Gospel Story Finder

Joseph Albiston, John’s son, was born in 1820. He married Mary Ann Clayton in 1846, and they had six children. Joseph and his brother, John Albiston, Jr., had been baptised in April 1840 by Henry Royle, a British convert and the first official missionary to Wales. Joseph was later rebaptized at Ashton-under-Lyne on 16 June 1848 by his brother, John Jr. Mary Ann, Joseph’s wife, was baptised the same day. In 1879, Joseph left for America. Then Mary Ann and two of her sons, Joseph and Thomas, members of the Oldham Branch up to 29 August 1883, emigrated to Utah.

William Albiston, son of Joseph and Mary Ann, was born in 1857. Will, as he was known, his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter, Eda, were baptised in Oldham in 1897. The Albistons were members of the Oldham Branch that was meeting, during this time, in a rented hall at the House & Mill Company offices, 127 Union Street.3
According to Will’s descendants, he was converted to the gospel by an Elder Abraham Wilde, who mentioned the Albiston family a few times in his missionary journal:
“20 January 1897. […] We spent the [evening] at Mr Albiston’s who was to [be] baptised the next evening.
“21st January 1897. The weather is still cold therefore we did not get out; in the evening Bro Broadbent baptised twelve persons, [...] Mr Albiston and wife and daughter [...]. They were baptised in the font of the Baptist Chapel in Oldham.” 4
Like so many other members of the Oldham Branch, Will and his family left England for Utah, but Will wanted to be in the British Empire, so the family moved to Alberta, Canada, settling on a homestead in Cardston County. Will farmed there until his death.
At the end of the 19th century, the Oldham Branch of the Church was coming up to its 60th anniversary. The branch had seen many of its members emigrate to Utah but those who remained were strong and dedicated to their faith.

As a young missionary serving in the Central States Mission, Elder Kimball was traveling on a train to Chicago, Illinois, when a man approached him.
Man: Hey there, young fellow. I have a book that I think you’ll like.
It was a vulgar book filled with obscene pictures. Spencer wouldn’t touch it.
Elder Kimball: You are wrong, sir. That book does not appeal to me.
The man tried a different approach.
Man: Come into the city with me. I’ll show you where you can have a good time.
Elder Kimball: Absolutely not. I am a representative of Jesus Christ, and I will not follow where you go.
The man realized that the young missionary was in earnest and finally left him alone. Spencer recorded in his journal that he could feel himself blush for an hour.
Elder Kimball: Oh, how hard Satan, through his imps, tries to lead young people astray.I thank the Lord that I had the power to resist.

Annelise Scott had just moved into her new ward in Irvine, California. So had several other new senior widows. Nobody really knew each other. Then two sisters in the ward planned a luncheon for others, and from that day on, these sisters have been friends, sitting together in Church meetings, celebrating birthdays, carpooling to activities, and helping each other as needed.
“We watch for new senior sisters when they first come to Relief Society, then get their names and phone numbers so we can keep them active and enjoying our little group,” says Sister Scott.

This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.

What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.

Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.

In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”

Monday, November 1
Dear Vera,
Yes, Nigeria is far away from where you live, but we are so glad we’re here. The people are so warm and loving, and Heavenly Father has blessed us so much.
On Sunday, four children were confirmed. We met in a tiny chapel with a concrete floor, and the Spirit was so strong. It was beautiful!
Love,Elder and Sister Wall
P.S. We love the Primary children so much that we want to give them a special Christmas present. Do you have any ideas?
Monday, November 22
Dear Elder and Sister Wall, (See? I remembered!)
I’ve got a great Christmas present idea! And I’ve even talked to Mom and the Primary president about it. But I’m not going to tell you what it is because I know how much you like surprises. (Remember the surprise birthday party Mom gave you, Grandma? You were so funny!)
I will give you a hint. It starts with the letter P, and we’ll be sending it in a couple of weeks.
Love,Vera
P.S. Can you guess what it is?
Friday, December 3
Dear Vera,
What could it be? Grandpa and I have been thinking about what you might be sending for the Primary children. We can hardly wait to find out!
There are lots of things that start with P in Africa—like pigs, parrots, and potholes! But I don’t think that’s the surprise you’re talking about.
Love,Sister Wall
Monday, December 13
Dear Vera,
Dalu and Merry Christmas! Dalu means “thank you” in Igbo (a language spoken in Nigeria). P stands for “pictures,” doesn’t it?
All the children here in our Primary liked the Christmas pictures you and your friends drew for them at the Primary activity.
We wish you could have seen them! All the children were smiling and laughing and saying how wonderful it was to hear from faraway Primary friends who love Jesus just like they do.
Thanks so much for your Christmas present. It was perfect! (That starts with P too!)
Love,Elder and Sister Wall
P.S. The Nigerian Primary children like to send surprises too!
Friday, December 31
Dear Elder and Sister Wall,
Please tell the Primary children in Nigeria dalu for their pictures! All the kids in my Primary liked them! We especially enjoyed the pictures with the palm trees, fans, and baskets.
Love,Vera
P.S. Even though I still miss you, ever since we sent you the special present for your Primary children, Nigeria doesn’t seem far away at all!

Susy went to church after her Primary teacher invited her. Susy’s mom and dad did not go to church, but every Sunday they drove her there. Susy liked Primary.
One day Susy was outside playing dolls with her next-door neighbor Mary. When they went home for lunch, the girls left the dolls there. Later that afternoon the girls returned to get their dolls. But Susy’s doll was missing. She looked and looked, but could not find it. After supper she came back to look for it again. Still, she could not find it.
Then Susy remembered what her Primary teacher had told her about Heavenly Father and how He loves all His children and will answer their prayers. Susy decided to kneel and ask Heavenly Father to help her find the doll. When she stood up, she had a feeling that she should look behind the tallest pine tree. Sure enough, the doll was there! Susy ran quickly home to tell her mother that she had prayed and found the missing doll.
“Maybe I should go to church and learn how to pray to Heavenly Father, too,” her mother said. Susy’s mom and dad did go to church. And her mother learned how to pray to Heavenly Father and was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.

It was a beautiful spring day, and the bell hadn’t yet rung for my French class to begin. With great animation I was explaining to my friend the details of my upcoming trip to Brigham Young University during spring break. My mother, Trudy* (my good friend from church), and I were taking a road trip to check out BYU.
It was a 12-hour drive from my home in Washington State to Provo, Utah, but that was also part of the fun. We would take our time and see the sights along the way and have lots of girl fun. I had never been on a trip without my dad and the rest of my brothers and sisters, so this was a real treat.
Finally I was free to leave. As I began gathering my books and papers, a voice from behind me timidly asked, “Hey, Cathy, can I talk to you for a minute?”
It was Jane Stevens.* I didn’t know Jane very well because she didn’t hang out with my usual friends. She wasn’t LDS and seemed a little shy.
“Uh, sure Jane,” I replied. “What’s up?”
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I heard you talking about your trip to Brigham Young University, and I wanted to know …” She stopped, and when she said the next sentence it was strung together without a pause: “It sounds like fun and I want to know if it’s OK if I come along too.”
Had I heard her right? Did she really just ask if she could come along on this once-in-a-life-time adventure with me and my mom and my best friend? How could anyone just barge in and ask if they could come on a trip with someone they hardly knew? Finally, I said the only thing that came to mind that made any sense: “I’ll have to ask my mom.”
Jane looked up at me. “Yeah, you should ask your mom. Thanks. Do you … think you could ask her tonight and then tell me tomorrow?” Now I was committed.
As I walked the three blocks to my job I kept thinking, “What have I done? I don’t want Jane to mess up our plans. This was supposed to be an adventure for just the three of us.” Then, the perfect answer came to me with a jolt: I’ll tell her my mom said no. We didn’t have enough room or something equally plausible. Mom would go along with this story, I just knew she would.
Suddenly I felt better, if somewhat deceitful. At least I had a plan.
I hurried straight home and raced into the house. “Mom! Mom!” I called.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she answered. “What in the world are you in such a rush for?” She was drying the last of the dinner dishes.
“Mom, there’s this girl at school, and she wants to come with us on our trip. I don’t want her to come, and I want you to tell her she can’t come for some reason.”
“Whew!” My mom said laughing. “Slow down and tell me that again.”
“OK, there is this girl Jane at school …”
“Jane Stevens?” my mom interrupted. “I know her parents. They are nice. I think it would be lovely if she came along,” said my mother.
“Noooo, Mom! We have all these plans made. I hardly know her and, and … and we don’t have any room in the car!”
“Let’s see.” Why was my mother so calm? “One: plans can be changed. Two: this would be a good way to get to know Jane. And three, we actually do have room in the car.”
“But Mom, it just won’t be as much fun if Jane comes with us.”
My mother, still calm, said, “Cathy, I can see how this upsets you. So I am going to leave the decision up to you. I just want you to know, Jane is welcome to come with us, but if you aren’t comfortable with that, you will be the one to explain to her that she can’t come.”
“OK. Thanks, Mom.” That made it easy. All I had to do was tell Jane there wasn’t enough room in the car, and she would understand. She’d have to.
I didn’t see Jane until the next day just before French. Why was my heart beating so fast?
“Did you ask your mom, Cathy?” she asked. She was looking at me and smiling.
Say it. “The car is too full. So sorry.” “The car is too full.” Say it!
“My mom said it would be fine if you come with us, and … I think it will be fun if you do.”
Where did that come from? I couldn’t believe I had said that.
Jane gave me a quick hug. “This is so wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I can’t wait!”
To this day I don’t know what came over me. But whatever it was, I am so very thankful it did. Jane went with us, and we had a great time. We had a marvelous tour of BYU and visited with other students from our hometown. We bowled, went out to dinner, visited family, and got to know one another better.
I learned to love Jane on that trip, and she began to love the gospel of Jesus Christ. When we returned home to Washington, Jane took the missionary lessons and soon became the first member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in her family. She returned to BYU with me that fall as my roommate. She eventually married in the temple and raised her family in the gospel.
What led me to change my mind that spring day so long ago? I have had a lot of years to think about that question. I now believe it was the Holy Ghost. He knew Jane’s heart was ready for the gospel. And He knew my heart needed a good gospel wake-up lesson.
Since that day, I have learned to be more accepting of those who are not in my circle and to open my mouth about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I try to follow Paul’s lead when he said, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Romans 1:16).
I also learned that you never know how many lives you will touch when you simply say, “You can come with us.”

Who could imagine a house of the Lord in the beautiful city of Bangkok? Christians are only 1 percent of this principally Buddhist country. As in Haiti we also find in Bangkok that the Lord has gathered the elect of the earth. While there a few months ago, we met Sathit and Juthamas Kaivaivatana and their devoted children. Sathit joined the Church when he was 17 and served a mission in his native land. Later he met Juthamas at the institute, and they were sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple. In 1993 the Kaivaivatanas were hit by a truck whose driver had fallen asleep, and Sathit was paralyzed from his chest down. Their faith has never wavered. Sathit is an admired teacher at the International School Bangkok. He serves as the stake president of the Thailand Bangkok North Stake. We see God’s miracles in His wondrous work and in our own personal lives.

Many times we magnify our callings individually, quietly, without fanfare. I’m thinking of an elders quorum president, Kirk Barnett of Las Vegas. Visiting a hospital early one morning, he was impressed to ask if any other LDS were there. He was told of an elderly grandmother awaiting her first surgery for a brain hemorrhage. She had no family or friends present, no one to encourage her. She was terrified! President Barnett sat with her for two hours. His hand was white from her strong grip. She said she loved him at least twenty times.

As our plans progressed, however, I began to become excited about the prospect of aiding the elderly. I recalled the verse in James 1:27, which reads: “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.” The previous year at Christmastime my Laurel class had baked cookies for all the widows in the ward. Sister Kirkham, a 90-year-old woman who walked with two canes, had wept when we came to her door and, when we were leaving, thanked us again and again for our visit. We all felt good afterwards. That’s what the gospel is all about, I thought as I anticipated the upcoming service project. The only thorn in my plans was Earl. He irritated me.
I couldn’t understand why he didn’t lose weight, or find a shampoo that would help control his problem with dandruff. If he’d exercise and eat nutritious foods he’d be in a lot better shape, I’d thought critically, proudly reviewing the personal health program I followed.
Too, his intellect was lacking and his wit was dull, a fact manifested by his love of simple puns and riddles. At one of our meetings when we were relaxing for a moment, he’d asked me jovially, “What’s black and white and read all over?” “A newspaper,” I answered quickly. He chuckled, “Ah, you already heard the joke.” I wondered who hadn’t heard the joke.
I also had serious doubts about the genuineness of his charity. His voice didn’t seem to contain a proper amount of pity when he spoke of the bedridden and ways to include them in the festivities. Nor did he seem to feel much sorrow for the plight of the elderly in general. “Old folks are a real kick,” he’d say. “My grandma can spin a yarn that’ll keep you on the edge of your seat. Course she’s in a rest home now, but that don’t get her down none.”
“He just drives me nuts!” I complained to my roommate, Carol. “Everything about him just drives me nuts.” But despite my irritation with Earl, preparation for the party progressed. Halloween came.
We arrived at Sunshine Terrace nursing home early to begin decorating and set up the refreshments.
“Hello, Earl,” the receptionist smiled as we walked through the door. I briefly wondered how she knew him. We proceeded to the big gathering room. Ancient-looking people sat along the walls in the hallway. One man with a walker had warts that covered half of his face. Another woman sat in a wheelchair which had been tied to the handrailing on the wall. Her head flopped and she drooled continually, wetting a large portion of her dress bodice. As I stepped by she clawed my skirt. I pulled away and muttered a hasty hello. Earl, his smile as usual planted on his face, walked beside me. Old eyes crinkled at him and toothless mouths grimaced his way. Some extended greetings to him and he chuckled out, “Howdy, Doris” and “Lo there, Howard” in return.
I felt tense and faintly nauseated, my charitable zeal overshadowed by fear and revulsion. Earl remained his same chortling self. I soon realized that he knew these people. He was friends with them. I hung close to his shadow, letting his greetings and handclasps compensate for my own silence and lack of response.
But despite my mere surface participation, the party was a success. The elderly people seemed delighted with the drooping orange and black crepe paper (one of Earl’s ideas), and one woman said that the cider and sugar cookies reminded her of the autumn baking days of her youth. They chilled at the ghost stories and retold the eerie tales recalled from their own childhoods.
I began to realize that these were real people with real thoughts and feelings. Nevertheless, my own self-consciousness and discomfort kept me from becoming an active participant and enjoying their company. I had never seen a man without arms or a woman with spastic palsy. I didn’t want to see them, so I focused my eyes on the floor or ceiling or I watched some of the other students in the branch or Earl.
Earl remained, well—Earl. He was still overweight. His hands were still moist, his dandruff unchecked. His remarks and jokes still displayed an amazing lack of originality, and his chuckling remained incessant. I looked at him with those people. His damp hand comfortably clasped a withered, dry one. That was when I first began to feel ashamed. Earl was naturally what I was only pretending to be. I’d come to Sunshine Terrace full of self-righteous charity, artificial smiles, and condescending words of tenderness. Earl had simply come.

Last spring my husband and I attended a soccer game of our four-year-old grandson. You could feel the excitement on the field as the players ran in every direction chasing the soccer ball. When the final whistle blew, the players were unaware of who won or who lost. They had simply played the game. The coaches directed the players to shake hands with the opposing team members. Then I observed something quite remarkable. The coach called for a victory tunnel. All the parents, grandparents, and any spectators who had come to observe the game stood up and formed two lines facing each other, and by raising their arms they formed an arch. The children squealed as they ran through the cheering adults and down the path formed by the spectators. Soon the children from the opposing team joined the fun as all the players—the winners and the losers—were cheered on by the adults as they ran the path of the victory tunnel.

“Do you see how they fly, Stephen?” Dad thrusts his arm upward, pointing a finger to the V shape rippling through the sky high overhead. The chill October wind whips at my face as I try to understand the excitement in his voice. It’s late afternoon. We are standing alongside our minivan. We’ve pulled off the side of the road somewhere between St. George and Cedar City, Utah, on our way to the Missionary Training Center in Provo. My call has come and I’m going to Baltimore, Maryland.
“Watch,” he says. “You’ll see it in a moment. It happens quickly. It’s a wonder.”
I resist the urge to look at him. He’s the real wonder here. His enthusiasm makes you think he’s the one leaving on a mission.
“Now!” Dad’s voice shouts above the wind. The lead goose slips out of formation and slides to the back of one leg of the V. The flock speeds on toward its destination. Shortly the geese are black specks in the sky, arrowing into the dusk.
“Did you see what they did?” he asks, as we climb back into the van. We buckle our seat belts and he continues: “They work together. Singly they would perish on the long flight, but they take turns leading the way. One leads for a while, slashing the air for the others. Then he quietly moves to the back and another takes over.” We pull out onto the road.
“How do they know what to do?” I ask.
“They’ve learned to trust the order God put in things.”
He’s trying to tell me something. This is his way. As Provo gets closer with each passing mile post, though, my thoughts fly to my mission, to my future.
“What you say is true. This will change your life forever,” I tell Brother and Sister Frost in response to her statement. And it will. I’ve been teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ as a missionary for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll be going home. I’ve learned that whenever people accept the gospel, it changes their lives. Of course there are those who, after searching a lifetime, find in the gospel nothing but great relief from life’s most difficult questions. Usually though, it’s the other way, the refiner’s fire, a test and building of faith. But always, always, the gospel brings change.
Elder Jepson and I have been teaching the Frosts for three weeks now. With their permission, we started calling them Brother and Sister. He’s an accountant, and she worked as a legal secretary before their children were born. I’m not sure where we are with them. We’ll need to move forward carefully with our teaching.
I wait for one of them to speak. It’s an important moment. I hope Elder Jepson recognizes it and doesn’t suddenly lose his shyness. The Frosts are a handsome couple, she blond and he dark. Not Hollywood-like at all, but vibrant, a handsomeness born of hope for their lives. I like them both.
Sister Frost speaks, “I think it also means leaving our family, our friends.”
“You might bring some of them with you. Lead the way,” I say. I wait again for someone to fill the silence. They have told me several times how their families feel about Mormons. “We personally have nothing against you Mormons,” they said to us the evening we first knocked on their door. It was to convince themselves of their open-mindedness, I suspect, that they invited us in. In three weeks now we have become close friends.
Sister Frost glances at her husband, but he continues to stare into the carpet. He seems to be deep in thought. She’s not saying what she wants to do. She just keeps pointing out the practical problems—the difficulties of the choice. I think she’s waiting for him to do something, but I’m not sure.
Two days ago, we asked them to be baptized. He is treating us with the distance that we felt the first visit. I recognize the signs. He is on the edge. We must wait now, no matter how loud the silence screams at us to fill it. I want to step in. I want to persuade. I’ve learned though that seconds on a clock wing their way with their own voice.
I look over at Elder Jepson. Two months in the mission field, six feet tall, two-hundred pounds. He has a lot to learn. Elder Jepson is shy, and it may be weeks before he can give the lessons. I know this family is important to him, though. It will really hurt him if they veer away from the Church.
Elder Jepson looks like he’s studying the carpet, too. His coarse red hair dangles from the top of his forehead.
Brother Frost clears his throat.
“Your church asks a great deal—too much I’m afraid. My wife and I have talked a lot. We’re impressed—truly impressed—with your church programs. But all of our friends, all of our family, they believe differently. We’d have to offend them by not drinking with them. We’d have to go to church every Sunday. We’d be … like you say, changing everything.” He talks again about the many fine programs in the Church. But in the end, using accountant’s language, he says, “The ledger page doesn’t balance.”
It’s clear he’s slipped off the edge now. It’s 8:40 P.M. and I’ve been up since 5:30 this morning. I’m tired and I want to go home. I know we’re not supposed to weary in well-doing, but I think we have done all the good we can. I can’t expect Elder Jepson to help here. I must try to hold on to everyone’s dignity. It’s up to me to exit us gracefully and hope the Spirit will work on them after we have gone.
Brother Frost thanks us and wishes us well, but thinks we should look for others who might be more willing followers.
I feel the emptiness I’ve felt a hundred times before. I feel alone. Awkward. We’ve given so much time and effort these last three weeks. I look over at Elder Jepson to see if he’s ready to go. He is staring at Sister Frost and she at him. A tear moves from Elder Jepson’s left eye, down his freckly face. This surprises me. I look at Brother Frost. He’s looking at me and doesn’t notice. I look at Sister Frost. Her eyes brim with tears.
“May I speak?” Elder Jepson’s voice, husky now, breaks the uneasiness. He brushes the tear away, then turns slowly to face Brother Frost. His large farm-toughened hands grab at his knees. He slides forward on the couch, locks his eyes onto Brother Frost’s, and begins.
“I came 2,500 miles to find you. I feel we were guided to you.” Elder Jepson looks down like he’s trying to find what to say next.
“I love your wife, Brother Frost. I love her because she sees. She has told you all of the problems; she has given you all of the pictures a man could want so he could understand and solve them, and you’re running from them. Why?”
I’m stunned. I look at Brother Frost. The room, sedate only a moment before, is intense now. Brother Frost, I think, is puzzled, trying to figure out what Elder Jepson is doing. I want to interrupt, but something says to move aside—for the moment.
Before anyone else speaks, Elder Jepson continues. “And I love you, Brother Frost. I know about your job and your accounting degree. About your dreams, your courtship and marriage, and your three children. I know about your child that died two years ago. I know about your despair. And I know that you’re all wrong about what it means to be a member of the Church.”
Brother Frost rises on his seat. I squeeze the scriptures I have in my hand. Brother Frost has let us know he believes he and his family are good. He has told us how the family goes to a church from time to time, how he is honest, how he has always read a little from the Bible and how, when he was 12, he made up his mind he would never use certain words, and he never has. I’m afraid that Elder Jepson has offended him. I better salvage what I can, quickly. I start to say something. Brother Frost raises his hand—a sign for me to be quiet—and continues staring at Elder Jepson. Then he says, “We’re not perfect, Elder Jepson, but we are decent people. I believe I know all that I need to know about your church and your God. We could easily join you, but we don’t want to.” Brother Frost speaks kindly but firmly. The discussion is over.
But Elder Jepson softly begins again: “You say that, but you never talk about the Savior. Oh, you can talk about God but you have never understood. You tell us you like the Primary because it teaches children to speak in public at an early age and sing in a group. You think sacrament meeting is good because you feel fellowship there. You think the Book of Mormon has some interesting stories in it. You think we’re introducing you to a club. You take out your accounting pads and start adding and subtracting. When you total the benefits of the club against the costs, the club comes up short.”
Elder Jepson has kept his voice even and soft. Brother Frost keeps the emotion out of his face, except for a hint of a smile. Sister Frost looks at her husband now, worried. I decide to stay on the wing of this, for a moment longer, not sure why.
Calmly, Brother Frost says, “You have a lot to learn, Elder Jepson. Life always involves totaling columns of benefits and burdens. But you’re right. Your club, if you will, doesn’t do as much for us as our present club. I’m sorry. That’s how we see it. I’m glad your church works for you. But the programs, as nice as they are, don’t offset the difficulties joining your church would bring us.”
Brother Frost is being gracious. I’ll talk to Elder Jepson later about leaving people with a positive feeling, even if they don’t join. At least some of his shyness is leaving. There’s hope.
Elder Jepson leans forward again. “Brother Frost, you’ve misunderstood. Those programs—Primary, Sunday School, youth activities—those aren’t what this church is about. And it’s not about not smoking or not drinking or paying tithing and fast offerings either. It’s not even about friendship and fellowship. Not only have you added the wrong columns, you’re in the wrong ledger.” I remember now that Elder Jepson took an accounting class the semester before he came on his mission.
Brother Frost responds, “Then why do you try to convince people that your church is so wonderful because of those things?”
“I didn’t come here to tell you you need those things. I came to invite you to know the Savior. If Elder Simpson and I leave tonight, and we leave you believing that you can put this church on a ledger sheet, then we have failed.
“Brother Frost, this is the Savior’s church. Next week the programs might change or disappear, but the Savior won’t. He’s waiting for us to ask for help in our lives. We didn’t come to change your life; we came to teach you that your life will change from the choices you make and that you can choose with heavenly guidance. We came to tell you that Heavenly Father listens to every cry for help from a sincere heart. This church is about Him and His love for you and for me. This church is where the fullness of His gospel and its saving ordinances are found. The rules we live by and the programs are only helps so we may return to Him. We didn’t come here to ask you to join us; we came to ask you to join Him.”
I am moved. I am amazed. I’m not prepared for this from my shy, red-haired companion. I didn’t dream he had that in him. I feel a burning within me. I sense a fire in the room and imagine the hint of a distant melody. Elder Jepson’s speech is eloquent, powerful. I should have been the one to do this. I am the senior companion. I have the experience. I am the leader here. I see the Frosts are touched and I want to be the one that has done it.
I hear the voice in my mind say “I” again, with pity and selfishness in its tone. This time, with effort, I stop it with a memory of a chill wind, wild geese, and my father pointing skyward at dusk.
The Frosts look at one another. Brother Frost says, “Dear, what do you think?”
Eloquently, she tells us all what she sees. She speaks about a new feeling, new courage, a desire to move forward. Brother Frost keeps nodding his head, smiling, agreeing. The music hints around us, again.
I know I will soon move beyond the feeling and the sounds of tonight, but not the memory of it. It will sustain me. I will beat against many head winds as I journey back to my Maker, but I will not fly without the music of this night playing somewhere in my heart. I understand it is time for me to move over, and I make room for Elder Jepson.

Mom, Dad, can we invite my friend Lily and her dad and brother for Thanksgiving?
Yeah, can we? Her brother Oliver is in my class.
We have lots to be grateful for. If we can share, that’s another blessing.
In that case, how about inviting Audrey and her mom?
And Franco and his dad?
On Thanksgiving Day the Cooper house is crowded but happy.
Thanksgiving Day is in October in Canada. Do we have any family there?
Why?
’Cause next year we could go to their house for Thanksgiving. If we did this twice a year, I’d be twice as thankful!

I also see the names of others whom I have not heard of such as Brigham Thomas Higgs, who introduced the student employment program on campus, and Delbert Brigham Brown, a custodian in the Smith Fieldhouse who became a wise counselor to hundreds of students. Delbert Brown once found a student’s wallet with a risqué picture in it. When a young boy came to claim it, Brother Brown took out his own wallet and showed him pictures of his wife and daughters, encouraging the boy with a budding pornography problem to tuck these kinds of pictures into his wallet and into his mind. As I read such stories, I am reminded that many unnamed individuals have kindled the light of the Y, including administrators and staff. As Joseph B. Keeler, one of Maeser’s first twenty-nine students and himself an unsung hero of our tradition, observed, “Deep down in the heart of this great school, there are noble deeds untold.”22 I reflect, with gratitude, on the noble deeds of our current staff and administrators who influence students for good.

To the west of our home was our garden plot. Part of the garden was in potatoes. One day my father said to my sister and me, “There are more potatoes than we can use. If you would like to sell some, you may do so.” My sister Alice and I dug some up and hauled them down to a hotel and sold them. When we showed the money to our father, he asked what we were going to do with it. We said we would divide it before buying some things we wanted. Then he questioned, “What about your tithing?” He said, “The Lord has been good to us. We planted and cultivated and harvested, but the earth is the Lord’s. He sent the moisture and the sunshine. One-tenth we always give back to the Lord for his part.” My father made no requirement; he merely explained it so convincingly that we felt it an honor and privilege to pay tithing.

When I was 14, I went camping with some friends. As we sat in a circle talking, one of the guys reached into his pack and pulled out a can of beer. Everyone went silent as he popped the lid and held it high above his head. “If any of you are men,” he bellowed, “you’ll have a drink with me.” Tilting the can to his lips, he took a large swallow.
All the eyes were on the can as the boy next to him received it in his waiting hand. He didn’t hesitate. He took a swig with great bravado in front of us all. The can moved to the next boy in the circle.
As it moved in my direction, my mind searched for a quick solution, a cool response that would rescue me. I knew what was right and wrong. I knew what the Word of Wisdom said. I knew how seven-year-old Joseph Smith refused any liquor to dull the pain of the operation on his leg.
These things raced through my mind as the can found its way to the third boy. He had not come to be tempted. He thought he was just going camping. As he held the can, I could sense the frantic debate going on in his mind. All eyes were upon him, staring, seeming to demand that he drink as the others had. I could almost hear his cries pleading for his mother to come save him, but she was nowhere to be found. Try as he did, he could not handle the pressure. He took a drink and hurriedly passed the can to my friend—my example—Rick.
My heart was pounding as I realized that I was the next one in the circle to receive the can. I didn’t know how I was going to get out of this one. I imagined that if I didn’t take a drink, they would bury me up to my neck in the hills somewhere and let the ants crawl through my nose and ears. “Rick,” I thought to myself, “if you take one sip of that, I’m going to slug you.”
Rick held the can. He looked at me, and I looked at him. We then both looked at the can he was holding and up at the dozen other faces waiting anxiously.
For a moment, Rick just stared at the can. Then he casually put it down, reached into his pack, and fished around until he found what he was looking for. He raised a purple can into the air for all to see.
“If any of you are men,” Rick yelled, “you’ll have a drink of grape soda with me!” Rick popped the lid, brought the can to his lips, and tilted his head back dramatically as he drank from it. Then he passed it back in the direction from which the beer had come.
The kid next to Rick found himself holding the soda now. Everyone was staring at him. He gladly drank some and passed it on. As they were enjoying the grape soda, Rick grabbed the beer can and threw it as far as he could. The can, frothing at one end as it twirled in the air, dropped into the gully below.

Nicky rushed through the house, looking for Old Nono. Finally he found him sitting in a rocking chair on the back porch, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. “Hello, Old Nono,” Nicky said as he went up to his great-grandfather and put his arms gently around the old man’s neck to give him a hug. As Nicky bent forward, his backpack slid under his arm and banged into Old Nono’s chest.
“Ooooph!” Surprised, the old man gasped for breath, then smiled at Nicky and laughed his rumbly laugh. “That’s a heavy bag of seeds you have there, Nicky.”
Nicky laughed, too, and let the backpack slide down onto the porch floor. “Sorry.” He bent over to kiss the wrinkled cheek. “Are you ready?”
Old Nono smiled at Nicky through his watery, cloudy, 102-year-old eyes. They were kind eyes, understanding eyes that had seen much during his lifetime. “You bet I’m ready!”
By the time Nicky changed into his work clothes and went back outside, Old Nono was already in the garden with the wooden flats filled with the tomato plants that the two of them had started weeks earlier from seeds. “Why don’t you build your muscles by carrying the water,” Old Nono said, pointing to the metal bucket by the water faucet. He grinned and raised his skinny arms as if he were a muscleman. “My muscles are already too strong.”
As soon as Nicky had carried a bucket of water to the garden, Old Nono started forcing his thick, pointed stick into the soft soil and pulling it to one side to form a hole. Nicky poured water into the hole, then held a six-inch tomato plant in it while Old Nono tamped the soil around the plant’s roots.
When they finished the second row, Old Nono paused. He picked up a handful of the black dirt and slowly straightened up, a faraway look in his eyes. Some of the dirt trickled between his fingers. Nicky looked at Old Nono’s gnarled knuckles, swollen and misshapen by arthritis, and he wondered if old age hurt. Then Nicky looked up into Old Nono’s face and saw that it wasn’t pain that had caused him to stop. It was his memories.
Old Nono had been just a teenager when he’d left his parents in Italy and had come to live in Illinois. It had taken many years of hard work before he’d been able to buy a small vegetable farm just outside Chicago. Last fall Old Nono had taken Nicky to the place where, for almost five decades, Old Nono had had a partnership with the land in raising millions of tomatoes and other vegetables. Now that land was covered with streets and lawns and trees and homes.
Old Nono bent over and patted his handful of black dirt around the last small tomato plant.
“I wish I could grow up to be a truck farmer like you were,” Nicky said with a sigh.
“Things are different now, Nicky. Farming isn’t simple any more.” Old Nono straightened up slowly. “Let’s hurry and clean up here, Nicky, so that we can go tend our magic garden.”
Fifteen minutes later they were upstairs in Old Nono’s room. Except for the door, the closet, and the window, all the walls of Old Nono’s room were covered with bookshelves filled with books that the old, cloudy eyes could no longer read.
“Your mind is a magic garden,” Old Nono often said to Nicky. “It’s a magic garden because anything that you plant there grows either seeds or weeds. Every day you choose which one you plant in your magic garden.”
Old Nono sat down in an overstuffed chair and used his hands to lift his feet onto the ottoman. From the table next to him he took a small framed picture of his wife and held it at an angle a few inches from his eyes. Nicky had never known Old Noni. She had died more than twenty years before Nicky was born, but Nicky could tell from the pictures and the stories that he’d heard about her that she had been a beautiful woman in many ways.
Nicky sat in his chair on the other side of the table and opened up Old Nono’s Bible to the bookmark. The ritual was the same every day, and the first thing was for Nicky to read to Old Nono from the scriptures.
Nicky found the next marked verses, and read aloud: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
“A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.”*
As Nicky closed the Bible and put it back on the table, Old Nono said quietly, “Isn’t that beautiful, Nicky? That’s one of my favorite passages.”
Nicky nodded, although he wondered if he’d really understood what he’d just read. He decided to think about it later. For now, he’d continue with their ritual. “We finished Huckleberry Finn yesterday, Old Nono. What do you want to read now?”
“That one,” Old Nono said, pointing.
Nicky got the large book, opened it to Chapter One, and started to read: “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.” Nicky glanced again at the title at the top of the page—David Copperfield—then at Old Nono, who had his eyes closed and a happy smile on his face.
Several weeks and 850 pages later, Nicky said a sad good-bye to his friend David Copperfield, a true hero who had planted many seeds of persistence and integrity in Nicky’s and Old Nono’s magic garden. Their next hero was clever King Odysseus, who shared with them the adventures he faced and the problems he solved while traveling home from the war at Troy.
Throughout the spring, Nicky and Old Nono pulled weeds in the outside garden and supported the growing tomato plants with wooden stakes. By summer the little yellow flowers on them became green tomatoes that grew larger every day. Nicky and Old Nono bet each other a hot fudge sundae on which of two tomatoes that they were especially watching would ripen first.
The day came when Old Nono’s tomato was fully ripe. As soon as Nicky’s baseball practice was over, he hopped on his bike and pedaled hard for home. They were going to pick Old Nono’s tomato, eat it with their lunch, then walk to the ice-cream store, where Nicky would buy the sundaes. But when Nicky pulled into the driveway, his mother was outside waiting for him.
“Nicky,” she said softly, “something has happened to Old Nono. Dad went with him in the ambulance a few minutes ago, and I’ve been waiting here for you.”
Nicky dropped his bike on the lawn and got into the car. As his mother started to back the car out of the driveway, Nicky called out, “Wait!” He got out of the car, ran back to the garden, and tenderly picked Old Nono’s tomato.
The hospital was only three miles away, but the drive seemed to take forever. Maybe it’s nothing serious, Nicky hoped.
At the admittance desk Nicky’s mom asked the emergency room nurse about Old Nono. The nurse glanced at a clipboard, then excused herself to go back into the work area. A few minutes later a young, curly-haired doctor came through the metal swinging doors with Nicky’s dad, whose eyes were red from crying.
“There was nothing more we could do,” the doctor said. “But if it’s any consolation to you, Mr. Mariani seemed to die peacefully.”
Nicky’s mom started to cry, and so did Nicky. Finally, when his tears subsided, Nicky realized that he was still holding Old Nono’s tomato. He took it to the nurse’s desk. “Maybe somebody here would like to have this,” he said, handing her the tomato and trying to smile.
The nurse took the tomato and smiled back kindly.
The morning of the funeral the sun shone brilliantly in the blue sky. A farmer’s day, Nicky thought as he walked between the rows of tomatoes—Old Nono’s last crop. Just a few months ago Old Nono had poured a bunch of tiny seeds into the palm of Nicky’s hand. Now those seeds had turned into rows of healthy plants with bushels of beautiful tomatoes on them.
Nicky went to Old Nono’s room to wait while his parents finished getting dressed for the funeral. He walked past the bookshelves, stopping to read some of the familiar titles. Books. Hundreds of books that Old Nono loved. Thousands of seeds for their magic garden. He wondered if Old Nono missed these books. Nicky sat in the overstuffed chair, picked up the picture of Old Noni, and studied her smiling face. Wherever Old Nono is, he decided, he’s with Old Noni, and they are happy together.
He glanced up at the books again as he suddenly understood the real magic of Old Nono’s magic garden. The books were still here in this room, but Old Nono had taken the “seeds” in them with him!
A similar thought came to Nicky in the cemetery as he watched the casket being lowered into the grave. It wasn’t really Old Nono inside that casket; it was just the body that Old Nono had left behind, on old, worn-out body. And that body was being placed into the earth that had been Old Nono’s partner in life.
As the casket settled into the grave, tears clouded Nicky’s eyes, and a dull ache persisted. He was really going to miss Old Nono. But through the pain, some familiar words came into Nicky’s mind: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” When he had read them before, they were only words. Now those words had meaning. “A time to be born, and a time to die …” Other seeds that had been planted in Old Nono’s magic garden came to Nicky’s mind: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”**
Suddenly it was all clear to him. Everything has a purpose. Even death has a purpose, and it is not really that scary. When he had been helping Old Nono plant seeds in his magic garden, he had also been planting his own magic garden. And the fruit of his magic garden tasted wonderful.

The service and interdependence among members in the Galápagos Islands that have created such unity led to rich blessings in 2007. That year David and Jeanneth Palacios escorted five branch families, nearly 25 people in all, to the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple.
“To see those families sealed, I felt as though we had been transported to the heavens,” says Jeanneth. “We felt the presence of the Lord so profoundly. All five of those families are very active today.”

I once read a book about a pioneer girl who traveled across the plains with a Mormon wagon train. All she could take with her were a few articles of clothing and her special box of small treasures. Her many dolls and toys she had to leave behind. Included in her special box were some material scraps, a packet of precious needles, several buttons, and two spools of thread.
The girl was very brave and very clever. She knew it didn’t matter that she had to leave her dolls behind, because she could always make some new, even better ones, if she had the materials. She and her family finally arrived safely in Utah. When the girl wasn’t helping her mother and father, she started making her own toys in her spare time.

President Joseph F. Smith was five years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Later, Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother.
At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”
While pondering his plight one night, young Joseph dreamed he was on a journey, rushing as fast as he possibly could. He carried with him a small bundle. Finally, he came to a wonderful mansion, which was his destination. As he approached, he saw a sign which read, “Bath.” He quickly went in and washed himself. He opened his little bundle and found clean white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.
“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and said:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’”
And so it can be for each of us.