.
“I drew a race car and sent it to him in the hospital as a get-well card. After that, he sent me a thank-you letter. We’ve been friends ever since,” says Brad. That simple correspondence has blossomed into a special relationship. Since then, Walker and Roger Penske, another racing friend, have flown Brad and a guest to major races each year. Brad’s thoughtfulness as a young boy proved that caring and concern are not limited to the physically able.

When Mother told me her Aunt Grace was coming for a visit, I groaned. “Not again!” I complained, remembering her visit last year.
“Be nice, William,” Mother said. “Once a year isn’t very often.”
“It’s too often for me!” I declared.
Aunt Grace has orange hair and headaches. All she ever says to me is, “William, must you make so much noise?”
“William,” Mother warned, “I want you to behave yourself when she comes.”
I promised to behave myself.
When Aunt Grace came, I went to the door to meet her. My dog, Stubby, went with me. He growled at Aunt Grace because I hadn’t had him very long, and he didn’t know who she was.
Aunt Grace took a step backward. She looked as if she might turn around and go home.
“Oh, dear!” she cried. “Does that beast bite?”
I nodded my head. Stubby isn’t very big, but he sounds mean. For just a moment I thought I’d let her think that he bites people. Then I decided I’d better tell the truth. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “He only bites cats. Stubby hates cats.”
Aunt Grace looked huffy. “Well, he shouldn’t bite cats!”
I remembered then that Aunt Grace had a cat, and I wondered what I should say next. This visit wasn’t getting off to a very good start. But I didn’t have to say anything because just then Mother came hurrying to the door. “Come in, Aunt Grace, come in,” she said. “We’re so glad to see you.” She leaned close to me and whispered, “Take Stubby into the kitchen right now!”
She acted as if I had let him growl at Aunt Grace on purpose. I wondered if I had.
I took Stubby into the kitchen and shut the door so he would stay there. When I went into the living room, Aunt Grace had calmed down. She looked at Mother and said, “My, my, Lucille, it looks as though we’re getting a few gray hairs, doesn’t it?”
What she meant was that Mother was getting a few gray hairs. Aunt Grace patted her own thick orange hair so we would notice that she didn’t have any gray hairs.
For a moment Mother looked as if she would like to growl like Stubby. But she smiled instead. “Let’s put your suitcase in the bedroom. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”
I followed them into the bedroom, then back to the living room where we all sat down. I behaved myself.
“How are you, Aunt Grace?” Mother asked.
“Well, my head still aches a lot.”
“That’s too bad,” Mother said. “What does the doctor say about it?”
Stubby began yelping in the kitchen. He didn’t like to be shut up there alone.
“Oh, my!” Aunt Grace exclaimed. “Does that dog have to make so much noise?”
“Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “I’ll go see what’s the matter with him.” I didn’t want to hear what the doctor said about Aunt Grace’s headaches anyway.
When I got to the kitchen, Stubby was at the back door, barking furiously. Outside, the neighbor’s big orange cat was sniffing around our garbage can. Sometimes he tips it over. I wanted to get that cat away from it, so I opened the door. “Get him, Stubby!” I commanded.
Stubby shot out after the cat. The only trouble was, the cat ran right through the open door and into our house, with Stubby right behind him. The cat streaked into the living room and dived under the sofa where Aunt Grace was sitting.
“What was that?” Aunt Grace shouted. She leaned over to see what had run past her feet. Poor Stubby was confused because her hair was about the same color as the cat’s fur. He snapped his jaws shut, and Aunt Grace’s hair came right off her head!
Stubby thought he had the cat in his teeth, and he didn’t know what to do with it. When the “cat” in his mouth didn’t move, he dropped it, backed off a few steps, and started barking at it.
Mother leaped to her feet, looking as though she might faint.
“Did Stubby scalp Aunt Grace?” I whispered.
Aunt Grace really did look scalped—but not completely. Her head was covered with very short gray hair. She tried to shrink her head down into the neck of her dress, like a turtle.
That beautiful orange hair she was so proud of was a wig!
Suddenly I was ashamed of myself. I think I’d hoped the cat would run into the house when I opened the door. I guess I’d wanted to scare Aunt Grace. Instead I’d embarrassed her. Without her wig on, she looked kind of shrunken and wrinkled and old.
I ran over to where Stubby was barking at the wig. “I’m sorry, Aunt Grace. I’ll get it for you.” I picked up the wig, but when I did, Stubby grabbed it again. He sank his teeth into it and pulled. He growled when I tried to yank it away from him. Then he shook his head from side to side.
“Oh, my!” Mother agonized.
Now she really did look as though she might faint. I didn’t dare look at Aunt Grace again. Then all of a sudden, I heard her laughing. It really caught me off guard. Somehow, I didn’t think Aunt Grace laughed at anything. But she was laughing now as though she’d never stop. She laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes with a lace handkerchief she had pinned to her dress.
“Oh, dear,” she gasped finally. “I’ve never seen anything so funny in all my born days!”
“But your nice wig, Aunt Grace,” I said, dumbfounded. “Stubby’s ruined it!”
Aunt Grace slapped at the air with one hand. “Let him have it, William. I’m sure that thing is what makes my head ache. Maybe it’s time I gave it up anyway.”
“I’m really sorry, Aunt Grace,” I said again. “I hope you’ll still stay and visit with us for a while.”
“I want to, William,” she replied, smoothing her stubby hair as best she could. “You know what? Right now I feel like having an ice-cream cone. Why don’t you and I walk down to the store and get one? Maybe we can talk about how to teach that dog of yours some manners.”
It’s funny, I thought, how wrong you can be about people sometimes.
“Let’s go!” I said, offering her my arm and really behaving myself.

Q. When did you first become involved in music?
A. My parents always had music around the house, and some of my relatives had been professional musicians. But I started taking legitimate piano lessons when I was seven.
Q. Did you immediately take to it?
A. No! I hated practicing. But taking lessons and practicing was something I was expected to do, with no other options. It turned out to be a smart thing.
Q. When and how did you make the switch from hating to play to loving to play?
A. I think it began when I started getting attention for playing. Aunt Violet would come over, and I’d be asked to play for her, and I enjoyed the attention. What kid doesn’t? Oh, and I started liking it better when I started creating.
Q. How did you start creating?
A. My teacher was great. She would give me a piece by Bach and have me learn it the way he meant it to be played, but then she’d let me improvise. I’d make it a bit jazzier here and there. I guess that was composition in embryo. She’d even let me play it both ways in recitals. That’s when piano started becoming fun.

I asked him what stood out in his mind as the singular moment in President Monson’s ministry. I expected him to mention the meeting in Görlitz, the dedication of the country in 1975, the organization of the first stake, the dedication of the Freiberg Temple, or the meeting with Herr Honecker, East Germany’s highest Communist official, when President Monson asked permission for missionaries to enter the country and other missionaries to leave the country to serve in other lands. Given the death squads that patrolled the wall, the query sounded almost ludicrous, but Herr Honecker responded, “We have watched you all these years, and we trust you. Permission granted.” Which one of these events would Brother Burkhardt choose?

Tears began to flow down his cheeks as he responded: “It was December 2, 1979.” I couldn’t register in my mind a major event attached to that date. “Tell me about it,” I said.

“It was the day President Monson came to East Germany to give my wife, Inge, a blessing.” President Monson had a weekend without an assignment, and he flew from the United States to Germany for just that purpose. Sister Burkhardt had been in the hospital for nine weeks with complications from surgery, and her condition was deteriorating. President Monson had recorded in his journal, “We joined our faith and our prayers in providing her a blessing.”8 He had gone thousands of miles with his only free time in months—to the rescue.