Gospel Story Finder

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 am every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

Last summer I took a ballet class. I enjoyed seeing my friends there. We practiced for months for a Christmas dance. When December finally came, I was so excited to perform our dance. But two weeks before the performance, our teacher told my mom that it would be on a Sunday. When Mom told me, I said I would not go. I was sad that I would not be able to perform in our Christmas dance, but I was happy that I chose the right.

At Lier the girls put on an evening program about every two weeks. “It is sort of like a home evening program,” says Bonnie. “We were all kind of like a big family at school. The different groups would take turns giving the program—one time it would be the girls doing the cooking, and the next time those doing the washing. The time my group gave it, they told me to come up with an original idea. I called the mission president and he sent up a projector and the film Man’s Search for Happiness in Norwegian.
When asked if she would share some recipes and cleaning tips with New Era readers, Bonnie gladly complied.
1. “There were very few carpets or rugs at Lier, and most of the floors were made out of beautiful hardwood. Because they looked so perfect all the time, visitors thought we spent hours on them. I guess we did, but we never spent too long at one time. They were washed each day with a rag attached to the end of a long-handled, rubber squeegee and hot soapy water. We rarely had to get down on our hands and knees with a brush and a bucket because the floors never had a chance to accumulate any real dirt. Periodically (about once per week) the floors were waxed with paste wax and then rubbed with dry, clean rags until they shone.”
2. “When making bread and kneading it, you usually leave flour and dough all over the drainboard or table. If you want to clean this off easily without having your washcloth get all doughy and sticky, just sprinkle some ordinary table salt on the surface before wiping it off. The dough will rub off easily and your washcloth will quickly rinse out.”
3. “The difference between how absolutely clean everything was at Lier and how semi-straightened things are in most American homes is not the result of using any special product or particular brand of soap. The difference is made by the amount of elbow grease you cheerfully apply to each task. Extra pains taken give instant results.”
4. “We used a weak vinegar and water solution when cleaning windows, and it worked just as well as any expensive window spray I’ve ever tried.”
5. “Organization is very important in running a home. At school certain things had to be done at certain times. Big cleaning projects were alternated with minor ones during the week to give some variety. But what I really liked was never having to do a major spring cleaning. Since we’d do several major projects per week, we thoroughly cleaned the school a couple of times a year. The only time we had to do the whole thing at once was when the term ended and we had to leave the school to the next group of girls.
“Working hard to make a home clean and pleasant and to prepare regular, wholesome meals for the people you care most about brings a great deal of enjoyment and fulfillment. When I arrived at my home in Midway, I greeted my mother with ‘Hello, I’m your new housemaid. I hope we work well together.’ Even so, working at home has seemed like a vacation after the tight schedule at Lier.”
6. “We were taught that to keep your home at its best certain things needed to be done daily. They were washing the clothes, cleaning the bathrooms, dusting and polishing the furniture, washing the floors, cooking meals, and caring for the animals. There were other things we had to do, of course, but not every day.”
7. “When we did the laundry we would soak it overnight and remove all spots before putting it in the washing machine.”
8. “We worked hard at keeping the kitchen looking neat even when we were cooking. We would take out a tray or a plate, and the utensils, knives, etc., that we used while cooking would be placed on the tray when not in use. Afterwards the tray needed to be washed, but the drainboards were much easier to wipe off.”
9. “Lier was originally a cooking school, and how to prepare, serve, and store food is still one of the most important things learned there. We learned to cook for small groups and large groups. When visitors came, we really put on a show. I remember once having to help prepare a banquet for more than two hundred. Cleaning up afterwards was the worst part. We were washing dishes until after midnight.
“I brought home with me many delicious recipes. Norwegian food is beautifully prepared and very healthful. It is quite plain in nature when compared to the elaborate French or the spicy Chinese cuisine. Norwegians eat quite a bit of fish, potatoes, and bread. They seldom eat meat or chicken since they are very expensive. Here is one of the best fish recipes I learned to prepare at school. Although it is difficult to find the same variety of fish as in Norway, we can substitute.”
Fiskegryte (one-pot fish dinner)
3 leeks
3 carrots
1 small celery root
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 pounds fish filet (red snapper or other white fish)
4 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons tomato puree
Chopped fresh parsley
Chop up the leeks, carrots, and celery root and place with salt in a pan. Add enough water to cover the vegetables and cook until partially done. Roll the fish in flour with salt and pepper added and place on top of the partially cooked vegetables. Put the butter and tomato puree on top of the fish, cover the pan tightly, and let cook until the fish is done. Chop fresh parsley to garnish the finished dish.
“Here are two more recipes I really like. One is for a sort of rice porridge, and the other is a dessert made from leftover rice.”
Risengrynsgrøt (rice porridge)
3 cups water
2 cups long-grain white rice
2 quarts cooked milk
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Sugar
Cinnamon
Pats of butter or margarine
Bring the water to a boil. Add rice, cover, and let cook for about 20 minutes. Add cooked milk and salt and let cook until rice is done and the mixture has thickened like porridge. Stir often. Serve hot with sugar, cinnamon, and margarine on top.
Riskrem (rice and cream dessert)
2 quarts leftover rice
6 tablespoons sugar
10 drops vanilla or other preferred flavoring
Slivered almonds
1 pint whipping cream
Heat the rice and sweeten to taste. Cook it until all the liquid is absorbed. Add the flavoring and the slivered almonds. Cool. Whip the cream and fold into rice. Serve at room temperature with fruit sauce.
Rød saus (red fruit sauce)
1 quart fruit juice concentrate (strawberry, raspberry, or boysenberry)
Sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
Put the juice, sweetened to taste, in a sauce pan. Add the cornstarch and cook until the juice thickens. Add a little water if necessary to make the sauce consistency right. Serve in a small pitcher beside the riskrem so each guest can pour the desired amount on his serving of dessert.
Reminiscing about Lier and her experiences there almost makes Bonnie homesick for the scrub brushes and her many friends. “I learned some really great things at Lier—I certainly learned endurance—but the most wonderful thing about it was the people. They really care about you. At Easter I was allowed to fly home to the United States to visit my family. All of the girls and the teachers were up at 6:00 to see me off. And they had made me piles of delicious sandwiches because they were afraid I’d get hungry on the long trip home.”
Attending the Husmorskole was a great opportunity for Bonnie Shand, and she feels more girls ought to be taught to take pride in their housewifely skills. She was asked to speak on the graduation program at the end of her six-month course and was given a beautiful Norwegian doll by her classmates “so you’ll never forget us.” It’s not likely that she ever will.

One of my daughters-in-law spent many years feeling that God had placed a pavilion over her. She was a young mother of three who longed for more children. After two miscarriages, her prayers of pleading grew anguished. As more barren years passed, she felt tempted to anger. When her youngest went off to school, the emptiness of her house seemed to mock her focus on motherhood—so did the unplanned and even unwanted pregnancies of acquaintances. She felt as committed and consecrated as Mary, who declared, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.” But although she spoke these words in her heart, she could hear nothing in reply.

Hoping to lift her spirits, her husband invited her to join him on a business trip to California. While he attended meetings, she walked along the beautiful, empty beach. Her heart ready to burst, she prayed aloud. For the first time, she asked not for another child but for a divine errand. “Heavenly Father,” she cried, “I will give you all of my time; please show me how to fill it.” She expressed her willingness to take her family wherever they might be required to go. That prayer produced an unexpected feeling of peace. It did not satisfy her mind’s craving for certainty, but for the first time in years, it calmed her heart.

The prayer removed the pavilion and opened the windows of heaven. Within two weeks she learned that she was expecting a child. The new baby was just one year old when a mission call came to my son and my daughter-in-law. Having promised to go and do anything, anywhere, she put fear aside and took her children overseas. In the mission field she had another child—on a missionary transfer day.

The closest branch in what was then the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was in Zagreb, Croatia—three hours away from Albin’s home in Slovenia. He later learned there was a branch a little more than an hour away, in Klagenfurt, Austria. For more than a year he attended the branch in Austria every Sunday, even though his ability to speak German was limited. “The branch president and all the members were very friendly and kind,” he says. He received the Melchizedek Priesthood and served in his first Church callings in the Klagenfurt Branch. And his girlfriend, Boza, often went with him. Sister missionaries taught her the gospel.
“It took me almost six months to get my own testimony,” says Boza. “The Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into Slovenian, and it was difficult for me to read it in Croatian. One Sunday in 1990 I went to a nearby grove to pray for the answer, just like Joseph Smith did. The answer came in the middle of the prayer as an exceptional warmth around my heart. I thought at first that this warmth came from the sun—but the sun had already gone down, and the warm feeling was still there. I felt peace and knew from that moment on that God wanted me to accept His gospel.” Albin baptized her in the Klagenfurt Branch in March 1990.

Right from the start it looked like a bad day for Stanley Wilcox: He wasn’t ready for the spelling test. He’d have to pay for his library book if it didn’t turn up by Monday. And his mother reminded him as he left, “Grandpa will take you to the eye doctor after school.”
Stanley moaned. He didn’t want glasses.
“Hey, kid!”
“You calling me, Mr. Crouch?” Stanley loped across the yard and followed his neighbor’s pointing finger. He supposed that he had let a few leaves land on Mr. Crouch’s spotless lawn when he raked his own.
But Mr. Crouch was pointing toward the fence at the back of the Crouches’ property and to the woods beyond. Not the fort! He couldn’t complain about that! thought Stanley.
“Take a look back there. You’ve dug clear under my fence and thrown debris onto my grass. I want you and your friend to get that cleaned up first thing after school, or I’ll call your parents.”
“I have to go to the eye doctor after school,” Stanley mumbled.
“First thing tomorrow morning then!”
When he got to school, Stanley made out the blurred letters of an announcement on the chalkboard:
SATURDAY
Floor Hockey Championships
3rd & 4th Grade Finals
8:00 A.M.
Just then his friend Roger ran over, shouting, “The men’s club is taking the winning team to a real ice hockey game at the arena!”
Stanley flashed a wide grin. It was the first thing he’d had to smile about that morning.
At lunchtime Stanley told Roger the bad news. “Mr. Crouch says that we have to clean up his yard.”
“How come?”
“He says that we got junk all over it from digging behind the fence.”
“But we didn’t! We were extra careful because you said he’d yell.”
“I know. But he won’t listen. If he talks to my dad, he’ll say to stop playing there because we should be ‘good neighbors.’”
“Well—right after school, then, OK?”
“I can’t,” said Stanley. “I have to get my dumb glasses. He said to come tomorrow morning, but—”
“The hockey game!” Roger’s eyes widened in horror.
“I know, I know.” Stanley stuffed his sandwich wrappers into his lunch bag. “Maybe it won’t take long at the eye doctor.”
Grandpa was his usual jovial self when Stanley climbed into his car after school. “Did you have a good day?” he boomed.
“Awful,” Stanley answered shortly, slumping down by the window.
“Hmmm.”
One thing about Grandpa: He always knew when you didn’t feel like talking. Stanley stared at the signs gliding by that he could never quite make out until they were almost upon him. “What do you always find to be so cheerful about, Grandpa?” he asked.
Grandpa tapped the gold rim of his glasses. “Must be these rose-colored glasses of mine.”
“Rose-colored? They look like ordinary glasses to me,” said Stanley.
“Don’t you believe it. These glasses help me see through the dark side of things to the rosy-colored good part on the other side.”
“What if there isn’t any good part?”
“There always is,” said Grandpa. “Sometimes you have to look harder and have more faith. That’s where these old specs are a big help.”
Stanley perked up a little. It would be nice to have Grandpa’s kind of faith in God. Stanley didn’t think it came from his glasses, though.
Half an hour later Stanley stood on the steps outside the doctor’s office, his new glasses hooked firmly over his ears. The letters on the billboard across the street were so sharp that they seemed to bounce right out of their background. The colors on the drugstore’s neon sign were dazzling. An airplane flew overhead, and Stanley could see it clearly. “Wow!” he said.
“What did they do, Stanley, slip you a pair of those rose-colored glasses, too?” Grandpa asked.
Stanley grinned. Look for the good part, eh? It would be hard to find anything good about having Mr. Crouch for a neighbor, but he would start by doing what Mr. Crouch had demanded. Stanley would be going the second mile, as Jesus had said.
When he got home, he called Roger. “Can you come now? We have an hour to work before dark.”
Roger was there in five minutes. Stanley waited for him to start laughing about the glasses, but he only said, “They aren’t so bad.”
Then off they marched, like two soldiers going into battle.
Mrs. Crouch answered the doorbell. “My husband isn’t home yet, but I’ll show you what he wants you to do.”
The yard was a mess. There were gaping holes under the fence with rocks and sticks and dirt scattered on both sides. They were to pick up the debris, rake the yard, and carry any trash to the front. “We’ll never finish by dark,” Roger moaned. “And we can’t come tomorrow morning.”
Stanley just set to work. A few minutes later he stopped. When he pulled his glasses down over his nose, he saw only a dark blob moving near the Joneses’ fence, but when he pushed them up again, he saw a dark, scruffy-looking dog, nose to the ground, feet flying, and dirt spraying out behind.
“The Joneses’ dog sure can dig, can’t he?” said Stanley.
“Rufus!” Mrs. Jones came running out. “Rufus, you bad dog! Come here!” Rufus stopped and hung his head and scooted apprehensively up to Mrs. Jones, the tip of his tail barely wagging.
“Shame on you! Look at that mess!” She saw Stanley and Roger. “Hello. You earning some spending money?”
“Not exactly. We’re sort of paying Mr. Crouch for these holes in his yard,” Roger explained.
Mrs. Jones walked closer. “You made those holes?”
“Uh—we’re not sure. But we were digging back there by our fort, so …”
Mrs. Jones looked at the holes. She looked at the scattered dirt by her own fence. She looked at Rufus. Rufus wagged his tail.
“Don’t smile at me, you bad dog,” said Mrs. Jones. Then she laughed. “You boys didn’t make those holes.”
Mr. Crouch came into the yard. “Looks like you have a lot of work to do yet,” he said to the boys. “You’ll have to finish up in the morning.”
Mrs. Jones spoke up. “No, Mr. Crouch. These boys didn’t dig up your yard.” She pointed to Rufus. “There’s the guilty one.”
Mr. Crouch looked at Rufus. “Well, Mrs. Jones, am I to suppose that that animal is going to repair my lawn?”
Mrs. Jones’s laugh was so jolly that even Mr. Crouch smiled. “This dog is going to be tied up for a while. I’ll send my son over to clean up your yard for you.”
“That was pretty nice of Mr. Grouch—I mean, Mr. Crouch,” said Roger as they walked home. “Besides apologizing, he gave us each a dollar for raking his yard, and we didn’t even finish.”
But Stanley wasn’t listening. He was looking at the sky over the garage roof. It was bathed in a rosy glow. “Wow!” he breathed. “Grandpa was right. Rose-colored glasses!”
“What’s the matter with you? You don’t have rose-colored glasses. You’re looking at the sunset.”
Stanley laughed sheepishly. He pulled his glasses down and peered over them. The rosy color was still there, only duller, the way he had seen sunsets all his life until then.
It hadn’t been such a bad day after all. Even if they didn’t win the tournament tomorrow, they’d make a good try for it. And say! If he really got busy and searched, maybe his new rose-colored glasses would help him find his library book!

It doesn’t sound like something that would lure youth to Mutual, but cleaning the meetinghouse every week is what they’ve been asked to do, and the youth keep coming.
When the bishop first asked the youth in the Bloomfield Hills First Ward to clean the stake center, they didn’t exactly shout with joy. Who wants to finish off each activity night by scrubbing the building? There are more exciting ways to end Mutual activities, like shooting hoops or just chatting with friends.
But after the youth had cleaned the building for several weeks, they realized it wasn’t as bad as they thought it would be. And after a few more weeks, they even began to enjoy it. Now they say cleaning the church has changed the way they feel about the building and about themselves.
Three years ago, the First Presidency requested that ward members take more responsibility for cleaning Church meetinghouses. They recommended that the youth take on the responsibility as part of their weekly activities. The Bloomfield Hills youth knew this meant them.
“It cuts costs so we can provide more money for missionary work and temples,” says Rob Montierth, a priest who helps clean the building each week. “But it also teaches us responsibility and to respect the house of the Lord.”
Rob’s words echo the promise the First Presidency gave in a letter sent to bishops and stake presidents in the United States and Canada when they requested that youth clean the buildings. “From this service, young people can deepen their reverence and feelings of respect for the house of the Lord.”
Christina Wirthlin, a Laurel, says taking the call from the prophet seriously and cleaning each week makes her feel personally responsible for the cleanliness of the building. “It just makes me look out for things more. When I see papers on the floor and when I see things that need to be put away, I feel more responsibility to do those things. Before, I would just look past it because I figured someone else would do it.”
The Bloomfield Hills stake center isn’t a small building. The task of cleaning it seems a bit overwhelming. There are windows to polish, carpets to vacuum, hymnbooks to straighten, floors to mop, chalkboards to dust, a courtyard to sweep and weed—the list goes on and on. But the youth are not only willing to clean; they’re anxious to get started.
It’s almost like a tornado has hit the inside of the stake center. But unlike other tornadoes, this whirlwind of activity puts things in place.
The storm of activity is intense for about 15 minutes as the sound of vacuums squealing adds to the chorus of a squeaky wheel on the mop bucket and the rhythmic sweeping from the brooms in the courtyard. People are wiping down cabinets in the kitchen, making sure there are hymnbooks at every bench, pushing mops across the gym floor, and pulling tiny weeds out of the cracks in the courtyard cement.
Then, just as quickly as the cleaning supplies came out of the closet, the activity settles, and Mutual is over. When the youth leave, the stake center is spotless. Everything is in its place, and the building is ready to welcome them on Sunday morning.
As people file into the meetinghouse on Sunday morning, everything is in its place. And if something is out of line, or there’s a scrap of paper on the floor, you don’t have to tell the youth to take care of it; it has become instinct.
“I think that since we’ve been cleaning the building, I notice more when it’s clean,” says Diana Parker, a Mia Maid. “And I think the fact that the youth clean it makes a big difference because it’s something we can do to help invite the Spirit into the building.”
All the youth agree that it’s easier to feel the Spirit in a clean place. “When the building is clean, it just makes a better feeling, and the Spirit is stronger,” says Christina. “The Spirit is more willing to come in when it’s clean.”
Cleaning the building in preparation for Sunday has taught the youth respect for the building, but they have also learned that the building isn’t the only thing that needs Sunday preparation.
Just as the building needs to be cleaned, so do the people attending church, says Kay Smith, a Laurel. “We don’t just come to church in regular clothes; we come in Sunday clothes.”
Rob says that, as well as cleaning up our appearances, we have to do some deep cleaning. “We clean up our thoughts and our minds so that when we come to church we can have more of a spiritual experience.”
Although the meetinghouse only takes a short time to clean each week, the youth have learned an important principle from doing it—respect.
“There are places in the world where they don’t even have ward buildings,” says Laura Hansen, a Mia Maid. “We are so blessed to have this building, and I think we should feel some responsibility, even if a janitor did what we do, because it is the house of the Lord.”
Just like the building, the youth know that their appearance can be a reflection of what they value and can influence how they behave. And they know that it’s more than just coming with a clean appearance to church; they also try to come spiritually clean. Cleaning the stake center has helped teach them this lesson. That’s why, when it’s time to get ready for church, they are eager to come clean.

When Mom and Dad said we’d be living in a one-room cabin in Nauvoo this summer, I wasn’t excited about being so close with my family. But we’d be performing in the City of Joseph pageant, which sounded fun, so I thought I’d give it a try.
On opening night, as I looked at the performers in their 1840s costumes, I felt a oneness with my Nauvoo ancestors. How real they seem to me now. Lots of people have told us how the pageant has touched them, too.
Tonight our family won an award from the director for working so well together. I guess it’s not so bad to be close as a family!

“The Church plays an important role in my life,” David says. “Participating in seminary helped build my testimony growing up.” Arising at 6:00 A.M. daily, David attended early-morning seminary for four years. His mother, who has taught seminary for 13 years, taught his older brothers with him.

“My brothers set good examples and uplift me,” says David. The Brown brothers wrestle and tease each other, as brothers do, but their teamwork is apparent. They care for each other and desire to see one another succeed. One by one, his three older brothers have left to serve missions: Bryce to Oklahoma, USA; Gary to London, England; and Paul to Leeds, England. As each brother graduated from seminary and left to serve a mission, the class became smaller. By his final year of seminary, David was the only student in his mother’s class. However, he didn’t mind. He continued to strengthen his testimony by studying the scriptures.

Thirty years ago a true story unfolded in the most remote part of New Zealand. The windswept Chatham Islands are located in the South Pacific Ocean about 500 miles east of Christchurch. A hardy and resourceful 650 people lived there, isolated in the lonely, harsh environment of those days; and a young, inexperienced, and newly qualified doctor was responsible for their medical care.
An eight-year-old boy, Shane, had sustained a serious head injury 40 miles away on the far side of the island. He was being rushed in across the swamps and along the beaches on the backseat of an old, rusty car to the four-bed cottage hospital. He was unconscious.
The young doctor was unprepared to handle such a case, with little experience and having only the most basic of surgical instruments. Shane was in a critical condition. There was obvious bleeding inside his fractured skull—and blood clotting could fatally compress his brain. The doctor had never even seen a brain operation, but he knew he had to perform the delicate surgery immediately—or watch a little boy die.
There were blood donors to be called in, blood to be cross matched, an anesthetic to be prepared. The antique X-ray machine had broken down, so no helpful X-rays could be taken.
There was the first of many phone calls to Wellington, where a neurosurgeon tried to imagine the scene and guide the nervous young doctor through the process of a very delicate surgical procedure.
Shane’s mother prayed. The doctor prayed; the nurses prayed; the doctor’s wife prayed.
Responsibilities had to be delegated in this busy scene. The policeman administered the anesthetic, a nurse became the surgical assistant, and the work began under an Anglepoise light as darkness fell.
The first surgical incision, nervously performed, did not reveal any bleeding, so other incisions needed to be performed through Shane’s small skull to find the source of the bleeding. More calls to the neurosurgeon for direction and reassurance were made, and his advice was followed in every exact detail. After six hours of anxiety and pressure, the surgery was completed, the hemorrhage of blood into the brain cavity ceased, and a successful outcome was achieved. Serenity replaced chaos. It was around midnight.
The doctor was a young father. He thought about his family and the blessings they enjoyed. He was grateful for the many tender mercies of the Lord in his life and especially for the presence of the Comforter during the last 12 hours. He was grateful for the presence of an unseen expert who imparted of His far-greater knowledge freely in his time of need.
At the critical time in a desperate situation, the Lord provided the guidance and the ability for a young, inexperienced doctor to perform a miracle and preserve the life of a small boy, who was precious before the Lord.
Neil Hutchison was the young doctor who prayed for help and had the faith to rely on the Lord and the neurosurgeon, enabling him to perform a miracle under the most difficult of conditions. He now serves as the bishop in the East Coast Bays Ward in Auckland, New Zealand.
Bishop Hutchison advised me, “I had the privilege of meeting Shane and his father a couple of years ago in Christchurch for the first time since that day in 1976. He is an electrician with his own business and is aware of no defects from his long operation. He is such a nice chap, and I can’t help pondering on how thin the veil is between this life and the next.”

As I read about my ancestors, I learned that they apparently had the typical Kirschbaum trait of a quiet, good-natured disposition—except when aggravated. I read with amusement about a local notary who apparently played a mean trick on one of my ancestors. The man later found himself shut up in his own house by a cartload of “natural fertilizer” that was delivered to his doorstep by Herr Kirschbaum himself—the mayor.

“I will NEVER forget when I first saw this. I am autistic and have struggled with chronic depression and suicide ideation. The last few weeks before that concert were pure torture for me, and I was completely lost in what to do anymore. A few days before this song was performed, I asked a few friends of mine in the Choir for some support which they gave and when I first heard this song, I was drowning in tears. Truly the light will always come at the end of the tunnel. Thank you, Tabernacle Choir, my dear friends, for being such heroes in my life and such wonderful friends! I love you all forever!”

7. Keep cars free of inside litter. Place heavy objects—which could become missiles in case of a quick stop—in the trunk. In California, two missionaries were slowing down for an intersection when an empty pop bottle rolled from beneath the driver’s seat and up under the brake pedal. With the brakes thus jammed, they smashed into a semitrailer and the car was totaled out. Fortunately no injury more serious than a broken arm resulted, but all for an empty pop bottle. In another case a quick stop brought some heavy books flying from the back window area, whacking the driver on the neck. He was severely cut and had to have stitches. Imagine what a typewriter or an adding machine might have done!

Besides seeing his family sealed together, Michael has another hope—of becoming a champion wrestler. He’s been undefeated for three years in his weight and age division in the South New Jersey Wrestling Association. But sometimes he has to make tough choices between two things he loves—wrestling and the Church.
A few years ago, a very important tournament was coming up. Michael’s parents thought that the tournament was on a Saturday, and he signed up to go. When they found out it was on a Sunday, his father asked him if he still wanted to be in the tournament. Although he knew that his team was counting on him to score some team points for it, he said, “Well then, I can’t go.” He explained, “It’s hard not to go to Sunday tournaments, but I don’t, because it’s against a commandment. And I’ve had a lot of blessings.” Since making that decision the first time, not competing on Sundays has been easier. And his decision has showed others that he lives what he believes.

I was only 15 when I first met the full-time missionaries—two nice young men with something unusual in their countenances. Although I didn’t remember much of what they said during the first missionary discussion, I couldn’t forget the good feeling I had when I talked with them.
I was president of my church’s local youth group, and I was not interested in changing religions. In fact, when my older brother and sister decided to be baptized, I felt betrayed. Even though I did not approve of what they were doing, I went to their baptismal service to support them. It was hard for me to admit, but at the baptism I felt that good feeling again.
As time passed, I became better and better friends with the missionaries. Finally, I resigned from my position as my church’s youth group president, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to be baptized.
Then one day one of the elders came to my home with a ward member. I said, “Elder, I would like to work with you sometime.” He replied, “I’m sorry, but you must be a member of the Church before you can be a missionary.”
Several days later I picked up the pamphlets the elders had left at my home. Reading them one by one, I looked up the Bible and Book of Mormon scriptures they referred to. Then, putting Moroni’s promise to the test, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon was true. The Spirit testified to me that it indeed was true, and six months after meeting the missionaries, I was baptized.
The first thing I did after my baptism was ask the missionaries if I could work with them now. “You must wait until you receive the Aaronic Priesthood,” they replied. Two weeks later I did receive the priesthood. That same day, I went out with the elders. And as I walked along with them, I decided that someday I too would be a full-time missionary.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Hey, Mandy, you won’t believe what Amber did!
If it’s something nice, tell me about it.
Nice? No way! It got her grounded forever. She—
Don’t tell me!
Why not?
I’m trying to stop gossiping, and I don’t want to hear it.
This isn’t gossip. It’s the truth!
Unless we’re going to help Amber, we’re just being entertained by her problems. It is gossip, and it’s unkind.
Well …
And are you sure it’s the whole truth? What about Amber’s side of the story?
Besides, I mess up sometimes, and I don’t want everybody talking about it.
Same here. So let’s stop gossiping and go play with Amber.

Allan sat on a bench outside his house. The sun was setting. Palm trees stood against the pink and orange sky.
He turned the page of the book he was reading. It didn’t have any pictures. But Allan didn’t mind. He loved reading this book!
His eyes skimmed across Papa’s neat writing. He remembered this part! It always made him laugh.
Just then, Papa came outside. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m reading one of your books.” Allan grinned. “I like the part about the coconut.”
“Oh, you mean my journals.” Papa sat beside Allan. “They tell the story of my life. But they are not just about me. You are in them too. And so is Mama, and your brothers and sister.”
“Like Nephi!” Allan said. “He wrote stories about his life, and he wrote about his family too.”
“Right!” Papa said.
“I like the parts about you best,” Allan said. “Like when you were a missionary here in Tahiti.”
“I like the stories about you best,” Papa said. “Did you know that we named you after Elder Bednar’s middle name?”
“You never told me that! I can’t wait to read that part.”
Papa smiled. “There are lots of stories in my journals. I’ve been writing in journals since I was eight.”
“Since you were eight?” Allan asked. “That’s a really, really long time.”
Papa laughed. “I’m not that old.”
Allan thought for a bit. “I’m turning eight soon,” he said. “Could I get a journal for my birthday?”
“Of course!” Papa said.
“Then I can write my stories so that someday my kids can read them.”
“That sounds like a great family tradition!” Papa said.

Monday had finally arrived and Janet was excited. At last it was time for her first day of school in the city.
Janet sat up in bed and stretched. Then she started to unbutton her pajamas.
“Mother! Come quick!” she called.
Mother came running with the juice pitcher still in her hand.
“What are these red spots all over me?” Janet asked.
“You have the measles,” Mother said softly.
“Measles!” Janet echoed. “But I have to go to school!”
“I’m sorry,” Mother said as she tucked Janet back into bed. “You’ll have to wait at least a week to go to school. Now if you’ll lie still, I’ll bring your breakfast to you on a tray.”
Janet lay back on the pillow trying not to cry. “I wish we’d never moved to this new place,” she said to herself. “I’ll never have any friends now.”
“Are you itchy and uncomfortable?” Mother asked when she returned with Janet’s breakfast tray.
“No, it’s just—” A tear rolled down Janet’s cheek. She tried to brush it away, but another soon took its place. “Oh, Mother,” she cried, “I miss my friends so much! How will I ever make new friends when I can’t even go to school?”
Mother put her arm around Janet. “Remember what I told you a long time ago,” she answered. “The only way to have a friend is to be one.”
Janet looked up and asked, “How can I be a friend when there’s no one around?”
“Just keep your eyes open,” said Mother. “You never know when you’ll have the chance to be a friend.”
Janet spent a long lonely day in bed. The next morning she felt better, but the red spots still covered her chest, face, and arms.
After breakfast Mother told her she could put on her robe and sit by the window for a little change.
It seemed strange to look out and see only the wall of another apartment house instead of a beautiful backyard.
Suddenly there was a movement at the window directly across from her. Janet watched as a girl about her age settled herself in front of the window and began to read.
Janet waved to get her attention, but the girl did not see her. Janet had an idea. She took a large sheet of paper and wrote HI on it in large letters. Then she taped the paper to the window and waited impatiently to see what might happen.
A short time later the girl across the way stopped reading and glanced out the window.
In a few minutes she held up a large piece of paper with HI written on it. Under the paper stood a girl with a big smile on her face.
The girls waved at each other. Quickly Janet made another sign. My name is Janet, she wrote. I have measles. Under the words she drew a funny picture of a girl with red spots all over.
The other girl giggled at Janet’s sign. Then she disappeared for a few minutes. Soon she returned with a sign.
I’m Kelly, Janet read. I have a cold. Below the words she had drawn a face with a funny big red nose.
The girls exchanged several more messages. Then Janet asked Kelly for her phone number.
“Look, Mother, no more measles,” Janet said the next Monday morning. “Today I can start school!”
“You really sound happy about that,” Mother replied.
“I am!” Janet said. “I’ll be in the same class as Kelly. She’s going to introduce me to all her friends.” Then she added, “You were right—the only way to have a friend is to be one, and making friends in a big city isn’t any different than it is anywhere else.”

I live in the central African nation of Zaire with my wife, Nambwa Mbo, and our two sons, Kabamba and Kamulete. We are all members of the Church. Our third son, Vumbi, died in December 1996.
From time to time, we read articles in the Church magazines about members who make great sacrifices to go to the temple. I am always amazed by the incredible things that happen to help them on their way. I never imagined that something similar would happen to me.
Our home in the city of Kinsuka is far from South Africa, where the nearest temple is. I had often thought, Why should I bother to get a temple recommend? I can’t afford to go. But in 1994, President Howard W. Hunter advised all worthy Latter-day Saints to get a temple recommend, even if they lived far from a temple (see Tambuli, November 1994, 6). His words touched my heart, and I asked my branch president for an interview. I did not realize then that my Father in Heaven had a great blessing in store for me.
I work for a man who serves in the parliament of Zaire. Late in 1995, he received an invitation to go to North Korea. He filled out all the necessary papers to have this official assignment approved and included my name on the list of those who were to go with him. However, our government did not approve the plans. This refusal began a lengthy period of negotiations as my supervisor continued to try to get approval.
I asked my priesthood leaders to pray with me that the plans would be approved and that my name would remain on the list. Four months later, approval was given. Only two names remained on the list—my supervisor’s and mine.
I was elated. But knowing that there is no temple in North Korea, I still didn’t know how significant my trip would be. When I received the news that the trip had been approved, I heard these words whispered quietly in my heart: “Do not delay! Make sure Switzerland is included on your travel route.” I realized that perhaps I would be able to go to the Swiss Temple!
I immediately went to my supervisor and suggested that we fly to and from North Korea through Switzerland. He had no objection, so I arranged for the tickets and for visas for all the countries we were to travel through. Incredibly, when the visas arrived, I discovered that all of the countries had sent us only short-term, transit visas—except Switzerland, which had sent us tourist visas good for a month!
We left Zaire and arrived safely in North Korea. Heavenly Father was with me at all times. He gave me strength to live according to his word and to be a good example of the restored gospel. It was wintertime, and we were often offered a hot cup of tea. But I was always obedient to the Word of Wisdom. When we sat down at a table with the North Korean officials, they would all raise teacups, coffee cups, or wine glasses while proposing a toast. I would drink a glass of water or a cup of milk.
At the conclusion of our assignment in North Korea, we flew to China and then on to Switzerland, landing in Geneva. My Church leader in Zaire had suggested that I contact a member of the Church named Brother Rimli as soon as I arrived in Geneva. I planned to meet Brother Rimli the following day and go to the Swiss Temple with him. However, my supervisor told me he wanted me to accompany him to Lausanne, another city in Switzerland. I explained that I had a very important appointment the next day and would not be able to accompany him. But he insisted that I go to Lausanne with him instead.
I retired to my room and offered a secret prayer. Not long after, my supervisor told me he had changed his mind—I need not go with him after all.
When I traveled to Bern the next day and met Brother Rimli at the Swiss Temple, how humble and grateful I felt! I was impressed by the beauty and stateliness of the building. All of the temple workers were expecting me and made me feel welcome. I felt at home there. I will never forget the love the temple president and his wife, President and Sister Mario V. Vaira, expressed for me. I received my endowment that day, and it has been the greatest gift in my life. I pray for the day when I can take my wife and our two sons to the temple. We desire with all our hearts to have our deceased third son sealed to us as well.
This is God’s true Church. We have a living prophet on the earth today. May we always hearken to his counsel. I did not think I would ever be able to go to the temple, but I obtained a recommend as the prophet had counseled. And my Father in Heaven prepared a very special way for me to receive temple blessings.

Throughout his life, President Spencer W. Kimball faced many health challenges.
Doctor: You may have cancer in your throat. I recommend we operate.
Elder Kimball: My sister died of cancer. I’d better have the operation.
The surgeries that worried him the most were on his throat.
Elder Kimball: How can I continue to serve as an Apostle of the Lord if I lose my voice?
After Elder Kimball had surgery on his vocal chords, he traveled with fellow Apostle Elder Harold B. Lee.
Elder Lee: I’d like to invite Elder Kimball to bear his testimony.
Elder Kimball: I’m too embarrassed to keep speaking. I rasp and make terrible noises. Maybe in our next meeting I shouldn’t speak.
Elder Lee: Spencer, your testimony needs to be heard. You better get your voice back.
Elder Kimball did all he could to regain his voice. He followed his doctor’s orders, received priesthood blessings, and took voice lessons.
Elder Kimball: Camilla, I realize I cannot quit for anything, though the temptation is terrific when I stumble and stammer and halt.
The true test came when Elder Kimball returned to his home—the Gila Valley in Arizona.
Elder Kimball: Forgive my voice. While in the East, I fell among cutthroats.
Woman: His voice is different, but he still has the same sense of humor!
President Spencer W. Kimball never stopped preaching. In fact, his soft, deep, mellow voice became something people loved about him.