Gospel Story Finder

Photograph courtesy of Ian Jonsson/Lodi News Sentinel
The final whistle sounded, and Kyle* left the mat feeling discouraged about losing the match. Team captain Colin Anderson from California, USA, put his arm around Kyle and offered him a ride to get burgers with the rest of the team.
They sat in the restaurant parking lot while Colin listened to the freshman pour out his frustrations. Kyle had done well in middle school, but he was struggling with the switch to high school competition. Colin hadn’t been very good as a freshman either, but he had kept trying. So he turned to his teammate and encouraged him: “Look, you’re just a freshman. You have time. You’ll do fine.”
Encouraging his teammates was something Colin tried to do as often as he could. But it certainly wasn’t the norm when he was coming up in the program.
By the time Colin reached his senior year and was made a cocaptain of his high school wrestling team, he’d worked hard and learned a lot. He’d begun “at the bottom of the food chain,” kept his head down, and tried to improve. At that time the team was run like a boot camp, using fierce competiveness and hazing to try to toughen the wrestlers and build camaraderie. But when it was his turn to lead, Colin knew that wasn’t right. “I didn’t feel I could do what had been done in the past.”
Colin’s mother often drove him to wrestling meets, and on the long drives they talked about his wrestling and the team. These conversations helped shape the idea of how Colin would lead if given the chance. “I decided to lead in the Lord’s way, as I’d learned in priesthood.” When he was made a captain, he used encouragement, love, and persuasion to help his team members improve.
Things didn’t turn around all at once. The coaches considered it a building year because the team was so young, with Colin and his cocaptain as the only seniors. The “building year” was evident early in the season, when a rivalry meet was a disaster. Afterward, Colin told his team, “I’m not angry at our loss. You don’t have to win everything; you just have to give it your best.”
From then on, the team worked together toward the same goal, and everything changed. They started building success. As he worked with and instructed others, Colin’s own wrestling improved. “The greatest way to learn is to teach,” he said. At the end of the season, the team won their league and sent seven wrestlers to postseason tournaments.
Looking back, Colin will always remember two things about his wrestling career. First, being a leader is really about service. “I didn’t make state but it was a good year anyway, because my focus was on helping others; that helped me improve too.”
Second, Colin learned that you can have a greater effect on others than you might ever suspect. “You have a great ability to shape how others see their experiences and to influence their perspective. Independent of the team and my own success, I will always remember Kyle and talking to him in the parking lot.” True leadership really can have a lasting effect.

Standing on the edge of the broad sidewalk leading from the front doors of the meetinghouse, Brian could see people milling around in the foyer. The meeting was just over.
Brian was actually going to meet a real prophet! When the missionaries called him a few minutes ago, he couldn’t believe his ears. They told him that President Spencer W. Kimball was visiting a neighboring ward to attend the blessing of a great-grandchild. Brian could meet the prophet, they said, if he came quickly.
As he hung up the phone, Brian yelled to his mom that he was going to the church. Then he jumped on his bike and raced the four blocks there. The missionaries were waiting for him. They stood on either side of him now. Other people were waiting on the sidewalk, too. Brian guessed that they’d also heard that the prophet was here today and had come to see him.
Brian glanced down and was dismayed to see his scuffed and tattered tennis shoes and his old T-shirt. He hadn’t thought about changing before he came over. He might have missed meeting the prophet if he had. But what would the great leader think of him?
Brian hastily tucked in his shirt. He couldn’t do anything to change his shoes, but maybe the prophet wouldn’t notice them. Suddenly he felt a wave of uneasiness. Turning to the missionary on his right, he asked, “Elder Turner, how do I look?”
Elder Turner peered at him closely and pointed to the corners of his own mouth. Brian quickly wiped away any traces of lunch, then looked at the missionary again. Elder Turner nodded with a smile.
Until meeting the missionaries a few weeks ago, Brian had never even heard of a modern prophet. He knew about Noah and Moses and other prophets in the Bible. But he’d never thought that a prophet might be on the earth today. The missionaries told him that the prophet tells people what Jesus would tell them if He were here.
He had seen pictures of Old Testament prophets with long white hair and flowing beards. So he was surprised when the missionaries showed him a picture of President Kimball. He did have white hair, but it was neatly trimmed. Brian thought that he looked like a kindly grandfather.
One day, when the missionaries had taken Brian to Primary, he heard a song about following prophets. He looked around him in amazement at all the children who believed in a prophet.
Brian’s attention returned to the church. The doors opened, and a small group came out. They moved slowly, greeting people as they made their way down the sidewalk. Some fathers held little children in their arms or on their shoulders so that they, too, could see and greet the prophet.
Brian could tell that someone was stopping and shaking hands. Grown-ups blocked his view, but he caught a glimpse of white hair and a dark suit. It surprised him that the man wasn’t much taller than he was.
As they came closer, someone moved and Brian could see clearly. He saw the man whose picture the missionaries had shown him. The man spoke softly and kindly to the grown-ups and children he shook hands with.
Brian felt worried. What would the prophet say to him? Would he sense Brian’s doubts and questions? Would he say something to try to persuade Brian that the Church was true?
Then President Kimball reached out his hand again, and Brian heard a familiar voice.
“President Kimball, it is so great to meet you. My companion, Elder Turner, and I would like you to meet our friend, Brian. He’s investigating the Church.”
It was Elder Ellis who was speaking and shaking hands with the prophet. His other hand reached out and rested on Brian’s shoulder.
The prophet turned and looked at Brian. He caught his breath as President Kimball smiled at him.
Extending his hand, Brian spoke haltingly. “I’m … very … glad to meet you, sir.” He felt his face becoming warm.
President Kimball took his hand in a soft but firm grip. Then suddenly the prophet released Brian’s hand and threw both arms around him and gave him a big hug. With his face close to Brian’s, he said softly, “I love you.” His voice was low and raspy.
When he released Brian, he smiled and then turned to greet Elder Turner. Brian was speechless.
He watched the prophet of the Lord continue to shake hands until he reached a car at the curb. Helping his wife into the backseat, he turned and raised his hand to the people gathered on the sidewalk. Then he climbed into the backseat, and the car pulled away from the curb.
Three words! That’s all he had said. Yet Brian felt deep inside that they were true. He knew that a prophet had spoken those words. A prophet! Were they the words Jesus would say to Brian if He were here? A warm feeling began in Brian’s chest and spread through his body. Yes, he thought, they were the same words.

A large framed picture of the Taipei Taiwan Temple hangs on an alcove wall inside Taiwanese Church member Chang Chih Hsun’s hydraulic-machine business. Symbolizing his new faith, the temple’s spires point heavenward. The picture replaces a shrine where employees once burned incense.
“Most business places in Taiwan have a shrine where employees worship a god of prosperity,” explains Brother Chang. “After I joined the Church, I hung a picture of the temple where the shrine used to be.”
His example is characteristic of the faith and courage Church members in Taiwan demonstrate as they strive to live the gospel. Brother Chang, who serves as stake mission president in the Taichung Taiwan Stake, recently offered a cash bonus to any of his employees who would give up smoking, as he did before his baptism in 1995. So far, no one has taken him up on the offer.
“Before my husband joined the Church, he did not know what love was,” says Brother Chang’s wife, Chang Wu Lan Hua, who was baptized 10 years before her husband. “Now he knows how to love me and the family.” The Changs were sealed in the Taipei Taiwan Temple in 1996.

Starting in the middle of the week by cleaning all the salt and pepper shakers in the kitchen, the girls of the San Jose First Ward also washed walls and cleaned the cupboards. Then they joined the boys in digging weeds from a patch of ground near the chapel that is used for an herb garden.

“I didn’t even know we had an herb garden,” Paula Rudy, 18, said as she carried a pile of weeds to a trash can.

The San Jose Second Ward Scouts and Venturers rejuvenated the outside of their chapel by painting the eaves above outside entrances. Laurels and Mia Maids cleaned all the filters and grills for the heating and air-conditioning system. Then they painted the bathrooms and locker rooms, filling in and repairing joints and cracks. Everyone planned to return later in the week to finish the interior painting when the patches had dried.

“Work first, play later is pretty much what it was,” said Mike Black, 16. “That was neat because we worked on the service project first and that was altogether togetherness.”

The San Jose 18th Ward was in charge of the decorations for the dance. Jeanne Meeks, the Laurel adviser, said a month of planning was involved in the decorations. “The kids did it all. That’s one thing that made it so much fun for them,” she said, noting that several nonmembers helped in designing bow ties, eyes, and a hat that were attached to the Volkswagen.

A late-model Beetle had originally been chosen as the car to be brought into the gym. But when the dance committee tried to get it in the door, it was two inches too wide! Someone commented that older cars were smaller. The committee contacted Brother Bert Smith, a science teacher at one of the local schools, and they were able to squeeze his older car through the opening.

The dance committee also asked Brother Smith to use test tubes to set up a “mad scientist” booth at which he brewed root beer. With a wig on his head, surrounded by a cloud of dry ice “steam,” and dressed in a white lab coat, he served thirsty dancers throughout the evening.

Sister Carolyn Wright, the stake Young Women president, said she felt all the stake members involved in the service projects and in the planning of the other activities had learned some important lessons:
—That the young people of the stake were capable of generating ideas and following through on assignments, checking up on themselves to make sure everything was prepared.
—That cooperation between adults and youth is not only necessary, but fun as well.
—That guidelines provided to youth leaders, including suggestions on how to get ideas from bishopric youth committees and from Laurel, Mia Maid, Scout, and priest classes, are indeed helpful.

Sister Wright said, “We just followed the outlines given to us.” She added that youth leaders decided for themselves what activities they would like to have, drew up a list, and then narrowed down the possibilities until they felt they had a reasonable proposal. For example, Frank Taylor, a college student who is stake secretary of the Young Men, originated the chariot race idea.

Many of the service project participants agreed that their time had been well-spent.

“It was fun. I learned a lot from doing it, and I felt good afterwards. I’ve been happy all day,” said Steve Payton, a 16-year-old from the 18th Ward. David Booher, from the 13th Ward, said he felt the service projects were better organized than any he had participated in before.

Judy Nunn, 16, a First Ward member, said holding the service project and the games on the same day was beneficial. “Having it all in one day got a lot more people to come to the service project,” she said.

“I feel good about it,” said Hank Loy, 16, of the 13th Ward. “You feel just as good about a service project as the people you do it for.”

Even as the service projects were continuing, chariot construction was in the polishing stages. In the First Ward, the bishop filled in at the service project in place of Dave Holcomb, who had been working on the chariot since 6:00 A.M. At 1:00 P.M., when the vehicle was finally done, the team rolled it down the street to the high school.

“We put a stereo in it, and Brother Charles McClellan, the priests quorum adviser, helped with the wiring and balanced the weight,” Ron Fowler, a priest in the ward, explained. With the stereo playing the racing theme from the movie Ben Hur, the black chariot with gold trim attracted a lot of attention on its way to the stadium. Some people, when they heard there would be a chariot race, followed along out of curiosity.

One of the chariot builders in another ward gave up his bike for a week so he could use its wheels on the chariot. The 23rd Ward modeled a horse’s head out of aluminum foil to mount on the front of its entry.

Younger brothers and sisters were recruited as riders because of their light weight. In the 13th Ward the chariot construction was a family effort, as Phil Dold and his father designed and built their version of a Roman race car. Throughout the stake, Relief Society sisters sewed capes and fabricated helmets for the riders, including remodeled football helmets.

One ward installed carpeting and a CB radio in its chariot. And the Scouts in another ward spent several activity nights learning to weld as they built their entry.

As the racers, fans, and chariots arrived at the high school, the conversation sounded like one between automotive designers. Amateur engineers extolled the virtues of a low center of gravity, discussed pulling handle alignment, and debated the sturdiness of wheel and axle attachment to the frame.

“I thought nobody would be that interested in building the chariots because it would take a lot of time and effort,” said Dave Davis, 17, of the Second Ward. “But everybody really came through.”

Before the actual chariot race, several hours of games, designed for individual and group participation, offered a chance for recreation following a morning of hard work. To allow all of the young people to participate, adults were asked to be in charge of the different events. Colored tickets were used to limit the number of participants in a given activity at a given time.

The first contest was a balloon toss, with partners facing each other in two long lines down the center of the football field. Water-filled balloons were gently thrown between partners until only one couple remained with an unbroken balloon.

Following the balloon toss, ten other games were offered for individual competition. They included: (1) Duffle bag stuffing. With boxing gloves on, the contestant stuffed foam-rubber strips into a duffle bag, racing against the clock. (2) Spray bottle target practice. With a laundry spray bottle, each participant had to knock off a Ping-Pong ball perched atop a soda bottle. (3) Punch-drinking race. Slurping through a rubber tubing “straw” several feet long, the first person to empty a 32-ounce cup was the winner. (4) A gelatin-eating contest, with hands tied behind the back. (5) Marshmallow munching. Without the use of his hands, each contestant tried to be the one who could get the most marshmallows inside his mouth—and then close his lips. (6) Flying marshmallows. While riding a bicycle, the contestant attempted to catch a marshmallow—hung from the goal post on a piece of string—in his mouth. (7) Tricycle races (limited to those too big to ride a tricycle). (8) Blindfolded cotton-picker. A scarf was tied over the participants’ eyes. The object of the game was to spoon the greatest number of cotton balls into a bowl in 30 seconds. A stiff breeze made this a difficult project. (9) An obstacle course, including old tires, hurdles, and barrels to roll in. (10) Chocolate pudding pals. Teams were composed of three people. Two were blindfolded. One of them fed the other the pudding by following the directions of the third, who was not wearing a blindfold.

Each person was free to compete in as many individual events as he desired. These were followed by group games, which included a tug-of-war; a car-stuffing contest (28 crammed themselves into a Volkswagen); a battle over a huge, canvas ball, which could only be tossed over the goal-post by several people working together; and a contest to see how many people would fit in a four-foot circle.

A final contest before the chariot race also served to clean up the field. Each ward was given a large plastic sack, and the team with the most pieces of garbage in the bag at the end of the day was honored at the dance.

At last, the chariots were wheeled into position at the starting line. Two elimination heats of 220 yards apiece narrowed the field of six down to the three fastest teams.

“On your mark, get set, go!” the starter screamed. The speed was as fast as a 50-yard dash. Noise from the audience was so loud that Little League baseball players and their parents rushed from the other side of the school to see what was going on.

About halfway around the track, the all-girl 23rd Ward team fell behind. The other two teams were in a dead heat coming around the final turn.

On both chariots, the sprinters were nearly exhausted. Some, too tired to continue pulling, released the handles and dropped to the side of the track. The 13th Ward had only two men left, plus the rider, as the low-slung chariot pulled ahead of the First Ward’s team by four feet at the finish line.

A large banner with the number 13 on it was thrown into the air. The winners’ friends and families surrounded them, smiling, shaking hands, hugging each other, and saying, “I knew we could do it!”

Then, through the middle of the throng, President “Caesar” Brockbank pressed forward, bearing the trophy with him. He called for Kendall Hansen and Corian Taylor, who had pulled the winning chariot across the finish line. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the trophy was in their hands.

After the race, the youth of the stake were enthusiastic about the success of the day.

Karen Maury, 16, the 18th Ward Laurel president, said, “I feel the youth of the stake are beginning to gain a testimony of who we are. This whole weekend I’ve spent so much time with the Church that I know it’s going to really build me, to help me to do other things.”

Kathy Ricks, a 16-year-old 13th Warder, said, “I think the best part about it was the closeness everyone felt. I’ve never been to an event like that before, where I’ve made so many friends. You realized how much the youth are able to plan things, that they are capable.”

Mike Standard, 15, of the 13th Ward, added that “a lot of us brought friends who weren’t Mormons, and they really enjoyed it, because they saw what youth, working together, can do. They didn’t know people could just get together and do something and it could work like this did. It was a great missionary tool.”

The Second Ward’s Christan Linebarger, 16, summarized: “I’ve never seen the wards so close before. The spirit that was put across in the enthusiasm was really spectacular. I think that was the most special part of the day. It wasn’t important who won the chariot race or the tug-of-war, but it was important that the whole ward was together in whatever we were doing. That was the most special thing.”

Slowly the stadium emptied. The competitors and the fans went home to clean up and get ready for the dance. On Sunday the lessons learned in the race were emphasized during priesthood and Sunday School. At the fireside, members of the stake presidency drew analogies between pulling together as teams both in church work and in life, as well as stressing the ability of youth to engage in good, clean fun.

The lessons had meaning, because the day had been complete. Service to others was the lesson of the morning, and the need to work with others was evident in the games and in the stampede of chariots Saturday afternoon.

And as for fun, it was a good thing President Brockbank announced the Ben Hur Memorial Traveling Award as a traveling trophy, because it was obvious this would not be the last chariot race in the San Jose California Stake.

Something that happened during a Book of Mormon class years ago has had a great impact on my life. Our teacher, Brother Fernando Aguilar, told us an experience that had happened to his father, Santiago Aguilar II, who had been working hard to find genealogical information about his ancestors. He had been successful in submitting many family names for temple ordinances. Nevertheless, on one of his family lines, the information he could find stopped with his grandmother. Despite many trips and continual research, he had not been able to find the necessary information about her. But the Spirit gave him a sense of urgency to keep looking.
Brother Fernando Aguilar, currently a part-time coordinator for the Church Educational System in Chile, recalled: “One day my father had an impression that he should return to a small village 90 kilometers east of the city of Osorno—some 500 kilometers from his home in Talcahuano—even though he had recently visited our relatives there and had received genealogical information. He knew of no reason to return, but the impression would not leave. So with a prayer for guidance, he returned to the village. When our relatives saw him, they were surprised he had returned so soon, and they assured him they had given him all the genealogical information they had. He simply explained that he felt an urgency to return, even though he didn’t know why.
“My father spent the following day seeking—but not finding—additional information. After a tiring day, as he was walking to an uncle’s home, he felt impressed to change his route. My father followed the impression, even though he didn’t know where he was going or why. His new route led him to a large vacant lot filled with trash, and he felt a strong impulse to take the path through the lot.
“After entering the lot, he stopped suddenly and began to look around, seeking the reason for being in that spot so far from home. Looking down at his feet, he saw a yellowed, dirty piece of paper and picked it up. After shaking the dirt off, he recognized it as his grandparents’ marriage certificate, which included the names and other family information he was missing. This certificate was the key he needed to bring to pass the temple work for our ancestors.”

Some time later, in a small schoolhouse, 26-year-old Wilford Woodruff stood to speak in another meeting. This time he spoke in response to the testimonies of Elders Zera Pulsipher and Elijah Cheney, missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He later recounted: “[Elder Pulsipher] opened the door for any remarks to be made. The house was crowded. The first thing I knew I stood on top of a bench before the people, not knowing what I got up for. But I said to my neighbors and friends, ‘I want you to be careful what you say as touching these men … and their testimony, for they are servants of God, and they have testified unto us the truth—principles that I have been looking for from my childhood.’”4 Wilford Woodruff was baptized and confirmed two days later, on December 31, 1833.

Sarah Tunnell was worried about how she’d fit in. Her family had just moved from Texas to Snohomish, Washington. Now Sarah would have to start all over again. New school. New ward. New friends—she hoped.
“We came to church that first week,” Sarah remembers. “It was the Sunday before school started, and in Mia Maids Tresa Brown was saying the closing prayer.”
At the end of the prayer Tresa said, “And please help Sarah to make friends and to feel at home here.”
“That made me feel really good,” Sarah says. “It was, ‘Wow, I’m new and they’re already praying for me! They remembered my name!’ I felt like everyone accepted me. That week I was walking down the hall at school, and everyone from the ward said hi. Becky Gale went out of her way to help me check my class schedule.”
The example of friendliness wasn’t wasted on Sarah. Visit the Snohomish Second Ward today, and she’s one of the many young women eager to welcome you. These “homies,” as people from Snohomish call themselves, have learned that it’s a simple thing to help everyone feel included.
Consider some additional examples:
—“When I came into Beehives for the first time,” Angela Gilbert says, “they had ‘Welcome, Angie!’ written on the board. They announced that I was new and made me feel comfortable.”
—“I got chicken pox and had to stay home from youth conference,” Traci Brown says. “But when they got back they came and told me how it was, and brought me stuff so I could see what they’d done. It was almost like having been there myself.”
—“Most of the LDS kids sit together at lunch,” says Anne Broadbent. Whether it’s at Snohomish High or at Centennial Middle School, these “Mormon Circles” have so much fun and use such clean language that others, LDS or not, ask to join in.
And the examples go on and on. Thirteen-year-old Bonnie Jarvis remembers being greeted at the door with a sincere, “Yea! Bonnie’s here!” Leann Gustafson heard that a less-active friend had a sore throat and stopped by to bring her some cough drops. Aja Elmer learned not to be afraid to sing solos in Young Women, because she knows they’re all her friends. Others have learned not to be afraid to bear their testimonies before the whole group, for the same reason.
“There are no outsiders,” Tracie Graafstra explains. “Everybody belongs.”
It’s a concept that’s not only strengthened members but also played a part in seven conversions in the last few years.
“It was the people who first interested me in the Church,” says Kristy Shackelford. “They were genuine. They like you for yourself.”
“Bonnie Skinner, the bishop’s daughter, was in one of my classes at school,” Tracie says. “She kept inviting me to church dances. One night I finally went. I stayed overnight at her house, and the next day her family invited me to church. I felt the Spirit there, and I felt loved. The people here are really friendly, and that helped a lot. I met the missionaries and started the discussions. I knew I should pray about what they were teaching me. When I did, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to be baptized.”
“I went to church with Neoma Huston; then I went to girls’ camp, and I always felt like I was accepted,” says Jula Jefferson. “The more I learned about the Church, the more I liked it. And everybody was always right there to help me.”
That type of support makes it easier to open up. “We’re not afraid to share the gospel, because it’s fun, it’s easy, and we know it’s true,” Angela says. “You want to do missionary work because you know people will be happier.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” says Aja. “Just say, ‘Hi, hello, how are you doing?’ People appreciate that more than you think.”
So what generates all this goodwill and sisterhood? Some of it comes from spending time together: at church, at school, at youth conference, on service projects even when it rains. Some of it comes from taking a genuine interest in people, little things like remembering birthdays and making them special. And some of it comes from receiving kindness and passing it along.
“The Laurels were nice to me when I was a Beehive,” says Tresa Brown, “so now that I’m a Laurel, I try to be nice to the Beehives, too.”
But it’s Traci who gives the most accurate answer. “It’s how the Savior would treat people, isn’t it?” she asks. “His example shows us that he loves everyone. We’re trying to act like he would—to be kind and loving to everyone.
“Oh,” she adds, “and hugs work, too.”
“You can feel the Spirit,” Tracie says. “That love draws people in. When you’re going through a hard time, you know these people are always here for you. And since they have the Spirit with them, it just overwhelms you with love.”
That’s why everybody belongs here. It’s why in every ward or branch, every young woman should belong.
Is there a newcomer in your ward who may feel like nobody cares? You can help him or her overcome that feeling. Here are some suggestions from the Snohomish Second Ward Young Women. By the way, these ideas work just as well for long-time members, too:
“Be open-minded and really cheerful. You don’t know what they’re feeling, and you don’t know if they’ve had a really crummy day. So if you say hi and cheer them, it’s going to boost up their day and they’re going to remember it for a long time.”
Nicole Broadbent, 15
“Remember birthdays. When I turned 14, the Beehives made a big sign, brought balloons, taped candy to the porch, and gave me a journal as a present. I thought, ‘They’re doing all this for me!’ I felt so loved.”
Courtney Davis, 14
“Be genuine. Treat each other the same at school as you do at church. Treat everybody the same no matter where you are or who you are with.”
Becky Gale, 18
“With activities every Wednesday, seminary every morning, church every Sunday, and dances on Saturdays, there are plenty of things to invite your non-LDS friends to. Have your own parties, so you don’t feel the need to go to the wild parties at school.”
Kathy Cravens, 14
“Don’t be separated in spirit just because you’re in different classes. Avoid forming cliques. You’re all sisters, some older, some younger. You’ve got all these sisters in the Church.”
Becky Tunnell, 14
“For our Young Women in Excellence program, I brought two nonmembers to play music with me. They were so well accepted and felt so at home that now they want to come back and do more things with us.”
Angela Gilbert, 13
“It starts with one person. Let someone know that you love them, and they’ll go out and do it to somebody else; then they’ll do it to somebody else, and so on, and then you’ll have this great ward like ours.”
Tresa Brown, 16

Heavy rains triggered flooding across the midwestern United States, Oregon, and Washington. Volunteers came with supplies from the bishops’ storehouse to provide help to those in need.

When Church representatives in Findlay, Ohio, presented a donation to the local Red Cross chapter, a passerby spotted them in their yellow Mormon Helping Hands T-shirts. She walked in and held up her camera phone with a picture of four Helping Hands and exclaimed, “They just saved my home!” Then she hugged everyone in sight.

Clancy O’Clagen was stacking wood in Mrs. O’Reilley’s woodshed. As he neatly piled the sticks, he was thinking of what his wife had said that morning. “It’s a fine thing to be helping Widow O’Reilley, Clancy,” she had said, “but while you’re setting her woodshed to rights your own is a sorry sight, what with kindling laying every which way. But if she pays you well for the work, I’ll be doing no more complaining.”
Clancy straightened up to rest his back and glanced around the gloomy shed. Suddenly he spied a shimmering of metal up high in a cobwebby corner. He moved nearer to see what the glimmer of light might be.
“Sure, and that’s an old Irish griddle, if ever I saw one!” he exclaimed. “But it’s rusted and grimy and in need of a good scrubbing. Now I wonder if I could lift it from the peg.”
Clancy stood on the tips of his toes and grunted and stretched and lifted. Then with a pull that nearly set him back on his heels, the griddle came off. Just as Clancy was slapping some of the webs from the griddle, Mrs. O’Reilley came in.
“So you’re interested in that old thing, I see now,” she said. “That’s been hanging there for many a year, and not much good it is to anyone. ’Tis one that came from the old sod country, it is. But only burned cakes is all it ever would bake, and who’d be wanting burned cakes now?”
Clancy’s eyes sparkled. “Sure, and I’d be glad to take the thing as pay for my work. Somehow I’ve got a fancy for it, seeing as how it came from Ireland.”
Mrs. O’Reilley threw up her hands. “Then pay it is!” she said. “But with that kind of pay, I can’t help feeling I’ll be cheating you for sure.”
Clancy finished his work in the woodshed and then, with a gay whistle on his lips and the griddle tucked under his arm, he went home.
But there was no gay whistling when Clancy’s wife saw the griddle and no money.
“Clancy O’Clagen!” she cried, “have you taken leave of your wits now? A grubby old griddle you bring home instead of money! And you with no good hat to wear on a Sunday and needing the same!”
“But no money could buy a griddle like this, and from Ireland too!” said Clancy. “Old hats shade heads as well as new.”
While his wife grumbled, Clancy went to work on the griddle. He scraped it, he scoured it, he brushed it. He rubbed and he scrubbed and he polished, and after a time part of the dullness was gone from the surface and bits of shining metal winked through.
“Potato pancakes!” said Clancy. “Good old Irish potatoes made into pancakes on an Irish griddle! Doesn’t that sound good? Would you be making some fine Irish potato pancakes, now, my good wife?”
Clancy watched his wife stir the pancakes. He watched while she ladled them out onto the hot griddle. He watched while their edges turned brown. And then, with his lips twitching in anticipation of a delightful mouthful, he saw the pancakes all at once turn black, burned to a crisp.
Time after time Clancy’s wife tried the griddle. But every time she did, it only burned whatever was on it. “A waster of good food and good time it is!” she cried. “I’ll be having no more to do with it!”
Then Clancy tried the griddle. He mixed pancake batter, spread it in little rounds on the hot surface, and watched the dough bubble. But just when he thought the cakes were baking well, they suddenly began to rise and went up and up. Like little round towers, the bubbling dough rose above the griddle—a foot or two high. Then, while Clancy watched open-mouthed, the cakes turned to cinders and crumbled away.
After that, Clancy’s wife turned the griddle upside down and used it to cover her churn of sour cream. But even as a cover it didn’t work well, for often in the mornings the griddle would be off on the floor and the cream would be sloshed about.
“Now you see what kind of a bargain you made, Clancy O’Clagen!” his wife said stomping her foot. “’Tis no good for baking. ’Tis no good for covering. A dirt-catcher and an eyesore is all it is. I’ll not be having it around any longer. If you’re bound and determined to keep the old thing, you’ll be keeping it outside and that’s a fact!”
Clancy picked up the griddle and marched outside. “’Tis no way at all to be treating a fine Irish griddle,” he muttered. “Using it for a cover for sour cream! It’s shame that I feel when I think of it, and this from the green land of Ireland, too, and maybe made with metal that’s been touched by the Little People’s own hands! Could be that houses are an irritation to the likes of it. Could be that a fire in a woodsy spot is what the griddle is needing!”
A sparkle leaped into Clancy’s eyes. He went back into the house, packed things for pancake batter, put two plates, two knives, two forks, a jar of butter, and a jug of syrup into a box, and then he took the griddle and went off whistling to find his young friend Denny O’Day.
“We’re going to make pancakes in the woods, Denny, my lad!” he said. “Pancakes on an Irish griddle!”
Denny loved to go into the woods with Clancy, but this time he kept looking to the right and to the left, and sometimes he even turned around and looked behind. “I’ve got a feeling that there are eyes looking at us,” said Denny. “And now and again I’m hearing the crackling of twigs. Do you think there might be something about, Clancy O’Clagen?”
“Sure, and what if there is? ’Tis nothing to do with us at all,” answered Clancy.
Beside a little spring Clancy made a fireplace. He put rocks about in a neat little ring. He scraped away the grass and built a fire that soon burned down to rosy coals. Then Clancy mixed the pancake batter until it was as smooth as liquid velvet. He whistled awhile, and every now and again he stopped to jig a little. When the griddle was sizzling hot Clancy poured the batter on it.
He stepped back and stared in amazement. For though he had meant to make round pancakes, the batter spread out by itself into dainty shamrock shapes—three rounds together and a little tail for a stem! And the pancakes didn’t burn. They browned gently on one side and, just as Clancy was about to give them a turn, over they flipped by themselves, or so it seemed.
“Hurray!” cried Clancy. “Sure, and I knew this was a griddle to be proud of!”
He heaped the pancakes on Denny’s plate. And when the boy had eaten all he could hold, Clancy said, “Run home now, Denny, my lad, and tell my good wife to come quickly! She’ll never be believing the same! Not till she sees it with her own eyes! Off with you now!”
Denny started off and Clancy made more pancakes for himself. But he was almost too delighted to eat. “I’ll just be making one more big one for myself,” he said, “and then I’ll sit back and wait for my wife.”
With an extra flourish Clancy poured batter onto the griddle. He poured until it was almost covered. Then he watched to see the shamrock take shape. But this time there wasn’t a shamrock.
The pancake spread and spread. It bubbled and bubbled, and then it turned itself over. But before the pancake was completely turned, a great zinging as of ten thousand hornets filled the air. The pancake flew high. The griddle rose and a huge puff of green smoke sent it spinning and sailing off over the woods.
In another moment the big pancake came flapping downward. It flopped on Clancy’s head and knocked him to the ground.
When Clancy sat up all was still, and he reached up his hands to push the pancake from his eyes. But instead of a pancake his hands pushed up a slightly warm, high plush hat of emerald green. From the bushes impish laughter and deep chuckles reached Clancy’s ears.
When Clancy walked into his own house his wife was busy knitting. Without looking up she said, “Clancy, how could you tell such yarns to Denny O’Day? I sent the lad off to nap after the way you’d filled his head with nonsense.”
Before Clancy could answer she looked up. Then she threw up her hands in surprise.
“CLANCY O’CLAGEN! Where did you get that elegant hat?”
Clancy pulled his ear thoughtfully for a moment and then he smiled. “Sure ’tis true,” he said. “In a manner of speaking, you might say I traded it for Mrs. O’Reilley’s Irish griddle! And that’s a fact!”

Tyler’s family had signed up to help feed the missionaries, and tonight they were coming to dinner. Tyler loved having visitors, and Mom had promised he could sit next to them.
At the table, Tyler felt shy and didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be a missionary someday, so he listened and watched carefully. He wanted to remember how missionaries act. He looked at their shiny shoes, white shirts, and straight ties. Then he noticed something on their shirt pockets. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Elder Snow’s pocket.
“My name tag,” Elder Snow replied, holding it up a little.
“‘Elder Snow,’”Tyler read. “‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Do all missionaries have name tags?”
“I think so,” Elder Millburn replied. “We want everyone to know that we are missionaries for the Church.”
“I always make sure to put my name tag on,” Elder Snow added. “I want everybody to know I believe in Jesus Christ.”
After the missionaries left, Tyler told Mom, “I’m going to make a name tag. I want to wear one so people will know I believe in Jesus Christ.”
Tyler cut a rectangle out of paper and carefully printed his name on it. Below his name, he wrote, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He taped a folded paper to the back to insert in his pocket and keep the name tag on. He went to the mirror to see how it looked.
First thing in the morning he thought about his name tag. Hurriedly he got dressed and put it on.
When Mom went grocery shopping, Tyler went, too. He walked around, hoping everyone saw his name tag. While they were going back to the car, it started to rain. He pushed the cart quickly and helped Mom load the car before they both got very wet. “Such a good helper!” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
At home he helped carry in the groceries. When he leaned over, he noticed that his name tag was torn and sagging. And rain had smeared the words. I need a better name tag, he told himself.
That afternoon, he cut a rectangle out of a plastic lid. He wrote his and the Church’s name on it with a marker so the words wouldn’t wash away. He taped another piece of plastic to the back and stuck it in his pocket. He had a name tag again. Showing it to Dad, he said, “Just like the missionaries, I like to wear my name tag.”
Tyler went to show his big sister. She was studying at her desk and didn’t seem very happy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, forgetting about the name tag.
“I have too much homework,” she moaned, “and it’s my turn to do the dishes.” She started writing again.
Tyler watched for a minute. “I’ll do the dishes.”
His sister looked surprised.
“My homework is all done,” he said. “I have time to do them.”
She gave him a hug and exclaimed, “You’re a great brother!”
Tyler did the dishes, but his shirt got wet and dirty. Pulling it off, he threw it in the laundry.
Getting dressed the next morning, he remembered his name tag and ran to the laundry room. His mother had already washed the shirt. She was putting it in the dryer. “Wait!” he yelled, pulling the shirt out of the pile. The name tag fell to the floor, twisted and warped. Tyler couldn’t make it lie flat. He threw it away. I’ll have to make something better, he told himself.
In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail and put a piece of twine through them so he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to Jimmy’s mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. He finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”
A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was being baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as he did,” the man said, “people will know we believe in him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

As a boy I had seen my father sit for years upon the stand as a member of a bishopric. He was always faithful to the Church and its teachings. Yet one night as we milked cows together, I heard him say, “You are now a teenager, and you will be tempted to smoke and drink.” “I guess that is correct,” I found myself thinking. He continued, “If you are tempted, do not smoke or drink behind my back, but come to me, and I shall buy the liquor and the tobacco, and we will do it together! Will you make that covenant with me?” Somehow the concern in his heart reached mine, and we made a solemn agreement. I can write today that I did not smoke or drink or drink tea or coffee, not always because I knew the Word of Wisdom was revealed from God, but many times because of my dad. When tempted I could hear the milk hitting the bottom of the bucket and his voice saying, “Don’t do it behind my back; we will do it together.” It is needless to say, perhaps, that I was never tempted to smoke or drink with Father.

Our Sunday School lesson on keeping the Sabbath day holy had gone well—until somebody mentioned television.
As people chimed in with their opinions regarding whether watching television on Sunday was appropriate, some class members became prescriptive. Before long, other class members became offended. The Spirit, which at first had accompanied our discussion, was replaced by a palpable tension.
Observing the growing discord, Kenneth Payne, a member of our stake presidency, asked to speak. He stood and began telling us about his son Brian, who had served in the Japan Tokyo North Mission. When President Payne and his family greeted Brian at the airport upon his return from his mission in March 2003, he complained of a stiff, sore jaw. Within weeks, Brian was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
A month later he began a regimen of chemotherapy and then radiation. President Payne said doctors had planned a bone-marrow transplant for September 22, but just after the first of that month, “Brian began having difficulty.”
He was hospitalized the second week of September. By then, because of the cancer’s aggressive nature, doctors determined that it was too late for a transplant. The family brought Brian home from the hospital on September 21. He passed away the next morning.
“September 22 is a special day for my family and me,” said President Payne. “On that day we slow down and think about Brian, his contributions to our family, and how he gave the last two years of his life to the Lord and to the Japanese people, whom he loved. We miss him, and on that day we reflect upon his life and honor his memory.”
For all of us, President Payne said, Sunday is a day to slow down and remember.
“We take time out to attend our Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, sorrow for our sins, and ponder the Savior’s suffering on our behalf,” he said. “We serve, we love, and we try not to be distracted by activities that would prevent us from worshipping Him.”
President Payne said that if Sunday activities are in keeping with that spirit, then we can feel right as we engage in them. But if they distract us from remembering the Savior and ministering on the Sabbath as He would minister, then perhaps we should reconsider our choice.
He then sat down and said no more. He didn’t need to. The Spirit had returned to the classroom, and we were all listening.

George Albert was very ill. The doctor had diagnosed typhoid fever, a terrible disease at that time, and ordered the boy to stay in bed for at least three weeks. His mother was told that George Albert should have only liquids and that she should brew him some coffee.
At this very young age, he demonstrated a great faith in his Heavenly Father and willingness to follow His commandments. George Albert wanted to get well, of course, but he didn’t want to disobey the Word of Wisdom. He asked his mother to bring him water instead of coffee and to send for their home teacher.
Brother Hawks came quickly in answer to Mrs. Smith’s request and gave George Albert a blessing, promising him that he would soon be well. And the very next morning when the boy awakened, the fever was gone and young George felt much better. Some years later in telling a group of children about this experience, he said, “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I am sure that he healed me.”

Some ways to strengthen families are illustrated by the following example. I had an assignment in the Boise, Idaho, area. After training on Saturday afternoon, I stayed in the home of my niece and her family. That evening before the children went to bed, we had a short family home evening and a scripture story. Their father told about the family of Lehi and how he taught his children that they must hold fast to the iron rod, which is the word of God. Holding fast to the iron rod would keep them safe and lead them to joy and happiness. If they should let go of the iron rod, there was danger of drowning in the river of dirty water.
To demonstrate this to the children, their mother became the “iron rod” that they must cling to, and their father played the role of the devil, trying to pull the children away from safety and happiness. The children loved the story and learned how important it is to hold fast to the iron rod.
After the scripture story it was time for family prayer. Their mother reminded the children to pray for the bishop, who was having serious eye problems. Three-year-old Brooklyn offered the prayer that evening. She thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings, and then she fervently asked Him to “bless the bishop because his eyes are broken.”
The next morning we got to sacrament meeting and got seated. Brooklyn and her five-year-old sister, Kennedy, looked up on the stand and saw the bishop standing there. The girls pointed to the bishop and excitedly said to their mother, “Look, there’s the bishop.” Then a knowing look passed between these two little girls that seemed to say “We prayed for the bishop, and now he is better.” They prayed in faith, knowing that Heavenly Father would hear their humble prayers.

On the six Saturdays prior to Christmas, the Solihull businesses use the parking area adjacent to the Church area offices in Birmingham, England, as an overflow for Christmas shoppers. The young men of the Birmingham Second Ward saw it as a prime opportunity to have a special fund raising project for charity. They set up a car wash.
“The car wash was the idea of the youth,” said David Cook, Young Men president, “and I was proud not only of the effort they put in, but their dedication and high standard of performance.”
The young men took great care, and some car owners were so impressed they had their cars washed each week. And even though the young men were cold and wet at the end of each Saturday, they did not complain. They used half of their earnings to buy new sports equipment for youth activities and donated the other half of the money to three charities.

Two years into his work at Exxon Chemical Co. in Houston, Texas, USA, Elder Steven D. Shumway learned that his parents had been called to preside over a mission in Bolivia and needed help with the family business in Arizona.
“I don’t want to put pressure on you to come back,” his father said to him. “But if you don’t come back, I worry about what will happen to the business.”
It was a difficult decision to make, said Elder Shumway.
He and his wife traveled five hours to the Dallas Texas Temple and spent the day there without receiving an answer. Afterward, they visited a bookstore and spotted the biography of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), Go Forward with Faith.
“Both of us felt the Lord say, ‘You need to go forward with faith in my way, not in your way,’” Elder Shumway said. “And so we moved to Arizona, which has turned out to be one of the most significant and beautiful changes in our lives.”
One of the best things they have learned in their marriage, Elder Shumway said, is that “when you accept [the Lord’s] invitation, you prosper. You progress. Things are better than if you try to do things your way.”

Humility is a word we hear a lot about, but do we really understand what it is? I don’t believe I did until one morning years ago when I saw humility in a hotel entrance. I was sitting in the entrance of the Hotel Utah in Salt Lake City. From my soft chair I observed with great interest the comings and goings of people through the front door of the hotel. The longer I sat there, the more crowded the entrance became. People were moving in and out, bumping into each other in their haste, then exchanging irritated glances as they hurried on. I couldn’t help thinking how unconcerned we are for others as we move about pursuing our individual goals.
The very next person who came to the door of the hotel provided a real contrast. Elder George Q. Morris of the Quorum of the Twelve, a man in his 80s, reached for the door and held it open for several minutes while others hurried through without so much as a nod of thanks. When there was no one else waiting, he walked into the entrance. He removed his hat and nearly had it knocked out of his hands by a young woman who was in too big a hurry to even notice whom she had bumped into.
I watched Elder Morris for at least six or seven minutes as he made his way across the entrance, always stepping aside for others, at the same time expressing a “Pardon me” or “Excuse me, you go first.” Several times he stopped completely while others rushed by. If people were in his way, he would wait patiently until they stepped aside or moved on without ever realizing he was waiting to get by.
I am sure there was no one in that entrance with a busier schedule or more on his mind than Elder Morris. I have thought since that it would have been more appropriate (if less true to life) had everyone stepped aside for an Apostle of the Lord.
Some of the true marks of humility—kindness, consideration for others, and an awareness of their aims and needs—are often forgotten in our involved pursuits. I have always appreciated more deeply those who manifest the little kindnesses since seeing humility in a hotel entrance.

The old missionary joke about an elder’s having to lose either his girl or his hair as one of the “costs” of his mission may have some basis in the warm and humorous story told by another of the great and valiant servants in the early Church, Heber C. Kimball. Brother Kimball was bald, even when he was young. People used to tease him about his baldness, and once he explained how he lost his hair. It seems that shortly after he joined the Church, while still a very young man, he was called on a mission to Nova Scotia. He traveled the entire 1500 miles from his home in New York on foot, with his valise on his back.
“Soon after I started, I found that I was rather unlearned, though I knew that before, but I knew it better after I started. I began to study the Scriptures … and I had so little knowledge that exercise of study began to swell my head and open my pores insomuch that the hairs dropped out; and if you will let your minds expand as mine did you will have no hair on your heads.”5

“Marcus, it’s time!”
When Marcus hear his father call, he sprinted to the kitchen. Lined up on the counter were five of his father’s famous pumpkin pies, ready to go into the oven.
Marcus knew his job. Rolling out the leftover pie crust dough into a huge circle, he picked up the maple-leaf-shape cookie cutter and cut out a large leaf from the dough for the center of each pie.
He’d no sooner finished than he heard, “Marcus, I need you.” In the dining room, he found his mother putting one more plate on a table. “Cousin Molly’s coming. That makes seventeen. I think that’s the last plate in the house,” she laughed. “Nothing matches, but what colorful tables!”
“How come we’re having so many people?” Marcus asked.
“Because,” Mother answered, “that’s what Thanksgiving is all about—being thankful for everything, especially for people we care about. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”
Marcus nodded. Tomorrow will be fun, he thought.
“I need you to go down to the basement and see if that old chair is still being stored down there. If it is, ask Mr. Swenson if we may borrow it.”
The apartment-house basement was a gloomy place. When Marcus got off the elevator, he was glad to see the superintendent there, sweeping out the furnace room. “Hi, Mr. Swenson. Do you know if that old chair is still around?”
“Hello there, Marcus.” Mr. Swenson gave Marcus a grown-up handshake, as he always did. “Let me look around.”
“Are you having company for Thanksgiving, too?” Marcus asked.
“No, not this year.”
From the way Mr. Swenson said it, Marcus had a feeling that it wasn’t just this year that Mr. Swenson wasn’t having company for Thanksgiving. “Well, that’s good,” Marcus said, “because I want to invite you to our Thanksgiving dinner. You and your chair!”
“Well, thank you, Marcus! I’d love to come. What time should I be there?”
“Come at four o’clock tomorrow—but I’ll take the chair with me now.”
When Marcus told his mother that he’d invited Mr. Swenson, she said, “That was a terrific idea, Marcus. Oh, but we still need one more chair.”
“There was only the one chair downstairs, but I think I know where I can get another one.”
“Great!”
Marcus dashed out the door and up the street to school. Good! he thought, seeing his teacher’s car. She’s still here. He ran to his classroom. “Hi, Miss Fields. May I please borrow a folding chair?”
“Surely. You know where we keep them—help yourself.”
“Thanks. How come you’re still here?”
“Well, since I decided not to make the long drive home for Thanksgiving this year, I thought that I might as well finish grading these papers.”
“Oh.” Marcus thought that grading papers would be a terrible way to spend the holiday. “Uh, Miss Fields,” he said, “my family would like you to have Thanksgiving dinner with us.”
“Why, thank you, Marcus. That sounds like fun, but I have a small problem—here’s a picture of him.”
“Oh, he’s no problem, Miss Fields—just bring him with you,” Marcus said with a grin.
“What time should we come?”
“Come at four o’clock,” Marcus said. “I’ll take two chairs from here and borrow that picture to show my mom, if that’s all right.”
Marcus told his mother about Miss Fields. She laughed and said she would call Aunt Etta and ask her to bring some plates.
“Just how many more are we going to need, Marcus?” Mother joked.
“Just two,” Marcus said. “But maybe you should ask her to bring a saucer too.”
“A saucer?”
“Well,” he said, pulling Miss Field’s picture from his pocket, “I had to invite Miss Field’s cat, Chubbikins, too. Remember what you said, Mom, no one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”

My wife, Sister Birita, and I were called to serve as couple missionaries in Nabeina, a small island in the Pacific. The moment we arrived, we felt a profound sense of peace and purpose. After much prayer, we sought permission from our mission president, President Kendall, to spend our year-long mission in Nabeina. Our request was approved, beginning a journey of faith, service, and community building that would forever change our lives and the lives of those we served.
Nabeina has a predominantly Catholic and Protestant population, with very few Latter-day Saints. Sharing the gospel was a challenge, but we felt deeply called to serve the people. We observed their resilience and resourcefulness, particularly the men who were skilled fishermen. However, their ability to provide for their families was hindered by a lack of proper fishing equipment. Witnessing their struggles, we felt a strong desire to help.
One evening, while reflecting on the needs of the community, we felt inspired to seek assistance from the Church Humanitarian Fund. We envisioned a project that would empower the fishermen to provide for their families and support their children’s education. With guidance from Elder and Sister Redmond, we proposed the idea of supplying fishing gear, a wooden boat, and an outboard motor. To our joy, the proposal was approved, and funding was secured. This marked the beginning of a transformative project.
Working with the local branch president, President Mweea Mweea, we established a community-based fishing initiative, officially registered as Nabeina Green Market Incorporated. More than just an economic endeavor, this initiative fostered unity and self-reliance among the people of Nabeina.
The fishing nets arrived first, and the community immediately put them to use. While awaiting the wooden boat, I lent my personal fiberglass boat to the fishermen. On February 9, 2025, the wooden boat and engine finally arrived. A special dedication ceremony brought the community together in gratitude and prayer. The moment was deeply spiritual, reaffirming our testimony of the Lord’s hand in this work.
The success of the Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project relies on teamwork. Each week, fishermen retrieve and repair nets while holding meetings to discuss fishing activities and community well-being. During these gatherings, many expressed how the project had blessed their lives. One fisherman, with tears in his eyes, said, “This boat is not just a boat; it is a gift from God. It has given us hope and a future.”
The people of Nabeina are deeply grateful for the Church Humanitarian Fund’s support. The fishing gear and boat have answered prayers, providing families with the means to sustain themselves. During meetings, many shared testimonies of how the aid had strengthened their faith. One woman said, “We have always prayed for a way to provide for our children. Now, with this boat and these nets, we can see God’s hand in our lives. He has not forgotten us.”
Though most of the community is not of our faith, Sister Birita and I have always believed in serving all of God’s children. Our goal was not to impose our beliefs but to demonstrate Christlike love through action. This project brought people together regardless of religion, and we are grateful to have been instruments in the Lord’s hands.
The Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project is a testament to the power of faith, service, and community. Through the Lord’s guidance, humanitarian aid, and the dedication of the Nabeina people, a sustainable livelihood has been established. The blessings extend beyond economic opportunity, fostering unity and self-reliance.
Sister Birita and I have witnessed the Lord’s hand at every step, from the initial inspiration to the final dedication of the boat. We know this is just the beginning for Nabeina, and we look forward to seeing how the Lord will continue to bless them.
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:35).
The Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project embodies this scripture as the community unites to uplift one another through faith and service.