Gospel Story Finder

James Sweeney taught psychiatry at Tulane University in New Orleans, Louisiana. He directed the school’s biomedical computer center. He had a staff ranging from data programmers to maintenance workers. Sweeney believed he could take even a poorly educated man and, with the right motivation, make him into a competent computer operator. He convinced George Johnson, a janitor at the facility, to spend his free afternoons learning about computers.
Johnson was progressing rapidly when a university administrator told Sweeney the project must stop. All computer operators must pass an IQ test before entering the center. Johnson took the test and flunked. The results indicated he did not have the capacity to learn to type, much less run a computer.
But Sweeney convinced the university officials to allow Johnson to stay on, promising positive results. Within months, Johnson was so proficient at programming that he was asked to train new employees.
Both Johnson and Sweeney succeeded because they were willing to stick with it. As you search for a career, you may find that there is something you feel compelled to do. You will also find that it will become easier as you work at it, that it will become something that you’re good at.

One night five-year-old Jenna sat on the living room floor, combing her doll’s hair. Her dad sat in his chair, reading the newspaper. When Jenna looked up, she saw a picture in the newspaper of a girl about her own age. The girl had curly black hair, her face was smudged with dirt, and her clothes were torn. The girl looked very sad.
“Why does that girl in the newspaper look so sad, Daddy?” Jenna asked as she pointed at the picture.
“Well,” said Dad, “let’s read the story about her. She lives far away in a country where the people are fighting a war. Because of the fighting, she and her family had to leave their home and are looking for a new place to live. Many of the people there don’t have shoes or clean clothes or even enough food to eat.”
“That would make me sad, too,” said Jenna. She sat staring at the picture for a long time. Then she quietly went to her closet and pulled out her suitcase, opened it, and started to put things inside: a pair of shoes, a can of soup, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a storybook, and a pretty blue dress. Jenna carefully looked over her many dolls and chose one she thought that the girl in the picture might like. Then she wrapped the doll in a pink baby blanket and tucked it inside too.
After she closed and latched the suitcase, she pushed and pulled it until she reached her dad. As she stopped in front of him, he peeked over the edge of the newspaper. “Are you going someplace, Jenna?”
“No, Daddy,” she replied. “We need to send these things to the girl in the newspaper. I put in some food and shoes, a book, and even one of my dolls. Let’s send it tonight so the girl won’t be sad for even one more day!”
Dad put down the paper, picked Jenna up, and gave her a great big hug. Then he said, “Oh, Jenna, I’m proud of you for being so willing to help. But I don’t know where to send your suitcase of wonderful gifts. I don’t know this girl’s name, and she doesn’t have a home, so I don’t know how to find her.”
Now it was Jenna who was sad. She sat very still, thinking about what her dad had said.
Then Dad had an idea. “We could take your gifts to the homeless shelter. I’m sure some little girl right here in our town would appreciate them too. What do you think?”
Jenna thought about what her dad had told her. “OK, Daddy. But I still wish I could help the girl in the newspaper.”
Later that night, when Jenna was ready to go to bed, she picked up her doll and said, “I know something I can do for that sad girl tonight. I can pray for her.”
She knelt by her bed and prayed, “Father in Heaven, please bless the girl who is far away that she will have food and a new home and a new doll. But most of all, help her to know that she has a new friend far away and that I love her. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Jenna climbed into bed and snuggled under her quilt. Being able to help someone made her feel warm inside, and praying for that someone made her feel happy.

Later I noticed that many of the older youth became less active in the Church, and I had an absolute fear that one day I might lose my testimony. There were so few youth in the Church in Germany in those days that when they became less active, their absence was noticeable. It was frightening for my parents. They had given up everything to raise their children in religious freedom, and now they were thinking, “What can we do so that we will not lose Erich?”
One day when I was about 14 years old, my family was driving home from church. We had noticed, once again, that some of the youth had turned their backs on the Church. I said to my parents, “I want you to drag me to church until I am 21 years old, and then I will take care of myself!” I really told them that, and my mother often repeated it to me.
This concern explains why, when I was about 10 years old and attending primary school, my parents made a decision. In Germany you start a higher-education path at a young age. My parents decided not to allow me to go into higher education because they had seen many young people leave the Church while attending these schools at that time. They said, “You can go anywhere, but not to the Gymnasium [university-track school], because we don’t want to lose you to the world!”
That decision meant that I received a basic education and later a vocational education; for me, that meant a degree in business. This limited many of my professional possibilities. I completed my training when I was 18 years old and was called to serve as a missionary in Munich, Germany. I loved being a missionary.
When I finished my mission, I found myself without a lot of career options. I had finished my education. Two years after my mission, I married my wife, Christiane, and there was no chance for me to gain a university education. There was a moment when I felt sad about my parents’ decision because I felt so limited.
Then a thought came to me: “Whatever my parents did, they did to protect me. They did it out of love, and it will not be a disadvantage for me.” Even though at times it seemed to be a disadvantage in a worldly sense, I could now understand that it would never be a real disadvantage. I decided to make a career in the insurance business, and I later became an executive in the company where I worked.
One challenge for me was that I had always wanted to be a teacher, and you cannot be a teacher in Germany without a university education. However, I eventually did become a teacher—a religion teacher. I became a teacher for the Church Educational System. And in a manner of speaking, that is what I am now—a teacher. So I gained a testimony that it is worthwhile to listen to your parents, to follow their counsel, and to trust that they love you, pray for you, and know what is best for you. The desire to stay active in the Church was so strong on my part and the desire to protect me was so strong on my parents’ part that everything did come together for my good.

“When I was growing up, I had a great bishop, Bishop William F. Perschon of the Fourth Ward, one of the oldest wards in Salt Lake City. My twelfth birthday fell on a Sunday, and Bishop Perschon called me to the stand during sacrament meeting and told the congregation that I had been interviewed and was worthy to be ordained a deacon. After I was sustained, he announced, ‘We’d like to ordain him right now.’ He got a chair, and the stake president, who was there, ordained me a deacon in front of the whole ward!”

A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the mission­aries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.

December was spent meeting people, primarily through asking about rooms to rent, even if they did not need one. “We made a good many friends,” they reported.
In January 1884 they began to hold small meetings in homes, mainly at the home of a widow named Mahrburg. But then “the adversary began to wake up,” said Elder Biesinger, and their contacts started to shun them. Mrs. Mahrburg was warned by the police that if she permitted Mormons to hold another meeting in her house she would be prosecuted and the missionaries arrested. But police activity did not prevent the two elders from holding a baptismal service in the Simmering Canal on February 2 for P. Chalewa, a native of Poland, and Josephine Jellinek, an Austrian. This brought Church membership in Austria to three, Elder Hammer having baptized Paul Haslinger of Lambach on November 25 before joining Elder Biesinger.

There are those who are ready now, but there are not enough. I know of one lovely woman who is ready. She had been injured in the accident which took her husband’s life, leaving her a widow for the second time in her young life. She had not fully recovered from the mishap and had a family of young children to raise. Yet she paid tithing on the insurance settlement for her husband’s death. The clerk said to the bishop, “Sister So-and-so needs this money much more than the Church does. Don’t you think we should return it?”
The bishop asked me. I answered his question with a question: “What does Sister So-and-so need more than the blessings that come from paying tithing?” Imagine how the Lord will open the windows of heaven for this young mother because of her faith and devotion.

The same wonderful result comes when I pray for it before I give a priesthood blessing to someone who is ill or in a time of need. It happened once in a hospital when impatient doctors urged me—more than urged me—ordered me—to hurry and get out of the way so they could do their work, rather than giving me an opportunity to give the priesthood blessing. I stayed, and I did give the blessing. And that little girl I blessed that day, who the doctors had thought would die, lived. I am grateful at this moment that that day, I didn’t let my own feelings get in the way but felt that the Lord wanted that little girl to have a blessing. And I knew what the blessing was: I blessed her to be healed. And she was.

As you all know, three months ago our beloved President Joseph Fielding Smith was called home to his great reward and to other duties. He was certainly a true servant of the Lord and a prophet of God, who from his childhood lived to the best of his ability the teachings of the gospel and kept his covenants. He was a man without guile, and his passing was as near a translation as possible.
The Thursday before his death he gave a powerful address to the seminar of the Regional Representatives and Mission Representatives assembled in Salt Lake City. Sunday, July 2, the day of his death, he attended his Sunday meetings in his ward and participated as usual. He returned home, and after his evening meal he sat in his favorite chair talking to his daughter and quietly passed from mortal life.

On trips to see my grandkids, my laptop and I traveled with a desire to fulfill a bucket-list dream. I graduated in July 2022 from Brigham Young University–Idaho with a bachelor of science degree in interdisciplinary studies, a minor in English, and a certificate in TESOL (teaching English as a second language).
My journey began in 2015 when I attended an informational meeting at our stake center. I learned about BYU–Pathway Worldwide, which makes it possible to get a low-cost degree online, and I left with a grin from ear to ear and a dream taking shape. This was something I could do. Even though I had little knowledge of the computer and what online school actually entailed, I was determined to try.
My husband and I have five children, and all of them had graduated from college. Now it was my turn.
I managed a small hair salon in Ashland, Oregon, for 40 years and was taking care of my elderly mother with dementia. BYU–Pathway Worldwide was my answer for an affordable college degree and the beginnings of my next step into the future of work and volunteer service.
I started this treacherous but triumphant time with three terms of online classes, including weekly gatherings in person at the Church meetinghouse. There I learned the basics of college classes—English, math, and study skills—to prepare me for my online degree program from BYU–Idaho.
Weekly and sometimes daily, there were tears of frustration at the computer skills I needed but hadn’t yet acquired. Friends and family came to my aid and spent hours trying to help me be successful each semester. Many times during my studies, I wanted to quit. But Heavenly Father, friends, family, my teachers, and my own perseverance pushed me along. Each year of courses passed by as I pushed ahead, all the while traveling to see our grandchildren. The internet was slow on some of those trips, but I completed the courses each semester.
Six years after I started the program, I attended BYU–Idaho’s commencement ceremony, where I received my hard-earned diploma in person so that my siblings, children, and grandchildren could be there. I felt immense gratitude and happiness as I saw them all there. I could not have completed the program without their support. Proudly I walked across the stage knowing that I accomplished a dream and gained a new set of skills for whatever came next in my life.

Let me give you a story of a woman in São Paulo, Brazil. She worked while going to school to provide for her family. I use her own words in telling this story. She says:

“The university in which I studied had a regulation that prohibited the students that were in debt from taking tests. For this reason, when I received my salary I would first separate the money for tithing and offerings, and the remainder was allotted for the payment of the school and other expenses.

“I remember a time when I … faced serious financial difficulties. It was a Thursday when I received my salary. When I figured the monthly budget, I noticed that there wouldn’t be enough to pay [both] my tithing and my university. I would have to choose between them. The bimonthly tests would start the following week, and if I didn’t take them I could lose the school year. I felt great agony. … My heart ached. I had a painful decision before me, and I didn’t know what to decide. I pondered between the two choices: to pay tithing or to risk the possibility of not obtaining the necessary credits to be approved in school.

“This feeling consumed my soul and remained with me up to Saturday. It was then that I remembered that when I was baptized I had agreed to live the law of tithing. I had taken upon myself an obligation, not with the missionaries, but with my Heavenly Father. At that moment, the anguish started to disappear, giving place to a pleasant sensation of tranquility and determination. …

“That night when I prayed, I asked the Lord to forgive me for my indecision. On Sunday, before the beginning of sacrament meeting, I contacted the bishop, and with great pleasure I paid my tithing and offerings. That was a special day. I felt happy and peaceful within myself and with Heavenly Father.

“The next day I was in my office; I tried to find a way to be able to take the tests that would begin on Wednesday. The more I thought, the further I felt from a solution. At that time I worked in an attorney’s office, and my employer was the most strict and austere person I had ever met.

“The working period was ending when my employer approached and gave the last orders of the day. When he had done so, with his briefcase in his hand he bid farewell. … Suddenly, he halted, and looking at me he asked, ‘How is your college?’ I was surprised, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The only thing I could answer with a trembling voice was, ‘Everything is all right!’ He looked thoughtfully at me and bid farewell again. …

“Suddenly the secretary entered the room, saying that I was a very fortunate person! When I asked her why, she simply answered: ‘The employer has just said that from today on the company is going to pay fully for your college and your books. Before you leave, stop at my desk and inform me of the costs so that tomorrow I can give you the check.’

“After she left, crying and feeling very humble, I knelt exactly where I was and thanked the Lord for His generosity. I … said to Heavenly Father that He didn’t have to bless me so much. I only needed the cost of one month’s installment, and the tithing I had paid on Sunday was very small compared to the amount I was receiving! During that prayer the words recorded in Malachi came to my mind: ‘Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it’ (Mal. 3:10). Up to that moment I had never felt the magnitude of the promise contained in that scripture and that this commandment was truly a witness of the love that God, our Heavenly Father, gives to His children here on earth.”

The old pickup truck sat hunched like a tired soldier in the tall yellow weeds by the side of the house as if waiting dutifully for its next order to spring into action. It had seen a lot of service in its long association with Grandpa Virgil. As he gazed out at the old vehicle from his bedroom window, Nathan Daniels was remembering Grandpa Virgil. In fact, Nathan rarely thought of his grandfather without thinking of the battered green pickup. Why, it was as much a part of Grandpa Virgil as his worn, weathered smile.
Nathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gazed harder out his window at the truck that sparked so many joyous memories of his grandfather, who had died in his sleep the week before. He had been eighty-seven years old.
To Nathan, the old pickup was like a part of his grandpa’s journal—filled with stories, happy times, sad times. All those times that come out of being alive.
The night before, Nathan had overheard his father talking about selling the truck to Thomas Finch up the road. Mr. Finch had long expressed an interest in it. Nathan’s father already had a big, new ’57 pickup—and a dependable family car. The money Mr. Finch offered father for Grandpa Virgil’s pickup would buy two more milk cows to add to the eight that Nathan’s family already had.
He pulled on his trousers, tucked his nightshirt into his pants, and went outside and climbed into Grandpa Virgil’s truck. The old seat springs squeaked beneath his slight weight. The door closed him inside with a whine and a bang—it hadn’t shut quite right ever since Thaddeus, the farm bull, had plowed into it at an angry run.
Grandpa Virgil had helped to deliver a calf in the fields that day, and the ornery bull took a disliking for the intrusion of man and machine. Grandpa Virgil had grabbed Nathan and stuffed him through the window of the truck, then leaped into the back of it. Grandpa saved my life that day, he recalled, reaching outside the open truck window beside him and running his hand along the rusted tear in the door made by one of Thaddeus’s slashing horns.
Nathan sniffed the musty insides of the truck. It smelled warm and wonderful and alive, somehow. He looked at the worn seat where he always sat beside his grandfather whenever he went on his local errands.
Nathan couldn’t remember a time when Grandpa Virgil went anywhere for his own sake. It always seemed to be to help someone else—like the countless times the elderly man took groceries to Widow Farley, whose health was failing. Or the winter he helped Bishop Kelsay repair his barn roof after the big wind. Or the time Nathan rode with him to Grandma’s funeral at Potter’s Crossing. Instead of being concerned with his own grief, Grandpa Virgil had placed his free hand around his grandson’s shoulder and explained to him about the Savior’s Atonement and overcoming of death for all.
“Because of him, we will not only live again but can gain eternal life if we do all he asks of us,” Grandpa Virgil explained, his eyes bright with insight and tears.
Nathan’s eyes shifted now to the rearview mirror. The reflection in it of the back of the truck prompted his memory of the time he rode in it the day of his baptism. His father’s car had broken down, so the family piled into the old truck. Nathan sat in the open bed with his brother, Frank, and his little sister, Ashley. His father and mother rode up in the cab with Grandpa Virgil.
Nathan liked the feel of the breeze on his face. Grandpa had said that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcarters as, seeking peace, they trudged across the plains with their families to their new beginnings in these very valleys.
Peace! Nathan thought, his eyes filling with hot, stinging tears at the reality of his grandfather’s absence. Peace is what I need now to help me deal with Grandpa Virgil’s being gone. He pushed his face out the open window into a breeze that had arisen with the dawn. Maybe it was the same wind, he speculated, that cooled the tears of the handcart pioneers who had to bury their dead in shallow graves and continue on their way. That’s what Grandpa would want of me now—to continue on my way and be the best I can be. “I will, Grandpa,” he whispered out loud. “I will.”
Later that morning as everyone gathered around the breakfast table, Nathan’s father asked Frank, Nathan, and Ashley what one thing they would each like to have that had belonged to Grandpa Virgil, as a remembrance of him. Frank chose Grandpa’s fishing pole. “It’s yours,” Father agreed with a kindly smile. “And all his tackle. I know how you cherished your time with him under that old willow by the fishing hole.” He turned his smile toward Nathan’s sister. “What about you, Ash?”
“Grandpa’s scriptures,” she said after a moment’s thought, “the ones he always took to church.”
Father patted the small girl’s hand and nodded. “I think Grandpa especially wanted you to have them because he knew you’d really study them like he did.” He then turned toward his firstborn. “And you, Nathan? What would you like, son?”
Nathan hesitated, knowing how much his father needed the extra milk cows. His eyes fell, and he poked at his food. Then, mustering a smile, he looked up and said, “I really can’t think of anything, Dad.”
Father and Mother exchanged glances. They knew different. “It’s Grandpa Virgil’s old pickup, isn’t it, Nathan?”
He nodded. “But the extra milk cows—you need the money you’ll get from Mr. Finch for Grandpa’s truck to buy them.”
“I made all of you kids an offer, Nathan,” Father reminded him. “You’d like to have his old pickup, and we want you to have it. Besides—” he glanced away quickly to blink back a tear— “I saw you outside, sitting in Grandpa’s truck, and I could tell that to you that old pickup is as priceless an earthly treasure as a boy or man could ever hope for.” He leaned forward and spoke with warm finality: “The old pickup is yours.”
Before Nathan could protest, Father added, “The extra cows can wait, Nathan. We have managed without them this long, haven’t we? And if this year’s harvest is good, I just might be able to buy them then—OK?”
That night Nathan sat by his bedroom window, staring out at the green pickup in the tall weeds. It was as alive in his mind as it was in the yard—as alive as Grandpa Virgil would always be, for memories were eternal, his grandfather once said, “and things eternal never die.” Nathan had been wrestling in his mind with something ever since supper. Now a look of peace and contentment washed over him. He regarded the battered machine in the soft glow of moonlight a final moment, then went to bed.
Early the next morning, he approached his father with a determined look on his face. “I have something to say, Dad.”
“Sure,” his father answered. “What is it, son?”
“It’s something I want to do. I just feel it. It’s what Grandpa would do if he were here.”
“OK,” Father said slowly, waiting to hear his son out.
“I called Mr. Finch about the pickup—I’m selling it to him.”
“You’re what?”
“I want to be like Grandpa, Dad. I want to help.”
“I told you, Nathan, you don’t have to—”
“I want to, Dad,” Nathan interrupted. “I really want to.”
Nathan went with his father for the last ride in the pickup. Mother drove the other family truck, Frank and Ashley riding with her. After they dropped off Grandpa Virgil’s pickup at Mr. Finch’s, they would head for Mr. Anderson’s farm to purchase two more milk cows. It was hot enough that Nathan could roll down the truck window and let the wind rush across his face. He seemed to hear in his mind Grandpa Virgil saying that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcart pioneers as they trudged across the plains.
Nathan smiled and gazed affectionately around the old truck, which was still alive with memories—the kind of memories that go on forever. Just like Grandpa Virgil.

Not many months later, Mom and Dad had some exciting news. Our family was going to be sealed in the temple! My sister Shaelyn and I clapped and jumped up and down, we were so happy.
I soon learned that because I was now eight years old and had been baptized, I would need to have an interview with my bishop before I could go to the temple. I liked Bishop Jex a lot, but I thought that an interview for a temple recommend would be very important, and that made me nervous. What if I answered some of the questions wrong?
Mom came with me to the church for my interview. Bishop Jex shook my hand. “So you want to go to the temple, young lady?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Not many people have the opportunity to be interviewed for a temple recommend so soon after they are baptized,” he told me. Then he took a binder from his desk and flipped it open. Inside, he pointed to a white piece of paper with some lines on it and lots of places to write information.
“This is a limited-use recommend,” he explained. “Your name goes here, and my signature goes here. You’ll give this to the temple workers, and they will know you are worthy to be in the temple.”
Bishop Jex asked me about the things I do to keep the covenants of baptism—going to church, treating my sisters kindly, repenting when I make a mistake. “Keeping our baptism promises is what we do to be worthy to make temple promises,” he said. “It sounds to me like you are working hard to do everything you promised God you would do.” After we talked for a few more minutes, he wrote my name on the paper and handed it to me. I had my temple recommend!
After my interview with Bishop Jex, I met with the stake president because he needed to interview me and sign my recommend too. Then I was ready to go to the temple! On the day of the sealing, we drove to the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple. My sisters and I were introduced to the temple workers who would take care of us and help us get ready. The workers took us to a room where my baby sister, Breanna, colored pictures and played with blocks, and Shaelyn and I watched a movie about what being sealed would be like. I felt warm and peaceful in the temple.
We changed from our church clothes into white dresses, and then the temple workers took us to the sealing room. When we walked in, there were our grandparents, lots of aunts and uncles, and of course our mom and dad. Everyone who looked at us started to cry—even my big, tough dad.
“You three look just like angels,” Mom said.
“Do you girls know what we’re doing here today?” the temple sealer asked.
“We’re being sealed to our parents,” Shaelyn said.
“And what does that mean?” he asked.
“We can be together as a family forever,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Together forever, if what?”
“If we keep the commandments,” I said.
“Exactly. You do as you promised at your baptism—to follow Christ. And your parents keep the promises they made today in the temple to follow Christ. You should work hard each day to love and help each other. Someday, you girls will come here again and make the same promises they have made. Heavenly Father promises that when you all return to live with Him, you can be together as a family.”
After the sealer said the words of the ordinance, everyone gave us hugs. “We’re so proud of you,” my grandparents told me. “We love you so much!”
The warmth of the Spirit that I felt when I was baptized whispered to me again. I knew our family had made a good choice. I felt so happy that we could promise to follow Jesus Christ. I know He will help us live so that we can be together for eternity.

For Loralee, an 18-year-old from South Jordan, Utah, SOS began as a question: What can we do to show the world that teenagers are good? She was tired of all the negative attention teenagers were getting—especially in the media. So she decided to do something about it. During her junior year at Bingham High School, Loralee started thinking of ways young people could do something positive for the community. She came up with the idea of organizing students from around Salt Lake into service teams, one at each participating school. Schools Offering Service, or SOS, would be a huge volunteer force of students working together to serve.
“People need to know that kids are good, that they are involved in positive things,” Loralee says. “I wanted a service club in my school, so I just decided, ‘Let’s make this work.’”
But for all her enthusiasm, Loralee had a hard time getting SOS started. When she began suggesting the idea her junior year, her student government leaders wondered if she could make it work. “A lot of people said it was too big of a thing to take on,” she says.
Discouraged, Loralee put her ideas for SOS on hold. She turned her attention back to student government—she was junior class secretary—and to applying to colleges. Later that year, however, she was elected vice president of the Utah Association of Student Councils. Now she had the resources and the contacts to make SOS work.
Armed with posters and fliers, Loralee went from school to school recruiting volunteers. “I’d go to the school to tell people about SOS and get them signed up and into teams,” she says. Each school’s team would do monthly service projects like visiting retirement homes and reading to the blind.
For example, students from Copper Hills High School, a school located in a Salt Lake suburb, organized a Christmas talent show for South Valley Care Center. After performing, they decorated the care center for the elderly with handmade ornaments and handed out candy canes. Tiffany Tolbert helped coordinate Copper Hills High School’s SOS projects. She says SOS has helped her make new friends and learn to lead. Most of all, it has given her a chance to help people. “I really enjoy doing service because I want to make a difference,” she says.
And as if monthly service projects weren’t enough, twice a year SOS teams from each school combined for regional service projects like feeding the homeless.
More than 300 people joined SOS during its first year. For regional projects volunteers collected clothing, blankets, and more than 2,000 pounds of food for the homeless. They also prepared kits with brightly colored school supplies and collected teddy bears to send to developing countries. And, in only a year, SOS spread to 25 schools in the Salt Lake area. For her work with SOS, an insurance company awarded Loralee its 1999 Spirit of Community Award. Salt Lake County commissioners declared February 10 “Loralee Anderson Community Service Day.”
But Loralee insists that you don’t have to be in something like SOS to make a difference. “You don’t have to do a huge 24-hour service project to make an impact on someone’s life. The small acts of kindness, a kind word, a smile—those small acts are what count,” she says.
Small acts of service like smiling are what Loralee is known for. “She has always loved people and cared about people; she has real compassion,” says Loralee’s mother, Sandra Anderson.
In addition to Loralee’s work with SOS, she has volunteered with special-needs children and worked with Peer Leadership, a statewide organization that teaches youth to say no to drugs. She also has held many student government positions and has served as president of her Laurel class.
Loralee says she just wants to follow the Savior’s example. She says her love of the gospel deepens as she serves. “For some reason, when you are serving, humility comes upon you. You can show Heavenly Father that you love Him. My testimony has grown so much through service,” she says.
Now a freshman at BYU, Loralee is considering majoring in, what else, youth leadership. She wants to inspire youth to focus on what they each can do to make the world better. “I think people underestimate the power they can have. Individual deeds do impact lives,” she says. “The youth are going to take the world by storm.” A storm of service, that is.

We used to make monthly visits to a lovely young woman who lived with her parents. Her father, also a member, was ill and would ask us to pray for him. After his daughter moved away, he wanted us to keep coming. Twice we took him to the hospital, and after he came home, we visited him for almost three years.
The shipping company he had once worked for had retired him because of his illness. They owed him quite a bit of money, which he needed very much. He had appealed to his former supervisors in vain. I offered to write a letter on his behalf to the superintendency, the company’s highest office. After praying for inspiration, I carefully composed a message describing his difficult situation. We prayed and also put his name on the temple prayer roll.
Truly the Lord is willing to work wonders for his faithful children! A short time afterwards, he received word that the company would pay all of his expenses retroactively. He was able to live comfortably during his final days. His wife, who at one time didn’t speak to us, became friendly and eventually joined the Church. She confided to us that she had decided to hear the gospel because of our faithfulness in visiting her family. Less than a month after her baptism, her husband died, and we stayed near her during that difficult time.

“By the time I was 12,” says Taiana, “my desire for a temple marriage became more and more firm. It was more than just an objective I had to achieve. I wanted to become a person worthy to marry in the temple. So I worked toward it, especially through Personal Progress. And there were lots of people helping me—my parents, my Young Women leaders—and many Church activities to help keep me on track.”

Tururarii, on the other hand, has not been a member for most of his life. He joined the Church at the age of 25. “But having received the gospel,” says Tururarii, “and learning more and more about the blessings, I immediately set a goal to be married in the temple.”

Tururarii and Taiana met during choir rehearsals for an Easter concert fireside put on by the Church. They performed with the choir, became better acquainted, and began dating. But it was at a young single adult conference on a neighboring island that they decided they should be married. When they returned from the conference, they talked to their bishops and began making plans to be married in the Papeete Tahiti Temple.

Tururarii explains the closeness that working toward a temple marriage brought into their lives: “Since I joined the Church, it has always been my goal and my desire to be married in the temple. Then when I met Taiana, it became our goal and our desire, together.”

We were swimming in the pool at a hotel and found a pocket watch at the bottom of the pool. We asked a lot of people if the watch belonged to them. They all said no. At the end of the day, we felt like we should go to the pool one more time with the watch. There was a family in the pool. We asked if the watch was theirs. They said it was, and they had been looking for it all week. It belonged to their dad, and it cost a lot of money. I’m glad we listened to the Holy Ghost so the watch could be returned.
Huntley, Sarabeth, and Caelin C., ages 10, 9, and 7, California, USA
Illustration of watch by Joe Flores

Kip pulled out of his book of remembrance a sheet of photocopy paper containing the imprints of two hands, one large and the other small. “This is one of my favorite pictures,” he said. “I was about ten when my dad and I were playing around with a copy machine and took these pictures of our hands.” Looking again at the difference in the sizes of the handprints, he added, “Now I’m taller than my dad.”

“What’s the matter?” Phebe asked.
“Just thinking,” Sadie answered.
“About Christmas?”
“Yes,” Sadie sighed. “This morning I was all excited about the day but now it doesn’t seem like Christmas with Papa plowing, Mama milking, and us working in here just like any other day. Shouldn’t we do a little more than what Mama has planned to celebrate this Christmas?”
“Well, you know what Mama said.”
“I know. There’s too much work, not enough extra anything, so no gifts, and we’ll have a small Christmas dinner. Just an ordinary day,” Sadie repeated mechanically. “But this is our very first Christmas in the Salt Lake Valley—maybe the very first time anyone has celebrated Christmas here! It seems as though it should be special.”
Phebe lifted the black cooking kettle out of the big pot. “Then let’s make it special!”
“Sure, but how?” Sadie asked sadly.
Before Phebe could answer someone walked past the cabin whistling, “Come, Come Ye Saints.” Suddenly Sadie’s face beamed. “I have an idea,” she said and jumped up and ran to the window. “Where’s Abigail?”
“Out getting wood, why?” Phebe asked.
“To make sure this Christmas will be special!”
Phebe laughed. “And how are you going to make it special?”
“Not me, we! Let’s get Abigail!”
“But Mama said to start the bread before she got back from milking.”
“I’ll get it started while you help Abigail. Now hurry!” Sadie grabbed the kettle as Phebe shrugged her shoulders and threw on her shawl.
“This better be good,” Phebe said as she disappeared through the door.
Soon she was back carrying an armload of wood, with Abigail tagging along behind. They dumped the wood by the fireplace and turned to Sadie.
“Now what?” Phebe asked.
“Sit down and I’ll tell you. Do you remember what made the trip across the plains easier?” she asked.
“The oxen,” Phebe laughed.
“Now, be serious,” Sadie said. Then she continued, “Remember those terrible dust storms, and the times when we stumbled through buffalo tracks with the sun burning down on us? Remember how we’d all want to just give up, and then what would always pull us through?”
“Someone would start singing Brother Clayton’s hymn,” answered Abigail, whose puzzled face showed she didn’t understand what these questions had to do with Christmas.
“Right!” said Sadie excitedly. “Through the whole chain of wagons you could hear ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ ringing out over the empty prairie.”
“What does that have to do with Christmas?” asked Phebe, just as puzzled as her little sister.
“Well if ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ could make those hard times seem almost good, a song could surely make this Christmas special,” Sadie replied.
“What song?” her sisters asked together.
“Our song!” Sadie could hardly contain her excitement. “We’ll compose our own Christmas song and sing it for Mama and Papa after dinner tonight.” Sadie held her breath as she waited for their response.
Abigail and Phebe looked at each other, then back to their sister, their eyes brightening. “So far this has been just another Saturday, not like other Christmases,” Phebe said. “Let’s try it!”
“All right,” Abigail agreed.
Just then the door opened and Mama lugged the heavy milkpail into the cabin. “Girls, your father wants you to unhitch the oxen for him. He had to go help the Carters.”
“Right now?” Abigail asked.
“Come on,” Sadie whispered. “We can compose out there.”
Hurriedly the three girls put on their shawls and left.
“What should our song be about?” Abigail asked when they were outside.
Sadie’s eyes were far away in thought. “It has to be a song about Christmas and love.”
“Well, like Mama says, all we have this Christmas is love.”
“Then we’ll call it ‘Christmas Love.’”
“I have an idea too,” Abigail almost shouted. “We could sing our song and then tell the story of Jesus.”
Phebe’s eyes sparkled as she said, “I never thought I’d be excited about a song for the first Christmas in our new home, but I am!”
“Come on,” Sadie called as she started running. “Let’s get the oxen unhitched and put in the barn.”
After the oxen were bedded down and fed, the girls worked on their song in the barn. They worked quickly so Mama wouldn’t miss them and Papa wouldn’t find them still there.
That night when the family gathered around the table, the girls were hardly able to sit still as they ate their dinner.
“I told you this wild turkey I shot would make it Christmas,” Papa said with a smile.
“Turkey isn’t all there is to Christmas,” Abigail said laughingly.
“Then what’s causing all the excitement?”
“It’s Christmas!” they all shouted at once.
“You didn’t seem to think it was so exciting when we all had to work today,” Mama said, her eyes twinkling.
“I guess we finally caught the spirit of Christmas,” Sadie answered.
Mama wrinkled her forehead, but she didn’t ask any questions. “Let’s get these dishes —” she began, but before she could finish, Abigail, Phebe, and Sadie were busy clearing off the table.
“What about pudding?” Papa protested.
“Let’s have it later,” Sadie suggested.
“What’s going on?” Mama asked. “All through dinner you girls have been acting like bottled thunder.”
“I think it’s about to be uncorked,” their father answered with a wry smile on his face.
“We have a surprise!” Abigail could no longer keep the secret. “A Christmas surprise just for you!”
A smile replaced the tired lines in their mother’s face. “Well, what is it?” she asked.
“Something to make Christmas special. Please sit down,” Sadie instructed. “We started out with just a song, but now we have a whole program.”
Slowly the three girls began to sing their song, “Christmas Love.” When they finished singing, Abigail and Phebe went on humming while Sadie told the Christmas story.
“Once an angel visited a woman named Mary and told her that she would be the mother of Jesus. The angel also visited Joseph who was to be her husband and told him the wonderful news.
“They had to go to Bethlehem to pay taxes and while they were there the baby was born in a manger. It was such a beautiful and important event that even the angels seemed to sing.
“There were some shepherds who heard the angels and they were so excited they traveled through the night to see the little Christ Child.
“Later a star guided some wise men who went to visit Jesus. All of this was a part of the very first Christmas, a Christmas of love.”
When Sadie finished the story, the girls began to softly sing the song again.
“Christ was born in a lowly stable
But a stable filled with love. …”
Then Phebe said, “And this is a Christmas of love. We have a new, safe home and we have the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“And a Christmas song from our very own daughters,” Papa said, as he dished up the pudding.
“This is the best Christmas I can remember,” Mama said, her eyes misty.
Mama is pleased, Sadie thought, and a warm, tingly feeling tickled her spine.

Marla rolled onto her back and looked through the stretching pine branches above her at the feathery clouds. She breathed deeply of the mountain air and tried to capture the sounds, and the smells all at the same time.
“Come on, Marla,” her father called as he began pulling tent stakes out of the ground. “Time to pack up.”
“How come camping trips never last long enough?” his daughter asked.
“I’ve always wondered that myself,” Dad replied, “but they do end and I need your help.”
“Just five more minutes?” Marla pleaded. “I want to be able to remember it all winter long.”
Dad stopped his packing and looked up to where Marla stared. “You should soon be helping your mother with the dishes,” he reminded her.
“Please,” Marla asked again.
“Well, all right, if I may join you for a minute.”
“Sure,” Marla agreed and moved to one side of the blanket to make room.
“What do you see up there?” her father asked as he lay down beside her.
“Pine trees with stickly green needles, a blue sky with white clouds and singing birds swooping through it all,” Marla answered, sighing.
“It’s a miracle,” Dad said.
“What do you mean?” Marla looked at her father.
“Well, look around us. It’s all part of a big plan. Everything functions separately, yet works together to make a whole big universe.”
Marla thought about that as she watched clouds floating like ships in the blue sky. Finally she spoke, “Yes, I guess it is a kind of miracle. A great miracle, really. But it all happens so quietly around us that we usually forget how miraculous the plan is.”
Marla felt as though her mind would burst with so many beautiful thoughts and sights and sounds being experienced at once.
“What do you think the greatest miracle in the world is?” Dad asked.
“That’s easy,” Marla answered, “the sky. Look how it goes on and on forever, always changing. Today it’s blue, but some days it’s white or gray. Snow and rain fall from it and at night the stars are suspended in it.”
“But is it Heavenly Father’s greatest miracle?” Dad asked.
Marla thought for a minute. “I don’t know.”
“Well, our five minutes have passed. You think about it while we pack, and when you have an answer, let’s talk about it again.”
“All right,” Marla agreed, helping Dad fold the blankets.
Soon they were back home and settled, but Marla didn’t forget what she and Dad had talked about on their camping trip. As she walked to and from school each day she watched for miracles. Everything seemed like a miracle. Even cars and airplanes were man-made miracles. But she couldn’t decide what the greatest miracle was.
Then one day she noticed that the leaves were changing colors on the trees. She was so excited that she could hardly wait to tell Dad. Hurriedly she ran the rest of the way home.
“Mother! Mother! I know what the greatest miracle is,” she cried, rushing into the kitchen. “Where’s Dad? I want to see if I’ve guessed right.”
“He’s in the backyard,” Mother answered.
Marla dropped her books down on the table. “I’ve been looking for three weeks, but now I’ve got it, and I’m going to tell Dad.”
“Calm down,” Mother cautioned, “or he won’t be able to understand a word you say!”
“I know what the greatest miracle is,” Marla declared without even waiting for Dad to say hello. “It’s the seasons, isn’t it—the way the leaves change colors and then the snows and then the way everything comes to life again? That’s the greatest miracle.”
Dad smiled. “That is a great miracle, probably one of the greater miracles, but I don’t think it’s the greatest,” he said.
“But there are so many miracles!” Marla protested.
Dad gave Marla a hug. “I’m proud of you for still thinking about miracles. You keep looking and you’ll find the right answer,” he assured her.
Now Marla was more determined than ever. She was curious to know what could possibly be a greater miracle than the sky or the seasons. So the next Saturday she looked extra hard.
“Don’t bother me, Snowy,” she said to her cat as it brushed her legs for attention. “I’m looking for a great miracle.” But as she spoke, she noticed that Snowy wasn’t trying to play. The cat darted across the patio and into the window well so Marla followed her. “Oh, my goodness, Snowy!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to look more closely at what she saw. “You have some brand new kittens! They must have been born last night.”
Marla watched with a quiet kind of excitement as Snowy licked and fed her kittens.
“Five little kittens and all of them just like you,” Marla whispered as one furry ball tried to open its eyes.
Just then Dad came out of the house. “Look!” Marla whispered. “I know this must be it.”
Dad leaned over the window well and peered in, smiling.
“Birth,” he said, “is part of the miracle. But there’s another very important part.”
“But what can be more miraculous than new life? I remember when little Jason was born. One day we didn’t have a Jason and the next day we did. That has to be the miracle.”
“It is, it really is,” Dad said. “But the other part of the miracle is even greater. And you are getting very, very close to it.”
“How close?” Marla asked.
“Very close!” Dad answered, smiling.
Marla’s face drew into a questioning frown, then suddenly eased into a wide smile. “I know!” she exclaimed. “Not only are we born but we’ll go on living forever—all of us will.”
“Yes,” Dad agreed, “but now can you guess what the rest of the miracle is?”
“I think I know,” Marla said, her eyes sparkling with wonder at her discovery of the rest of the greatest of all miracles. “We are Heavenly Father’s spirit children. Is that it?”
“That’s it!” Dad said, hugging Marla close to him. “And just as you and Jason are our earthly children, we are His heavenly ones. You once lived with Him like you do with you mother and me now, and together we can all live with Him again. That is the greatest miracle of all.”
Marla felt very satisfied and happy. It had been exciting to discover what the greatest miracle is, but at the same time she had a strange feeling that she had really known about it all along.