Gospel Story Finder

We learn of the dedication which was given to the seminary program in its very beginning by reading from a diary of John M. Whitaker, one of the early instructors of the seminary program. In April of 1915 he was employed as an instructor in the Granite Seminary with a salary of $1,500 per year. He found little to work with as he assumed his new position. His diary records:
“I had to start without the least scratch, or outline, and I thought out many approaches to the new problem before me. I had taught several years at the University of Deseret. But there I knew my course well, but to commence a course now, where here-to-fore the Bible alone had been the guide, and to meet the need of the hour when students of the age coming into high school and junior work, with strict outlines and supervision, with everything before them and now coming from the discipline of high school requirements, into religion class work where they could come if they desired or remain away, … but to take religion which was frowned down upon during the week days, only for Sundays, was a task too great to undertake alone. So I did as I have always done when presented with a task, went in humility and prayer to my Father in Heaven and in my simplicity told him my problem and asked for inspiration, guidance, wisdom and courage for the task before me. … I was unknown to most of the Faculty and students of the Granite High and so during the summer I thought out how best to make a beginning.”
He became enthusiastic about the beginning of the year in teaching at Granite High School and looked forward to registration day, on September 3, 1915. A crowd of students was on hand, and his journal entry describes the event: “Commenced a very important period of my life and one that will, I am sure affect the destiny of thousands of the youth of Zion, if the plans maturing in my mind blossom into fruition” (quoted in Lyman Clarence Pedersen Jr., “John Mills Whitaker: Diarist, Educator, Churchman” [master’s thesis, University of Utah, 1960], 167).
His diary records events step-by-step which led to the tremendous success he had in carrying forward this program over the years. Significant is the statement of the late S. Dilworth Young, one of the Seventy, who was one of Brother Whitaker’s earliest seminary students: “Had Elder A. Theodore Tuttle been clairvoyant, he would have seen in the year 1914 a fourteen-and-a-half-year-old stripling entering the first seminary instituted by the Church. Across the street from Granite High School a building had been constructed—one room in size—a teacher employed, and the school opened to students. I was that stripling. There died yesterday the third teacher of that particular seminary. The teacher was John M. Whitaker.
“I should like to make a short tribute to Brother Whitaker. He likely did not know the profound influence he had upon me as a boy, as I studied minutely under him and Guy C. Wilson before him, the detail of the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants. I look back upon it now, realizing that there was where I got my first detailed knowledge of these standard works. Could I have enough influence I would see to it that every boy and every girl in the Church had a like experience under a man of faith” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1960, 80).

Elder Sheffield has been under the knife eleven times in major surgery and many more times in surgery lasting less than an hour. The greatest desire of his life was that the surgery would make him acceptable for a mission. A year before he entered the mission field, he had his final operation. Since he has been on his mission, he has averaged seventy to eighty hours a week in proselyting. He is greatly loved by all.
He has been a great blessing to missionaries who thought they had problems. In one interview his companion told me that Elder Sheffield’s shoulder separates and falls out of place quite often. When this happens he is in severe pain. It happens most often during the night. When I interviewed Elder Sheffield, I suggested that we put him in a local hospital here and have the doctors do what needed to be done to correct this problem. He looked me in the eye, and with a sternness seldom seen he said, “President, I have spent most of my life in hospitals, and when I complete my mission I am returning to several more major surgical operations. I promised the Lord that if he would let me serve a mission, I would not spend one day in the hospital during the two years no matter how sick I was or how much I suffered.”

Romero had been looking forward to this day. He and his mother planned to go to the park. But before they could leave, his mother was called away to help a sick neighbor. Romero’s mother promised they would go to the park when she returned if he would do some chores while she was gone. Romero said he would.
After his mother left, Romero started to do the things she had asked him to do. Then his friend José came by. Romero remembered his mother’s promise that they would go to the park if he was obedient. He told José he couldn’t play because he had work to do. Romero’s mother was happy when she found he had done what she asked. She kept her promise, and they spent the afternoon at the park.

A few years ago while I was president of the Southern States Mission, I delivered a sermon one night in Quitman, Georgia, on the eternal duration of the marriage covenant and the family unit. I read from Brother Rulon S. Howells’ book Do Men Believe What Their Church Prescribes? (Deseret Book Co., 1932.) He has a chart there where he lists all the major churches and then their statement and attitude toward the major doctrinal principles, including this one about the eternal duration of the marriage covenant, and not one believes this.

At the close of that meeting, I stood at the door to shake hands with the people as they left, and a man came up and introduced himself to me as a Baptist minister. I said, “Did I misquote you here tonight?” “No, Mr. Richards,” he said; “it is just like you say. We don’t all believe all the things that our churches teach.” And I said, “And you don’t believe them either. Why don’t you go back and teach your people the truth? They will take it from you and they are not ready to take it from the Mormon elders yet.” He said, “I’ll see you again,” and that is all I could get from him that night.

The next time I went to that branch to hold a conference, about four months later, my coming was announced in the newspaper because I was the mission president. As I walked up to that little church, there stood that Baptist minister waiting for me. As we shook hands I said, “I would certainly be interested to know what you thought of my last sermon here.” He said, “Mr. Richards, I have been thinking about it ever since. I believe every word you said.” Then he said, “But I would like to hear the rest of it.” How could any man who has a true love for his wife and his children not want to believe that principle?

People rarely walked up the big hill to get to my house. The ice-cream man wouldn’t waste his gas going up such a steep hill, the paperboy refused to ride his bike to deliver papers there, and even my dog would never run away because he would have to run back up the hill to get home! But at least once a week, Linda huffed and puffed up the big hill on her way up, up, up to my house.
Linda was an older, heavyset woman with short black-and-white hair like salt and pepper. Some people in our neighborhood said she was disabled, but my mother told me that Linda was special. Inside, she was still a little girl. Whenever Linda came to visit, she would greet us with a great big hug and a kiss on the cheek. We could not help smiling when she was around.
One day Linda came jaunting up the hill and bolted into the house. She never knocked or rang the doorbell; she just came in and said, “Linda is here!” Today she was so excited that she grabbed my brother Roy and danced him around the room, yelling, “I’m invited to the Snowflake Ball! Linda is invited to the Snowflake Ball!”
The Snowflake Ball was a fancy dance party for the people who went to Linda’s school. She was so excited to get dressed up that she could not talk about anything else. “I want to wear a big, red, fluffy dress, sparkles in my hair, and red, sparkly shoes,” she said. “I want to wear roses in my hair too. Do you like red, Katie?”
“I like red, but I like pink best,” I answered truthfully.
“I like red the best. I have always wanted to wear a beautiful red dress and be a fancy lady.”
Mother offered to sew Linda’s dream dress. We bought some red shoes at the discount store and glued glitter on them so they sparkled. Every time Linda tried on her dress and shoes, she cried when she had to take them off again. She liked looking as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside.
Finally the day of the Snowflake Ball arrived. It was a school day for me, but I felt excited for Linda’s big party. At lunch I sat down outside with my friends. From a distance I heard someone yelling my name. “Katie! Katie! My best friend, Katie! Look at me! Katie, I’m so pretty! Katie, look at my pretty, fluffy, puffy, sparkly, happy dress. Katie, look at your friend Linda! I am a fancy lady. Linda is right here. Look, Katie!”
I saw Linda waving from across the street, all dressed up. I would have waved back, but I noticed my friends’ faces. They looked surprised.
“You know that weird lady?” Natalie asked. “She walks all over our neighborhood. My mother says she’s crazy.”
I stammered for an answer.
Then Kelly added, “I see her all over our neighborhood too. Look at her ugly dress! She looks so funny!” They all started to laugh.
Natalie smirked and again asked, “So you know that crazy lady? Is she your best friend or something? How does she know your name?”
Across the street Linda was still waving to me, but she had stopped yelling. I could tell she was sad that I had not answered. I sat quietly for a moment. “Um, I think she knows my name because she walks by our house and hears my mom calling me,” I lied. “Of course I don’t know her.”
Kelly, Natalie, and the other girls seemed relieved and continued joking about her. I felt terrible. I could not bring myself to look across the street at Linda. I couldn’t eat the rest of my lunch; I couldn’t even talk. I knew I had done something wrong.
When I was baptized the year before, I had promised to try to be like Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost was now telling me that I had broken my promise. Jesus loved Linda and would never treat her this way, and He loved me and would never want me to act this way.
As the girls began to clear away their lunches, I jumped up. “Stop! I am friends with that lady,” I blurted out. “Her name is Linda, and she is a friend of my family. Please don’t be mean to her. She is special, and we love her.” Some of the girls suppressed smiles, but others said they had special friends like Linda too.
Linda sat on the street curb looking sadly down at her sparkly shoes. Now it was my turn to shout and wave my arms. “Linda, Linda, my best friend, Linda. Look at me! Linda, you look so pretty! You are a very fancy lady! Linda, look at your pretty, puffy, sparkly, happy dress! Linda, look at your friend Katie. Katie is right here, Linda!”
Linda lifted her head. She smiled and waved. The more I waved and shouted, the more she waved back and smiled. Soon she and I were jumping up and down, waving, blowing kisses to each other, and smiling. We had attracted the attention of all the students outside, and they heard me say that Linda was my friend.
Linda had a wonderful time at the Snowflake Ball. She really did look like a fancy lady. Mother and I volunteered to serve punch at the dance so we could watch Linda have a good time.
After the ball Mother, Linda, and I walked up that great big hill to my house. I apologized to Linda for being slow to wave to her. She didn’t even seem to remember, and I thought how lucky I was to have such a forgiving friend. We had a lovely walk home together, my best friends and I. Somehow, with them on each side of me, that great big hill up, up, up to my house didn’t seem so hard after all.

My sisters came into the living room each carrying a shiny baking powder can. The cans tinkled with the sound of coins that they emptied onto the table to be counted.
“Bishop Isom will pat me on top of the head when I give him my money and say, ‘My what a fine tithing!’” Mildred said proudly.
“Then he’ll say, ‘You are good girls,’” Kate added.
The bishop’s last name was the same as ours because he was Papa’s cousin.
I didn’t have any nickels or pennies. I didn’t even have an empty baking powder can, but I knew a little about tithing. I liked sitting on top of a load of hay as the horses clopped along the dusty road to the tithing barn. And I enjoyed watching Mama push the firm yellow butter out of the wooden mold onto the wrapper. Some of it she set aside for “tithing butter.” And our chickens laid “tithing eggs.”
I went into the kitchen where Mama was mixing bread. “When can I pay tithing?” I asked.
Mama’s dough-covered hands stopped still in the big tin pan. She looked at me for a long minute then smiled. “My goodness, you are getting to be a big girl, aren’t you! You’ll be five next summer. Why of course you want to pay tithing. Tell your sisters to wait until I finish mixing and you can go with them.”
Dancing into the living room I happily announced, “I’m going to Bishop Isom’s too.”
“You can go, but you don’t have any tithing,” Kate said.
“Wait for Alice,” Mama called to my sisters. Then she washed the dough from her hands and said, “Come with me.”
I followed her to the barn where she scooped up a can of wheat, scattering it in the yard. “Here, chick, chick, chick,” she called.
Greedily, the chickens flocked around her, so it was easy for Mama to slip her hands over the wings of a young rooster and hold him firmly while the plump bird squawked in alarm. “Here.” she said, handing him to me, “hold him while I tie his legs.” From a bunch of used binding twine that hung on the corral fence, she selected a short piece. Securing the rooster’s legs she said, “You’ve worked hard feeding the chickens and gathering the eggs. You can take this rooster to the bishop for your tithing.”
“I’m going to pay tithing. I really, really am,” I cried, running to the house.
My sisters giggled at the rooster squirming in my arms.
Purple daisies were blooming along the fences and the leaves of the fruit trees fluttered about us as we walked the six blocks to the bishop’s house. I hugged my rooster and he cackled back at me. The sun on his shiny black feathers picked up glints of green and gold. He was as beautiful as any bird that ever went to see the bishop.
When Bishop Samuel Isom saw us coming through the gate, his front door opened wide. His ample front was made for hugging children. “Come in, come in,” he said merrily. Then, seeing the rooster in my arms, he asked, “Oh-ho, and what’s this?”
“He’s a tithing rooster,” I proudly announced.
“Oh, he’s a real dandy,” the bishop said. Taking the rooster from me he gently set him down on the porch and ushered us inside.
Sister Isom came into the room, tall and smiling. Her neat hair was wound in a bun on top of her head. Over her blue checkered dress she wore a snowy white apron bordered with wide handmade lace. “Have a chair, girls,” she invited.
The bishop sat at his rolltop desk and Kate and Mildred gave him the coins from their baking powder cans.
We sat on polished high-backed chairs, feasting our eyes on the cheerful room while the bishop made out our receipts. I hoped that when I grew up I could have a stairway with such a beautiful bannister sweeping down into my living room.
Tearing out the receipts the bishop arose. “Mighty fine, mighty fine,” he said handing us each a receipt.
“Will you please read my receipt for me?” I asked, looking up at him.
“I’d be glad to,” he replied. Taking it from me he read, “Alice Isom has voluntarily contributed to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints one young rooster.”
I sucked in my breath. “Oh, my!” The Church of Jesus Christ was so big and I was so small. I had really and truly contributed to this great big wonderful Church. Happily I took my receipt out onto the porch. “Look, rooster,” I said, holding it in front of him, “you belong to the Church now, because I contributed you. That makes you a Mormon rooster.”
Bishop and Sister Isom were in the doorway laughing heartily. I skipped to the gate ahead of my sisters, feeling that I was the happiest tithe payer in the whole town of Hurricane, Utah.

When I was 15, I was both a Young Women class president and a ward family history adviser. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do everything. I didn’t know much about family history. I prayed for help, received instructions from the Lord and inspired leaders, and got to work. I’m so grateful for the trust Heavenly Father has placed in me. Every name sent to the temple makes me so happy. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have helped and empowered me.

There are ways to increase our association with our families while we serve in our Church callings by involving our families, when appropriate, in our Church service. Let me give you one personal example.
My father served as my bishop during the early years of my life. He was a busy man with a demanding legal practice. He was also active in civic affairs and in demand as a public speaker. And, of course, he was the father of six children. I was always grateful that my father had his priorities right. Mother was always his first priority. It was evident by the way he treated her. This was followed by a real dedication to each of his children.
When I was about six years old, I received a red wagon as a Christmas gift. It was exactly like this one in miniature. The little red wagon provided a real bond between my father and me. In his busy life, he had to find ways of involving his family in activities without diminishing his own productivity.
Much of his service as a bishop occurred during the Great Depression in the 1930s. Many of our ward members were in desperate need. As the bishop, he had the responsibility of supplying the means to sustain their lives. This seemed to be a good activity for a bishop, his son, and the little red wagon.
I would come home from school and find stacks on the side of the garage—flour, sugar, wheat, and other commodities. I knew that that evening my father and I would have the opportunity of being together.
When he would arrive home, the little red wagon was loaded with supplies to take to a family. The two of us, walking and talking together, would complete our welfare assignment by delivering the commodities to those in need.
I was able to witness firsthand the love and care a good priesthood leader had for his ward members. More important, I had an opportunity of spending precious time with my father.

I had found the path I had been looking for. I knew I had a Heavenly Father who had given me talents and wanted me to develop them. I found myself loved by people who accepted me the way I was and who taught me how to grow as a person, as a mother, and as a wife. I knew that I had a Father who expected something from me and that I could no longer hide behind my shyness.
I began to learn and progress. I fulfilled several callings in the Church. Through the Relief Society, I learned many things that have helped me grow materially and spiritually. I have participated in dances, theater, and choir. I have organized programs. I have learned several crafts, and now I am studying music.
Today I am nearly 60 years old and currently serve as education counselor in the stake Relief Society presidency. My husband and I also serve in the São Paulo Temple. I am still shy, but I don’t hide myself when I am doing God’s work. The Church has taught me that in the eyes of God there are no inadequate people.

My next story is about a woman I will call Mary. She was the daughter of faithful pioneer parents who had sacrificed much for the gospel. She had been married in the temple and was the mother of 10 children. She was a talented woman who taught her children how to pray, to work hard, and to love each other. She paid her tithing, and the family rode to church together on Sunday in their wagon.
Though she knew it was contrary to the Word of Wisdom, she developed the habit of drinking coffee and kept a coffee pot on the back of her stove. She claimed that “the Lord will not keep me out of heaven for a little cup of coffee.” But, because of that little cup of coffee, she could not qualify for a temple recommend, and neither could those of her children who drank coffee with her. Though she lived to a good old age and did eventually qualify to reenter and serve in the temple, only one of her 10 children had a worthy temple marriage, and a great number of her posterity, which is now in its fifth generation, live outside of the blessings of the restored gospel she believed in and her forefathers sacrificed so much for.

I was having a meltdown. I was working on a family history project, and I was getting nowhere. I was looking for a marriage certificate for my great-great-great- grandparents, but when I’d done a quick search on FamilySearch for their names, nothing had come up. I’d prayed to Heavenly Father that the Spirit would help and guide me, but I was starting to get frustrated because my prayer hadn’t been answered yet.
I started scrolling down matches again. No, no, no; this wasn’t helpful at all. I scrolled back to the top. Wait—I’d missed one! There were my grandparents’ names, but they were on a baby’s birth certificate. I called for my mom, and I told her I’d found a record of a baby named Sarah. I would have never imagined her response.
“We don’t have a known great-aunt by the name Sarah,” she said.
I checked the record. Yep, it was correct. We searched for her name by itself, and we found a death certificate for her. It was four days after she was born. I was ready to cry, but they were tears of happiness. My prayer had been answered. I had one thought: “We’ll all be together again.”

As a young boy, Banyan was so attentive in his Methodist services that he could often repeat entire sermons, and soon became known among the children as “the priest.” When many unanswered questions left him dissatisfied, he drifted into an informal Christian scripture union, but had trouble accepting all of their doctrine of being saved by grace alone. Faith without works was a doctrine which caused deep conflict in him. “Every Christian ought to demonstrate that he believes in the Lord,” Brother Dadson says.
At twenty-two, Banyan separated from the group and joined another religious brotherhood. The group gave him the spiritual support he needed during the next eight years while pursuing his bachelor’s, master’s, and doctor’s degrees in organic chemistry. “The brotherhood forbade alcohol, tobacco, and immorality and even had a story similar to Joseph Smith’s experience,” Brother Dadson recalls.
He returned to Ghana after earning his doctorate from Cambridge University in England and took a position as a chemistry professor at the University of Cape Coast. He spent the next ten years in academic pursuits, marrying, and beginning a family—unattached to any religious group. During this time he came in contact with “Reverend” Billy Johnson, who had come across copies of the Book of Mormon and started, without official authority, a Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Banyan had attended a church meeting, but couldn’t accept the tribal drumming and dancing that were a part of the services.
Eight years later Billy Johnson gave Brother Dadson copies of the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, and Gospel Principles, along with the news that Latter-day Saint missionaries had recently reorganized the local church, this time with a priesthood foundation. Brother Johnson had been baptized and was called to be the first district president.
Banyan decided to give the new religion one more try. This time he attended a standard Latter-day Saint sacrament meeting with the hymns on cassette tapes. As he learned more about the gospel, he soon realized he had finally found the church he had been searching for. He was soon baptized, followed by the four oldest of his six children and, within a few weeks, his wife Henrietta.
Brother Dadson began spending more time with his family, including getting them up at 5 A.M. for prayer and scripture study. The effect on the family was impressive.
“People would tell me what a remarkable change for good they had noticed in my children,” he recalls. His brother and sister also noticed and soon joined the Church. Kwamena Dadson is now president of the Cape Coast Branch, and his sister Elizabeth Kwaw is a Relief Society president.
A few months after Brother Dadson’s baptism, he became the branch’s first elders quorum president, and in the spring of 1982 he was called to be second counselor in the Ghana District.
Brother Dadson credits his Church membership for his career successes. In 1981 he was appointed the dean of faculty at the university, a position he held until his appointment as pro-vice chancellor in May 1985. “The Church has made me a more effective teacher and leader,” he explains, citing such skills as organizing his time, using his talents and energies more effectively, and relating better with others. “In dealing with the staff, I am constrained by the law of Christ to show love.”
Along with improvements in his work and family, the gospel has brought another benefit. “I was once plagued by fears, but they have vanished. I feel a solid confidence; I am secure in the Lord.”
During the summer of 1983, Brother Dadson spent two months as a visiting professor of chemistry at Brigham Young University. That was his first trip to Utah, although he had previously lectured as a Fulbright Scholar and a guest of the U.S. State Department at various universities in the country.
Though his family remained in Ghana, Brother Dadson took advantage of his two-month stay to go to the Provo Temple and receive his endowment. Since then, economic restraints have prevented him from taking his family to the temple, but he says he “will not rest until I have brought my wife and children to a temple to be sealed.”
The Dadsons and their six children, ages ten to twenty-one, enjoy typical activities with the branch, including plays, native dancing, soccer, and working at the welfare farm, where maize, beans, and other vegetables are grown.
Concerned with needs of fellow countrymen for food and other supplies, Brother Dadson is one of the trustees of the Friends of West Africa (Ghana), a non-denominational organization involved with obtaining and distributing free medical supplies to hospitals, clinics, and villages.
The Dadsons plan to stay in Ghana and help the Church to grow, and hope their children will choose to do the same.

A few years later, when I was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, our family moved to a different area. I was called to be what we now know as a home teacher to Brother Haymond, my hero from Primary days. I asked if he could tell me all about the story of his racing experience. It was very exciting to be able to hear from him, in person, about the event which had been such an inspiration to me earlier.

Charles’s favorite time of the year was firefly season.
On firefly nights, he ran barefoot over his grassy yard, pausing only long enough to listen to the cheerful greeting of crickets.
Sometimes when he reached toward a twinkling light, his hand would come back empty. Then, far beyond his fingertips, a star would wink at him. Charles only laughed at his mistake. He kept running and reaching out toward flittering lights.
Most of the time he guessed right: the light would belong to a firefly, not a star. At those times, Charles gently closed his hand, being careful not to crush the firefly or damage its wings. He put dozens of fireflies in a large glass jar with a lid with holes in it. After he watched their glorious light show—accompanied by the crickets’ songs—for a while, he unscrewed the lid and watched the fireflies crawl to the rim of the jar and fly away.
He would much rather run beneath the stars on those firefly evenings than sit inside the house. If his mother had been home during the evenings, she would have been catching fireflies with him. But she worked at the hospital until late each night. The only other person in Charles’s house each evening was his sitter. He had invited her several times to catch fireflies with him.
“Catch fireflies?” she had said. “I’m too old for that. Besides, my favorite TV show is on.”
So Charles always chased fireflies by himself.
Until one night.
Charles was chasing an especially tricky firefly through the yard. Just when he was positive that it wouldn’t escape him, it turned off its light and blended with the evening blackness. Then, a few feet away, it lit up again as if to say, “Fooled you! Here I am!” Charles chased it, grabbed, missed. Chased, grabbed, and missed again.
“Got it!” boomed a familiar voice.
Charles knew at once that it was Brother Ralph, Mom’s and his home teacher. Brother Ralph lived down the street and frequently stopped by to ask about his day. Charles always enjoyed talking with him.
Brother Ralph held out his open hand, palm up. A dot of light walked across it and lit the palm’s wrinkles like a moon lights a rock-strewn valley. “Here,” he said.
Charles reached for the light. He lifted it from Brother Ralph’s hand and dropped it into his jar with the rest of the light-show cast.
“Quite a collection,” Brother Ralph said as he bent over the jar.
“Yes,” Charles said proudly. “I want to catch a lot more, though.”
“Mind if I help? I’ve always been pretty good at catching fireflies.”
“Sure. I’d like you to help.”
The two of them scurried around Charles’s big yard. Charles was the faster of the two, one hand carrying his jar, the other hand reaching out toward dots of light. Brother Ralph moved more slowly, but his hands snatched fireflies from the sky as deftly as a magician plucks quarters from behind someone’s ear.
When the jar was brimming with neon flickerings, Charles and Brother Ralph sat on the front porch and listened to the crickets’ summer concert. They sat silently and watched the fireflies and the stars.
Before the time came for Charles to go inside, they opened the jar together, allowing the fireflies to sprinkle into the freedom of the night sky.
“It’s quite a sight,” Brother Ralph said.
“Yes,” Charles agreed, “it is.”
For several nights after that, Brother Ralph returned to catch fireflies with Charles. They always sat on Charles’ front steps and listened to nature’s concert while enjoying the firefly light show.
One night Brother Ralph did not come. Charles waited in his yard until the sitter’s television program ended and she called him in for bed.
His mother told him the news the next day: Brother Ralph had died in his sleep during the night.
“Did he hurt a lot?” Charles asked.
“No, dear,” his mother said. “Brother Ralph died peacefully.”
Later, during a twinkling firefly evening, as Brother Ralph’s house sat empty and dark, Charles walked to Brother Ralph’s front door.
He knelt and placed a jar of fireflies on the front step. “These are for you, Brother Ralph.”
He unscrewed the jar’s lid so that the fireflies, whenever they wished, could fly from the jar and mingle with the stars above Brother Ralph’s house. Maybe they would let Brother Ralph know how much Charles missed him.

Kevin* always planned on continuing his education at a university. He knew he could make good grades if he studied hard, but in ninth grade he was having too much fun with his friends to get all his assignments turned in. His grades were low, embarrassingly low, but he thought he would just have to do well the next three years to make up.
Kevin decided that to make sure he got good grades, he would take the easiest classes he could in high school. His sophomore year he coasted through with as many elective classes as he was allowed and was happy with his Bs and Cs.
By his junior year, things were getting serious. Graduation was less than two years away. He worked hard that year, but he decided he didn’t have time for seminary and dropped out.
Then Kevin decided to postpone taking his ACT test until the beginning of his senior year. He didn’t feel really up-to-speed after being out of school all summer, but he hoped he did well enough on the test to meet the university’s requirements.
Kevin got everything together on his application to mail to the university admissions office. He knew when the deadline was, so he didn’t worry about getting it in early. He mailed his application two days before the deadline and assumed the mail would get it there on time.
Kevin was turned down for admission to the school he wanted to attend. He made several big mistakes that seriously hurt his chances. Here’s what Kevin should have done differently:
Take charge early. What many students like Kevin don’t realize is that all four years of high school count in their cumulative grade point average. Because Kevin’s ninth grade year was in a junior high, he thought he could have a good time, not do the work required, and that somehow it wouldn’t matter. It matters.
Take college prep classes. Kevin thought that he could help his grade point by getting good grades in less demanding classes. Many universities are paying particular attention to the type of classes students chose to take in high school. For example, BYU adjusts a student’s high school GPA to give more weight to the college prep classes. “We want students to take a more rigorous program in high school,” said Erland Peterson, dean of admissions and records at BYU. “We go through a process of recalculating or adjusting the grades according to the difficulty of the course.” Classes that are considered as college preparatory include advanced mathematics, laboratory sciences, history, English, literature and writing, and foreign language.
Stay ahead of the deadline. Kevin made the mistake of waiting until the deadline to get his application in. It is important to make sure your application is complete and mailed in early. This is especially important if there is an enrollment ceiling on the school you are interested in.
“We encourage students,” said Jeff Tanner, associate dean of admissions and records at BYU, “to apply as early in their senior year as possible. If the application is not complete and in our office by the deadline, it is shuffled into the late pile and is not considered in the first group. If our freshman class is filled out of the first group, the late applications may not be considered.”
Kevin decided to stay at home and attend a community college before going on his mission. He worked hard and earned nearly straight A’s his freshman year at his community college. Earning such a good grade point while doing college level work will make it possible for him to be considered as a transfer student to the university he wants to attend following his mission. But Kevin wishes he hadn’t had to find out the hard way what he needed to do to get into the school of his choice.

I had a similar experience in Idaho some years later. I was attending a stake conference. After the Sunday morning session one of the bishops brought his aged mother up to see me. I had been referring to the Book of Mormon during my sermon and was still holding it in my hand.
She took the book from me, opened it, read a paragraph at random, and then returned the book. I wondered why. Then she said that at the previous stake conference the visitor had been Elder Thomas E. McKay, one of the Assistants to the Council of the Twelve.
She asked me if I knew Elder McKay and of course, I responded that I did. Then she said, “Will you please tell him that I read a paragraph in your book? When he was here at our last conference, my son brought him to my home and had him administer to me. I was blind. Please tell him that I read from your book.”

I received my mission call during a time when prospective missionaries had to take a language aptitude test. When my stake president saw my score, he laughed and said, “You won’t have to worry about going on a foreign mission. I have never seen such a low score.” Imagine my surprise when the call to Japan came. I didn’t even know where it was on the map! Learning Japanese was the hardest thing I had ever done. Yet, as many of you have experienced, the Lord miraculously prepared a way. And it wasn’t long before I knew exactly why I had been sent there. Those language skills, the cultural experience, and the converts I worked with have been blessings in my life to this day.

All the years I was in Primary, I dreamed of receiving the priesthood. But by the time I was about to turn 12, I had become a bit anxious about it. I wasn’t nervous about priesthood service; what seemed challenging was setting an example.
As time went on, I especially felt a responsibility to be an example for my younger brother. When my brother was preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood, I had a hard time accepting the fact that I had to set an example for him. Why didn’t I have an older brother who could be an example for me? Then it dawned on me. I do have an Older Brother who is a perfect example—Jesus Christ. I could follow His example!
When I turned 16, I was ordained a priest. Then my brother turned 12, and I was asked to ordain him a deacon. I was nervous, especially about giving him a blessing as part of the ordination. But the words came to me, and I knew exactly what to say: “I bless you to be able to follow the example of your Older Brother, Jesus Christ.”
Yves P., Cergy, France

One last story from my father’s account of this mission:
During a conference session while Apostle Cowley was in Tonga in 1950, I was sitting on the stage, with my back to the opening that went all the way around the thatched roof at the eve line for ventilation.
A fellow tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned me to come out and talk with him. He wanted me to get another missionary and go to his home to administer to his wife who was very ill. The fellow was a member of the LDS Church but he had become inactive. His wife was not a member.
When we two Elders arrived at his home [we saw that] they had built a little house in back of their home for his wife. It is a Tongan custom to build these little one room houses about eight feet square as a place to die.
I was told that the doctors had told them there wasn’t anything they could do for her and that the Tongan remedies did not help and that they wanted us to administer to her so she wouldn’t die.
Family members had gathered and were sitting on mats around the entrance of the little house. I think all were non-members. I talked to them for some time explaining the priesthood ordinance of anointing and laying on of hands and the pronouncement of blessings. I told them that the Lord should not be mocked and that the sick were healed by faith, the power of the priesthood and the will of our Father in Heaven. I then asked if they still wanted me to administer to the sick lady. They did.
We Elders went into the little house. The lady was being held in the sitting position by a sister. She was too weak to sit by herself, her eyes had a glossy look and she was having much difficulty breathing. We knelt and had prayer. I asked the Lord to grant us His Spirit to influence us to speak His will and to bless the family members that they would know of His will. We knelt by the sick lady, and my companion anointed her head with the consecrated oil and then we both placed our hands on her head and I spoke the words of the blessing promising her that she would get well.
The next Sunday I visited the Branch where this lady was also a visitor being completely well. She asked to be baptized. [History,48–49]

Ouch! Have you ever been attacked by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to clothes, skin, or whatever else they can hook their spines into.
The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Before the city of Albuquerque approved the plans for the temple, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing to prepare for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.
“We’re so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, age 12.
Amber Chee, age 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and someday getting married in the Albuquerque temple. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have done baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for temple trips come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth, who have had to travel at least eight hours to get to a temple.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it is hard work.
Besides concentrating on the cactus plants, Michelle Williams is thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she is cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King is waiting for his call as a full-time missionary. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of being worthy to attend the temple. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them have become excited about doing family history, knowing they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s family history center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will strengthen the youth. Among the large number of young people in the area, they have seen a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, age 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can do baptisms more often. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is eager to tell others why she loves going to the temple. She talks to her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are enjoying the opportunity to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, age 14. She’s also been telling her friends about the temple. “The best part of building a temple is having people ask about it,” she says.
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also working hard at the cleanup. They say members in the area feel that the temple will bring many blessings to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer from California. Many missionaries have similar stories.
The temple will be built in a valley where it can be seen from far away. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5) rang out over the crowd of thousands that had gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, age 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know how we sounded, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know yet all the ways the temple will change their lives, but they are grateful to have been able to take a small part in the temple-building project. They are looking forward to the temple’s dedication in the year 2000 and to even greater blessings and opportunities to come.