Gospel Story Finder

Every morning, all the girls gather for a flag-raising ceremony, then engage in games. This morning, there are clouds overhead and the mountain winds blow cold. The girls make a semicircle in front of the flags. As the sun gradually blossoms over the mountain peaks, everyone stands quietly for the opening prayer. The sounds of birds and crickets lightly pepper the soft whisper of the wind. This is a special morning, because Brother Christian Euvrard, a regional leader in the area, is speaking to the girls. He talks about the Young Women program as a guide for planning the future. When he finishes, he picks up a stick and breaks it as a symbol that the ceremony is over. Now it is time for games. And that’s when something unusual begins to happen.
As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.
The American girls’ Young Women leader, Linda Black, still lives in Verona, Italy. She wrote to us that several of the American girls became close friends with some of the Italian girls and have continued to write to them.
Annalisa Brandonisio, from Venice, wrote us, “Even though our language and customs were different, I felt united to the American group because of the strong influence of the Spirit of the Lord that was with us.”

On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith.

Later, as passengers were leaving the aircraft, this woman’s husband spoke to me. He said, “I’m sorry my wife was so terrified. The only way I could comfort her was to tell her that ‘Elder Nelson is on this flight, so you don’t need to worry.’”

I’m not sure that my presence on that flight should have given her any comfort, but I will say that one of the realities of mortal life is that our faith will be tested and challenged. Sometimes those tests come as we face what appear to be life-and-death encounters. For this frightened woman, a violently rocking plane presented one of those moments when we come face-to-face with the strength of our faith.

Many moving accounts have come to our attention as a result of this open house; countless hearts have been touched. Over eight thousand individuals with special needs came in wheelchairs, bringing relatives or friends to assist them. One young son paused at the entrance to the temple to carefully clean and polish the wheelchair his father was in before entering the sacred interior of the temple. A devoted father lifted his frail fifteen-year-old daughter in his arms as he carried her from her wheelchair into the brides’ dressing room. She looked around and said, “Oh, this is so beautiful.” With a smile on her lips and with tears in her eyes, she gently laid her head on her father’s shoulder and said, “This is where I want to come to be married someday.” This young girl had come to the temple from the hospital, where she has spent most of the past five years, her wish to see the temple fulfilled.

by Debbie Jones
“Yes, it is a gold wedding band.” As the young men and women of my ward gathered around to admire the band, all sorts of questions arose. “Whose could it be? Where did you find it? I wonder how long it has been buried in the flower garden?”
While my friends had been mowing, power raking, and shoveling in the widow’s yard, I had been weeding her flowerbed. Sister Kelly and I were digging out a big clump of grass and shaking the dirt off the roots when the precious ring fell out.
It’s always fun to find buried treasure, but that one unanswered question still remained: To whom did the ring belong? I thought how sorry the owner must have felt when he lost it and how much it would mean to him if he could get it back.
That night as I said my prayers, I asked the Lord to help me find the rightful owner. I knew I would need His help because the house had been rented to many couples over the years.
You can imagine my surprise when just two days later, the doorbell rang and at the door stood Brother Huff, asking me if I had his wedding band. He explained that he and his wife were spending some time in Salt Lake City. They were waiting in a restaurant for breakfast when their good friends, Brother and Sister Thatcher, walked by. They invited the couple to join them. In conversation, Sister Thatcher, my Young Women leader, mentioned the ring we had found. How excited they all were when Brother and Sister Huff discovered that the ring was found at the house where they lived 14 years ago! He had lost his wedding ring while raking leaves.
Brother Huff had since purchased another band, but he was thrilled to find his original wedding ring again. He offered me 20 dollars in appreciation, but I refused. I knew it was the Lord who really deserved the thanks. And besides, I was as happy as he was.
A short time later, the doorbell rang again, and there stood the florist with a beautiful arrangement of flowers. I opened the card and read the words, “Thanks again. Brother Huff.” The next day I took the bouquet to church to share with the Payson Utah Third Ward and all who were involved in that service project.
From this experience I received much more than flowers. I now have a stronger testimony of church service and prayer. Don’t miss your next project, because you never know what service surprises await you!

In a western city a young man had been preparing for 18 years to go on a mission. He was excited, his parents were excited, his girlfriend was also, and he was ready.

One evening at the city swimming pool, he and some friends were diving from the highboard. The second he hit the water, he knew his approach angle had not been good. He was in trouble. His head pierced the water and struck the bottom of the pool with a sickening thud. He was immediately knocked unconscious. He was brought carefully to the poolside and then rushed to the hospital. After weeks of medical attention, he was finally told that he would be paralyzed for the rest of his life from his neck down. He couldn’t move a finger or a toe, an arm or a leg. He would now lie in bed forever. His body would become a useless thing, and unless something unusual happened, so would his spirit.

A wise bishop recognized the problem. After talking with the boy’s parents and the doctor, the bishop gave him an assignment. It was unbelievable, unreal, impossible! The assignment: would he please write a letter each month to every missionary and serviceman from their ward? Was the bishop just not thinking or was he inspired? How could the boy write with no hands or fingers to assist? Some had learned to use their toes in such an emergency, but he couldn’t move his. Having faith in their bishop, the boy and his parents started to work on the assignment. It took days, weeks, and months of effort and discouragement. In time, it began to happen.

By putting a pencil between his teeth and moving his head, he learned to make a mark, then a word, next a sentence, and finally a page. He wrote and wrote.

For over 20 years he has been writing beautiful letters. He has inspired thousands. The side benefit is that his own spirit, simply stated, is magnificent. Is it worth the effort to follow our leaders’ counsel no matter how hard or how difficult? He thinks so. So do I.

In Nepal, students must pass 10th-grade exams to continue in school. Failing the exams ends their education. “One of my teachers,” Preeti says, “wanted me to come on the Sabbath to a study session for the exam. I explained that I could not; I had to go to church.”
“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“Yes,” Preeti answered. “I have a teaching responsibility.” She later passed her “iron gate,” her name for these rigorous tests. “I prayed that whatever I had learned, Heavenly Father would help me remember,” she says.

It wasn’t until months later, when I stood exhausted, hungry, and cold, on the banks of a muddy pond that I began to understand.
I was participating in a pioneer trek, and it was the last day. We hadn’t eaten much for breakfast, and the day before we had hiked for many miles. That morning we had pulled our handcarts to the banks of a very large pond, and we were going to ferry them across in order to experience in a small way what it must have been like to cross a river with handcarts. It had rained that morning, and we all stood in the sun, trying to dry ourselves as we waited for our turn to cross. While we waited, our stake president told us the story of the Sweetwater rescue—how several young men had put their own lives in peril in order to carry the desperate Saints of the Martin Handcart Company across an icy river in the middle of winter. As I stood listening to the story, I felt the love and sacrifice of those boys, and the Spirit swelled in my heart. I felt a desire to be like those great young men and help rescue all those needing spiritual help in our day, including my own family.
In my mind, I uttered one of the shortest prayers I’ve ever said, but it was one of the most powerful: “Heavenly Father, help me to be a rescuer.”
At that moment, I again felt that soft, warm, peaceful feeling of heaven close around me, and I knew through the Spirit that my will and my Heavenly Father’s will were one.

In October of 1990 our neighbor’s daughter was involved in an automobile accident returning home from college. I was the bishop at the time and received a phone call about midnight from Kim’s father, Ralph Johnson, asking if I could go to the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City and be with her because they were stranded in California, where they had driven that weekend, unable to get a flight back to Salt Lake City until the next morning. Brother and Sister Johnson wanted someone to be with their daughter, whose condition was critical. My wife, Sherri, and I, and my first counselor, Dick Beeson, traveled to the hospital. Kim was in a coma. Her uncle and boyfriend were already present. All during the night we prayed, waited, hoped, and cried. Sometime during the nigh t, feeling very bad, I decided to walk down to the area where Kim lay unconscious. It must have been three or four a.m. Much to my surprise I found my wife, Sherri, sitting by Kim, talking to her and stroking her arm softly. I said something to Sherri about coming back to the waiting room with me, to which she responded, “In a while. Someone who knows her and loves her should be with her. This is where Ralph and Nancy would be if they were here. She needs a mom. I will stay with her.”
I do not know if Kim knew of my wife’s care, but I hope she felt it even if she could not see it. Sherri gave Kim pure love unfeigned in the middle of that night while she lay dying. I learned that night that love is most pure when there is no consideration of a response from the person receiving it.

I had a sweet experience with a darling young woman who asked a very sincere question: “Sister Craven, how do you know that anything about the Church is true? Because I feel nothing.”
Before jumping to an answer, I first asked her some questions. “Tell me about your personal scripture study.”
She replied, “I don’t read the scriptures.”
I asked, “What about with your family? Do you study Come, Follow Me together?”
She said, “No.”
I asked about her prayers: “What do you feel when you pray?”
Her answer: “I don’t pray.”
My response to her was simple: “If you want to know anything, you will have to do something.”
Isn’t that true with anything we want to learn or know? I invited my new friend to start doing the gospel of Jesus Christ: praying, studying, serving others, and trusting in the Lord. Conversion won’t come while doing nothing. It comes through the power of the Holy Ghost as we intentionally make an effort to know by asking, seeking, and knocking. It comes by doing.

Ryan: When I was about 12 years old I went to a friend’s house and found him and a bunch of neighborhood boys gathered around the computer. I joked, “Hey, are you guys looking at pornography?”
They said, “How did you guess? Come check this out.”
That was the beginning of a problem in my life. I soon began using our family computer to find more and more images.

I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and the Atonement with much deeper and more personal meaning. The Atonement gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow step by step each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me about the Internet sites I was visiting, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.

As Tim took one last swing at the pine tree, the ax resounded and a slow snapping sound sang through the small valley. “Look out!” Tim shouted.
Jeff sidestepped the falling tree, then he noticed Tim had lost his footing and was tumbling down the long, steep hill just beyond the fallen tree. Jeff slid to where his brother lay against a huge rock, his leg twisted into an unnatural position beneath him. “Tim! Tim! Are you all right?” But there was no answer.
Snow was beginning to fall in huge soft flakes, and Jeff fell to his knees to brush it off Tim’s face. “Wake up, Tim,” Jeff urged.
After a long moment, Tim slowly opened his eyes.
“Thank goodness!” Jeff said. “What happened?”
“I slipped trying to get out of the way of the tree,” Tim answered slowly.
“Can you walk?” Jeff asked as his older brother slowly rolled over and tried to sit up.
“Oh, boy!” Tim cried. “Something’s wrong with my leg. I can’t put any weight on it.”
“Maybe it’s broken,” Jeff said, afraid to think what that might mean. His heart felt as though it were made of lead. He and Tim had come to the mountains early to open the cabin and to cut a Christmas tree. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve and the rest of the family wouldn’t arrive until then for the family’s traditional holiday in the mountains.
“I don’t know,” Tim replied. But the pain in his voice said more than the words.
Jeff looked across the white and green patchwork on the mountain. The sun disappearing on the other side meant that there was probably an hour left before total darkness settled over the valley. The cabin was about fifty yards away. Tim’s so heavy, how am I ever going to carry him there? Jeff wondered. And once we get there, then what? There’s no phone in the cabin and nobody around for miles. I’ll probably have to get to the main highway to find help and that’s ten miles away!
Tim must have been thinking the same thing. “Jeff, there’s no time to waste,” he said. “I think I can drag myself back to the cabin. If you take off now and hurry, you’ll make it to the highway for help just after dark. Think you can do it?”
“But I can’t leave you alone like this!”
Tim’s face was pinched with pain. “You have to, Jeff,” he urged. “I need help!”
Jeff hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he turned and began to carefully make his way down the snowy mountain. When Jeff tried to go faster, he slipped and fell. Picking himself up he glanced back up the hill.
Tim had moved about fifteen feet. “Hurry,” Tim called. “I’ll be all right.”
Jeff zipped his coat up around his neck to keep out the snow and went on. Soon he reached a narrow winding roadway. The road wasn’t as steep or rocky as the mountain path so he started jogging. He looked back, but Tim and the cabin were out of view.
Dusk settling over the quiet valley gave the towering pines a spooky look. The snow muffled any sounds except the thud, thud, thudding of Jeff’s feet. “Faster, faster, faster,” he kept repeating, his breath looking like smoke in the cold air. And his feet did move faster and faster, even though they slipped and stumbled on the road. Then a pain in his side forced him to slow to a walk. The falling snow had covered the narrow road, making it hard to tell which way to go. And now Jeff realized the darkness was coming faster than expected. The whole valley was suffused in shadows and deadly silence, with the mountains towering on either side like giants. Jeff had never felt so alone, so helpless, so scared. “What if I don’t make it?” he whispered then stopped himself. “I can’t think like that,” he said to convince himself. “I have to make it. I will make it!”
The dark world around him became colder and more frightening, and there was no moon yet. But fortunately the snow had stopped and a few stars were showing through the cloudy black sky.
Jeff began to run again as he searched his mind for something to think about to keep away the fear. Suddenly a cracking noise stopped him. He listened intently but there was only silence. “Must have been a limb breaking under the weight of the snow,” he mumbled, looking around. In the darkness everything seemed huge and threatening. But the worst feeling was that of loneliness.
Quickly Jeff’s mind reached for a thought, any thought. Slowly some familiar words began to form in his head. What were they? Night … star … brightly … then he remembered. They were words from one of the songs he’d sung for the Christmas sacrament meeting program: “O holy night! The stars are brightly shining; it is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth. … ”
Jeff hadn’t thought much about the words then, but now in the cold darkness they were taking on new meaning. He looked up. There was only one star shining mistily through the clouds. As he stared at it, the song became more than mere words. And finally he began to understand what the words meant.
Slowly more of the song drifted through his mind. “In all our trials, born to be our friend … ”
It was starting to snow again. “This certainly is a trial and I sure need a friend,” he murmured.
He watched the snow, letting the thoughts float freely through his mind. “He was born and He died because He loved me so much,” Jeff whispered into the darkness. “He is my friend.”
A beautiful feeling of comfort replaced the fear and worry in Jeff’s heart.
“I’m not alone,” he said loudly, “and I know Tim is going to be all right.”
With snow falling again, Jeff dropped to his knees. “Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for Christmas and for Thy Son and for being with me. I know Thou wilt be with my brother too. Please lead me to someone who can help us …”

Last fall, I attended church in a wonderful ward in Sao Paulo, Brazil. I was enjoying Relief Society when the teacher suddenly ended her lesson early. Imagine my surprise when the Relief Society president said, “We’re happy to have Sister Dew with us today, and we’d like her to take the remaining time.”

It was an honor to bear my testimony that morning. Afterwards, I had barely stood up when a young woman your age threw her arms around me and said, “Sister Dew, I am visiting from Peru, and you are the reason I came to Brazil.” That seemed curious, since neither of us had known I would be speaking, but I asked what I had said that made a difference, and she repeated what she’d heard and why it helped her.

That gave me an opportunity to point out something to her: “I am 100% sure that you heard what you said,” I told her, “but I am also 100% sure that I did not say it. What does that tell you?”

She paused and then answered, “That the Lord was talking to me?”

I nodded and asked, “What else does it tell you?”

She thought again and said, “That He knew what I needed to hear?”

I nodded again and asked, “What else does it tell you?” She wasn’t sure. “It tells you that you can receive revelation. The Holy Ghost translated what I said so that you heard what the Lord knew you needed. I am not the one who answered your prayer. It was God who did.”

That young woman had received revelation, but she didn’t realize it.

The sun began to set behind the baseball diamond. Brent squinted, focusing on the pitcher in front of him.
Brent shifted his weight back and forth, waiting for the next pitch. As the pitcher started his windup, everything seemed to slow down. Brent watched the ball sail from the pitcher’s hand and arc toward him.
Brent swung his arms and watched his bat smack the baseball with a mighty crack! The next thing he knew, Brent was watching the ball sail over the head of the outfielder.
“Great job, Brent!” Coach said. “All right, guys. Practice is over. I’ll see you all in a couple of days for our big game against the Tigers.”
Brent had a lot of fun playing baseball, and he was glad to be on his new team. Usually he walked home with teammates who lived in his neighborhood, but tonight he decided to walk home alone. After all, he was 11 years old and an all-star. Getting home couldn’t be too hard.
After walking for a few minutes, Brent realized that nothing really looked familiar. He didn’t recognize any of the houses or the people he passed by. Still, he wasn’t too concerned—until he noticed that the once-bright orange sky was now turning gray.
Brent felt relieved when he crossed the railroad tracks. He knew that his neighborhood was somewhere on the other side of these tracks. But as the evening light faded into darkness, his confidence faded into panic and fear.
Brent didn’t know how long or far he had walked, but he could definitely tell that he was not near his home.
Trembling with cold and fear, Brent did the only thing he could think to do. He knelt down in the tall weeds of a vacant lot and prayed more sincerely than he had ever prayed before.
Then something wonderful happened. Brent’s fear and panic disappeared. A feeling of peace and joy washed over him. Brent was still lost, but he knew that Heavenly Father had heard his prayer.
Brent wiped tears from his eyes and stood up. He knew everything would be OK.
As Brent looked around, wondering which way to walk, he had a new idea.
“The temple,” Brent thought. “Of course!” Brent lived only a few blocks from the temple. He knew that if he could just find the temple, he would be able to find his way home.
Brent walked up the hill that was just ahead of him. When he reached the top, he could clearly see the spire of the temple illuminating the night sky.
Brent had seen the temple many times before, but seeing the temple standing as a beacon in front of him now felt especially meaningful.
Brent changed his direction and continued to walk, always keeping his eyes on the temple. Finally, he reached his home.
Brent felt grateful that Heavenly Father had heard his prayer. And he was especially thankful that he had the gift of the temple to help him find his way home.

I am grateful that both my wife and I were taught the important of repentance and sacrifice. We grew up with each other and went to the same junior high and high school. When we reconnected after my mission, the subject of love came up on the first night that we talked with each other (don’t ask me how). I had concluded on my mission that the truest definition of love was ­“sacrifice.” In John 15:13, Jesus taught, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

In our conversation, I asked her what she thought love was.
She paused and then said something like, “I think the best way to describe love is with the word sacrifice.”
Wow. I kneeled down and asked her to marry me right there on the spot! (Not really—in ­reality we took our sweet time and got engaged less than two months later.) We have now been ­happily married for almost twenty-five years. Now that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been without some challenges. All marriages have them. But our covenant of sacrifice with God has motivated us to lay down our selfish lives to build our family life and thus build the kingdom. That’s true in any relationship. There is power in learning that enduring love for God and others is grown in the soil of sacrifice.

A few years ago, when Arturo Toscanini was musical director of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in New York City, he had a Saturday afternoon radio broadcast. And one day he received in his mail a crumpled little note on some brownish paper which read:
“Dear Mr. Toscanini, I am a lonely sheepherder in the mountains of Wyoming. I have two prized possessions: an old violin and a battery radio. And the batteries are getting weak and beginning to run down on my radio, and my violin is so out of tune I can’t play it anymore. Would you please sound an A next Saturday on your program?”
The next week on the program, Arturo Toscanini announced: “To a newfound friend in the mountains of Wyoming, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra is now, all together and in unison, going to sound a perfect A.” And they sounded the perfect A. Then that lonely little man was able to tune the A string and then the E string and the D and the G from that perfect A.

La Verkin, Utah—One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.
“Julia’s Christmas,” from the Christian Olsen family record, Our Pioneer Heritage, 14 (1971): 199

“Let’s not sit by the Wilsons today,” Paul said to his mom as they drove to church.
“Why not?” Mom seemed surprised.
“Because their little boy embarrasses me.”
“You mean cute little Joseph? How does he embarrass you?”
“Haven’t you heard him? He’s so loud, especially during the hymns. He thinks he’s singing, but he’s just making noise.”
Mom smiled. “Ah, yes, I have heard him. I’ll tell you what, you listen very carefully to him today and think about what you hear. And next week, if his singing still bothers you, we’ll sit somewhere else.”
Paul frowned. “That means we’ll have to sit by the Wilsons today.”
“That’s right. But after today the problem should be solved. OK?”
“OK,” Paul sighed.
When they entered the chapel, Paul looked around until he spotted the Wilsons. They were just settling onto a bench. Joseph already had his nose in a hymnbook.
“There’s a seat just in front of them,” Mom pointed out. “Let’s go.”
As Paul sat down, Joseph put down his book and grinned at him. Paul couldn’t help smiling back. Joseph did have a special sparkle in his eyes. If only he weren’t so noisy.
After the bishop’s greeting, it was time for the opening hymn. Paul was still looking for the correct page in the hymnbook when the music began. Joseph began to wail so loudly that Paul could hardly hear the organ playing.
Paul looked at Mom and silently mouthed, “See?”
Mom smiled and mouthed back, “Listen.”
Paul listened. Joseph sang very loudly, but he wasn’t singing what everyone else was singing. When the rest of the congregation paused between verses, Joseph’s voice could still be heard. It just sounded like noise to Paul. Why couldn’t Joseph sing the right words or at least sing at the right times? Paul glanced back at the Wilsons. Joseph held open the hymnbook for his parents. They didn’t seem to notice the awful racket he was making.
After the opening prayer, Mom opened her scriptures and pointed out a verse to Paul. It was in Psalms 66:1–2 and it read, “Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands: Sing forth the honour of his name: make his praise glorious.”
“‘Joyful noise’? Was that what Joseph was doing?” Paul wondered.
When it came time to sing the sacrament hymn, Paul was halfway through the song when he realized he couldn’t hear Joseph. Had he fallen asleep? Paul glanced back and saw Joseph sitting between his parents with his arms folded. Joseph’s father held the book for them. Paul tilted his head and listened carefully. Was Joseph making any noise at all? Yes, now he could hear him. He was humming. He wasn’t humming the same song everyone else was singing, but it was a reverent tune. Joseph somehow knew that this was the time for a quiet song. Paul tried to sing with more reverence.
Paul was glad there was another hymn during the meeting. This would give him another opportunity to hear Joseph sing. And sing he did! This was more like a “wake-up” hymn to Joseph. He held the hymnbook high again and sang with gusto. Paul suddenly realized that Joseph probably didn’t sing the words because he wasn’t old enough to read, but he didn’t let that stop him. Paul wondered if he would be so brave if he couldn’t read the words in the hymnbook. Would he be able to sing with as much enthusiasm as Joseph?
After that hymn, Paul’s mother showed him another scripture: “For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). Paul nodded. Joseph’s singing certainly was from his heart.
Paul made one more discovery during the closing hymn. Joseph wasn’t just making noise or making up words, he was actually singing the words to a song. Paul listened carefully and heard “I Am a Child of God.” Of course, everyone else was singing something else. When the congregation began singing the last verse, Joseph launched into “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” Paul smiled to himself. This was Joseph’s time to sing, too. And he was singing every song he could think of, with all his might.
When the last notes on the organ faded away, Joseph’s voice could be clearly heard as he ended his song with “I’ll be a sunbeam for Him.” Many people chuckled. Paul heard Joseph’s mom whisper to Joseph, “Prayer time.” There was a rustle as Joseph shifted in his seat and folded his arms.
When the prayer was over, Paul’s mom looked at Paul and raised her eyebrows. “Well?” she asked. “Is there still a problem?”
Paul shook his head. He turned to the Wilsons. “Hey, Joseph,” Paul said, “can I walk you to Primary? I bet they love you in singing time.”
Joseph grinned and nodded as he took Paul’s hand. As they walked down the aisle, Paul started quietly humming a Primary song that had just come to his mind, “A song is a wonderful kind of thing, so lift up your voice and sing. …”

When students in an institute class in Kreuzlingen, Switzerland (above), began studying the Book of Mormon, they felt a great spirit of peace in their lives, and they decided to share that spirit with the members of their branch. The students bore their testimonies of the Book of Mormon during sacrament meeting. Using Isaiah 12:2 as a theme (right), they encouraged branch members to read one chapter a day for one month.
Even after the month-long challenge was over, the members of the branch kept up their reading habit. And with their reading came the same spirit of peace the institute students felt. Arletta Riesen explains: “The Spirit in our branch is so strong now. Every member is more willing to do what the Lord wants, and we can feel the love we have for each other. It’s the same love Jesus Christ has for each one of us.”

She had learned about waiting during World War II when she thought her husband had died. The same bravery that led Bert to earn decorations from the Allied High Command and from the Dutch government for valor in the face of grave danger also led him to be parachuted behind Japanese lines with the English. He had been borrowed by the British forces, and Nora knew nothing about his whereabouts. Left alone with two small children, she survived in a post-war refugee camp in Bombay, India, assuming she would never see her husband again after receiving no word from him for four years.
But one day in 1946 as she was teaching a class to some children, a man stood at the back of the room. It was Bert. On an assignment with the British, he had been stationed in Singapore, where he searched the lists of refugee camps in the country. After a joyful reunion with his family, Bert went on another assignment to Ceylon (Sri Lanka), this time with his family, before returning to Indonesia.

Some of the teens in Ipswich have felt the comforting Spirit of the Lord when they were in frightening situations. Tirion Guy told a story about being on a boat on the River Thames during a windy, stormy day. “The river was choppy, and it seemed to be getting worse. I remember some of the plates in the kitchen smashed, and the chairs were going everywhere. We had to walk up the sides of the boat so we wouldn’t fall over. While I was on the boat, I felt comforted that everything would be OK. But when we got off, when we were safe and it was calm, then I cried. When I was going through it, I can’t really describe it, but I was comforted.”