Gospel Story Finder

When I was in sixth grade, my family moved. One of my new friends was not a member of the Church.
One Sunday, my friend called me. He wanted me to come bowling with him and his parents that afternoon. I had only been bowling once before, and I had really liked it. Bowling again would be really fun, especially with my new friend. I immediately went to ask my mom.
“Well,” she said, “it’s Sunday, so I don’t think you should go. But you can make your own decision.”
I was shocked! I thought that she would say no. Instead the choice was all mine. So I chose to go bowling with my friend.
Pretty soon my friend, his parents, and I were at the bowling alley. I did really well! My friend and I had fun. But the whole time, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew in my heart that my mom was right. I had learned at church and at home that making Sunday a holy day was important. Going bowling with my friend wasn’t the best Sunday activity.
That day, I learned an important lesson. It is good to have fun and be with friends! But choosing to make Sunday special is more important.

I saw that miracle of revelation in the aftermath of the breaking of the Teton Dam in Idaho in 1976. Many of you know the story of what happened. But the example of continuing revelation that was passed through a stake president could bless all of us in the days ahead.

Thousands of people were evacuated as their homes were destroyed. Directing the relief efforts fell to a local stake president, a farmer. I was in a classroom at Ricks College just a few days after the disaster. A leader from the federal disaster agency had arrived. He and his chief assistants came to the large room where the stake president had assembled bishops and even some ministers of other local religions. I was there because many of the survivors were being cared for and housed on the campus of the college where I was the president.

As the meeting began, the representative from the federal disaster agency stood and began to say with the voice of authority what needed to be done. After he listed each of the five or six tasks he said were essential, the stake president responded quietly, “We’ve already done that.”

After a few minutes, the man from the federal disaster agency said, “I think that I will just sit down and watch for a while.” He and his deputies then listened as bishops and elders quorum presidents reported what they had done. They described what direction they had received and followed from their leaders. They talked as well about what they had been inspired to do as they carried out the instructions to find families and to help them. It was late that day. They were all too tired to show much emotion except their love of the people.

The stake president gave a few final directions to the bishops, and then he announced a time for the next report meeting, early the following morning.

The next morning the leader of the federal team arrived 20 minutes before the report and assignment meeting was scheduled to begin. I stood nearby. I heard him say quietly to the stake president, “President, what would you like me and the members of my team to do?”

What that man saw I have seen in times of distress and testing all over the world. President Packer was right. Continuing revelation comes to stake presidents to lift them above their own wisdom and capacities. And, beyond that, the Lord gives to those whom the president leads a confirming witness that his commands come from God through the Holy Ghost to an imperfect human being.

When my friends and I heard that President Gordon B. Hinckley had asked the teens in our temple district to participate in the Manhattan New York Temple youth jubilee, we were excited because we would perform in Radio City Music Hall. We also thought it would be fun to practice with the other stakes in the area and meet new friends.
It wasn’t until the first practice that it hit me that there was a more important reason I was participating in the jubilee—it was something the Lord wanted me to do.
Twelve stakes from the New York Manhattan Temple district were involved in the jubilee, and we practiced every Saturday for three months. Youth from 12 stakes were divided into six groups, and each group learned different songs and dances that represented some Church history events in New York and the ethnic diversity of our area. The practices took time, but knowing President Hinckley was coming to watch our performance gave me the push I needed to get things right.
When the night of the jubilee arrived, I had a bad case of the butterflies. But then I looked into the audience and saw President Hinckley. I had never seen him in person before, and it was incredible to be so close. In his presence, the Spirit was strong.
The night was a big success. Although we were performing in front of a huge audience, I was able to calm down and have fun. The audience laughed and clapped throughout the performance. Nearly 2,400 youth participated. It was the largest group that has ever been onstage at Radio City Music Hall.
After the performance, we were invited to attend a devotional. At the devotional, President Hinckley said he asked the youth to participate in the jubilee because he wanted the Church to be fun for us. Doctrine and Covenants 136:28 says: “If thou art merry, praise the Lord with singing, with music, with dancing, and with a prayer of praise and thanksgiving.” The jubilee helped me appreciate just how much song and dance can lift our spirits and help us be happy. President Hinckley also read to us from his journal about the time two years before when he had been inspired to have the Manhattan temple constructed. He told us that Church members in this generation have a great responsibility to make a difference in the lives of those we come in contact with.
The jubilee made a difference in my life. Meeting youth from other stakes has helped me become more outgoing and happy. I’ve also been blessed with many missionary moments with my friends at school who asked me about the jubilee and my reasons for participating in it.
Church members in this area have waited to have a temple nearby. I am grateful to a latter-day prophet who had the wisdom to allow the youth to celebrate the temple dedication through song and dance. It was truly a time of jubilation.

When I was seven years old, I saw a picture in a Bible of Jesus getting baptized. I thought it would be cool to get baptized too. One morning I told my mom, “Look at this picture of Jesus. He’s getting baptized. Why am I not baptized?” After that, we started looking around at churches to join.
That same year, I got sick with leukemia. Doctors found a lymphoma on my chest, and I had to stay in the hospital for three weeks. After that, I would go to the hospital for four days and then go home for 10 days. I did that six times. Going through chemotherapy was really bad, but it made the tumor shrink. Later I got fungal pneumonia and had to spend more time in the hospital.
When my mom was young, she was an active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I got sick, she started reading the Book of Mormon again. My family took the missionary discussions later, and we all started going to church. My dad got baptized first. After he got the priesthood, he baptized my brothers and me. My sisters weren’t old enough yet. Getting baptized made me feel really good even though by then most of my hair had fallen out because of my chemotherapy.
During that time, I prayed a lot. When I prayed, I felt like it wasn’t the end of the world. I got lots of priesthood blessings. They were really good and helped me with my faith. Medicine helped me too.
For a while, I didn’t feel like getting out of bed or doing much, but I told my mom I knew that Heavenly Father was going to protect me. I just had a feeling I would get better. I saw that the doctors were super confident. That made me confident too.
My brothers and sisters helped me feel better when I would come home from the hospital. It was nice to play with them. They had faith that I would get better.
I was still sick when I started tae kwon do. It’s really fun, and it’s what I like to do. I couldn’t go to tae kwon do class during flu season because I had to watch my immune system. Tae kwon do helped me not think about being sick. I have my green belt now, and I want to get my black belt. That will take me a few more years.
In March 2019, I finished the chemotherapy and my last round of steroids. I feel really good about not having to do that anymore.
If someone is having a challenge or is really sick, I would say to read the Book of Mormon and have faith that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. That will help them. It’s pretty bad if someone is sick and doesn’t get better, but at least they will see Heavenly Father sometime soon. He knows what’s best for us.
The author lives in Alabama, USA.

The sophomore math whiz sat in the classroom after school waiting for the football star to come in for his weekly tutoring session. The guy who enjoys algebra, calculus, and trigonometry spent an extra hour or so each week teaching polynomial expressions and practicing exponential equations with the football hero, someone many called the best high school running back in the United States. Winning a football game he could do. But algebra? It was something of a challenge. That’s when the tutor came to the rescue.
When the school year ended, so did the tutoring sessions. The tutor had his junior year to look forward to while the tutor’s student graduated and accepted an athletic scholarship to the University of Miami.
That’s why the math whiz says, “Someday when he’s a famous football player, I can tell my kids I taught him math.”
Now two years later, Maurice Navarro is once again sitting in a classroom at Coral Gables Senior High near Miami, Florida. School ended 30 minutes ago, but just like in years before, several students have gathered around Maurice as he teaches a math concept his fellow students aren’t quite understanding.
That’s Maurice Navarro. Still the math tutor. Still helping others.
“That comes from my mother,” Maurice says of his service. “She taught me that if I’m able to help others, it’s very important that I do. It’s difficult for some of the kids to grasp math, so that’s why I tutor. Since math does come pretty easily to me, I’m glad to help.”
Maybe it won’t be exactly how Maurice envisioned it after all. One day in the future, the football star just might turn to his children and talk about a guy he knew in high school. “Kids,” he will say, “Maurice is the guy who taught me math.”

Years ago our youngest child had a serious bone tumor in his lower back. When he was taken to the hospital for surgery, I overheard the doctors in the hallway talking about his condition. They said it was likely that nothing could be done to save our boy’s life.
When I went back in my son’s room, I tried to encourage him. I assured him that he was receiving the finest medical care. He said, “Daddy, I’m not counting on the doctors. I’m counting on my blessing. You laid your hands on my head, and you blessed me. And I have faith that the blessing will be fulfilled.”
My son was healed. His life is an example of the power of a priesthood blessing. One of the lessons I’ve learned through my Church service is that our Father in Heaven loves little children. He loves to bless them, and He often blesses them through His priesthood servants.

Such was Walter Stover of Salt Lake City. Born in Germany, Walter embraced the gospel message and came to America. He established his own business. He gave freely of his time and of his means.
Following World War II, Walter Stover was called to return to his native land. He directed the Church in that nation and blessed the lives of all whom he met and with whom he served. With his own funds, he constructed two chapels in Berlin—a beautiful city that had been so devastated by the conflict. He planned a gathering in Dresden for all the members of the Church from that nation and then chartered a train to bring them from all around the land so they could meet, partake of the sacrament, and bear witness of the goodness of God to them.
At the funeral services for Walter Stover, his son-in-law Thomas C. LeDuc said of him, “He had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he acted accordingly.”

Like most of the youth on Takaroa, Tetuarere works on the pearl farms. He has to get up as early as 4:30 a.m., and he spends the day diving and swimming, lifting heavy strings of oysters into boats. Others, like young women (right) Hinanui Tehina, 14, and Tapiu Tino, 15, work all day long tying oysters to nylon strings so that others can put them back in the water. That’s how the pearls are grown, and that helps keep the economy alive on Takaroa. “We are needed here,” Tapiu explains. She went to boarding school for a while but found there were a lot of negative influences, so she returned to be with her family, surrounded by those she loves.

Suddenly Jody’s muscles tightened. From out of the sky darted Sir Lancelot, his satiny black plumage glinting in the sun like a feathery jewel.
Sir Lancelot was the name Jody had given the big raven the first time he had seen it, nearly six months before. Any bird that could appear so regal had to have an important name, he’d decided.
He stood and hurried to the rock where he’d laid the brass button, picked it up, and sat on the rock with it in his open hand. This time the bird would have to come to him for his prize.
Jody had come up to Raven’s Roost nearly every week since he had moved with his family to Tucker Springs, and he’d gotten to know Sir Lancelot quite well, at least from a distance. “If you want this button to add to your collection of shiny things, you’ll have to take it from my hand!” he told the bird.
The huge bird alighted on a limb of the scrub oak. He cocked his glossy black head and eyed the lustrous object. “Come on,” Jody encouraged.
The raven cawed noisily, his high, harsh cry echoing off the red rocks. At length, he hopped to the ground, advanced a step or two, and came to a stop.
“That’s the best you can do?” Jody questioned. “All right, but next time it’s all the way or nothing, understand?” He tossed the button a few feet in front of him. The raven, cawing at Jody and eyeing the treasure, stretched forward and plucked the button up in his long bill. Then he flew back to the limb.
He regarded the boy a moment, as if saying thanks. Then, just as Sir Lancelot was about to fly off with the precious gift, Jody heard a whizzing sound, followed by a soft thud. The raven toppled lifeless to the ground, the brass button rolling from his slack bill and disappearing into a crevice in the rocks.
For an instant Jody just stared, disbelieving. “Sir Lancelot!” he choked out. Then his attention turned to the direction of the sound.
Hollis Fletcher stepped out of the brushwood about a hundred yards away, a rock flipper in his hands. “I told you I’d get even, Farnsworth,” he sneered. “You should have dropped out of that spelling contest, like I told you. Outside of the Fourth of July and the county fair, it’s the biggest thing that happens around here. And I would have won.
“I’ve lived in Tucker Springs all my life,” Hollis went on. “Every time I earned a hundred on spelling at school, I rewarded myself with getting a new marble for my collection. I probably have the best marble collection in the whole state, but there aren’t any trophies for that, like there is for the spelling contest. I worked hard to win it—it wasn’t right for some nobody from nowhere to come into town and take the trophy that should have been mine. Especially some kid two years younger than I am.”
“I won fair and square,” Jody retorted through his tears, dropping to his knees beside the dead bird and touching its blood-spattered plumage. “Besides, you won the trophy in last year’s contest.”
“I could have had two, Farnsworth!” Hollis growled. “Around here, two is better than one, especially at my house. With one, it can be just luck. Nobody questions or forgets a two-time winner—especially my father! He would have given me a horse, Farnsworth, just like he did my brother for his two-year win at the county fair for his Jersey cows!”
Hollis turned and started down the path, then paused and burned a look over his shoulder at Jody. “Maybe now you’ll know how it feels to lose something.”
Jody scooped up a rock, jumped to his feet, and hurled it at Hollis’s retreating shape. “I hate you!” he screamed, his face twisting with grief and rage. “I hate you!”
Hollis turned back toward the screaming youth and smiled. “That’s good, Farnsworth. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At home, Jody poured out the story to his father. “He killed Sir Lancelot to get back at me!” he sobbed. “Sir Lancelot was just a good old bird who didn’t do anything except make music.” Jody wiped at the tears that burned his eyes. “It wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard, but it was music to me. I hate Hollis for what he did.”
His father sighed. “It was wrong what he did, Son, no doubt about it. But you can’t go around with all that hate in your heart. For one thing, it isn’t healthy; for another, it’s—”
Jody pulled away from his father. “I hate Hollis Fletcher, Dad. I wish he’d move away!”
In the weeks that followed, the resentment and bitterness in Jody Farnsworth’s heart grew.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy, Jody,” his father commented one day as they walked down the dirt road toward Hennesey Lake, their fishing poles over their shoulders.
Jody didn’t look at his father. “Is it wrong for a kid not to be happy all the time?” he blurted, kicking at a pebble in the road. “Even Jesus got mad at the moneychangers in the temple. And when Lazarus died, He wept. Is it wrong to be like Him?”
“No,” his father returned, “but this is the first time we’ve gone fishing that you haven’t been happy.” After a long silence, his father continued. “You know, Jody, if harboring all that spite for Hollis was right and proper, you’d be feeling pretty good inside. But I’ve never seen you look so poorly.”
Jody’s eyes fired up like smoldering coals rekindled. “I’m just supposed to forget about what he did, is that it?”
“It would be hard to forget what happened,” Jody’s father admitted. “But you can forgive him for what he did.”
Jody’s eyes widened. “What? Forgive Hollis Fletcher for shooting Sir Lancelot? How am I supposed to do that?”
His father stopped and eyed the boy. “You have to want to. That makes it a whole lot easier.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
Jody’s father set his fishing pole aside and squatted down to the boy’s level. “There are a lot of things in this life we don’t like doing that need doing. Your mother dreads wash day, especially in the middle of July. It’s a hot, exhausting, all-day job. But what do you think would happen if our clothes didn’t get cleaned on a regular basis? We’d go around looking and smelling like Amos Twigg’s cow barn. And last fall I dreaded having to shoot Jack. That old horse was in constant great pain, and nothing more could be done except put him out of his misery. It was the hardest thing I had to do in my life. But it needed doing. And that brings me to you, Jody.”
“Me?”
“For the past month you’ve been carrying around such poisonous thoughts that I worry about your soul.”
“I just can’t forgive him, Dad,” Jody said angrily.
Later that morning, as they sat fishing, Jody accidently snagged his finger on his hook while baiting his line. “Shall we leave that hook in your finger?” Jody’s father questioned.
“Of course not!” Jody winced, at the smart.
“Why not?”
“I want to get the hurt out so it will heal, of course.”
“It might be a good idea to let that other, bigger, hurt out, too, Jody.” His father helped dislodge the small hook from the boy’s finger, then dug in his fishing box for some ointment and applied it to Jody’s finger. “The best medicine for resentment is forgiveness. It lets out the poison so that the wound can heal.
“You know,” he added, “I was thinking about what you said earlier today about being like the Savior. There’s a lot to that. He loved everybody, didn’t He? Even His enemies. Don’t you suppose He was the best example of forgiveness, too, Jody?”
Jody’s eyes fell, then lifted. “You mean, while He hung suffering on the cross He forgave the soldiers who crucified Him?”
“Yes. And in Gethsemane He suffered for all our sins.”
Jody was silent a long spell. Then he stood up. “Can we go home now, Dad? There’s something I need to do. Something I want to do.”
Jody was halfway up the little rutted lane that led to the Fletcher farmhouse, when Hollis spotted him. Jody’s heart was pounding. He never imagined that something he wanted to do could be so hard.
Hollis met Jody a short distance from the house, his countenance as dark as a storm over the tablelands. “You came to tell my father what I did, didn’t you, Farnsworth?”
“No,” Jody answered. “I just came to tell you that I forgive you for what you did. I’m not saying it was right; I’m just saying that I don’t hate you.”
“What?”
“Staying mad isn’t going to change anything,” Jody said. “It just makes things worse.”
After an awkward silence, Hollis wondered aloud, “Why are you doing this?”
“It was just something that needed doing. Well,” Jody concluded after another uncomfortable silence, “I still have a few chores to finish up at home, so I guess I’d better be going. See you later.”
A few days later he returned to the mesa and searched the skies for another raven. “I know there are more of you up there somewhere,” he said out loud. “I don’t have any shiny stuff to give you—I’m all out—but—”
“I do,” a voice behind Jody said. Hollis stepped out of the brushwood. He pulled out a leather pouch he’d brought with him and displayed its contents to Jody. “Now we have a lot of shiny things to give those ravens!”
Jody stared at the multitude of shiny aggies, taws, glassies, cat’s eyes, and other bright-colored marbles. “Why are you doing this, Hollis?”
The older boy’s smile grew as big as Jody’s wonder. “It was just something that needed doing.”
Hollis set a bright yellow glassie on a rock, then sat next to Jody beneath the scrub oak, where the two boys waited and watched.

Some of the many shoes donated at Giving Machines go to needy children through Helen’s Hope Chest in Arizona, USA.
Other donations to the machines went to Helen’s Hope Chest in Mesa, Arizona. Helen’s Hope Chest exists to provide for the basic needs of children who are in foster or kinship care. Here’s what Kate Pompay, Executive Director of Helen’s Hope Chest, had to say about the support they received from the Giving Machines:
“When I received the first update from the #LightTheWorld campaign, I was floored. Over $27,000 had been raised in just a few weeks. I immediately thought of shoes—a lot of new shoes to give to children and teens in foster and kinship care.
“Fast forward a few months when Jill* and Mark* walked into Helen’s Hope Chest for their scheduled ‘shopping’ trip for their five-year-old granddaughter. When we asked how things were going, they looked at each other and pulled out court documents that gave them custody of their two grandsons. We didn’t hesitate to add the boys to the shopping trip to make sure they had what they needed without costing the grandparents any more.
“The funding from the Giving Machines ensures that Helen’s Hope Chest will not have to turn away kids in need.
“As for those shoes I envisioned? They have been walking away on the feet of hundreds of children every month.”

The first time I paid tithing, the amount was five cents. With my father, I went to the office of the bishop, who solemnly accepted my five pennies and wrote out the receipt. Then he came from behind his desk and sat next to me. With his hand on my shoulder, he said, “Ronald, you have made a good beginning. If you continue as you have begun, you can be a perfect tithe payer.” The idea of being perfect at anything seemed well beyond my ability. But with those words, the bishop inspired me to strive for perfection in that one basic aspect of the gospel.

The air was stiflingly hot, and birds filled the blue Portuguese sky. Nearby, some of my nephews were playing in the river, plunging into the water to escape the heat.
I wished I could escape my troubles so easily. I had recently decided to become active again in the Church. Through the Holy Ghost, the Lord had confirmed my decision, but my family and friends didn’t understand. They had criticized and abandoned me, and I felt utterly alone. A request to watch my sister’s boys swim had offered some needed moments of peace in what seemed a constant battle against forces intent on keeping me from the truth.
I had brought my Book of Mormon with me, and while my nephews splashed in the river, I sat under a tree and read. Tears started to flow as I thought of those I loved who told me I was making a mistake. I was so sure I was doing the Father’s will.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I could no longer hear my nephews. I looked toward the river, but they weren’t there. Concern, bordering on panic, flooded my heart.
And then I heard a young voice calling out my name. I turned to see my nephews standing behind me, smiling, cheeks as radiant as the light of the sun. The youngest, about five years old, was hiding something behind his back—an arrangement of multicolored flowers he and his brothers had picked from the nearby field. He presented them to me in a voice that sounded like music to my ears.
Tears sprang again to my eyes. But this time they were tears of happiness. As I embraced my nephews, I lifted my face to the sky and saw rays of sunlight shining through a break in the clouds. A great peace filled my heart. Because of this small, simple gesture—made with love—I knew I was not alone. Even though they did not understand my decision, my nephews—and all my family members—still loved me. But more important, Heavenly Father knew of my trials and was there to sustain me with His infinite love and concern.

A couple of years ago, my dad found out that one of his employees had embezzled a lot of money from him. This man had also been his close friend, and it crushed my dad that his friend would do something so horrible.
When confronted about the situation, my dad’s employee got extremely angry and defensive. My dad didn’t want to go to the authorities because the embezzlement could put the man in prison, so he decided to go through a legal mediator. The employee refused to repay the money he had stolen.
The mediator finally asked my dad, “Why are you doing all this? He’s being difficult and unreceptive. If you just turned in all the evidence to the authorities, it would all be over and done with. Why are you putting yourself through so much hassle for someone who won’t even apologize to you?”
And my dad answered, “Because I don’t want to ruin his life.”
After everything was settled, my dad never complained about it. I complained about it a lot, and I wasn’t even involved directly.

A few months ago, while participating in a service activity I was able to observe a sister who was heavily expecting. I wondered how much she would be able to offer while carrying such a physically demanding load. The agility and energy with which this sister moved to help lift a load for another needing relief, seemed to have lightened her own load. President Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985) observed, “Only when you lift a burden, God will lift your burden. Divine paradox this! The man who staggers and falls because his burden is too great can lighten that burden by taking on the weight of another’s burden.”3

The first recorded glimpse of a celebration is written on Christmas 1843 by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The entry marks a new outlook among Mormons toward the day:
“This morning, about one o’clock, I was aroused by an English sister, Lettice Rushton, … accompanied by three of her sons, with their wives, and her two daughters, with their husbands, and several of their neighbors, singing, ‘Mortals, Awake With Angels Join,’ which caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul. All of my family and boarders arose to hear the serenade, and I felt to thank my Heavenly Father for their visit, and blessed them in the name of the Lord. They also visited my brother Hyrum, who was awakened from his sleep. He arose and went out of doors. He shook hands with and blessed each one of them in the name of the Lord, and said that at first he thought a cohort of angels had come to visit him, it was such heavenly music to him.”
Later in the day the Prophet wrote the following took place:
“A large party supped at my house, and spent the evening in music, dancing, etc. in a most cheerful and friendly manner.”

Branch members’ cars slowly follow each other convoy-style down farm lanes past stubble fields toward the beach cliffs. It is a cold Canadian Thanksgiving day, but that isn’t unusual for Prince Edward Island. In a few months occasional Greenland icebergs will further chill the air and water as they lie grounded offshore waiting to melt free.
Everyone scurries to the protection of the cliffs above the beach, and once they are out of the wind, families gather together and wait for the service to begin.
Every family in the Summerside Branch turns out for the baptism of John Simon and Mary Pearl Keeping. It isn’t long before the field looks like a parking lot. Even 90 miles isn’t too much of a drive when you can welcome a new family into the Church.
Brother and Sister Keeping carefully make their way down the rocky cliff to the beach below. They want to be baptized in the sea on this Thanksgiving day.
Occasionally lobster traps break loose and are washed ashore. One such trap is used for a music stand and another one serves as a chair during the confirmation service.
Everyone, including the children, feels a special spirit as the group sings and prays together in a short service before the baptism.
The water is shallow, and it takes several minutes of walking through breakers before the baptismal party reaches water deep enough. The Keepings say they do not notice the cold of the air or the water. After they are baptized, friends lovingly wrap them in warm blankets before they are confirmed members of the Church.

My bishop extended a call to me the Sunday after my ordination in the Aaronic Priesthood as a Sunday School teacher. I was also called as a seminary teacher, and I enrolled in an Institute of Religion class. While I taught the Old Testament in seminary, I studied the Book of Mormon in the institute class. This connection to the scriptures changed my life as that was the beginning of a lifelong love for the standard works of the Church and other writings that I have accumulated over the years a large library of Church literatures and scriptures. I even went on to teach institute classes for years even as a stake president.

When I was in graduate school in England, my father came to visit. His father’s heart knew I missed home.
My father loved adventure except in food. Even in France, noted for its cuisine, he would say, “Let’s eat Chinese food.” A long-serving patriarch in the Church, my father was spiritual and compassionate. One night, as emergency vehicles with loud sirens raced through Paris, he said, “Gerrit, those cries are the wounds of a city.”
On that trip, I felt other cries and wounds. A young woman was selling ice cream from a small pushcart. Her wafer cones were just the size for a single scoop of ice cream. For some reason, a large man confronted the young woman. Yelling and pushing, he tipped over her cart, spilling her ice-cream cones. There was nothing I could do as he crushed the cones with his boots. I can still see the young woman on her knees in the street, trying to save broken wafer pieces, tears of anguish streaming down her face. Her image haunts me, a reminder of the unkindness, uncaring, misunderstanding we too often inflict on each other.
On another afternoon, near Paris, my father and I visited the great cathedral at Chartres. Malcolm Miller, a world expert on the cathedral, pointed out three sets of Chartres stained-glass windows. He said they tell a story.
The first windows show Adam and Eve leaving the Garden of Eden.
The second recount the parable of the good Samaritan.
The third depict the Lord’s Second Coming.
Taken together, these stained-glass windows can describe our eternal journey. They invite us to welcome all with room in His inn.

I was one of three young LDS girls who traveled with a touring party of seventy in October of 1972. We went to New York, California, and Utah. We visited many, many lovely people. Temple Square is so beautiful, even better than on postcards. Other members of the group were envious of us because we knew so much about the salvation of man and never worried at depressing moments. A few of them were good listeners and even abstained from their unclean habits. We earned their respect, and I know that these people will never forget the experiences we had in Utah. I felt so proud to be a Latter-day Saint and still do.

Now that I am home, I find that my testimony has been strengthened. It was a good experience being in the Promised Land, knowing that there are people on the other side who live the way I do. I only hope that I will be able to return one day.
Pauline RuruHawkes Bay, New Zealand

… As a missionary, I was speaking [in London, England, when a heckler interrupted], “Why don’t you stay with the doctrine of the Bible which says in John (4:24), ‘God is a Spirit’?”
I opened my Bible to the verse he had quoted and read to him the entire verse: “God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”
I said, “Of course God is a spirit, and so are you, in the combination of spirit and body that makes of you a living being, and so am I.”
Each of us is a dual being of spiritual entity and physical entity. All know of the reality of death … , and each of us also knows that the spirit lives on as an individual entity and that at some time, under the divine plan made possible by the sacrifice of the Son of God, there will be a reunion of spirit and body. Jesus’s declaration that God is a spirit no more denies that He has a body than does the statement that I am a spirit while also having a body.