Gospel Story Finder

The crowd erupts into cheers as Travis, wearing a classy suit, and Amanda, in a beautiful black dress, link arms at the archway decorated with white lights and streamers. Travis and Amanda, prom king and queen, proudly walk through and take their place on the dance floor, joining the rapidly growing circle of teens. Then another young man and young woman walk through, also joining arms. They are prom king and queen, too. In one big way, this dance is different. Everybody is prom queen and king for the evening.

One day I came home from school very sad because I had to write a story and I didn’t know what to write. My mom and I talked about how Heavenly Father could help me if I prayed and asked for help. My mom and I prayed together. The next day I was able to write a story, and it was easy. I was so happy. I told my mom that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. The words just came to me when it was time to write!
Evan N., age 8, Washington

Many years later, when I was grown up and had my own family, we heard the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ when the missionaries knocked on our door. There was something in these missionaries—a glow of trust, a glow of hope, a glow of security, and a glow of love—that looked in the beginning to us like a fairy tale.
Could it be true? Could it really be true that we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father and that through the Spirit of Jesus Christ I could come to an understanding of the feelings I had had at Christmastime in my childhood? Because this door opened, the understanding that led to our conversion and baptism helped us see that we could experience Christmas every day when we focus always on Him, listen to Him, and embrace Him with a loving, grateful heart. What joy came to my family when we opened our souls to the light of the gospel of Jesus Christ!

My siblings and I grew up believing in God, but our family wasn’t religious. We did our own thing and didn’t bother to learn about our purpose on earth. When a few relatives died, I wondered if I would ever see them again. I remembered my grandfather warning us not to sleep too much because when we die, we sleep forever, and it got me curious. Was death just a dark place of eternal sleep? As my soul searched for the answer to what happens after death, a neighbour—a former bishop for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—sent missionaries to us. They taught my sister, Fiasili, and me the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and introduced us to the plan of salvation, which finally answered all my questions about death. Fiasili and I were soon baptised. She was 13 years old and I was 12.

Bang! Crash! The broomstick hit the garbage can lid such a blow that Steven fell to the ground. “You’re not supposed to hit so hard. I’m not a real dragon, you know.”
“Sorry, Steve,” Mike said. “I know you’re not, but I wish you were. I mean—I just wish there were still dragons around someplace.”
“Me too,” said Steven. “I’d slay them all and rescue people.”
“And when we got back to town they’d have a big parade for us,” suggested Mike.
“And root beer floats,” Steven added.
“But it’s no use,” Mike complained. “There’s nobody to rescue anymore. No dragons. No maidens in distress. Nothing exciting to do.”
“Steven! Are you out there?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I need something at the store. Will you go for me please?”
“OK, Mom, in a minute.”
“That gives me an idea!” Mike said, jumping up from the grass. “There’re still people to rescue. Your mom needs to be rescued right now.”
“That’s not rescuing! I go to the store all the time.”
“Yes, but this is different. Now we’ll go looking for chances to help people just like knights did in the olden days!”
“OK,” said Steve, catching his friend’s enthusiasm. “And if it’s a lady, we can give her a red rose from one of our bushes. Knights love to do stuff like that.”
“Thanks, boys,” said Steven’s mother when they returned from the store. “I really needed these things in a hurry. You saved my day.”
“Well,” said Steven, “that’s our job.”
“Here you are, madam. This red rose is for you to remember us by,” Mike added. “Now we have more knight work to do.”
“Night work?” asked Steven’s mother incredulously, as she put the rose in some water. “But it’s only two o’clock in the afternoon! However, I’m grateful for your help whatever time you’re going by.”
“It was our pleasure, madam, and all in a day’s work,” Mike said, bowing extravagantly.
The boys were pleased as they ran outside. “Now what?” they said, laughing because it sounded like one voice. Looking around for something else to do, they noticed that Mrs. Thompson’s yard was covered with leaves. A half hour later there was not a single fallen leaf to be seen, and a red rose was tucked into Mrs. Thompson’s mailbox. “She’ll never know it was us, “Mike said, grinning with pleasure.
Just then the two knights saw something that alarmed them. Little Jimmy Black had wandered into the street, chasing a big beach ball. And a car was coming around the corner only a block away. “Mike! Quick!” shouted Steven. “You get the ball. But be careful!” The two boys ran at top speed down the sidewalk. Looking carefully, they walked quickly into the street.
Mike grabbed the ball, and Steven picked up Jimmy.
Just as the boys returned to the curb, the car whizzed past and Mrs. Black ran out of her house. “Boys,” she cried, “I can’t thank you enough! I saw Jimmy in the street, but by the time I got here, you already had him out of the path of that car. I’m so grateful to you.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to thank us. We like doing this kind of work.” The two boys smiled.
Just then Mike’s mother called from his house, “Mike! Steven! Could you come here a minute?”
As the two boys climbed the porch steps, they saw a tray and began to smile. “I thought you might like a treat,” said Mike’s mother.
“Root beer floats!” said Steven. “My favorite!”
“Mine too!” Mike agreed. “Being a real, live knight is lots more fun than fighting pretend dragons.”
When Mike’s mother came out to pick up the tray and glasses, the boys were already gone. But their empty glasses were neatly placed on the table, and beside them lay a beautiful red rose.

Before our fifth son, Lawrence, was born, my wife had complications in labor, and the doctor stayed by her side all day. She also had had a dream that frightened her. She dreamed that two men in black clothes had come to get her, and she feared this may have been a warning she might not make it through the delivery. Late that night the doctor asked me to leave the room so he could examine her again. Greatly concerned about her, I went out into the hall, stood by a window looking over the twinkling lights of the Salt Lake Valley, and, with tears in my eyes, pleaded with the Lord to spare her life.
While I was praying, someone came rushing down the hallway. I saw a nurse run into my wife’s room, then come out, get a cart with a tank of oxygen, and wheel the cart into the room. Now I knew my wife was in great danger. Although I thought I had been praying with all my heart, I suddenly found I could pray with even greater humility and pleading. I promised the Lord I would do anything I was ever asked to do in the Church if he would spare Merlene’s life. The prayer was offered with every particle of my being.
In a few moments the door opened, and they were wheeling her to the delivery room. Lawrence, weighing ten pounds and twelve ounces, was born shortly after, and his mother soon recovered her health. Our prayers had been answered.

When Henry V was the King of England, France was one of his subject nations, and Henry had a little trouble with some of these Frenchmen. He therefore took an army and sailed across the Channel to put these Frenchmen in their place. But the job was a little bigger than he had expected. An early winter cut off their retreat and they were forced to spend the winter near the little French village of Agincourt. It was a heavy winter; many of them died, and they did not have supplies, and they were in hostile territory. The next spring, when they might have expected to get on their way, they found themselves surrounded by a great army of 60,000 well-fed, well-trained, well-horsed, well-armored Frenchmen, intent on wiping out the British and getting their freedom.

Now what would you do if you were met with a circumstance like that? What do you do when things get a little tough, the lessons get harder, the finances get low? What do you do? One thing you can do is to quit. You can just give it all up. But that is not what Henry did. He was not that kind of a person. He got his people together to talk it over with them, and we might say that he gave them a pep talk.

After his speech, one of Henry’s backwardlooking soldiers came up to him and said, “Look, King, we’ve got a million Englishmen over across the channel that are asleep in bed right now. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had them over here to help us with these sixty thousand Frenchmen?”

Henry got after him and said, “That would dilute our honor. What honor would there be in a million Englishmen whipping sixty thousand Frenchmen? If twelve thousand weak, sick footsoldiers can whip sixty thousand well-horsed, well-trained, well-armored cavalrymen, that is honor!” He indicated that if a million men should come across the channel to help them, he would send them back. He gave his soldiers the spirit of wanting to win the victory on their own power.

Then said this negative-thinking soldier, “God’s will! my liege, would you and I alone,/Without more help, could fight this royal battle: (act 4, scene 3). That is, he said the two of them alone could whip those sixty thousand Frenchmen. That may not be very good judgement, but that is courage, and that is what most of us need more than about any other thing.

It just happened that the battle of Agincourt was fought on Saint Crispian’s Day. Crispian was a Christian martyr. He was a shoemaker who had given his life for the church a few hundred years before, and they celebrated the feast of Saint Crispian on his birthday. Henry said to his soldiers:
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is name’d, . . . And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here . . . [To fight] with us upon Saint Crispin’s [sic] day. [act 4, scene 3]
I imagine that those British soldiers who fought the battle of Agincourt would feel very grateful that they were not among those poor, unfortunate people over in England who were asleep in bed and who were deprived of the privilege of giving their lives for their country in this famous battle. When any soldier or anyone else can learn to think like that, then he will not have very much difficulty in winning the victory.

Incidentally, the British won the battle of Agincourt. You may have seen in the movies how they drove stakes into the ground to stop the horses, and then the footsoldiers stood behind and from their English longbows shot arrows over among the French and knocked their horses down. They got the heavily-armored Frenchmen down in the mud where they could not get up, and then they went around with their spears and gave them some individual attention while they were lying there on the ground. But anyway, the English won the battle of Agincourt.

In 1951, our branch started building a chapel. It was the first chapel in Uruguay. There were less than 100 members who worked with my parents to construct the building. Most of the work was done by the members of the branch. I wanted to help, too.
Some members mixed cement. Some members dug holes, and some hammered nails. There were not many jobs for a five-year-old, so they gave me the job of straightening nails. I took a hammer and pounded old nails, trying to make them straight. I loved the clang of the hammer and the challenge of getting the bends out of the metal nails. Most of all, I loved having a job. My parents reminded me that the chapel could not be built without nails. I felt thrilled that I could serve with my family.
After three years, the chapel was finally finished. President David O. McKay came to Uruguay to dedicate it. I remember President McKay standing in the chapel, and I was thrilled that he could see the building I had helped create. He put the cornerstone in place and dedicated the building. His white hair made him look like he had come from heaven. He went around and shook everyone’s hand. When he came to me, he bent down especially to shake my hand. It was my first experience meeting a prophet, and when he spoke to me, I had a warm feeling in my heart. I felt glad I had helped build the chapel.

One day my friend Todd and I decided to go shooting. But pretty soon we got totally bored. It wasn’t even lunchtime and we were ready to go home.
As we put our gear in the car, I noticed something odd. “Hey, Todd,” I said. “What do you think that big dark spot on the hill is? Looks like a cave, doesn’t it?”
We decided to take a look. We didn’t have any lights with us, so we thought we would only explore as far in as we could go and still see the light from the entrance.
We walked a few yards into the cave and turned back to check the light. No problem. We walked in several more yards. Sure enough, the light was still there, but now it looked only about a foot high. We stopped and thought maybe we shouldn’t go in any farther. Well, just a few steps more.
Suddenly everything went black. I don’t mean dark. I mean black. We turned a full circle. There was no light.
We put our hands against the wall and began walking in the direction we had come—or so we thought. After following that wall a longer time than it took to walk in, we still couldn’t see an inch of light.
We turned the other way, again feeling along the wall, but again we saw no light.
We kept turning one direction and another, but we found no light. We started stumbling over rocks on the floor of the cave. There hadn’t been rocks like this where we came in.
“I’m scared,” Todd confessed.
“I’m scared, too,” I answered.
“No one is going to come looking for us,” Todd said. “We told them we wouldn’t be back until late.” Todd was quiet for a minute and then he added, “Maybe we’re going to die.”
“Maybe.”
I didn’t think it was maybe. I thought for sure we were going to die. Even when we didn’t show up later that night, our folks wouldn’t know where to come looking for us. It would be days before they found us.
We walked on for a long time. Finally we both collapsed down onto the ground. I fought back tears. I didn’t want to die like this.
“Frank,” Todd said quietly, “I don’t know what to do now.”
“I do,” I replied. “What we should have done hours ago. We’re going to pray, and we’re going to pray very hard.”
We knelt down and poured out our hearts, pleading with Heavenly Father to show us the way out. We prayed longer than I’d ever prayed in my life. It was the most sincere and humble prayer I’d ever uttered. We were completely dependent on Father in Heaven’s mercy.
When we finished our prayers we stood there for a few moments then turned in the direction we felt impressed to try. Within a few yards we saw a tiny glimmer of light. With just that tiny glimmer we knew which way to go.
When we reached the entrance of the cave, we knelt down again and thanked Heavenly Father for answering our prayers. Then we looked at our watches. We had wandered around in that cave for eight hours! We got home and told our story, and the whole family thanked Heavenly Father.
The next day, Todd and I thought it would be interesting to take our big flashlights and go back to look at the cave.
We climbed up to the entrance and turned on the flashlights. We walked a few yards into the cave and froze with a chill of terror. It wasn’t a cave. It was an abandoned mine filled with endless horizontal passageways and several vertical shafts falling into seemingly bottomless abysses. One wrong step and Todd and I would have hurtled down one of those shafts.
When I think about this experience, I think about light and darkness. I think about how captivating it is to explore just a little into the darkness. Just a step at a time, always knowing you can turn around and, seeing the light—even if only a little light—you are sure you can find the way out again. But I learned that you can take just one step too far into the darkness, and the light is gone. So, I decided right then: the best course of action is to stay out of the darkness entirely.

Let me give you a negative example of not thinking straight. A missionary reported that he was assigned a new companion—a greenie. As they were riding their bikes along the first day the new elder was about twenty feet in front of him—right in his sight line. It was flat, boring pavement, and the missionary in front started riding along with no hands. The senior companion observed this and then became aware of the thoughts in his own head: They went something like this. “Wow. I could never do that. He’s a way better missionary already than I am. This is going to be awful, working with someone who can do everything. It won’t be long before he finds out what a loser I am. I can’t do anything. I just wish this whole mission thing would be over.”

Look at that thinking; it happens so fast you’re hardly aware of it. He was consistently discourage and depressed because of the messages he was giving himself. Its crooked and distorted thinking.

Contrast that thinking to this: “I am a child of God with my own gifts and talents. My companion is also a child of God with his own gifts and talents. When both of us bring those gifts to Him, He will magnify them so that we can both be good missionaries.”

I ask you, which of those thought patterns represent straight thinking? Which kind of thinking produces joy? Which produces misery? The most fundamental property of thinking straight is to know what is true and what is not. Distorted, crooked thinking is all about thinking out of beliefs that aren’t true.

Let me share a story of love being manifested through the kindness, forgiveness and helping hands of others. Many years ago, a friend of mine was on a stake presidency. It was at a time when the stake presidency needed to be reorganized and when only the first presidency or one of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles could perform that sacred duty.
Elder James E. Faust was the presiding authority for that stake conference. It was and still is I believe, a normal practice to interview Melchizedek priesthood holders to get a feel of who the next stake president should be. After interviewing many, it was my friends turn for an interview. As he sat down, Elder Faust looked him in the eye and said: “Everyone loves you. Everyone wants you to be the next stake president. But this isn’t a popularity contest, The Lord doesn’t work that way—and the Lord doesn’t want you, why?”
At that moment my friend said he realized two things: that The Church really was true and that the Lord really did speak to his Apostles. My friend finally came clean with his life. He had not been living worthy of his priesthood. He was excommunicated and left to the buffetings of Satan.
Many hearts were broken and many hearts were unforgiving, but the Lord loved him and did not forget him. Years later, a sweet sister missionary loved him first. She and her companion persistently visited him every week. When it was time for her transfer, a missionary couple, with warm, friendly hands reaching out to him, withholding judgment, loving him despite of his shortcomings, loved him back into the fold. He rejoiced in the atonement of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He was re-baptized, and attended his meetings, patiently accepting and doing whatever the bishop required of him. Through patience and long-suffering and through the love of many, his long awaited temple blessings were finally restored; families were united once more, and my friend rejoiced in the few temple sessions he was able to attend before he passed away.

Alfred Nobel held his breath as a workman delicately lifted the glass bottle of nitroglycerin from its packing crate of wood shavings soaked in water. It was a cool morning, and he had to work fast before heat from the sun caused the temperature to rise above eighty degrees Fahrenheit.
The workman gently carried the bottle by the tips of his fingers. He could not clutch it in his hands because even his body heat would raise the temperature above the danger level. Nitroglycerin was the most powerful explosive known in 1860, and one bottle could destroy anything or anyone within a radius of one hundred feet.
Alfred Nobel was a Swedish chemist and engineer who traveled to the United States as a young man. What he saw there convinced him of the need for a safe and dependable explosive in that vast country that needed a great deal of work done—bridges built, tunnels cut, canals dug. Why, plans were already being made for one of the greatest construction projects of all time—a transcontinental railway system to connect California with the eastern states! To make that possible, a way would have to be carved through the great Rocky Mountains by the daily toil of human muscle power so that tracks could be laid. There must be a better way, Alfred decided.
Returning to Sweden, the young scientist eventually perfected nitroglycerin. He believed that a single explosion of nitroglycerin could do work that required days if men just dug with picks and shovels.
He went out on construction sites to make sure that the workmen handled the new explosive properly. On most occasions they did, but some were not as careful as they should have been. Each year a score of men were killed because they failed to follow the directions that Alfred Nobel, who manufactured the explosive, packed with each shipment.
As time went on, increasing numbers of workmen failed to handle it as directed. One man greased the axle of his wagon with it. Others threw unused amounts of it into the fire. Some simply did not understand nitroglycerin’s great power and stood too close when it exploded.
Soon people began pointing a finger at Nobel, blaming him for the deaths of careless workers. And in 1864 Nobel’s own factory exploded, killing his brother. Immediately production was suspended until Nobel had a floating laboratory built in the middle of a lake to prevent any unintentional explosion from injuring anyone but himself. Some substance that could be safely substituted for nitroglycerin had to be found.
In 1867, after nearly four years of experimentation, Nobel solved the problem. When nitroglycerin was absorbed by sticks of compressed diatomaceous earth (a porous material made of the skeletons of tiny one-celled sea animals), the result was a safe, dependable explosive.
He tested the sticks and was delighted to see that the explosive force remained but that the sticks were practically impossible to set off unintentionally. He called the new invention dynamite, from a Greek word meaning abundant power.
Nobel could hardly wait for his discovery to be put to use. It was safe, and it would save lives. Soon dynamite was being shipped all over the world.
In the United States the West was largely tamed by railroads that required large amounts of dynamite to clear the way for solid railbeds. Bridges, foundations for buildings, tunnels, mines, canals, and dams were all constructed with the help of this new and safer explosive.
But Nobel’s jubilation turned to horror when he learned that the new explosive was also being used by nations at war. He was heartsick. People began to think of him as a mad scientist who made his fortune by manufacturing death for warring nations. Newspapers called him a murderer.
Nobel became a millionaire, then a multimillionaire. But he was not seeking money, and above all else he dreaded to be remembered as a merchant of destruction.
Will my name be forever connected with death and war? he wondered.
In 1896 a saddened Nobel prepared a handwritten will that provided for the awarding of large cash prizes to humanitarians who worked toward peace and to people who made outstanding contributions in the fields of physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine, and literature. In 1969 an additional prize was established in the field of economic science.
Today, the world listens when the winners of the Nobel prizes are announced. It is a great honor for one who, as Nobel stated in his will, “during the preceding year, shall have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind.”
Some Nobel prizewinners have been: Wilhelm Roentgen in 1901 for the discovery of X rays; Theodore Roosevelt in 1906, the peace prize; Albert Schweitzer in 1952, the peace prize; Sir Winston Churchill in 1953 for literature; John Enders, Thomas Weller, and Frederick Robbins in 1954 for developing tissue culture for polio viruses; John Bardeen for his work with transistors. Marie Curie, who was awarded Nobel prizes in both physics and chemistry, was the first person to receive honors in more than one field.
Today few people remember Nobel as the inventor of dynamite. Instead, they eagerly await the announcement of Nobel prizewinners, especially the one for peace.

Some years ago an interesting account appeared in a New Zealand newspaper about a family—a man, woman, and their two young children—and their ocean voyage.
In a well-stocked 35-foot sloop they departed on an extended trip. After a few days out, their boat struck a reef off New Caledonia. The four occupants managed to get into a life raft with some water, food, and a radio before the yacht was lost. After some anxious hours, their radio distress signal was picked up in New Caledonia, and before long, they were reached by an air/sea rescue helicopter.
When the four family members were safely ashore and being interviewed by reporters, the woman kept repeating, “We’ve lost everything! We’ve lost everything! Everything we had was in that sailboat. All of our money, our clothes, and our possessions are gone. And the yacht was not insured. We’ve lost everything!”
As Earl Nightingale, a well-known philosopher, reported this story, he went on to comment on the lack of proper preparation of which this family was guilty. Reefs in the South Pacific are well charted. Insurance is always available and learning skills of sailing should be part of training processes before venturing out into open seas.

I have been speaking of institutional frontiers. Of course, there are also personal, spiritual frontiers for each of us individually. I remember a time when Sister Gilbert and I were living in Boston and President Hinckley extended a challenge to the whole Church to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.[7] Sister Gilbert and I had already been searching for direction in several career choices, and we took this invitation as a gift to go further in our own efforts to be close to the Spirit. It was during this very season that we received an unplanned call from Elder Kim B. Clark to consider coming to BYU-Idaho. In hindsight, Christine and I believe we were ready for such an invitation because we were searching for the frontier in our own lives. Each of you will have opportunities to go to your own spiritual frontiers. Remember, the Lord's pioneers go to the frontier. They are not satisfied to stay where they are or to stay who they are. The Lord's pioneers change, they repent, and they go to the hard places the Lord needs them to go.

Many years back as a young husband and father, I worked for a grocery chain. My shift was from about 5:30 A.M. to 2:00 P.M., without a lunch hour. I preferred it that way. One time during the week I had a day off. The stake president had announced a need for brethren to go out to Cedar Fort, where our stake farm was located, to get the bales of hay out of the fields before it rained.

I volunteered to go out on my day off. A member of the stake presidency, Francis Bromley, took me out to the farm. Much of the hay had been baled the preceding Saturday. I suggested to President Bromley that he drive the tractor. I would load the hay on the skids, transfer it to the flatbed truck, then haul it to a location where it was to be stacked. It was a hot summer day. There seemed to be no breeze at all, and no shade or cloud cover. I was accustomed to hard work but not in the sun. For hours we worked together retrieving the baled hay from the fields.

I can recall to this day how tired I was. Hay dust and dirt filled my nostrils and was caked on my arms and face. Sweat poured off me. My hands grew numb and my arms and legs were fatigued, but we worked on until the work was done. I remember the feelings I had at the end of the day. President Bromley somehow knew that I had worked with all my energy to save him as much work as possible. He was not a young man, and the work was heavy. He was very kind in his appraisal of the work we had done.

The greater reward came to me on the way home. I realized that I had worked for the Lord about as hard as I knew how to work. My sinuses burned from the dust and dirt, my eyes were filled with hay dust, and perspiration and alfalfa clung to my skin and clothes. I was exhausted and I think dehydrated. My head throbbed and my muscles ached, but way down deep inside of me there was a feeling of pride. For a few moments at the end of that day I drank from the living waters of Christ. I felt the cooling breeze of service, and I felt the shade of contentment to my soul.

I have never forgotten how I felt about President Bromley. Serving him and trying to do an extra measure of work to protect him filled my soul with a deep love for him. I knew that he could see into my heart and that he knew what I was trying to do for him. I think he loved me also. I believe, however, the greater love will come to those who serve someone else. If you want to love someone, serve that person. Service is work. It takes effort.

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried, without looking up.
“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”
“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.
The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. The years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying: “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward would like to talk to you. He’s here in my office.”
I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher who, with his family, lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”
She said, “He is the man.”
I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a wry smile, he replied: “I’m now second counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”
Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church. One of the youngest grandchildren is now serving a full-time mission.

It was a long process for Sukardi of Indonesia and his family to find closure and hope following the 2004 tsunami that devastated the coasts of Southeast Asia.
“We thought it was the end of the world; it was unbelievable,” said Sukardi, looking back to December 26, 2004, the day a massive underwater earthquake struck off the coast of Indonesia, causing a tsunami that killed more than 225,000 people in 11 countries. “But we are alive, and we are together, and we are happy.”
Sukardi, like thousands of others, lost family members and friends, his home, land, and nearly his life. After being washed away with the tsunami, he managed to grab hold of a coconut tree and cling to it as he waited for the floodwaters to recede.
Joined by family members, each with similar survival stories, Sukardi now resides in a home built with the help of Latter-day Saint Charities, an arm of Church Humanitarian Services, as part of the Church’s efforts to assist tsunami survivors.
The Church’s emergency relief efforts during the months immediately following the tragedy provided commodities such as food, hygiene kits, medical supplies, and clothing. Because of members’ significant donations, the Church began planning longer-term relief. As part of that long-term effort, fishermen and carpenters were given jobs constructing more than 130 replacement fishing boats. Men were hired to use large, wide-tracked backhoes to help reconstruct the dikes around shrimp farms. Sewing machines, looms, hand tractors, and other tools were donated to encourage a return to self-sufficiency.
“All of the first year was focused on reestablishing livelihood and helping individuals get back to work,” said Brett Bass, director of Church Humanitarian Services. “Then we looked at our resources, identified the most pressing needs, and refocused our efforts on permanent reconstruction.”
The Church’s efforts included constructing community centers, homes, schools, medical clinics, and clean water systems—all made possible by a tremendous outpouring of humanitarian generosity. In the time of need, Church members from around the world contributed to help make these efforts possible.
The Church’s monumental efforts in Indonesia concluded in December 2007. Major projects included building 902 homes and 3 community centers, constructing 15 schools, building 3 fully equipped health clinics, rebuilding a hospital wing, and completing 24 village water projects.
Abdul Samad lived in a hastily constructed community barracks for two and a half years before he and his family moved into their new home. He lost his wife and her mother in the flood but now hopes to make life better for his remaining family, three daughters and a son.
Each of the 902 homes built and donated is 44 square meters. The hundreds of recipients frequently said they believe their homes were the best homes built, that they would pass them on to their children and grandchildren. They loved the colors used and the tile on the floors and expressed gratitude for having something solid and reliable in their lives again.
“When the earthquake hit and the tsunami followed, the first thing they did, if they were in their house, was run outside,” said Jeff McMurdo from International Organization for Migration, which partnered with the Church to build homes. “From the moment it started, they were running. So when they get the keys to a house, they are able to get some measure of closure to the whole tragedy of the tsunami experience.”
The Church continued rebuilding efforts by partnering with Islamic Relief and the Adventist Development and Relief Agency to build 15 schools, along with training new teachers and developing curriculum and education support systems.
Many of the area’s teachers were killed in the tsunami, creating a significant teacher shortage. Kamaruzzaman, a teacher from Banda Aceh, is one of just two surviving teachers from his school. With the loss of buildings, teachers, and children, the education system operated in a very makeshift fashion until these new schools were constructed.
“They have been going to a temporary building for school—a community hall where there are about 40 students in the room,” said Kamaruzzaman, who is now a head schoolmaster of a newly built school. “The students now have a better school that’s more helpful to learning. They now have a more hopeful future.”
Each school building was furnished with desks, whiteboards, and libraries to provide a quality learning environment for children. As more teachers became available, an emphasis was put on training and developing new curriculum.
Herliana, an education coordinator for Islamic Relief, said she is very proud to be a part of this project. “There were no schools; there were few trained teachers left,” she said. “This has been a great contribution to the communities. Together we are making a big difference in the lives of the children, teachers, parents, and families.”
Fauziah, an animated and smiling woman, is now a water operator for her small village near Bireuen in Aceh Provence. In this position, she keeps records and collects water-usage fees from those who use the community’s new water system.
In partnership with International Relief and Development, the Church completed 24 village water projects that consisted of renovating wells, installing storage tanks, improving sanitation, and upgrading delivery systems. These efforts are providing clean water to 20,000 people.
“Before, it was hard to get good water and it took a long time to go get it,” said Fauziah as she expressed gratitude to have access right outside her home. “Now our children will be healthier and will have a better future.”
Bath and laundry facilities were also built in the villages, and residents received training on how to take care of the facilities and keep them clean.
While each village also received personal hygiene training, the more elaborate efforts to improve healthcare moved forward with the completion of three fully equipped health clinics and the rebuilding of a hospital wing.
“This is much-needed,” said Syarman, a community leader in the Bireuen district, where access to medical care previously required a 15-kilometer walk. “Our people will be able to get needed medical assistance near their homes. It is better than before, and we are grateful.”
The Church also arranged training for doctors and medical staff and provided needed medical equipment.
For Bill and Linda Hamm of Anchorage, Alaska, USA, the work presented a personal challenge: they were called to serve as humanitarian service missionaries to oversee tsunami relief efforts in Indonesia. “We were exhilarated by the challenges and overwhelmed by the opportunity,” Brother Hamm said.
This opportunity was also extended to Jim and Karen Greding of Thousand Oaks, California, USA, a couple called to oversee the completion of the projects after Brother and Sister Hamm’s 18-month mission concluded. With the assignment to be present and to check on the work being done, these individuals acted as representatives not only of the Church, but also of the many individuals who made contributions.
“We were to oversee the quality of the work and to make sure the money allotted for projects was being used properly,” Sister Greding said. Church representatives were present at every stage of the process, an act that, combined with their funding methods, distinguished the Church from other organizations.
“We regarded our finances as sacred funds and made every effort to see these funds used efficiently and not be wasted,” said Bill Reynolds, director of field operations for tsunami relief. “Many organizations provide funding and wait to see what is happening through infrequent reports. We provided sequential funding that relied on benchmark expectations that we personally oversaw. The organizations we worked with knew that if we said we wanted something done and in a certain way, they needed to meet those expectations.”
The Church focused on helping Indonesia and its people take a simple step forward, a step away from tragedy and pain, a step toward reestablishing life. While these efforts played just a small part among the many individuals and organizations that offered aid to the tsunami victims, the missionaries were able to share their love, the love of the members, and the pure love of Christ.
“We were not permitted to proselyte, but we were representing the Lord and tried to share our testimonies through our work by being kind, polite, or simply by smiling,” Sister Hamm said. “Sometimes we had the opportunity to explain where the funds came from, and we told about our prophet and how he called for a 24-hour fast, with the money that would otherwise be spent on food to be donated to a special fund. I think the Spirit bore witness and they understood that there were individuals around the world who loved them.”
Evidences of the tsunami are still very much apparent, but the people have expressed gratitude for every effort that has been made on their behalf.
“This is simply an experience you can never forget, and anyone who travels to these areas will not be able to miss the evidences of destruction where the land became sea permanently, where so many lost their lives and loved ones,” Sister Greding said. “But many who were suspicious of Christians have changed their hearts. Some stared at us, but most in their limited English said to us, ‘Thank you, mister.’ We heard that often.”

It was Mothers and Sons’ Night at the Fort Collins Second Ward, Fort Collins Colorado Stake. Thirteen priests in suits and ties sat proudly with their mothers as the Laurels served a delicious dinner of roast beef prepared earlier that evening by the priests themselves. Afterwards, a beautifully decorated cake with “MOM” written in the middle was cut and eaten and a program was presented. Bishop Owen Smith began by paying a tribute to all mothers. Quorum member Ron Wallace followed him with a musical number on his cello. The finale of the program was when the priests sang in two-part harmony all four verses of “There Is Beauty All Around.”
Quorum secretary and chairman for the evening, Paul Simons, then read from Alma the tribute to the mothers of the 2,000 stripling warriors: “Now they never had fought, yet they did not fear death; and they did think more upon the liberty of their fathers than they did upon their lives; yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them” (Alma 56:47).
As successful as the meal and program were, the highlight of the evening came when each boy pinned a corsage on his mother and told her of his love for her. Perhaps Sister Simons expressed the feelings of all the mothers present when she said, “It was thrilling to hear my son express his love in public—it was a warm, spiritual evening.”

Grandmother was visiting us, and we were just ready to go out on a fun family outing when a minor disaster struck—we couldn’t find the keys to the car. Children, parents, and Grandmother searched everywhere, but the keys were not to be found, and we thought in dismay that we would probably have to stay home. Then Grandmother excused herself and went into her bedroom. In just a few minutes one of the children suddenly found the keys just barely hidden under a corner of a rug.
As we drove happily to our outing, someone asked Grandmother, “Why did you go into your bedroom instead of looking for the keys?” Grandmother’s answer was absorbed carefully by five young children: “I knew how disappointed everyone would be if we didn’t go on the outing so I went in and prayed that we could find the keys. I knew we would find them after that.”

Before I received my patriarchal blessing, my stake patriarch asked me to bear my testimony. When I did it, I cried, which made me feel weak and unimportant. But the patriarch told me that I was crying because I felt the Spirit. There was no need to be embarrassed.
Then when I received my blessing, I felt like God was also telling me that I was not weak. God knows me and loves me.
My patriarchal blessing has been a huge help in my life. When I get very emotional and feel like I’m not important and that no one understands me, I can read my blessing and realize I have worth and a purpose. I am reminded that I can become that amazing person I’ve always wanted to be.