Gospel Story Finder

I stood in line at a gas station. In front of me, a mother with two small children asked for $3 worth of gas and two vanilla ice cream cones.
At first glance I could see that they had very little. The children were barefoot and wearing tattered clothing.
I heard the woman place what seemed to be an infinite number of coins on the counter to pay her bill.
After paying for my gas, I walked out and glanced at the mother’s car. It was an older model that likely got very poor gas mileage.
I felt a twinge of sympathy for this mother of two, but I started my motorcycle and went on with my day.
Less than a minute into my ride on the highway, a voice came to me: “Go help her.” The prompting came twice.
I shook my head, thinking that she had probably already left. What would I say to her anyway?
The voice came clearly a third time: “Go help her!”
I turned back toward the service station, trying to figure out what I was going to say if she was still there.
Upon arriving, I saw that her car doors were open. She was in the driver’s seat, and her two small children were enjoying their ice cream in the backseat.
I offered a small prayer, asking Heavenly Father what I should say. The same voice said to me, “Introduce yourself and ask if she needs help.” I approached her car and introduced myself. I shared with her that I felt impressed to ask her if she needed help.
She began to cry and said, “I just finished praying to Jesus, asking Him to send someone to help me.”
Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. I paid to fill up her tank with gas and gave her the phone number of someone in our elders quorum who was hiring at the time. I do not know what happened with this young mother afterward, but I am grateful I followed the prompting to help her.

Switzerland is a small country in Europe that is known for its beautiful, high mountains. Over six hundred years ago, Switzerland was not free but belonged to its larger neighbor, Austria. The Swiss people longed to be free. One patriotic man, William Tell, was a strong woodsman. He was also the best marksman with a bow and arrow in his canton (small state or province). He had a young son whom he loved dearly.
Albert Gessler was the Austrian in charge of Switzerland. To upset and anger the Swiss people, he put his hat on a pole in the town square and demanded that they bow down to it. When William Tell refused, Gessler arrested him and put him in jail. A short time later, Gessler tied Tell’s son to a tree and set an apple on his head. He had Tell brought to him and told the prisoner that if he could shoot the apple off his son’s head, he could go free.
William Tell very carefully chose the arrow he placed on his bow. Slowly he aimed. The boy, trusting his father, stood tall and still. The arrow flew, cutting the apple in half. Gessler couldn’t believe his eyes, but he let William Tell go free.
When William Tell chose his arrow, he chose a very straight one. He would never have chosen a scuffed or crooked one. He checked the shafts for balance, the heads for sharpness. It was important that the arrow went where he aimed it.
Today, the term “straight arrow” means a person who always tells the truth and follows the rules. He or she can be depended on in time of trouble and when it is important to do a job well. He doesn’t have to be watched all the time, because he obeys his leaders and never flies off at some target of his own.
When a leader or boss chooses a person for an important job, he looks at each person carefully and chooses a straight arrow. Others will have to depend on that person. The boss doesn’t want a crooked arrow, someone who might lie, or cheat, or steal, or fail to do his very best.
The person who makes arrows, called an arrowsmith, chooses good materials. Even so, sometimes an arrow can become warped or its tip might become dull. Then the arrowsmith must straighten it or sharpen the tip.
Like everyone else, we Latter-day Saints, may sometimes get “warped,” and lose our way in living the gospel. We may forget to obey Heavenly Father’s commandments. Or we may forget to listen to what He wants us to do. He and His Son, Jesus Christ, are the master arrowsmiths. They can rebuild and straighten our lives if we let them. Through Jesus Christ’s sacrifice of His life, we can be straight arrows in life, if we repent.
When Heavenly Father, like William Tell, needs an arrow for an important job, He looks for a straight arrow, a person alert and ready to do His will.
Are you one of these arrows?

Let me answer from my own experience. In 1963 I was called to preside over the Scottish Mission. When I arrived, I made a tour of all the branches and could see that the members, many of whom were new converts, were still learning the patterns of the gospel and why we do things the way we do. I realized that what these branches needed was the example of members who were well seasoned in Church experience—priesthood and Relief Society knowledge and operating procedures. I thought of the vast numbers of healthy retired people sitting in rocking chairs on sunny patios when they still had many years of productivity in them. I could visualize how successful we could be in Scotland if we had some of those experienced retired couples in some of our branches. What a help they would be!

So I wrote to some of our retired friends in California, encouraging them to come on a mission and suggesting that they indicate on their missionary applications that they would enjoy serving in Scotland. Seven couples responded to my encouragement.

In addition, as a mission president I submitted my request to the Missionary Department for couple missionaries. Since assignments for missionary service are made by inspiration through the Brethren, there was no guarantee that these couples from California would be able to serve with me. However, to our mutual joy, these seven couples were assigned to the Scottish Mission, and we put them to work in these branches. Their influence was just as successful as I had hoped it would be. What a wonderful resource they were!

Some time before I was called as a General Authority, I faced a personal economic challenge that persisted for several years. At times this challenge threatened the welfare of my family and me, and I thought we might be facing financial ruin. I prayed for some miraculous intervention to deliver us. Although I offered that prayer many times with great sincerity and earnest desire, the answer in the end was “No.” Finally I learned to pray as the Savior did: “Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). I sought the Lord’s help with each tiny step along the way to a final resolution.

There were times when I had exhausted all my resources, when I had nowhere or no one to turn to at that moment. More than once I fell down before my Heavenly Father, begging in tears for His help. And He did help. Sometimes it was nothing more than a sense of peace, a feeling of assurance that things would work out. I might not see how or what the path would be, but He gave me to know that, directly or indirectly, He would open a way. Circumstances might change, a new and helpful idea might come to mind, some unanticipated income or other resource might appear at just the right time. Somehow there was a resolution.

Though I suffered then, as I look back now, I am grateful that there was not a quick solution to my problem. The fact that I was forced to turn to God for help almost daily over an extended period of years taught me truly how to pray and get answers to prayer and taught me in a very practical way to have faith in God. I came to know my Savior and my Heavenly Father in a way and to a degree that might not have happened otherwise or that might have taken me much longer to achieve. I learned that daily bread is a precious commodity. I learned that manna today can be as real as the physical manna of biblical history. I learned to trust in the Lord with all my heart. I learned to walk with Him day by day.

A couple of weeks ago, I was riding in the car with one of my sons and he turned and asked me, "Dad, what do you think I need to do to be a better man?" I was humbled and was grateful that my son was asking for my advice and counsel. I was honored that he was following the pattern of Nephi in asking me, his Father, what I thought he should do. As I gave him advice and counsel, as a Father, I felt an overwhelming responsibility to follow the promptings of the spirit as we counseled together about his life.

I grew up with the feeling that the gospel was true. I had strong feelings about the priesthood, partly because we had to rely on it so often. In Bunkerville, we didn’t have any trained medical people. One family in a neighboring town had a telephone. If there was an emergency, someone had to go four or five miles to call for help from St. George or Las Vegas. As a child, I once rolled off the bed onto a gallon pickle jar that shattered and sliced my back open. A doctor came down from another town to sew me up. Another time my brother Doug had sunstroke. In my mind, sickness was always connected with the priesthood because we had no medical doctors. I remember my mother saying to us, “It’s hard to get a doctor, but we always have the priesthood.” I grew up with a deep awareness of the power of the priesthood. In a spiritual way, I had an ideal childhood because the gospel was the center of our lives.

But there are others in our everyday lives. My most memorable one had to do with modesty.
Some years ago, my daughter was invited by her boyfriend (now husband) to attend a very important work event that needed a reasonably formal dress. They went shopping and came back with this very cute but totally immodest dress. This was on a Tuesday, and the function was on the Friday. They had a minor request of me. “Please, adapt this for it to be modest enough for me to wear comfortably,” my daughter asked. Their trusting eyes and faith in me was touching but misplaced. I was effectively a non-sewer.
After succumbing to a panic attack, I figured that I was in the same boat as Nephi had been. Maybe not. I did at least own a good sewing machine. I beseeched the Lord for help, and quickly. I was a working mom, so I only had a few evenings to perform a miracle.
We found some fabric that could help. This was a strapless dress with a laced-up bodice showing lots of back. Straps were made, a bolero jacket covered bare shoulders, but the back was still a problem. I managed to fashion an insert to go behind the lacing, and at the end of it, it looked pretty good. We dubbed it the “Minnie Mouse” dress, as the black on red spots reminded us of her. That dress represented a very spiritual experience for me. I prayed at almost every stitch! The Lord gave me inspiration where I had no knowledge and guided my hands every inch of the way. Now I wonder why I didn’t call on more knowledgeable sewing friends. The idea didn’t occur to me. As a result, I had the most tangible experience of relying on the Lord to date.

While serving as a stake president, I visited a man in his home who had walked a difficult path back to full fellowship in the Church. He was on his deathbed and in the care of hospice. I will always remember his final words to me during that visit. As I held his hand, he looked at me with a peace that transcended the seriousness of his situation and simply said, “President Sabin, I am not afraid to die—not anymore.”

Those words “not anymore” spoke volumes; for in spite of his earlier protestations that he did not need the Church, those additional qualifying words revealed that he had indeed been afraid but now felt clean and prepared. “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.”

When I was on my mission in Ireland, I was sent with my companion to open up a city called Tralee, which had no members. One day a woman answered her door and surprisingly called us “elders” and invited us in. I noticed she had not looked at our name tags, so I asked her what she knew about the Church. She smiled and proudly told us she was a member but had been inactive for years. I asked her if she still believed, and she told us that yes, she still had a testimony.

When I asked her why she had gone inactive, she explained that she had never been able to break her smoking habit and that every time she went to Church and the members smelled the smoke on her clothes and breath, she was made to feel guilty and unwanted. She then turned her head away for about sixty seconds. When she looked back at us, she had tears streaming down her cheeks. With her lip quivering, she sweetly and humbly replied, “I sure wish everybody’s sins smelled.”

Didn’t Jesus invite us all to come as we are? Didn’t Jesus say, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her” (John 8:7)? Didn’t Jesus teach us to “leave the ninety and nine and go after [the one]” (Luke 15:4)?

My ping-pong match with my friend Erfrey was interrupted by three knocks on his front door. I heard an unfamiliar voice with a strange accent of Hiligaynon, our native dialect.
Erfrey rushed toward the door, apparently expecting them. “Come on!” he said to me. “I want you to meet my friends!”
They were wearing white shirts and ties and had come to teach Erfrey’s younger brother to prepare him for baptism. I spoke to them in English, and they were impressed enough to ask if I would interpret during their discussion with Erfrey’s brother.
I thought my role would just be the passive interpreter. But I became an active participant as their words took root in my heart. I had an unexplainable feeling, a lingering happy feeling I had never experienced before.
After that experience, I asked the missionaries to teach my family. But when they came, my parents took a stand that a Mormon would never have a place in our family.
I wanted to be baptized, so I put my faith to work. I fasted and prayed. I strived to be an example to them.
Two years later, through my own simple faith and the loving support of Heavenly Father, my father’s heart was finally softened and he signed my baptismal consent. I am happy to say that my testimony of the restored gospel is my most prized possession.
Arnel M., Negros Occidental, Philippines

The 49 Montgomery Alabama Stake youths piled out of their vehicles. Rakes, shovels, and axes were unloaded from auto trunks as they began to tackle the weeds, leaves, and debris around the old Magnolia chapel. They were continuing a tradition of service for the Church that stretches back nearly 80 years to the night of Saturday, May 8, 1897, when Henry McCoy and Grover Surginer passed a group of riders hurrying through the dark, wooded lane. The men’s faces were covered, which caused the pair to wonder.
“I recognized one of the horses, though. It belongs to John Garrett,” one of them commented as they continued to the bowery erected for the conference sessions being held in Magnolia.
When the men got to the crossroads where the bowery was located, they discovered that the seats, made of planks and sawed blocks, had been heaped together and ignited. The two men quickly put out the blaze.
The next day the members met again in conference despite the blackened ends of the seats. For them, persecution was nothing new. The missionaries had been tarred and feathered before and had eggs thrown at them. Converts reaped the ire of relatives and neighbors alike, but they didn’t quit. Service to the Church has continued into modern times.

“I have a surprise!” Ema (Mom) said when she picked Rasmus up from school. They walked together down the narrow streets lined with colorful buildings.
“Rosolje for dinner?” Rasmus guessed hopefully. They had eaten it just last week for his seventh birthday. But he could always eat more beet-and-potato salad with pickled herring!
Ema shook her head with a smile. “I met two young women on the bus this morning. Missionaries. They’re coming to visit tonight to talk about their church.”
Rasmus looked up curiously. He had never met missionaries before.
He was in his bedroom playing with his fire truck when the missionaries came. “Tere! Tere! Hello!” they greeted Ema as they walked into the apartment. They removed their heavy boots and put on the house slippers Ema kept for visitors. Ema led them to the orange couch. But Rasmus hung back by the door.
The taller woman noticed him and smiled. Her black name tag said Õde Craig (Sister Craig). “Your mother told us you just had a birthday,” she said. “We brought you something.” She held out a small card. Rasmus looked at it closely.
It was a picture of a man. He wore a white robe, and his hand was stretched out.
“Do you know who that is?” Õde Craig asked.
Rasmus didn’t know the man’s name. He had never seen this picture before. But the man looked kind and powerful. “I think he’s a king!” Rasmus said.
Both missionaries smiled. “Yes, He is! He is the King of kings! His name is Jesus Christ.” Õde Craig pulled out a book with a blue cover. “And this is a book that teaches about Him, the Mormoni Raamat. The Book of Mormon.”
He and Ema began reading the Book of Mormon every day before he went to school. During school, Rasmus and his class went on nature walks and then took a nap. After school, he and Ema often met with the missionaries. They talked with the missionaries about what they had read in the Book of Mormon. Sometimes Ema fed everyone kringel, braided cinnamon bread. On weekends he and Ema rode bikes or picnicked on the beach. Sometimes they took long walks in the forest or along their favorite river.
On one of those forest walks, Ema told him she wanted to be baptized. Rasmus grinned. The missionaries had asked Ema to pray about whether or not to get baptized. It sounded like she had gotten her answer!
“And I know just where I’m going to be baptized,” she told him with a smile. “Can you guess?”
Rasmus thought about the missionaries’ lesson on baptism. They had held up a picture showing Jesus with John the Baptist in a river. …
“The river!” he exclaimed. “Our favorite river.”
One week later, Rasmus stood on the riverbank with the missionaries and some other people from church. Ema was ready to be baptized. She went all the way under the water, just like Jesus did. When she came up, she was smiling. Rasmus wanted to remember this moment forever—the blue water, the white wildflowers in the green grass, and his mother’s smile.
“What did getting baptized feel like?” he asked later, when everyone was eating cookies the missionaries had brought.
“Wonderful,” she told him. “I wanted to stay in the river forever. I feel so new!” She hugged him tight.
“For my next birthday, I want to be baptized, just like you and Jesus,” he told her. “I want to feel new too!”

One reader, Lynna Shin, now a student at BYU, faced the same dilemma about dealing with her family, who are not members, and attending Church meetings. She wrote, “My parents needed to know I was still their daughter. My spending so much time with church families made them feel they were ‘not good enough.’ I began suggesting Sunday activities like a drive into the mountains or a walk as an alternative to shopping malls, amusement parks, or movie theaters. Sometimes it worked, but not always. But I still spend time with my family because this is what the Lord asks of us. Trying to avoid my family for fear I was becoming a ‘bad’ Latter-day Saint only estranged me from my parents, making it harder for me to share with them the joy of the gospel.”
Lynna also suggested reading Mark 2:27, where Jesus teaches that the Sabbath day is for our benefit. We do not have a list of dos and don’ts like the ancient Jews had for observing the Sabbath. Instead we feel it is a day to worship and be with loved ones.

Sue didn’t start out as a leader. She learned by trial and error. Growing up, Sue was just part of the crowd until the crowd started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a perspective different than that of her friends.

“In my second year of high school, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but I couldn’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, you don’t need to do those things.’ “

That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to be a positive influence on her friends. “Sue has always sought the good. She has strengthened the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been blessed.”

When I was older I found work in a dressmaking shop, and learned how to make nice clothes for myself and for Mama and my little sisters too. Soon after this Jody, my childhood sweetheart, asked me to marry him. Looking closely at the temple-sawdust pincushion one day, I knew I wanted to be married in the temple. But after nearly forty years in building, the temple still was not completed, so Jody’s father solved the problem by giving us railroad tickets to Logan. On a beautiful June day we were married in the Logan Temple for time and all eternity.
The pincushion made from temple sawdust traveled with us to our home in Salt Lake City. It went with us wherever we lived. And it has been a reminder to each of our eight children that the temple is a sacred and important place. Papa was right. It has, indeed, been “a fine thing to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”

Uncle Bob is my dad’s youngest brother. Dad was about seventeen when Uncle Bob was born. Dad always had a special love for him. No matter where else Dad lived, he’d get so lonesome to see Uncle Bob that he couldn’t stand it. He’d go home to his parents’ place just to see him. One winter Dad even walked partway across the Teton mountains to get there. A blizzard came up, and Dad nearly lost his way. He wanted nothing so much as to give in to the warmth that occurs as a person begins to freeze to death. Only the thought of seeing Uncle Bob made him continue.
As he was growing up, Uncle Bob often came to our home. He helped Dad with the haying and the fieldwork. He carried wood for my mother. He really enjoyed eating all the delicious food Mother set in front of him.
The rest of Dad’s family had been converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after Dad was grown and had left home. Uncle Bob was the youngest member of Dad’s family, and he had a special testimony of the Church.
One day Uncle Bob stacked an armload of wood and turned to my mother. The spirit was strong in his heart as he began to explain the things he had been learning in church and through study of the scriptures and personal prayer. He told her many things about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about Joseph Smith praying to know which church was true and discovering that not one of the churches in his day had the fullness of the gospel. Uncle Bob told her how Joseph Smith had been privileged to see God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and to know for himself that They had bodies of flesh and bone, just as he had. Uncle Bob’s eyes never wavered from my mother’s face as he bore his strong testimony.
Mother didn’t believe a boy so young as Uncle Bob could know these things. She became angry at the words she was hearing and told Uncle Bob, “You may come back to my house anytime, but never mention these things here again.”
Uncle Bob loved my parents and wanted to come as often as he could. He agreed. “Aunt Ruth, I will never mention these things again in your home, I promise. I also promise you that someday you will ask me to baptize you.”
Now, this was many years ago, when young people did not speak their minds. They were expected to show respect to those who were older than they. It took a lot of courage for Uncle Bob to speak to my mother this way.
We spent many happy times with Uncle Bob. He stayed with us occasionally while our parents went to Wyoming to visit my mother’s family. He never broke his promise to my mother by again speaking of the great truths of the gospel or bearing his testimony, not even when both of our parents were away.
One year Dad was farming the Phillipi place in Mackay, Idaho. Uncle Bob came to stay for two weeks. My other sister, Jeannie, made spice cake every day. We whipped a half-gallon canful of pure cream for the topping. The smells seemed to curl around the corners of the room and out to the fields where Jack and Uncle Bob worked. It made your mouth water, it was such a tangy odor. But not even then, with a stove full of wood and a stomach full of sweet spice cake did Uncle Bob break his vow to my mother.
The years kept going by, one by one. Uncle Bob grew up, married, and had six sons and one daughter. He always stayed close to the Church. He knew that it was true. He held many callings over the years. Wherever he was needed, he served, becoming in later years a stake patriarch and a temple worker in the Portland Temple.
In 1971 Uncle Bob was fifty years old. My mother was sixty-four that year, and she was living in Powell, Wyoming. She telephoned Uncle Bob.
It’s curious—after all those years, she still remembered! Mother said, “Will you come, Bob. Will you come and baptize me?” On April 15, 1971, forty years after my uncle had made his promise to her, he baptized my mother a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Prior to my introduction to the restored gospel, I spent much of my time playing football, including games on the Sabbath day. Even though I had been brought up to have respect for the Lord’s day, it was through applying the principle after I came in contact with the Church that I gained an understanding of the doctrine and its blessings. Withdrawing from the Sunday league team was one of the significant sacrifices that led to my conversion. It helped me appreciate the value of the gospel in my life.
Three years later, when work commenced on building the chapel in Norwich, England, I also withdrew from the Saturday league team so that I could make my contribution to the building project. The mist of self-interest that had previously restricted my vision was beginning to disperse, and a new panoramic view was emerging, bringing with it a deeper appreciation for and an increasing love of life.

Brenna Reaney is just one of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, Torrance California Stake, who donated hair. For Brenna, the sacrifice of her long hair represented something concrete she could do to help Jessica James, one of her friends from the ward. Jessica, 17, had been diagnosed with aplastic anemia, a life threatening illness that would require chemotherapy treatment. At first, the girls were upset that Jessica would lose her beautiful long hair. But after Jessica had a brain hemorrhage and sank into a coma, they quickly realized that they had not understood the full spectrum of what was important. As Peggy Kirts, a member of the ward, said, “It’s been a very helpless couple of months, with everyone wanting to help and not really knowing what to do or how to do it.”
The girls would visit Jessica in the hospital as she struggled to awaken from the coma and learn again to communicate. While there, they saw many little bald children in the same area of the hospital undergoing treatment. They read to Jessica and sat with her, but they felt that they wanted to do more.
Sister Kirts, a professional hairdresser, met a family who had come to her salon for haircuts. They were donating their hair as their family’s Christmas project. From them she got the information about donating hair and did a little research. A minimum of 10 inches of hair was needed, bound in a ponytail. Especially needed was fine, light colored hair that would be more appropriate for children’s wigs.
With some hesitation, Sister Kirts presented the idea to the girls in her ward. It wouldn’t help Jessica directly, but the donation of their hair would help other girls and boys. At first, the thought was stunning. Ten inches! That was so much. “They were petrified at first,” said Sister Kirts. “I didn’t want to pressure them. But later that day, the phone just started ringing. And, one at a time, the girls called and said, ‘I’m in.’ I couldn’t believe that they would do it.”
The word spread through the ward. Even two little girls from Primary joined the Young Women in donating their hair. The local newspaper and a television station covered the event because so many girls were donating their hair at the same time. And at Christmastime, people could not help but compare this event to O. Henry’s story “Gift of the Magi,” about a young couple who each gives up the thing they value most to buy a gift for the other. In the story, the young wife sells her long hair to buy a chain for her husband’s heirloom watch. He, in turn, sells the watch to buy combs for his wife’s beautiful hair.
After the young women’s story aired on the news and was printed in the newspaper, the salon offered to cut the hair of anyone who wanted to donate it. Dozens of people responded. “Teenagers have so much power for good or for bad,” said Sister Kirts. “For these people who came to donate their hair, their biggest reason was that if an 18-year-old girl can do this, I can too.”
Rachael Ward, another of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, was a little frightened to go back to school after Christmas vacation with her new short hair. “It was awful waiting for that day. Everyone noticed my hair, even people I didn’t know before. A lot of people looked at me differently. They said it made them realize that people really do good deeds for each other. It’s not just a story on television. That made me feel good.”
Rachael’s friend Brittanie Streetmaker also donated her hair. “I was nervous, but now whenever I look in the mirror, I think of a little girl who will be so happy to have a cute styled wig. My friends ask me if I miss my hair, and I say I do, but I don’t regret it for a second.”
Editor’s note: Jessica is home from the hospital. She still suffers from partial paralysis and is continuing treatment for aplastic anemia. She loves the way the girls sacrificed to help others.

Members of the Rochdale Ward, Ashton Stake, supported by sisters of the Ashton 1st Ward, for the last few years have adopted Francis House Children’s Hospice as one of their reach-out community projects.
Prepandemic and during the build-up to Easter, sisters have knitted Easter chicks, into which chocolate cream eggs donated by members have been inserted. The completed Easter chicks were then donated to the hospice for them to sell as part of their ongoing fundraising activities.
Easter 2021 brought new challenges! Would the project be able to continue?
It was decided to go ahead despite the challenges, but with the added invitation to not only supply the chocolate cream eggs and knit the chicks but also to sell the finished goods to family, friends, work colleagues, and others.
The response was overwhelming and the best to date. A total of £1,567 was raised and donated. In response, the hospice sent a letter of thanks, and a certificate. One of the lines from the letter read:
“A heartfelt thank you for taking part in our Easter Chick Appeal and raising an absolutely fantastic £1,567 for Francis House Children’s Hospice through the sale of your own knitted eggs. The support means more than words can say. I’m truly grateful you took the time and energy to support us during this difficult year for our appeal.”
In a time of adversity and with limitations caused by COVID-19, there are still opportunities to serve others within local communities, whose needs are greater than ever before.

Among the momentous times for Sister Kemp in the branch’s history was the period between 1986 and 1988 when the members worked together to build a meetinghouse. “We did everything you could think of,” she explains. “We had rummage sales, cake sales, car washes. Every Saturday we did something to raise money. And we worked on the grounds clearing the growth. We grew together spiritually, and we grew to love each other.”