Gospel Story Finder

“Christmas bells, ringing, singing,”* James sang out with gusto. Alan and his friends laughed, covering their mouths to smother their chuckles so that they wouldn’t get into trouble. Alan poked his friend Trevor to get his attention, then pretended that he was James. He held one hand in the air and dramatically mouthed the words to the Primary song as if he were an opera singer.
James was the loudest singer in Primary. That might not have been so bad, except that he could not sing on key. His voice wavered up and down like a sick bird, never matching the notes being played on the piano.
Even the Primary chorister had hinted that she wanted everyone to blend their voices as they prepared for their ward Christmas party. Every year, the Primary children dressed up like people in ancient Bethlehem and sang Christmas carols at the ward dinner.
“Mom,” Alan complained when he got home, “I’m tired of singing in Primary. I’m almost twelve, and I don’t want to stand in front of everybody with a piece of sheet on my head and pretend that I’m a shepherd.”
“This is the last time you’ll have an excuse to wear a sheet on your head,” Mother joked. “Besides, it’s supposed to be fun!” She grabbed her basket of clothes and hurried into the laundry room before Alan could complain any more.
“Fine. Just leave me here to suffer alone,” Alan moaned. “How can I get out of this?”
During the week, Alan came up with a plan. On Sunday morning, he found the Primary chorister setting up for Singing Time. “Sister Harmon, I was wondering if I could help with the Christmas party in another way.”
“Another way?” Sister Harmon asked, a little puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Instead of singing, I thought that maybe I could open and close the curtains.”
“With all the musical preparations, I didn’t think about the curtains,” Sister Harmon admitted. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”
Alan was relieved. Now all he’d have to do was show up, pull some curtain ropes, and then dine on the Christmas feast.
Friday evening came, and the Primary children met an hour before the program. The Young Men and Young Women were busy preparing and decorating the tables, and the Relief Society sisters were finishing the food preparation. Alan entered the cultural hall in his school clothes as the other children fidgeted with their costumes. He found his place behind the tall, orange curtain and peeked out at all the bustle. He felt a little guilty that he wasn’t doing all that he could to contribute to the program. But at least I am helping out with the curtains, he thought.
Alan watched Sister Harmon arrange the Primary members according to height. His two buddies were placed between James and Stephen. Poor Trevor, Alan thought, he has to sing next to James. He should’ve brought earplugs. He chuckled out loud at the thought.
Then Alan noticed Stephen calling to Sister Harmon. Stephen was in their Valiant class, and even though he was blind, he could do almost everything the other Valiants did. Alan watched him talking to Sister Harmon now and wondered how he did everything so well.
Sister Harmon spoke to Stephen a moment and then started rearranging the line. She moved Trevor one spot over and placed Stephen next to James. What’s she doing? Alan wondered. Did she notice us laughing at James before?
Alan watched from behind the curtain as people filtered into the cultural hall. They shuffled down the rows of tables until all the seats were filled. When the lights dimmed, Sister Harmon motioned for Alan to open the curtains. He pulled on the cords, using the whole weight of his body until the curtains brushed to a stop at the end of the rail. That was a lot harder than I expected, he thought.
The Primary choir began singing. As usual, James was loud and out of tune. As the program continued, a few of the Primary children took turns going to the microphone between songs. They each shared something they had learned in Primary about the Savior during the year. From the side, Alan noticed that most of them were very nervous.
When Stephen, the oldest Valiant, went to the microphone, he wasn’t at all nervous. “This is my last year in Primary, and it’s been the best because I’ve learned more about the Savior than ever before,” he began. “I have learned that Jesus Christ suffered my pain, but that He also feels my happiness. I feel a kind of happiness that maybe no one with sight can feel. Others help me all the time. I can’t see these acts of service, and I know that other people usually aren’t watching and don’t see them, either. But that is how Jesus served others—without any thought of reward.
“Each year on Christmas day, we celebrate Jesus coming to the earth as a baby. But I especially celebrate and look forward to the day when He will come again. After He does, I will be perfected if I have lived righteously. And I will see Him.” Stephen almost whispered the last two words.
Alan watched Stephen walk to the back of the choir. As he reached his spot, James grasped Stephen’s hand. When Sister Harmon raised her arms to lead the children in singing, James gently squeezed Stephen’s fingers, telling him when to begin singing through touch, just as Sister Harmon told the rest of the children through sight.
Alan continued to watch. The older children read the song from papers. Stephen couldn’t read those kinds of papers—he stood next to James and “read” James’s voice. James’s loud singing guided Stephen’s own.
Alan, still crouched behind the curtain, began singing. Loudly.
Suddenly Alan stopped. He didn’t sound a bit like James. He sounded as if he were trying too hard to be heard.
He looked around. No one was laughing at James now. They were all watching Stephen and James sing together. Alan felt something warm inside him. James wasn’t just being loud; he was helping Stephen.
Alan thought of the times he had laughed at James. He remembered Stephen’s words about serving without any thought of reward. Then he opened his mouth and sang with all his heart, trying to blend his voice with the others.
By the end of the program, Alan felt different. He no longer cared that he had to sing in Primary. He had learned that everyone had something to offer, even James, whose voice could help Stephen sing. And he knew that next year, if he were asked to sing again, he would do it gladly.

Nine-year-old Amber Donohue didn’t want to get out of bed. I have four good reasons not to, she reasoned, and only one reason why I should: It’s Sunday and church starts in an hour.
She thought hard about why she shouldn’t: In the first place, I’m too tired. It isn’t fair that bears can sleep all winter but people can sleep only at night. In the second place, it’s too cold to get up. Judging from the way the snow was piled on the limbs of the maple tree outside her bedroom window, Amber was sure that it had snowed all night. In the third place, she thought, if I get up now, I’ll be cross with everybody for having to get up. It wouldn’t be fair to others. And in the fourth place, … Amber couldn’t think of a fourth reason yet, but she was sure that if she stayed in bed long enough, she’d think of something!
Amber knew, though, that her one reason for getting up was more important than all the ones for staying in bed put together. It was Heavenly Father’s day, and she knew that He wanted her to be in Primary. She also knew deep down in her heart that she wanted to be there too. She glumly crawled out from under her covers and sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at her pet white rat, Cuddles, that sat looking at her from its cage in the corner. “You don’t have to get up!”
Amber’s five-year-old brother, Arnie, knocked, then skipped into her room, his shoes untied.
“What do you want?” she snarled at him.
“I want to get out of here,” Arnie said, deciding not to ask her for a favor, after all. He hurried down the hall back to his own room.
As Amber slowly got her Sunday shoes from her closet, she heard her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, everyone. We have to hurry, or we’ll be late for church.” Then she added, “Don’t forget to wear your warmest coats and put on your best singing voices.”
“I’ll wear my warmest coat, that’s for sure,” Amber grumbled, “but nobody can make me sing! I don’t feel like singing any more than I feel like getting out of bed!”
Suddenly Amber heard singing outside her window. It was a bird on the tree limb. Amber stared at it with surprise. “It’s gray and windy and cold out there,” she muttered. “Why is that bird singing such a happy song?”
“Maybe it’s counting its blessings,” came a small voice from behind her. Amber turned and saw Arnie standing a safe distance from her, his shoes still untied. “Mommy says that whenever she’s sad or just wants to feel better, she either counts her blessings or sings a song. Especially about Jesus. Like we do in Primary. And sacrament meeting. She says that she sings when she’s happy too.” Then Arnie added, “Heavenly Father likes singing. A lot. Otherwise why would He put so many birds in the world?” As Arnie turned and started to leave the room, he said, “Maybe you should sing a song, Amber. Maybe you should sing lots of them.”
Alone again in her room, Amber looked at herself in her dresser mirror. The first song that came to her mind was the one about no one liking a frowny face. She looked at the bird in the tree outside her window again. It was still singing. It’s happy, Amber thought. Maybe it’s counting its blessings and praising Heavenly Father too. If birds can sing on gloomy days, she thought as she started toward the kitchen, why can’t I?
Amber was ready for church on time. Well, almost on time. She stopped halfway through brushing her hair just long enough to help Arnie tie his shoelaces. And she sang every Primary song that she could think of all the way to church.

As a young elder, I had been called to the old Primary Children’s Hospital that once stood on North Temple Street in Salt Lake City. There were children to be blessed. It was the Christmas season. I had never been in a children’s hospital before.
As our group entered the foyer, we noticed an attractively decorated Christmas tree, with beautifully wrapped gifts beneath its boughs.
A feeling of sympathy welled up within me as I noticed these tiny children, many with legs or arms in large plaster casts. Some were ever so weak and pale.
A young lad called out to us, “Will you give me a blessing?” Of course the blessing was given. I shall ever remember placing my hands on the tousled head of that faithful boy who was desperately ill. As we left his side, he looked up into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Brother Monson.”
We walked away, only to hear him call out, “Oh, Brother Monson, merry Christmas to you.” I could scarcely see him for the tears in my eyes. He had that glow about him that comes only at Christmastime. That boy trusted in his Heavenly Father. He acknowledged the priesthood of God. His faith was unwavering. I felt I was on holy ground.

Thomas ran through the house looking for Dad. His Scout patrol meeting started in 10 minutes, and he needed help tying his neckerchief.
“Dad! Can you help me?” Thomas pointed at his neckerchief. But Dad was busy talking on the phone.
“Of course Cody can join our patrol,” Thomas heard Dad say. “In fact, we have a campout next weekend.” Dad talked some more, then smiled and hung up.
“Who was that?” Thomas asked.
“You know Cody from school? That was his dad. Cody’s going to join our den and come on the campout next weekend.”
Going on overnight campouts was Thomas’s favorite part of being an 11-year-old Scout, and he liked Cody. But he was confused about one thing. “But Cody doesn’t go to our church.”
“I know,” Dad said. “Cody’s church doesn’t do Scouts, so he wants to join our patrol.”
But everybody in our patrol is from our ward, Thomas thought. How would Cody fit in?
Before the campout, everyone met up at the Church building. “Hi,” Cody said to Thomas. The boys talked for a bit, and then Cody said, “I brought a two-person tent. Wanna share it with me?” Thomas grinned and said yes. Soon the Scouts set off for the mountains. When they got there, the boys ran off to set up their tents.
“Ready?” Thomas called to Cody.
“Ready!” The two boys pushed the tent poles into the ground. Their tent rose up and made a long shadow. “That was easy,” Cody said. “Race you to the river!” Cody bolted away, and Thomas followed behind.
Cody took a turn leading a hike and lighting the campfire. He liked exploring and was really friendly. Thomas was glad Cody got along with the group so well.
At dinner that night, Cody and Thomas grabbed their tinfoil dinners and joined the other patrol members at the picnic table. “Brother Wilson, will you say the prayer?” Dad asked one of the other leaders.
Thomas folded his arms and looked over at Cody. He wasn’t sure how Cody prayed at his church. But Cody bowed his head too and said “amen” at the end—just like everybody else.
“Why did your dad call him ‘Brother Wilson’?” Cody whispered. “Is he really his brother?”
“It’s because we’re all children of Heavenly Father,” Thomas explained. “Do you pray the same way we do?”
Cody smiled. “We use some different words, but it’s mostly the same.”
Pretty soon it was time for s’mores around the campfire. “Now we’ll have Cody give the spiritual thought for tonight,” Dad said.
Thomas was surprised, but Cody gave him a thumbs-up as he walked to the front of the group. “Thanks for letting me come,” Cody said. “I was a little nervous at first, but you’ve all been really nice. I’m going to share one of my favorite scriptures.”
Cody read, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you” (John 13:34). Thomas recognized the scripture. “I go to a different church than you guys, but we all show that we love God in the same way—we love each other. Thanks for being my friends!”
Dad stood and thanked Cody. “Now let’s sing ‘Love One Another’ to finish our evening,” he said. Cody listened and smiled while the group sang.
“Nice song,” he said as he crawled into their tent. “It was just like my scripture!”
Thomas smiled and climbed into his sleeping bag. Cody and I might go to different churches, he thought, but we can still be great friends.

Brother Tengu proceeded to bear his powerful testimony. He talked about the oppressive darkness that once enfolded him so fully that he even considered taking his own life. He talked about the pivotal moment when a friend at school asked him if he’d like to meet the missionaries.

Brother Tengu expressed gratitude for those missionaries, but said it was the Book of Mormon—which he was still holding out in front of him—that truly led him to light. He testified that the Book of Mormon answered every one of his questions, that it brought him peace. “It saved my life!” he said.

In 1975, while waiting for approval of the Book of Mormon translation, she began translating the Doctrine and Covenants. The other members of the translating committee discontinued translating for various reasons, so Sri was the mainstay of the scripture translation effort. Though she went to her job during the day, she felt driven to translate when she returned home. Often she worked late into the night, completing a rough translation of as many verses as she could in order to have them ready for the daily meeting of the translation committee. Once she went with other Church members to help with a cleaning project. After several hours of hard work, others suggested she go home to rest. Sri said that she was already resting because if she went home she would feel compelled to translate and could not sleep. The translation of the Doctrine and Covenants was completed in 1979.

Donna was excited. She and her cousin Judy were on their way to Aunt Pat’s house. Donna and Judy always had fun playing together.
It was dark outside, but there was enough moonlight to see by. Donna and Judy walked along the country road, laughing and joking with each other. Suddenly, they realized they were in front of Mr. Cook’s apple orchard.
The apples on Mr. Cook’s trees were big and red, and they looked delicious. Donna looked at Judy and realized they both had the same idea.
“Mr. Cook wouldn’t miss a couple of apples,” Donna said. But as she looked at the sharp pieces of the barbed-wire fence surrounding the orchard, it seemed they were prodding her already. A thought came to her: “He is your neighbor, Donna. Are you going to steal from him?”
Donna pushed the feeling aside. It would be fun. And besides, Mr. Cook had hundreds of apples.
She carefully climbed between the wires of the fence and helped Judy through. They crept into the orchard and picked a few of the shiny apples.
“OK, let’s go,” Judy said, motioning for Donna to follow her.
Suddenly, Mr. Cook’s dogs began barking. Someone turned on the porch light, and the girls heard quick footsteps.
“Run!” Donna hissed, clutching the apples in her arms.
When they reached the fence, Judy slipped through easily. But Donna was still holding the fruit and couldn’t get through the tight wires.
As she looked behind her and saw Mr. Cook’s dogs, Donna dropped the apples and squeezed through the fence. She heard a loud ripping noise and felt a sharp pain in her leg. Donna heard Judy gasp as she reached to pull her out of the wires. Donna had ripped her pants, and blood was running from a deep gash in her leg.
As Donna looked at the wound, she felt ashamed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to steal Mr. Cook’s apples. She also knew she would have to tell Mom what had happened, as well as Mr. Cook.
When Donna got home she told Mom the whole story. Mom was silent as she washed Donna’s leg and put on a bandage.
“Donna, you know it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours,” Mom finally said. “It would have been wrong even if you hadn’t gotten caught stealing.”
Donna nodded as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to go apologize to Mr. Cook.”
Mom gave Donna a hug. Donna thought about the feelings she had before she and Judy went into the orchard. “That was the Holy Ghost,” she realized.
As Donna said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father that she had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“Next time,” she thought, “I’ll listen.”

In another instance, a Laurel class president determined that she was going to fulfill her responsibility to activate a girl even though her leaders felt the situation was almost hopeless. Her bishop told her that because of some problems in the home and for other reasons, there was very little chance this girl would ever come to church. The other class members laughed when they learned helping this girl come back to church was to be one of the goals of their class president.

Nevertheless, she was determined to befriend this girl and enlisted the help of a neighbor girl as well. They began by saying “Hi” whenever they saw her and always stopping to visit for a minute. Then they started finding reasons to visit her. She was selected to be a member of the Booster Club for her high school wrestling team. The Laurel class president took her a flower and a note expressing congratulations. This process went on for three or four months. Finally, one Sunday the girl accepted an invitation to come to Sunday School. The next week she was there again, and that week she also attended Mutual. Because of her courage and faith, a young Laurel influenced one of her peers to take the first step toward activity in the Church.

When I was at my friend’s house, she asked me if I wanted some coffee. I wanted some because some of my other friends said that it was good. I thought for a minute and asked myself if Jesus would do it. Suddenly I felt the Holy Ghost comforting me. I told my friend, “No, thank you.” She said, “Are you sure? It’s really good.” Again, I said, “No, thank you.” I was grateful that the Holy Ghost was there to comfort me. I was also grateful that I could tell my friend no.

Her mother is the Relief Society president and the Primary president—and the only Primary teacher. Her dad, who retired from a company that makes luxury cars farther south, cuts the grass around the meetinghouse. One day the lawn mower just stopped on him and wouldn’t move. A few seconds later, a big tree crashed where he would have been mowing. Then the lawn mower started to work again! The Whites are sure that the Lord was protecting him.

I knew of two soldiers on a fierce battlefront, when during a temporary armistice in the war, one young man crossed the battle line and asked his antagonist, “Is there a Mormon elder in your lines?”

The other answered, “Yes, I am a Mormon.”

He then asked, “Would you come behind our trench lines and help me administer to and bless a wounded buddy?” Across the “no-man’s land” they walked together, these two men, former enemies. One anointed and the other sealed the anointing, and the wounded chap was blessed. A great peace entered their souls. The other man returned to his front lines to his duty, and he also had a new feeling of peace.

Four months after his mission, Kevin Jensen had earned enough money to barely get him through one semester at State College, provided that he room in the basement of his 63-year-old aunt’s home and that he work part-time in the morning as a custodian at the college. There was no money for non-essential items, and with his younger brother now ready to go on his mission, there was no hope for financial assistance from his parents.
On a cold January morning, he left his family, got on a bus, and shivered the 300 miles to the college town. His aunt, who didn’t have a car, had talked a neighbor lady into driving her to the depot to pick him up.
The next day was Sunday. Kevin walked his aunt to church and found himself being introduced to other retired and widowed friends of his aunt, while the Young Adults seemed to be always on the other side of the chapel.
The chorister for Sunday School was a girl his age with a smile that lit up the room, at least for Kevin. Although a common complaint of choristers is that people never look up from the hymnbooks, on that day Kevin didn’t look at the book at all but happily kept his attention on the chorister. Referring to the Sunday School bulletin, he found that her name was Jenny Wells.
On Monday, Kevin registered for classes. Afterwards he went to the college bookstore to buy books. One look at the prices and he decided to check them out of the library.
While in the bookstore, he saw Jenny buying some books. He waited until she got in the long checkout line and then stepped in behind her.
He was still rehearsing in his mind how to start a conversation when she dropped one of her books. He bent over to pick it up for her. Unfortunately she bent over at the same time and they bumped foreheads.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “You stay there and I’ll get it.” He bent over and picked it up for her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“This sounds corny, but I think we’re going to be good friends.”
“Are we?” she smiled. “Why?”
“Because we’re both LDS, and we’re both going to college here.”
“You’re LDS? Have you been to church before?”
“Yesterday. I didn’t get to the Young Adult class because the bishop wanted to talk to me. I just got back from my mission.”
“Oh,” she smiled, “that is interesting.”
He walked her home to the dorm. Their breath made little puffs of clouds as they walked.
“Do you like to walk?” he asked.
“Yes, why?”
“In a minute I’m going to ask you out. If you say yes, you should understand that I don’t have a car, so we’ll be walking wherever we go.”
“I definitely like to walk.”
“Good. There’s one other thing. Money is a little tight now, but I’ve budgeted a dollar a week for dating. This means I can either go out once a month and spend four dollars, or go out once a week and spend one dollar. So you need to decide if you want the four-dollar date or the one-dollar date.”
They stopped on a small bridge to look at the icy patterns made by a small stream that meandered through the campus. He turned to look at her, and for a second their eyes met, and he felt they both were communicating much more with their eyes than either of them would dare vocally.
“You’re nice to look at,” he said softly.
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” she said.
A little embarrassed, they continued walking again.
“One other thing,” he continued. “I can’t buy you a hamburger after our date, so eat a big supper before we go out.”
“Do you want me to eat my vegetables, too?” she teased.
“Whatever you’ve been eating in the past will be fine. It’s done wonders.”
“Are you ever going to actually ask me out?” she laughed.
“Okay, will you go out with me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want the four-dollar date or the one-dollar date?”
“The one-dollar date.”
“For the one-dollar date we can go to the art exhibit on campus, or we can go to a seminar on aging, or we can watch the swim team practice, or we can go to the library and read old issues of Life magazine. If you want more action, we can go to the last hour of a dance at the student union building.”
“The last hour?”
“After they quit taking tickets. It’s up to you. The world is at your feet, all for a dollar.”
“I’ll take the art exhibit and the dance.”
“An excellent choice.”
Although they were joking, he found himself more enchanted by her each moment. He thought about just stopping and telling her that he was falling in love, but he was afraid to do that. Besides, the joking was fun.
“Afterwards we can stay on campus and buy a cup of hot chocolate for a quarter a cup, or we can pick up an entire box of hot chocolate mix for 89 cents and go back and mix up two cups in the lobby of your dorm. Your choice?”
“Have you ever worked for Burger King?”
“No, why?”
“I keep expecting you to break into singing, ‘Have it Your Way.’”
It was snowing on Friday night as he walked to her dorm. When she came out of her apartment, he was again taken back by her beauty.
“I’m ready,” she said breezily. “I ate a good supper, I ate all my carrots like a good girl, and I’ve got warm clothes.” She stopped as she saw he wasn’t smiling. “Is anything wrong?”
“You’re such a classy lady. You deserve better than this.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself because you’re not rich?”
“If I just had a car and a little more money.”
“I like you fine the way you are.”
As he helped her on with her coat, she noticed the clipboard he had brought with him.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a clipboard.”
“I know that!” she laughed. “But why did you bring it?”
Suddenly the fun was back with them again. “You don’t know about clipboards?” he asked.
“What’s there to know?”
“You’ll see,” he grinned.
They walked to the art show on campus. It was the first night of the exhibit. Hanging up their coats in the lobby, they entered the exhibit hall and stood in front of the first painting.
“I like the overall balance in the picture, don’t you?” Kevin said, with an official ring to his voice.
“Yes.”
Kevin made a point of writing something on his clipboard. Up and down the exhibit, people respectfully observed them, believing they were the judges for the exhibit.
Kevin stepped back, his hand touching his chin. “Notice how the brush strokes create a definite lifting effect.”
Jenny was blushing a crimson red. A few people came closer to hear what Kevin was saying.
They walked to the next painting, called “Bird in Flight.” It looked as if someone had put paint on tricycle wheels and ridden over the canvas. There was nothing to indicate a bird, or flight, and the entire canvas was one blotch of yellow, red, and blue.
Kevin assumed the art judge pose, hand stroking his chin, and said finally. “Oh, yes. I see the bird, don’t you?”
By this time there were six people directly in back of them, straining to see a bird in the blotches.
Kevin stepped to the canvas and began to randomly assign separate sections of the canvas to parts of the bird, saying with great authority, “This, of course, is the beak, and this is the left wing, and this is a tree, and this is a lake, and this is the right wing.”
None of it, of course, made any sense, but people began to whisper, “Oh, yes, I see.”
Jenny’s face was bright red, and she fought to avoid breaking down with laughter. With some difficulty, she whispered, “May I have a word with you privately?”
They walked quickly out of the exhibit area and up one flight of stairs. There they broke down with peals of laughter.
Finally she gasped, “They think we’re art judges.”
“Why should they think that? I don’t know anything about art.”
“It’s your clipboard, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the magic of a clipboard.”
“That was so funny.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“But is it the right thing to do?”
“I don’t know. We never said we were art judges.”
“No, that’s true.”
“And if somebody came up and asked us if we were, we’d tell them no.”
“Still,” she said, “we’re LDS, and we need to set a good example. Maybe we should go back there without the clipboard.”
“Whatever you say.”
They left the clipboard with their coats and returned. As they passed “Bird in Flight,” someone who had watched Kevin was now pointing out enthusiastically to others the various parts of the bird.
At 11:00 they walked to the dance. As Kevin had predicted, the people taking money had long ago shut down. They danced until midnight, then walked to a small store that stayed open all night, bought some hot chocolate mix, and returned to her dorm.
At 1:00 he got up to leave.
“Jenny, thanks. You’ve been a good sport.”
“I’ve enjoyed it.”
“The only expense was for the box of hot chocolate mix.”
“Oh, I’ll get it for you,” she said. “You can take it home.”
“How about if I left it here and we used it on another date.”
“That’d be fine.”
“Would you like the three-dollar-eleven-cent date? That’s how much is left for the month.”
“A certain young man,” Jenny began, sounding like a teacher, “can spend four dollars a month on dating. He can go out twice a month and spend two dollars a date, or four times a month at one dollar. How many times can he go out with the same girl at fifty cents a date?”
“Eight,” Kevin answered.
“At a quarter a date?”
“Sixteen.”
Jenny stopped and smiled. “I’ve never enjoyed mathematics so much.”
Kevin left the dorm and started to walk home, still in a trance. He went over in his mind the way she was, and the excitement and fun he felt just being with her, and the way they had looked at each other a few times during the evening.
“Hey, Kevin, is that you?”
Kevin looked over to the car that had pulled over to the curb. It was Harly Mitchell, a former missionary companion.
“Want a ride, elder?”
Kevin got in the car. “Harly, I didn’t know you were here!”
“One more year.”
“Do you still go to church? I was there Sunday and didn’t see you.”
“We were visiting my in-laws. Showing off our baby.”
Harly enthusiastically told Kevin about his wife and baby and what a financial struggle it was to stay in school. He was just then returning from a night job at a gas station.
“And what about you?” Harly asked. “Why are you up so late, elder?”
Kevin told him about Jenny.
“Do I hear wedding bells ringing?” Harly teased.
“No, we just like each other. Besides, I’m not going to get married until I’m out of school.”
“Famous last words.”
“I can’t afford to be married.”
“Who can? Say, why don’t you bring Jenny over to our place for dinner next week? It’d give us a chance to talk some more.”
Kevin accepted the invitation, but because of previous commitments to home teach on Harly’s night off from the gas station, he had to schedule it for two weeks later.
On Wednesday of the next week, Kevin phoned and asked Jenny to go with him to a movie.
“Can you afford it?” she asked.
“Don’t worry. I’m a big spender.”
On Friday, the auditorium in the Agriculture Building was still only half filled as Kevin and Jenny sat down.
“Our first film tonight,” a man in a western suit shyly announced, “will be ‘Your Modern Poultry Industry.’” Kevin pulled out a large bag of homemade popcorn and shared it with Jenny.
“I’ll never look at a chicken in the same way,” Jenny joked as they left the auditorium after the movie.
Later they went to a dance for the last hour. Once after a song was over, while they still faced each other, he reached over and took hold of both her hands. Their eyes met and he felt himself wondering how he could stand to ever be apart from her again. He felt a sensation as he looked into her eyes of being allowed into a place in her heart she’d never let anyone else enter.
Fighting his feelings, he broke the spell by turning away and making a joke about the band.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Jenny asked quietly.
“About what?” Kevin asked nonchalantly.
“About what’s happening to us?”
“What’s happening to us? We’re just learning about chickens.”
She started to cry.
They stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching others dance. And then the dance was over, and they were alone except for those in the band carrying away their instruments.
“Why won’t you talk about it?” she finally asked.
“I’ve got three more years of school, Jenny. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded her head.
On Saturday he took her to visit her aunt. They helped make bread. When it was finished, they sliced a loaf and had the warm bread with butter and honey and a glass of milk.
Sunday after sacrament meeting they went to a Young Adult fireside.
“I talked to my parents on the phone today. They’d like to meet you.”
“Oh.” He felt himself tense up.
“They like to meet all my friends,” she quickly added.
“They’ll be in town Wednesday, and they’ve invited us out to dinner.”
“What does your father do for a living?” Kevin asked.
“He works in a bank.”
“Teller?”
“Vice-president.”
They ate with her parents, who were not members of the Church, at the most expensive restaurant in town. At the end of the meal, they sat and talked.
“This isn’t too bad a place, is it?” Jenny’s mother said. “I think it was all rather decent food, don’t you?”
“Actually, Jenny and I have been here before.”
“Oh, what did you have?”
“Nothing,” Kevin answered. “See that sign on the wall that says, ‘Ask to visit our kitchen’? Well, that’s what we did.”
“With a clipboard,” Jenny said with a smile.
“But surely you must have had something.”
“Kevin’s on a very tight budget,” Jenny added quickly.
“Oh.”
Kevin was angry at the way he felt. On one hand, he wanted to impress her parents. But he resented the feeling that he was being looked over as a possible future son-in-law. Then, too, he still felt it was ridiculous to even consider the possibility of marriage until he was out of school, and so there was no reason why he should try to impress them at all. Let them see just how poor he was.
“Yes,” he said, “do you suppose I could get a little bag to put the extra food in. That is, unless you want it?”
Aware that he was probably losing points with Jenny’s parents, but angry about their obvious wealth, Kevin dropped every spare morsel of food on the table into the bag the waitress had brought him. Once he looked up from his efforts to clear the table of food to see that Jenny was hurt by what he was doing—trying to discourage her parents from liking him.
A few minutes later, Jenny and her mother left the table to visit a store in the building.
Jenny’s father ordered a second cup of coffee. “How do you think I got to be a banker?” he asked Kevin.
“I don’t know.”
“Hard work. I had to struggle through college the same as you. Don’t ever be ashamed because things are tight.”
Kevin found himself looking at Jenny’s father with new admiration.
“It’ll sharpen your goals and make you ten times more effective than if things had been easy.”
“I appreciate you telling me that,” Kevin said.
“Second, I don’t think you’re in any position to marry, do you?”
“No sir, I don’t.”
“Of course, Jenny hasn’t mentioned it, but after spending all these years studying people who come in for a loan, one gets a little skill in observation, and I’d say you and she were in love.”
“Yes.”
“Marriage now isn’t something I’d recommend. Maybe in a couple of years.”
“I feel the same way,” Kevin replied.
“Good. Don’t make the same mistake we made. We were both headstrong and in love and got married when I was still in college. Can you picture me selling cookware on weekends and mopping floors in the morning? Or my wife working as a seamstress in a clothing store? She’d hate to admit it now, I think. Yes sir, don’t make the same mistake.”
“No, sir.”
“Still,” he said, his eyes wistful, “in some ways those were our happiest years.”
A few days later, Kevin and Jenny went to have supper with Kevin’s former missionary companion and his wife and baby. Harly and Janet Mitchell lived in the basement apartment of a home. The apartment had been hastily built a few years before, when the college appealed to local citizens to help meet the housing needs of a growing student enrollment. The furnace room was stuck in the middle of the apartment, and the ceiling was filled with air ducts carrying heat upstairs. A shower spout stood outside the bathroom in the kitchen, with only a plastic curtain and a drain. Harly explained that they also mopped the floor after every shower.
They had a casserole of macaroni and cream of mushroom soup, a plate of carrots, a bowl of peas, and a jello salad. But the hit of the evening was their six-month-old baby who stole the show.
“Oh, she’s precious,” Jenny said, holding the baby in her arms. “It’s such a nice outfit for her, too.”
“Thanks to grandparents and friends,” Janet said. “Because of them, she’s taken care of for clothes.”
A few minutes later, Harly asked the inevitable question. “What about you, Kevin? About time you got married, too.”
“After I finish college,” Kevin said firmly, his jaws set tightly.
Kevin and Jenny walked home afterwards at a quick pace.
“They have a beautiful baby, don’t they?” she said.
“Every shred of clothes it has came from relatives,” Kevin snapped.
“So?”
“So, I’m never going to be in a situation where my children have to depend on other people for clothes.”
“Funny, the baby doesn’t seem to mind,” Jenny observed quietly.
“They are in no position financially to have a baby!” Kevin said, stopping to confront her.
“The General Authorities counsel that married couples shouldn’t postpone having children, not even for schooling.”
“Then they shouldn’t have married until he was through school.”
“They love each other. Doesn’t that count for anything? I’m sure they didn’t want to wait for two years.”
“What if the baby gets sick? What then?” Kevin asked harshly.
“Then Harly might have to quit school and get a job.”
“And just throw away his schooling?”
“You’re not really that concerned about the baby, are you?” she shot out.
“No, and this conversation’s not really about them either, is it?”
She looked at him for a long time and then said, “No, I guess not.”
“Jenny, I’m going to finish school in three years. Nothing’s going to stand in my way.”
“I see.”
He didn’t kiss her when he said good-bye at the dorm.
He didn’t call her for three days after that.
Finally, unable to stand being apart, he phoned her and asked her to go with him to a Young Adult party that Friday night.
Everything went fine Friday until it came time for the entertainment. The girl in charge gathered everyone close to her in the cultural hall and announced a game. She asked the young people to take off their shoes and put them in a pile.
Kevin got up and quietly walked into the hall.
A minute later, Jenny joined him in the hall.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked.
“I have holes in my socks,” he said quietly.
“Oh.”
“I can’t even afford a pair of socks.”
Jenny touched his hand.
“All I’ve got for shirts are white shirts from my mission, but they’re falling apart. This shirt has a big hole in the sleeve where my elbow has worn through, so with this shirt I always have to wear a sweater, and never take it off.” He pulled the sleeve of the sweater to show her the ragged shape the shirt was in. “I’ve got slacks where the back is getting so thin that I have to wear a sport coat to hide the seat of the slacks.”
“I love you, Kevin, not your socks.”
“But don’t you see, things aren’t going to get any better for three more years.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Look, Jenny, I know I’ve avoided talking about us. I’d ask you to marry me, but how can I? I couldn’t even afford the license.”
She snuggled against him. “I’ll chip in a couple of dollars,” she whispered. “It’s for a good cause.”
“Your father doesn’t want you marrying a guy who can’t provide for you.”
“It’d only be for a little while. I could quit school and work.”
“You should finish your education.”
Jenny stayed close to him, and he felt a tear fall from her cheek on to his hand.
“There are too many shoulds in all this,” she said.
“It’s going to torment us all the time now,” he said, stroking her hair. “I can’t stand being away from you, and now I can’t stand being with you. If we could just put things on hold for two years and then start it up again.”
“How do we do that?” she asked.
As gently as he could, he said, “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No, but let’s try it for a while.”
He walked her to the dorm, said good-bye, and left.
The days that followed were terrible. He’d sit down to study and find himself looking at her picture 20 minutes later. Whenever he saw a phone, it haunted him, and he had to rush by so he wouldn’t break down and phone her. He’d sit down to outline a chapter and find himself going over the figures estimating how much money he’d need to be able to marry her. The answer was always the same.
In church they could hardly stand to be in the same room. He offered his services to the bishop, hoping to be called to teach a Sunday School class so he wouldn’t have to be in the Young Adult class with her.
Once he rounded a corner in church and found himself facing her.
“Hi, Jenny,” he said brightly. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” she countered quickly.
“Fine,” he said breezily, but then his depression seeped out across his face. Instead of moving on, they stood there silently in the hall, staring at each other, both of them in agony.
“It’s tough, isn’t it?” he asked. “Unbelievable,” she replied. Then he walked away.
He fasted and prayed. He called his father collect and asked for advice. Strangely enough, the answer came in a personal priesthood interview with his elders quorum president.
“Oh, Kevin, before you go, would it be all right if we gave you another family to home teach? I just found out that Bill Morrill is graduating in May, so we need someone to pick up a couple of his families.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Boy, he’s really had a good job while he’s been in school. It’s been perfect for him and his wife.”
“What job is that?”
“Managing a motel.” Kevin pressed for more details, phoned up Bill Morrill at the motel, visited with him the next day, and applied for the job. The owner hired him, starting in May.
Kevin phoned Jenny from a pay phone next to the motel, but her roommate said she’d gone away for the weekend and wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.
He nearly went crazy waiting for Sunday to end. Between church meetings he spent his time writing a long list of ways to save money. Every possible idea was there. They’d drink straight powdered milk. They could get a free Christmas tree by asking some students in the dorm if they could have their tree when they went home for the holidays.
They’d save money for a room because a small apartment went with the job at the motel. At night all he had to do was man the desk and switchboard. He could get a lot of studying done at the same time. They’d never be able to afford a car, but they could get a small wagon to carry home the groceries from the store. They’d ask his aunt if they could help her with her garden during the summer in exchange for some vegetables.
Sunday evening after sacrament meeting he phoned her again.
“Hello,” she said.
“We can get married!” he shouted.
There was a long pause, and then she said quietly, “I bet this is Kevin. Right?”
“How many other guys have you got about to propose?”
She laughed, and he said he’d be right over.
When she opened the door, he handed her his ten-page list.
“It’s all there. We can do it.”
She sat down and went over the list with him.
“It’s very interesting,” she said.
“That’s all you can say?”
“What should I say?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes to what?”
“Yes to my question.”
“I didn’t hear a question.”
“WILL YOU MARRY ME?” he shouted, causing couples in the dorm to stop their conversation and stare at them.
“Yes,” she laughed.
He kissed her.
A few minutes later they left the dorm to walk to their bishop’s home.
“We’ll be poor,” he warned.
“No we won’t,” she said. “Not us. We won’t be poor. We just won’t have any money.”
They walked quietly, holding hands, happy with the world.
“Wait a minute!” he said. “You haven’t told me where you’ve been this weekend.”
“I went home. My mother taught me how to mend socks.”

Many years ago I read of an experience at Christmastime which took place when thousands of weary travelers were stranded in the congested Atlanta, Georgia, airport.1 An ice storm had seriously delayed air travel as these people were trying to get wherever they most wanted to be for Christmas—most likely home.
It happened in December of 1970. As the midnight hour tolled, unhappy passengers clustered around the ticket counters conferring anxiously with agents whose cheerfulness had long since evaporated. They too wanted to be home. A few people managed to doze in uncomfortable seats. Others gathered at the newsstands to thumb silently through paperback books. If there was a common bond among this diverse throng it was loneliness: pervasive, inescapable, suffocating loneliness. …
The fact of the matter was that there were more passengers than there were available seats on any of the planes. When an occasional plane managed to break out, more passengers stayed behind than made it aboard. …
Gate 67 in Atlanta was a microcosm of the whole cavernous airport. Scarcely more than a glassed-in cubicle, it was jammed with travelers hoping to fly to New Orleans, Dallas, and points west. Except for the fortunate few traveling in pairs, there was little conversation at gate 67. A salesman stared absently into space as if resigned. A young mother cradled an infant in her arms, gently rocking in a vain effort to soothe the soft whimpering.
Then there was a man in a finely-tailored gray flannel suit, who somehow seemed impervious to the collective suffering. There was a certain indifference about his manner. He was absorbed in paperwork: figuring the year-end corporate profits perhaps. A nerve-frayed traveler sitting nearby observing this busy man might have indentified him as an Ebenezer Scrooge.
Suddenly the relative silence was broken by a commotion. A young man in military uniform, no more than 19 years old, was in animated conversation with the desk agent. The boy held a low-priority ticket. He pleaded with the agent to help him get to New Orleans so that he could take the bus to the obscure Louisiana village he called home.
The agent wearily told him that prospects were poor for the next 24 hours, maybe longer. The boy grew frantic. Immediately after Christmas, his unit was to be sent to Vietnam—where at that time war was raging—and if he didn’t make this flight, he might never again spend Christmas at home. Even the businessman looked up from his cryptic computations to show a guarded interest. The agent clearly was moved, even a bit embarrassed. But he could only offer sympathy, not hope. The boy stood at the departure desk casting anxious looks around the crowded room, as if seeking just one friendly face.
Finally the agent announced that the flight was ready for boarding. The travelers who had been waiting long hours heaved themselves up, gathered their belongings, and shuffled down the small corridor to the waiting aircraft: 20, 30, 100, until there were no more seats. The agent turned to the frantic young soldier and shrugged.
Inexplicably, the businessman had lingered behind. Now he stepped forward. “I have a confirmed ticket,” he quietly told the agent. “I’d like to give my seat to this young man.” The agent stared incredulously; then he motioned to the soldier. Unable to speak, tears streaming down his face, the boy in olive drab shook hands with the man in the gray flannel suit, who simply murmured, “Good luck. Have a fine Christmas. Good luck.”
As the plane door closed and the engines began their rising whine, the businessman turned away, clutching his briefcase and trudged toward the all-night restaurant.
No more than a few among the thousands stranded there at the Atlanta airport witnessed the drama at gate 67. But for those who did, the sullenness, the frustration, the hostility all dissolved into a glow. That act of love and kindness between strangers had brought the spirit of Christmas into their hearts.
The lights of the departing plane blinked starlike as the craft moved off into the darkness. The infant slept silently, now in the lap of the young mother. Perhaps another flight would be leaving before many more hours. But those who witnessed the interchange were less impatient. The glow lingered gently, pervasively in that small glass and plastic stable at gate 67.

A Super Fireside including everything from dancing to milking cows was planned and carried out by the youth of the Bozeman First Ward, Bozeman Montana Stake.
With a core group of about 15 youth doing the planning and organizing, all of the youth from the Bozeman and Helena Montana stakes were invited.
The event began with a roast beef dinner followed by a speaker. The older youth pushed back the tables for a dance, while the deacons and Beehives traveled to another location for get-to-know-you games and a magic show.
Early the next morning, the group assembled dressed in work clothes for the day’s activities. After breakfast and an early-morning speaker, the group departed for the stake dairy, the largest dairy in the Gallatin Valley.
Assignments were made for the service project. Some painted the siding on one of the homes. Some helped put up fence. Others painted the calf pens, and the lucky ones got to clean out the barn. With a few paint and water fights, the work was finished in time for lunch in the hayloft. It had been a great success for both the youth and those they served.

Samuel and Anna-Maria Koivisto showed both commitment and willingness. Soon after their marriage, the Koivistos moved from Jyväskylä, Finland, to Göteborg, Sweden, to pursue career opportunities. After arriving, Brother Koivisto was invited to visit with President Leif G. Mattsson, a counselor in the Göteborg Sweden Stake presidency. Because Samuel did not speak Swedish, the interview was conducted in English.

Following a brief visit, President Mattsson asked Samuel to serve as the ward mission leader in the Utby Ward. Samuel pointed out the obvious: “But I don’t speak Swedish.”

President Mattsson leaned over his desk and pointedly asked, “Did I ask if you could speak Swedish, or are you willing to serve the Lord?”

Samuel answered, “You asked if I was willing to serve the Lord. And I am.”

Samuel accepted the calling. Anna-Maria also accepted callings. Both served faithfully and learned to speak beautiful Swedish along the way.

Commitment and willingness to serve the Lord have characterized the lives of Samuel and Anna-Maria. They are ordinary heroes in the Church. They have faithfully served every time they have been asked. They have taught me that when we serve, we use the talents we have (see Doctrine and Covenants 60:13), and the Lord then helps us accomplish His purposes.

As the father of seven sons, I have always wanted them to love, honor, and respect their mother. As the older ones have gone through their teen years and beyond, it has been gratifying to watch them do special things for their mother.
My wife, Nicki, loves flowers. Over the years, it has not been uncommon for one of the boys to bring his mother a special bouquet of a dozen roses. These floral gifts haven’t necessarily come on Mother’s Day, her birthday, or some other special occasion, although they have come then too. More often than not, these timely gifts come spontaneously and unexpectedly just to say, “Thanks, Mom, for everything you do and for putting up with me.”
Such was the case when Jarom, our mission-bound son, surprised his mother. Over the years Jarom had found words and gestures of love and appreciation difficult to come by. He was a big, handsome, muscular young man who could bench-press 300 pounds but still struggled to refine the delicate art of telling his mother he loved her.
Of course, Nicki knew Jarom loved her, and she had accepted the fact that he would probably communicate his love and appreciation to her in other ways not associated with flowers, cards, or even spoken words.
But one afternoon he walked into the house and handed her a bouquet of yellow long-stemmed roses. Somewhat taken aback, Nicki caught her breath and exclaimed, “Jarom, how beautiful!” She instinctively breathed in their rich fragrance. “I love them. One dozen yellow roses!”
Jarom shrugged sheepishly and shook his head. “Actually, there are only 11,” he confessed. He cleared his throat and smiled bashfully. “I gave one of them away.”
He paused and then explained. “I picked up the roses and was on my way home when I passed this girl from our neighborhood. She was about nine or ten, just kind of dragging down the sidewalk, looking really sad.” He shrugged and grinned. “So I figured, why not. I stopped, took a rose from your bouquet and handed it to her. I told her to have a great day.”
“What did she do?” Nicki asked, curious.
Jarom laughed. “Well, she wasn’t sad anymore.” He took a deep breath and added, “So that’s why you’ve only got 11 roses.”
Nicki smiled for a moment and tried to picture in her mind that girl walking down the street, discouraged and perhaps crushed by some adolescent tragedy. In the midst of her sorrow she looks up and sees this big, handsome neighbor approach her with a single yellow rose, perhaps the first she has ever received in her life. He smiles at her, hands her the rose, and tells her to have a great day. She is probably flattered beyond words, and suddenly her gray day is brightened by the unexpected light from Jarom’s yellow rose.

Those of us who are a little more mature can have a tremendous influence on the younger generations. When my mother was just a little girl, neither of her parents was active in the Church. Even at the young age of five, she would walk by herself to church and attend her meetings—Primary, Sunday School, and sacrament meeting—all at different times.
I recently asked my mother why in the world she did that week after week when she had no support or encouragement at home. Her answer was: “I had Primary teachers who loved me.” These teachers cared about her and taught her the gospel. They taught her that she had a Father in Heaven, who loved her, and it was their concern for her that kept her coming week after week. My mother said to me, “That was one of the most important influences in my early life.” I hope I can thank those wonderful sisters someday! There is no age barrier when it comes to Christlike service.

“When Mom and Dad were first married they lived on a farm. One day Dad knew an orphan pig would die if he didn’t keep it warm and feed it himself. So he brought the pig inside and put it in the oven. He didn’t turn on the oven but thought the pig would be comfortable there for a while. He didn’t think to tell anyone what he’d done and my mother, not knowing about the pig being there, came into the kitchen and turned on the oven to bake something. Needless to say, an unintentionally roasted pig at our house that day caused quite a problem.”

Observing and serving sometimes requires great effort. An inspired young woman named Alexandria noticed that her cousin Madison was unable to complete her own Personal Progress requirements because she suffered from severe autism. Alexandria rallied the young women in her ward, counseled with her leaders, and determined to do something for Maddy that she could not do herself. Each of the young women completed a portion of the Personal Progress activities and projects vicariously to enable Maddy to receive her own medallion.

These young women will progress well into roles of motherhood and Relief Society sisterhood because they are learning to first observe, then serve in charitable ways.

In my own lifetime I have been a witness to the miracle of the restored gospel. When I was a young girl my family moved to São Paulo, Brazil, where my father had been called to preside over the Brazilian Mission. It was an exciting time for me and a great place to grow up. A favorite game for my brothers and me was to dress up and pretend to be missionaries. We spent hours scribbling our own missionary pamphlets and “preaching” and “transferring” all over the yard. For five years the nightly conversations around our dinner table centered on missionary work, and I listened intently to stories of faith told by missionaries. Even at that age I knew I was part of a great work.
There were only about 3,000 members of the Church in Brazil when we arrived there. I remember being in a very small Primary with a few other children, singing the same five songs every week, as those were the only ones translated into Portuguese. Two of my favorite songs were “A Luz Divina,” or “The Light Divine” (Hymns, no. 305), and something about a bunny in the middle of the woods (see “The Little Rabbit,” Children’s Friend, June 1955, 257).
In many ways our experience was similar to the early pioneers. We had no hymnbooks or pictures or lesson manuals sent from the headquarters of the Church. Everything that was needed to teach the gospel in Portuguese was written and printed in our mission home. All of us, even the children, were pressed into service to help assemble mission newsletters and lessons. No one shipped the Church to us. The prophet did not send us stake presidents or bishops. He did not send Relief Society presidents or youth programs. The Church in Brazil was made from the same material that the pioneers started with. The material to build the Church was in the people.
During our years in Brazil, we saw great growth come to the Church. Thousands became Latter-day Saints. Soon the mission was divided, districts and branches were organized, and new chapels were built. The new members were enthusiastic, and they grew in faith and became more experienced in the manner of the gospel.
A lot of years passed, and then last year I returned to Brazil to attend the rededication of the São Paulo temple. At that time I learned that there were 187 stakes in Brazil. There are now 26 missions, 4 temples, and almost 1 million members. Imagine my surprise when I walked into a stadium filled with over 60,000 members who had gathered to hear President Gordon B. Hinckley and celebrate the temple dedication. To me it was a miracle to see thousands of youth dancing and singing together. As I watched that joyful celebration, I kept saying to myself, “This is amazing! This is a miracle! How did this miracle happen?”
I marveled all that night at what I had seen. Then, the next morning at the temple dedication, I had a reunion with my Primary teacher, Sister Gloria Silveira. That was when I knew how the miracle had come about. As a new convert with no prior Church experience, Sister Silveira had come to Primary prepared to share her simple testimony and teach me the Articles of Faith in Portuguese. She and her husband, Humberto, are still faithful. They have served in many Church callings over the years, and they are still serving. When I saw Sister Silveira, I realized that the Church in Brazil had grown because of her and thousands like her. She and Brother Silveira represent people everywhere who have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and His gospel. They have grown in knowledge and skill, and they have served in the Church (see D&C 88:80). They have shared the gospel with friends (see D&C 30:5). They work in the temple (see D&C 138:48). They taught their five children correct principles (see D&C 68:28). Of their 43 descendants, 15 have served full-time missions. Their grandchildren are now marrying in the temple, and their great-grandchildren are the fourth generation of Silveiras who are part of the marvelous work that was started by Joseph Smith. Because of them, faith has increased in the earth. They are an example of the miracle the Lord spoke about when He said that His gospel would be proclaimed by the weak and the simple (see D&C 1:23) and that by small and simple means great things are brought to pass (see 1 Nephi 16:29).