Gospel Story Finder

“Evacuate your homes now!” bellowed the loudspeaker on a truck. “The fire is coming! The fire is coming!”
The forest fire raged down the mountain toward the town. Fierce winds fanned the enormous flames. Short of water and help, the firefighters couldn’t hold it back any longer. Families were going to lose their homes and belongings. There was nothing anyone could do.
Seven-year-old Catherine sat in her family’s living room, watching the news reports. It was hard to believe that the fire was only an hour away. She stared as flames licked through the treetops. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away. She felt sad and sick.
Catherine went to her room and thought about the fire. Looking around, she wondered what it would be like to leave everything behind. She had lots of prized possessions. The most precious was Ginger, her favorite doll. She looked at her other dolls, her trophies, her toys, even her clothes and shoes. Losing everything was hard to even think about.
When Dad got home, Catherine and her parents ate dinner. They discussed the new evacuations. Tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes, and she began to cry.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked.
“Why can’t they stop the fire?” Catherine asked. “Where will people live if their houses burn down?”
“Everyone will move into temporary shelters,” Mom answered. “They will get food, clothes, and a warm place to sleep until this is all sorted out.”
“What about their things? Who’s going to help them save their things?”
“The fire is too hot and moving too fast for anyone to think much about saving things,” Dad said. “It’s more important to make sure the people are safe. Most things can be replaced.”
Too upset to finish her supper, Catherine asked to be excused and went to her room and knelt by her bed. “Girls just like me are going to lose everything,” she prayed. “Somebody has to help them. I want to help them, but what can I do?”
When she awoke the next morning, Catherine knew exactly what to do. She filled a large shopping bag with clothes, books, and games. Last of all, she put in Ginger. “Mom, I want to donate these things,” she said. “Can you help me?”
Mom looked through the bag. “You’re giving away some of your nicest treasures,” she said. “Are you sure you want to give away Ginger?”
Catherine tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “This is what I need to do,” she said. “I know that this will help someone feel better. Will you help me?”
Mom hugged her. “Of course. The Relief Society is collecting donations. I was going to take some blankets and canned goods over this afternoon, but I think we should go right now, instead.”
The missionaries had set up a large open trailer in the ward parking lot. Waiting in line with other people who were making donations, Catherine began to feel that giving away Ginger was just too hard. She thought longingly about keeping her favorite doll. The line inched forward, giving her time to think some more. When it was her turn, she handed her bag to the Relief Society sisters, Ginger and all. Silently saying good-bye, she watched as her bag was carried to the trailer. It was so hard to give up her things! She turned and walked quietly back to the car.
That afternoon, Mom collected blankets and canned goods. When she and Catherine arrived at the meetinghouse, the trailer was full of useful things.
Back home, a television report announced that four hundred homes had been destroyed. But there was good news, too. The fire was nearly under control, and no one had been hurt.
Catherine watched the reports every night. She was worried about the four hundred families without homes. She thought about her shopping bag of treasures and wondered if it had really mattered among the thousands of other donations. And she really missed Ginger.
Suddenly Catherine sat up and looked more closely at the television screen. Something looked familiar. A little girl in a shelter was clutching a doll that looked a lot like—no, it really was—Ginger!
Catherine jumped up and squealed with delight. Her prayer had been answered. Her donation really had made a difference.

When I was nine years old, our family moved into a home with an unfinished basement where my sister and I slept. Sometimes at night as I lay in bed trying to go to sleep, the unfinished walls looked like shadowy figures. These shapes gave me frightening dreams. Sometimes I would sleepwalk through my house and wake up suddenly in a strange place.
One night after sleepwalking, I woke up totally confused and frightened. I tried to scream for help, but no sound came from my mouth. It was so dark, I could not see my hand in front of my face. Suddenly, someone turned on a light, and I could see where I was. My mother must have heard me sleepwalking and came down to the basement to check on me. When she didn’t find me safe in my bed, she turned on the light to look for me.
One simple flick of a light switch and I understood exactly where I was, how much my mother loved me, and how to return to the safety of my covers. Because the shadows scared me, I asked my mother to leave on a light. She agreed. I’m thankful my mother loved me enough to come downstairs and turn on the light.
This feeling of light that we feel in church is just like the feeling of love and safety I felt when my mother turned on the light in the basement.
The night I was sleepwalking in my basement and woke up frightened, I was right beside my sister all the time. She was fine, but I needed someone to help me find the light.

I had a man about my age come in to see me a few days ago. He told me a story about a 1947 Chevrolet. It was a little after the Second World War. He was a young elder, I guess, or priest—I’m not sure which. Anyway, he and his friend were called in to see the bishop one night after sacrament meeting, and they both knew what was coming up. The bishop said to the first young man, “We’d like you to prepare to go on a mission.”
The young man replied, “All right, I’ll do it.”
And then the man who came in to see me was next. He went in and the bishop said, “We’d like you to prepare to go on a mission.”
And he said, “Bishop, I can’t do it because I am paying for a 1947 Chevrolet.” He said that at that time of his life, this was the most important thing to him. He said, “I just don’t see how I can do it.” Well, one thing led to another, and he never did go. He came in to tell me how throughout his life he had regretted that decision so much that every time he sees a 1947 Chevrolet (and that is occasionally nowadays) he gets a sort of unhappy feeling in his heart. He relates it to something that he had an opportunity to do but didn’t do.
There is a 1947 Chevrolet in each of our lives. There is some material thing that sooner or later will stand between what the Lord expects of us and what we know we should do. Then we have to make a decision, and may the Lord bless us that we may make a proper decision when our 1947 Chevrolet confronts us.

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
B. When Tasha is out of earshot, you whisper to Julie that Tasha didn’t want her to come and had made faces at her behind her back. Julie gets very quiet. Your get-together is no fun after that.
Surely you didn’t mean to do that! Won’t you reconsider and choose I?
C. You all three go back to the tire swing and have a lot of fun. After a while, Julie’s mom picks her up and Tasha walks home. You’re glad that she and Julie have become friends too.
This is the end of the story—unless you want to do a little more missionary work. If you do, go to G.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
F. Julie doesn’t come, because she thinks that your mom changed her mind about your having friends over. You and Tasha have a good time, except that you feel guilty about lying to Julie. Later, Julie finds out that Tasha was at your house, and her feelings are really hurt. Your friendship is never the same. You are sad that you lost a good friend.
You can’t make such a bad decision so soon—repent and go to A.
G. “What’s the Word of Wisdom?” Tasha asks. “It’s kind of like a health code,” you say. “It teaches us to not smoke, drink coffee, tea, beer, or wine—stuff like that. And to not do drugs.”
Julie pipes up, “It teaches us to eat fruits and vegetables and grains—you know, healthy things.”
“So do you two go to the same church?” Tasha asks. When you both nod, she looks down. “I don’t go to church, except when I visit my grandma. What do you do at your church?”
“Well,” you answer, “we have Primary every Sunday. It’s kind of like Sunday School in other churches. We have a lesson and learn about Jesus Christ. We sing songs, too, and have a lot of fun. Oh, and we have special activity days every so often.”
“Yeah,” Julie chimes in, “it’s all really neat! Would you like to come with us this Sunday?”
“Do I have to wear a dress?”
“We always do,” you tell her. “I’m always glad I do—it just feels right, somehow.”
Tasha shrugs. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to dress up. Sure—I’ll ask Mom if I can go.” (The End)
H. You put the cigarette to your mouth. You don’t breathe it in deeply, but even so, it tastes yucky. You are still holding it when Tasha’s mom drives by. She stops the car, hollers at Tasha to get in, and says to you, “Don’t expect Tasha to be coming over anymore.”
You feel awful. When your eyes meet Julie’s, you see that she is very disappointed in you. You promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. Julie gives you a weak smile and says, “I believe you, but I don’t think that Tasha’s mom ever will.”
This is your last chance in this story to get on the “right-choice” track. Hurry to D!
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
J. Julie gets tears in her eyes and doesn’t say anything. Tasha says, “Thanks a lot, Big Mouth,” and goes home. You and Julie have fun playing, but you get a knot in your stomach when you think about Tasha’s angry eyes. The next day in school, Tasha won’t even speak to you.
Not again! Aren’t you glad that this is just a story? Change your choice to E.

When I was 16, my seemingly healthy, vigorous 41-year-old father dropped dead while water skiing. As you can imagine, this was a shocking event in my life and caused me much anguish. Why did this happen? This event was cause for considerable reflection and much prayer as I struggled to set my own course. A few months later, standing on the newly grown grass over his grave at the Ogden, Utah, cemetery, I decided several important matters:
One, that I would always keep the Word of Wisdom.
Two, that I would serve a mission.
Three, that I would always make him proud that I was his son.
Four, that I would strive to be successful as he was.
Five, that I would always be active in the Church.
Six, that I would marry someone in the temple as fine as my mother.
These were simple yet life-defining decisions. They were as indelible as the words carved on my father’s headstone, for my resolve was, in effect, carved in stone—unalterable and resolute. I had “decided to decide.”

Four years ago I made a personal commitment to write to my 94-year-old grandmother every week for the rest of her life. My mother has been caring for her for several years, and because my grandmother’s eyesight is failing, Mother reads my letters to her.
It hasn’t been easy to write every week, but as I have struggled to fulfill my commitment, two specific blessings have come into my life. The first blessing was one I expected—the joy of knowing that both my mother and my grandmother would come to know and love our five children as they read about our daily activities and experiences.
The second blessing came after I had written the letters for one year. Without my knowledge, my mother had kept each letter I sent. After accumulating a year’s worth of letters, she bundled up the stack and mailed the letters back to me.
As I reread my old letters, I discovered I had a detailed family journal in my hands Although I recorded major events in my personal journal, detailed accounts of our family’s day-to-day activities were kept alive in the pages of my letters. This unexpected family journal paints a vivid picture of our family life and will help our posterity know what we were like as a young, growing family.

One day at school as I ate lunch and studied for my next class, I noticed a group sitting near me, talking and laughing. One young woman particularly caught my attention. She was tall, with beautiful black hair, dark skin, and high cheekbones. Her appearance was as unlike my pale, freckled face and red hair as anything I could imagine. She was one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen.
After a few minutes, the group rose to leave. But the young woman I had been watching stopped. I was somewhat embarrassed; I thought she must have seen me staring at them. Then something extraordinary happened.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but I want to tell you how beautiful you are.”
After a shocked pause, I started to laugh. “I was thinking the same thing about you!”
After she left, I continued to think about what had happened. We found our differences beautiful. At that moment I realized there is no single standard of beauty.

The young men and young women in Welland, Ontario, Canada, get excited about seminary. Winters in Welland are long and harsh, and during the greater part of the school year, going to seminary means a trek to the church in the dark and cold. Of course, teenagers in Welland are no different than teenagers anywhere else. Getting enough sleep is a paramount concern—something that can be a bit of a challenge when you get up for an early-morning class. But a few years ago, the Welland seminary students had a teacher who changed their lives, and their mumbling and grumbling about the early hour seemed to shrink, while their excitement about seminary seemed to grow.
Despite the fact that he had been ill with cystic fibrosis all his life, their teacher, Brother Ron Cunningham, wouldn’t have traded his calling as a seminary teacher for anything. In terms of his health, some days were better than others. But every day he taught seminary, he said, was a good day.
“He was our friend,” says James Burton, 17. “We all had such a good time, even though he was sick. He had such a great sense of humor, even about things that made him look silly. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of class before everyone was fully awake, he would fall asleep—while he was teaching.”
Because cystic fibrosis fills the lungs with fluid, breathing is difficult, causing extreme fatigue. Consequently, it seems that just about everyone has a favorite “Brother Cunningham fell asleep” story.
There were other ways he filled the seminary with laughter and fun, too. There were games and contests for scripture mastery, treats and stories to make lessons easier to understand.
“One year, Brother Cunningham brought an entire set of army men for us to use to reenact battles from the scriptures,” says Craig Dumoulin. “At first we thought it was crazy since none of us have played with toys like that since we were little, but it really did make it easier to understand. And it was a lot of fun.”
But Brother Cunningham taught his students much more than how to have a sense of humor. Make no mistake, the gospel was his life, and he wanted to help his students feel the same way.
“Because of his illness, he was pretty small physically,” says Matthew Glanfield, 18. “But I have never known such a spiritual giant.”
It was that spirit, that great feeling, that kept the students excited and happy about getting up before dawn to study. Even in the Toronto area’s brutal and icy winter. Even during exams when time was scarce. Even when it would have been easier to stay in bed and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Everyone knew that no matter how hard it was for them to get out of bed in the morning, it was harder for their teacher. If he could do it, they knew they could too.
The young men in the ward seemed especially responsive to his style of teaching. Although he didn’t fit the stereotype of macho strength and he was unable to participate in many athletic activities, the young men all say that he was exactly the kind of man—an honorable priesthood holder who was married in the temple—that they all aspire to be.
“There were a lot of things he couldn’t do, but he worked hard at the things he could do,” says Matthew. “He always told us that it was his number one wish for us to go on missions and be great missionaries. He couldn’t go on a mission because of his health, but he could contribute to the missionary effort by training others to share the gospel.”

Eliana Verges de Lerda, a member of the Church in Argentina, met her friend Anabel when they were both six years old. Their friendship grew as they went to school together. During that time, Eliana never hid the fact that she was a member of the Church.
“I felt very comfortable talking about the gospel with Anabel, even though we didn’t share the same beliefs,” she says.
When the girls were 14, Anabel agreed to listen to the missionaries, but she decided not to be baptized.
Eliana was disappointed, but this did not stop her from continuing their friendship; nor did it stop the gospel discussions. A few years later, Eliana invited Anabel to attend seminary with her. During the lesson, Anabel felt the Spirit very strongly. As Eliana prepared to go to the temple a few days later, Anabel told her, “I promise to go with you next time.” Anabel was baptized a short time after.
Anabel’s conversion did not take days; it took years. The process was possible because Eliana was her friend first—regardless of whether or not Anabel felt an interest in accepting the gospel.

On the positive side, President Hinckley told of what can happen when just one person chooses to remain active in the Church. He shared this story: Years ago, President Charles A. Callis, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, but who previously was president of the Southern States Mission for twenty-five years, told me this story. He said that he had a missionary in the southern states who came in to get his release at the conclusion of his mission. His mission president said to him, 'Have you had a good mission?'
He said, "No."
"How is that?"
"Well, I haven't had any results from my work. I have wasted my time and my father's money. It's been a waste of time."
Brother Callis said, "Haven't you baptized anyone?"
He said, "I baptized only one person during the two years that I have been here. That was a twelve-year-old boy up in the back hollows of Tennessee."
He went home with a sense of failure. Brother Callis said, "I decided to follow that boy who had been baptized. I wanted to know what became of him. The next time I went up into that area I looked him up. He had put on shoes (he'd never worn shoes before), he'd put on a shirt (he'd never had a shirt before), he was the clerk of the little branch Sunday School."
Brother Callis said, "I followed him through the years. He became the Sunday School Superintendent, and he eventually became the branch president. He married. He moved off the little tenant farm on which he and his parents before him had lived and got a piece of ground of his own and made it fruitful. He became the district president. He sold that piece of ground in Tennessee and moved to Idaho and bought a farm along the Snake River and prospered there. His children grew. They went on missions. They came home. They had children of their own who went on missions."
Brother Callis continued, "I've just spent a week up in Idaho looking up every member of that family that I could find and talking to them about their missionary service. I discovered that, as the result of the baptism of that one little boy in the back hollows of Tennessee by a missionary who thought he had failed, more than 1,100 people have come into the Church."

SAN FERNANDO, CALIFORNIA—At 6:01 A.M. February 9, an earthquake shook southern California. Within minutes a major population center in North America had been seriously affected. More than one thousand persons were injured, over sixty persons killed—two of them Latter-day Saints—hundreds of homes and business buildings were destroyed and many others greatly damaged. In the following twenty-four hours, more than a hundred tremors were felt. Hundreds of Latter-day Saints spent the next several days with other Latter-day Saint families who had opened their homes to them. Many home teachers immediately went into action. Fifteen-year-old Crystal Berrett of Sylmar Ward, San Fernando Stake, gives a firsthand report of what it was like to be caught in the quake.
I rose from bed at 5:00 A.M. as usual to get ready for seminary. There were no special feelings or fears that morning, only the usual “Hope I’m ready on time,” “I hate this last-minute rushing,” and “Have I studied enough for the test in history?” Just another day.
My ride came and I was ready, although something bothered me. While I had been getting ready, my small poodle had whined and pawed at my leg. I had tried everything to calm her but it was impossible, so I had just left, not knowing what else to do.
We reached the chapel (that’s where we hold seminary). We were quite early. We got our books and were seated. The other kids staggered in with half-opened eyes. I love seminary as I know all my friends do, and we wouldn’t miss it—but it sure is early!
Most of us were seated and just waiting for our teacher, Varge Christensen, to quiet the usual last-minute whispers and begin. Suddenly I heard a great rumbling sound like a wave—only it was ten times greater! My chair began rocking back and forth. I turned to my girl friend, Cindy Kelley, and said, “Wow! This is really outasight!”
I had never felt a real earthquake before. People now and then would talk about them, and I had wanted to experience one. The next thing I knew the lights went off and I was lifted in the air and dropped violently on my back. I felt someone underneath me and attempted to get to my feet. I was tossed toward one wall, then toward the other wall, all the while trying to dodge flying chairs. My one thought was to escape from the building. It wasn’t so outasight anymore!
Our teacher told us later that he had yelled at us to get out onto the lawn, but I don’t recall hearing anything but that great rumbling. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever been through, and I immediately began praying. I was unable to get up off the floor, and I was afraid that any second the walls and ceiling would come down on me.
We all finally made it to the safety of the grass outside the chapel, and we lay there watching the building sway. With the exception of some bruises, no one was hurt or injured. All the kids were great, trying to help and calm each other. Our one thought now was to get back home to our families.
I knew it was an earthquake, a bad one, but I didn’t realize how bad until some of the parents came rushing to the church in tears, saying that their houses were in ruins, that there hadn’t been one thing left on a wall or shelf or one piece of furniture left in its original position. After I heard this I didn’t even think to cry; I just looked into the sky, now filled with smoke from fires, and asked the Lord to please let me get to my family.
As we started out from the chapel and saw the various buildings and shopping centers that were for the most part totaled-out, many thoughts crossed my mind, and I wondered if my family and home would even be there. As I think back, I’m sure Clyde Cowan and Cindy Kelley must have had the same thoughts, because we rode in complete silence.
There were big cracks in the road, and a big light fixture fell from a pole just after we had passed under it. As we turned up my street, I could see that there had been a shake, but the houses appeared to be undamaged—at least I thought they were fine until my mother, half-crying, half-numb, showed me the inside of our house. It was unbelievable. It looked as though everything in the house had been piled up, crushed, and then stirred. But our family was alive, without injuries, and our house was at least livable.
The home of my best friend, Becky Christensen, was completely demolished. It was a two-story home that was almost made into a one-story in less than a minute.
I talked with Becky later and asked her how she felt about her house. She answered, smiling, “They’re only material things. My family and friends are all right.” Becky’s family has been camping out in the backyard since the earthquake, and she said to me, “Chris, campcrafter is really worthwhile. You really need it.” (Campcrafter is a proficiency level to which MIA girls may attain in camping expertise.)
When we finally got the news on a transistor radio, we learned about the destruction of the Olive View and Veteran’s hospitals. They were in ruins. I have been a candy striper at Olive View for the past two months, and I was going to miss school that very morning in order to watch surgery. If the earthquake had struck just one hour later, I might have been in ruins with the hospital.
This earthquake is by far the most terrifying experience I have ever had, yet in other ways the most rewarding. I’ve learned that such things as houses, cars, furniture, and clothes are only material things and not so important after all. They may take twenty years to get and pay for, yet in less than one minute they can be destroyed. Many people cried over the loss of their beautiful mirrors and expensive china. My mother said that she and Dad had invested most of their time and money in their seven children, and the Lord had preserved them, so they were very grateful. We haven’t had water or gas or electricity or phones, but we have our year’s supply of food stored for just such an emergency, so we haven’t really suffered. It’s been kind of fun sitting by the fire in the darkness at night.
The greatest lesson I’ve learned is what a wonderful blessing it is to be able to pray to God when you are really scared and to have the feeling that he is there and that he hears you and will help you.

I especially love the story of Florence Chadwick narrated by Sister Ardeth Kapp. This is what she wrote:

I am impressed with the story of Florence Chadwick, who determined at thirty-four years of age that she would be the first woman to swim the twenty-two miles from Catalina Island to the California coast. She had already been the first woman to swim the English Channel in both directions.

One writer reported the experience: “The water was cold that July morning, and the fog was so thick she could hardly see the boats in her own party. Millions were watching on national television. Several times sharks, which had gotten too close, had to be driven away with rifles to protect the long figure in the water. As the hours ticked off, she swam on.

Fatigue had never been her big problem in these swims. It was the bone-chilling cold of the water. More than fifteen hours later, numbed with cold, she asked to be taken out. She couldn’t go on.

Her mother and her trainer alongside in a boat told her they were near land. They urged her not to quit. But when she looked toward to California coast, all she could see was the dense fog.”

A few minutes later, at fifteen hours and fifty-five minutes, she was taken out of the water. It was not until hours later, when her body began to warm up again, that she felt the shock of failure.

To a reporter she blurted out, “Look, I’m not excusing myself, but if I could have just seen land I might have made it.” She had been pulled out only one-half mile from the California coast.

Later, she reflected that she had been defeated not by fatigue, not even by the cold, but by the fog. It had defeated her because it had obscured her goal and blinded her reason, her eyes, her heart.

This was the only time Florence Chadwick ever quit. Two months later she swam that same channel and again the fog obscured her view, but this time she swam with her faith intact. She knew that somewhere behind that fog was land. And she reached her goal.

“Okay, class. You have two weeks to complete this assignment. Remember that it is a research essay. You must present detailed observations and a conclusion, not just an opinion.”
Miss Lambert’s instructions were clear enough, but my brain was rejecting them. Another assignment! Don’t teachers ever coordinate assignments, or is it just part of a giant plan to keep students so overworked that they don’t have the strength to fool around in class?
I took the typewritten sheet from Wendy Baker as she passed them out to the class. She was positively glowing with enthusiasm. Why do some people thrive on schoolwork?
“It’s a tough one, Matt.” She smiled brightly. “We can work in groups if we want.”
I attempted a smile, then pretended to get engrossed in the essay question: “Racial Harmony. Is it possible in our community, and what are some ways we can achieve it?”
I glanced around the class to see if the reactions of others were the same as mine. With the exception of Wendy, they looked pretty similar—heads down, tired and disgruntled expressions, a few hands being run through already ruffled hair as if the movement could generate some extra brain power.
My sociology class in New Zealand is quite diverse, a mixture of European, Maori, Polynesian, South African, and Asian. We share a few classes, but most people stick with their own group at lunch time and after school. No disharmony but no great harmony either.
“What’s the frown for, Matt?” Miss Lambert stood beside my desk. “Do you have some questions about the assignment?”
“Uh, no … not really.” I always felt a bit flustered around Miss Lambert. “I was just looking around the class, and I figure we all get on pretty well.”
She tapped at her chin with the tip of her pen; then she smiled with a sort of faraway look. “Okay, Matt. That answer’s fine for now, but I want you to be able to tell me how different you feel when you’ve finished making your observations. How much better do you think it could be?”
I guess I was wrong to expect Mum’s sympathy with my lack of enthusiasm for the assignment. I read it out to her after she’d watched me inhale a reasonable quantity of cake and milk after school.
“What’s the problem?” She rescued the last bit of cake for my sisters. “You’ve got plenty of places to gather information right around you.”
I must have stared blankly because she took a deep breath and started speaking more slowly and carefully, like when I had a project to do in primary school.
“Think about it, Matthew.” I know she’s being serious when she says my whole name. “You have to find examples of racial harmony. I’m just suggesting you look closer to home first.”
Then came the classic closing statement. “You know I’m happy to help you, Matthew, but you have to make an effort. Now I have to go and do some shopping. Don’t eat all the cake.”
I did make an effort. I looked at some newspapers and some magazines and found some pretty negative articles about the crime rate and unemployment being higher in some racial groups in New Zealand, and some other articles about the country being inundated with immigrants. The one thing I did notice as I searched was that there really wasn’t anything particularly positive written about racial harmony. Did that mean it didn’t exist, or wasn’t it worth writing about?
I decided to think about it later. I mean, I had two weeks.
Mum did her shopping all right. After dinner she presented me with a small red book with “4 Nephi 1:15–17” written in large print on the front.
“I thought you could use this as your research notebook. The scripture might be helpful as well.”
Good old Mum. Trying to be helpful without helping. I gave her a hug, tucked the notebook into my back pocket, and went to check out some new CDs.
The notebook fell on the floor as I got ready for bed. I guess my conscience got the better of me, because when I picked it up, I felt I should look up the scripture.
“And it came to pass that there was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.”
No contention. No disharmony. That sounded fair enough; then, as I kept reading, the last part of verse 17 really stood out.
“… neither were there Lamanites, nor any manner of -ites; but they were in one, the children of Christ, and heirs to the kingdom of God.”
Nor any manner of -ites. No -ites among us? Did that mean there were no different cultural groups or that they “were in one, the children of Christ.” In one? As in unity?
I was actually sitting back on my bed pondering the scripture when Mum tapped on the door.
“Any inspiration yet?” She gave my scriptures a quick glance.
“I’m not sure, maybe.”
“Don’t forget to look close to home or church.” She smiled and blew me a kiss goodnight.
Next morning when I arrived early at seminary, my teacher, Sister Fisher, was already there with some of the Korean students. I hadn’t really noticed before that they were always there early. Today I watched quietly and found that Sister Fisher was teaching them the main words and ideas from the lesson in English so they could understand better during class.
Later on in class, I noticed other things for the first time. Out of 20 students we had nine different nationalities—French, Maori, Filipino, Korean, South African, Chinese, Niuean, Tongan, and Samoan.
I watched a girl from South Africa helping a Korean boy read aloud. A Filipino boy was helping a Chinese boy three years younger with scripture mastery, and a Maori girl was helping a Niuean boy. Everyone was helping everyone else to learn about Jesus Christ, and “there was no contention in the land.”
When I got home I wrote a few observations about seminary into the notebook. As I stopped to think for a bit, I noticed Mum had put a photo on my dresser. It’s one of her favorites of my older brother on his mission in Australia. He is with two little Aboriginal children and their mum, whom he was teaching the gospel to.
I made more notes as the week went on.
—The visit of the stake Young Men presidency—three men from three different cultures encouraging us all to serve missions.
—The regional basketball team—12 players from five cultures, all united in a team effort to win the championship.
—Our stake service project—youth from 10 cultures helping clear roadside rubbish.
—A ward fireside with 38 people and 14 cultures, listening to advice from the scriptures on how to build stronger families.
And at every activity, there was no contention. We were just Latter-day Saints worshipping and working together. I couldn’t see any -ites at all.
“How’s the assignment going?” Mum asked one morning. Mum and I do most of our talking in the kitchen on either side of the breakfast bar. I juggled a handful of cookies and pulled the red notebook out of my jeans pocket. It was looking pretty ragged, and I could tell Mum was impressed when I flipped through my pages of notes.
“Plenty examples of racial harmony—no contention and ‘no -ites among us.’” I started to say it in an almost glib, gloating way until my throat suddenly tightened, and I got the most amazing feeling in my chest and behind my eyes all at once. I couldn’t even look at Mum. I just kept staring at my little red book until the scripture on the front blurred.
“Do you think you understand your assignment now?” Mum asked quietly.
When I handed my assignment to Miss Lambert, she looked briefly at the number of pages and raised one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.
“You’ve been working hard, Matt.” It was a statement rather than a question. “Do you think you’ve learned something from it all?”
“Plenty, Miss Lambert,” I grinned. “It wasn’t as boring as I thought it would be.”
“And did you decide how we could make things better?”
“Uh, yeah.” I felt a bit awkward. “I think it’s got a lot to do with having a common goal.”
The eyebrow went up again.
“I mean, if we’re working together and helping each other reach the same goal—well, there’s less room for contention, and people are more unified.” I felt myself trailing off, but Miss Lambert smiled and nodded.
“You’ve done well, Matt. You’ve seen that you can make a difference.”
As she turned away to gather up the other assignments, I found myself silently reciting the scripture that I had memorized in the last two weeks.
“Neither were there … any manner of -ites; but they were in one, the children of Christ.”
“Did you get the assignment done okay, Matt?” Wendy bubbled up beside me. “Wasn’t it awesome?”
I couldn’t believe my answer as I smiled back. “Yeah, Wendy, it was awesome.”
And I meant it.

On a warm July evening, 2,500 young Latter-day Saints from Southern California congregate next to the football stadium at the University of Redlands. It’s 20 minutes before showtime on opening night, and the youth dressed in colorful dance costumes are excited to perform their dance festival show after two years of planning and months of dance practices.
One group of youth begins to clap and chant “It’s dance time” as they cheer. All around them other participants are practicing their parts alone or with partners.
Soon they all line up to go into the stadium, and after the prayer and opening number, all 2,500 of them flow onto the field. The California Dreamin’ dance festival has just begun.
During the next two hours the youth move across the field performing dances like the waltz, cha-cha, and swing to live music performed by other youth and adults. When it’s over, the crowd cheers and the dancers hold their heads high, grateful for the opportunity to participate in this great event.
With more than 2,500 youth dancing on the field, making friends, and strengthening testimonies, the California Dreamin’ dance festival turned out to be just that: something great.

I remember the occasion more than 70 years ago when, as a missionary, I was speaking in an open-air meeting in Hyde Park, London. As I was presenting my message, a heckler interrupted to say, “Why don’t you stay with the doctrine of the Bible which says in John, ‘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” (John 4:24).

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 when the body dies, 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.

I do not equate my body with His in its refinement, in its capacity, in its beauty and radiance. His is eternal. Mine is mortal. But that only increases my reverence for Him. I worship Him “in spirit and in truth.”

Have you ever wondered how it might feel to go through life deaf, blind, or confined to a wheelchair? The youth of the Pleasant Grove 19th Ward in Utah recently found out when they participated in a “Handicap Awareness Week.”
“I can’t even get through the door into the bathroom!” exclaimed one girl who tried a few turns in a wheelchair. Getting a drink of water from the fountain was also difficult.
The youth listened to speakers and voluntarily took on disabilities of their own while participating in different activities. Experiencing handicaps first-hand helped the youth develop a new-found compassion for their disabled brothers and sisters. But they were also consoled. “We were actually relieved to realize that one can have lots of fun even with a serious disability,” said one participant.

In our suburb of Chicago, Illinois, USA, fewer than 20 Latter-day Saint youth attend a high school of about 4,400 students on two separate campuses. We have been pleased with the education our son has received, and many good families with high standards live in our area.
In the spring of our son’s junior year, he was invited to a school dance. His date wore a beautiful, modest dress, and we were eager to hear how their night went. When he came home, he said, “I will never go to another school dance!” He said students had engaged in provocative dancing, which the administration did nothing to stop. I was appalled.
I am a part-time employee of this school district, and a couple of days after the dance I sought out a vice principal. He is a man of integrity, and I felt that he would listen to my concerns. He recommended that I write to the high school principals.
I prayerfully considered what to say and decided to tell them I was disappointed with the inappropriate dancing and that nothing was done to stop it. The bar had been set high for academics, so why not for all activities?
Several months passed, and I thought my letter had fallen on deaf ears. But one day, during back-to-school registration, a vice principal asked me, “Are you the mother who wrote the letter about the school dances?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“I want you to know that your letter has caused quite a stir!” he said.
I learned that one of the principals wasn’t convinced that changes needed to be made until he asked a few students their opinion. Everyone had the same reply: “We will never go to another school dance! They are too disgusting!”
The administration then implemented rules of dance etiquette, which would be enforced during an upcoming homecoming dance. The principal informed students that they would be asked to leave if they disregarded the rules.
I anxiously awaited our son’s return from the homecoming dance. When he arrived, he said students who had tried to get away with the old behavior were removed. He said it was the best dance he had ever attended.
I wrote to the administration, thanking them for making this one of the best school dances in a long time. The vice principal I knew responded: “Thank you for starting that conversation last spring. Without your input we might not have moved forward in this area.”
I have since found out that most of the schools in our county are adopting these new dance rules, so thousands of students will now be able to enjoy school dances.
I pray that the Lord will bless all of us to find the courage to speak out and up for what we believe. I learned that one person can make a difference.

A little over a year ago, my wife and I traveled to Jiangxi, China to adopt a three-year-old, little girl. Our other two daughters were also brought into our family by the Lord through the miracle of adoption, but this was our first experience with an international adoption. This was not our plan. In fact, we were completely caught off-guard when the Lord let us know, in very clear terms, that He had prepared us and guided us into this adoption and that He meant Meizi to be our daughter. The last year has been amazing and miraculous for us to be able to witness the miracle of a little heart that had never known a family, or the light of the gospel, or the comfort of prayer, being warmed and brightened by the Spirit and the sweet love of a “forever mommy.” There is a light in her eyes now that wasn’t there a year ago. The light of family love and God’s love has pushed back the darkness and entropy of the world. In April of last year, we were able to take her to the temple to be sealed to her as part of our eternal family. This journey through endless applications, fees, certifications, paperwork, and interviews; and then on to a cold communist orphanage on a dark, rainy December day; and finally into the warmth and light of the Lord’s temple has been one of the most challenging experiences of our lives but certainly one of the most rewarding to be able to be a part of this miracle of light pushing back darkness. Because of the goodness and mercy of God – and I have to acknowledge my angel wife’s faith, determination, and prayers – there is one less orphan in the world, and our family is that much brighter and more complete.

There’s not much sadness in her voice. No trace of anger. All the upheaval took place when Vani Tanumi had just learned to walk and talk, so she doesn’t remember any of it.
Her story about her parents is more matter-of-fact than anything. Her mom died before Vani turned two, and her dad left the family. Vani, age 19, has no recollection of her mom or dad. Fortunately, she was reared by Grandma and Grandpa, her mom’s parents. It’s the only life Vani has ever known, and so she smiles. She smiles because she is happy. Truly.
Despite the chaos in her life, Vani’s grandparents were able to give her the one thing she needed most: stability. And with that came one other thing she learned she couldn’t do without: the gospel. “The Church has been a great help to me,” she says.

Once again the Lord guided me to be in the right place at the right time. When the Americans had cleared the mountain and were gone, we left the house and marched on again toward home. A few days later, we were stopped once more by the Americans. At first I didn’t speak. I wanted to act like I didn’t know English. I heard them say, “Well, we’ll just let them sit here, and we’ll put them on the next truck that comes to transport them to a camp.” Trucks had been going by every two to three minutes.
We sat there waiting for a truck to come by any second. We waited and waited, for an hour or longer, but no truck came. I finally went up to one of the military policemen.
I told him who we were, and he said, “Oh, all of a sudden you speak English.”
“Yes, I speak English. I learned it in school. I was just scared.”
“How old are you?” he asked me. I told him I was 17-and-a-half years old.
“Where have you been?”
I explained the whole thing—what we had done, why we had civilian clothes on, where we wanted to go—home. He called up on the phone and checked the outfits where we had been to see if the information I had given him was correct. Then he looked at me for a long time and said, “I have a boy about your age, and if he would say to someone, ‘I’d like to go home to Mother,’ I hope they’d give him the chance. If you take this road, there is an American headquarters; but if you take that road, they can’t see you. Good luck.”