Gospel Story Finder

As a boy, I made a startling discovery in Sunday School one Mother’s Day which has remained with me all through the years. Melvin, a sightless brother in the ward, a talented vocalist, would stand and face the congregation as though he were seeing one and all. He would then sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” The bright, glowing embers of memory penetrated human hearts. Men reached for their handkerchiefs; women’s eyes brimmed with tears.
We deacons would go among the congregation carrying a small geranium in a clay pot for presentation to each mother. Some of the mothers were young, some were middle-aged, some were barely hanging on to life in their old age. I became aware that the eyes of each mother were kind eyes. The words of each mother were “Thank you.” I felt the spirit of the statement “When someone gives another person a flower, the fragrance of the flower lingers on the hands of the giver.” I have not forgotten the lesson learned, nor shall I ever forget it.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Great news, guys. Your cousin Anthony is home from his mission, and we’ve been invited to a family dinner this Saturday.
AT THE DINNER
Was your mission fun, Anthony—I mean … er … Elder Edwards?
Yes, it was! Fun and rewarding and inspiring and wonderful!
And was it ever … hard?
Absolutely! Hard and sometimes scary and discouraging and just about impossible. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
That bad?
Bad? Not at all! Great things are never easy. Why should they be? Almost every day I faced challenges that I didn’t feel up to. And sometimes I wasn’t—at first. But do you know what I learned?
What?
That Elder Edwards could do things that Anthony could never have imagined. Because Elder Edwards had been called of God and given authority to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. You see, I wasn’t just Anthony anymore.
It wasn’t really me doing those things. It was mostly Heavenly Father working through me, and He can do anything. I just had to be willing and do my very best. He did the rest. Sound like something you’d like to try someday?
Yes! But I think I’ve got a lot to learn first.
I’ll get you your very own copy of Preach My Gospel, and we can look at it together.

It had always been my dream to live in Germany, and at age 16 I left home for a year to be an exchange student abroad. Although my host family would not be Latter-day Saints, I didn’t think it would have a big effect on me and how I lived. It ended up being a little different than I had imagined.
My host family did not support my going to church on Sundays, and because I had to rely on other Church members for rides, I was only able to go to Church a few times during the first months that I was in Germany. I thought I could handle it, but with no seminary, no family home evenings, no home teachers, no family scripture study, and no family prayer, I felt myself slipping, and temptations became stronger.
I went to Berlin for a week to stay with some friends during the fall holidays. The week was packed full of fun and excitement, but I was sometimes with people who were smoking, drinking, and doing drugs. I never participated, but by the end of the week I had become accustomed to it all. I didn’t realize it at the time, but during that week I didn’t pray or read my scriptures. Instead, I let worldly things distract me, and I felt like there simply was not enough time for prayer and scripture study.
When I returned home there was a note from my host family informing me that they would be out of town for a few hours. I felt exhausted, confused, and alone. For the first time in my life no one understood how I felt, and there was no one I could talk to who could relate to how I was feeling. After such an amazing week in Berlin, how was it that I felt so unhappy?
When I went into my room, I noticed a letter from my dad had arrived earlier that day. I tore open the letter and began to cry as I read the message that he must have been inspired to write. He wrote about the Church, the value of living the standards, and that he had full confidence that I was making good decisions on my own. How could he have known what I was facing? The message was brief, but it was the perfect thing for me to read. The letter concluded with: “Interesting how 16-year-olds can legally drink in Germany. … Just remember that freedom to do something means freedom not to do it as well.”
Dad’s letter reminded me that just because something is “legal” doesn’t mean that it isn’t still wrong. It brings far more happiness to live the standards of the Church than to live the standards of the world.
After I read the letter, I realized my father knew me better than I thought he did. I was quickly reminded of another letter I had from my Heavenly Father. He had also written me a very personal letter in the form of my patriarchal blessing. It was, once again, exactly what I needed. My patriarchal blessing became more personal and special to me in that moment when I realized how it really was a “letter from my Father” as well.
Heavenly Father knows and understands our needs, and I am so grateful I had that letter to read, to remind me of who I am, and who my Father is. We are children of God, and although worldly things can be distracting at times, they don’t bring true happiness. The week I spent in Berlin was fun, but I still felt alone, and that fun was only temporary. When I read my patriarchal blessing, I felt a joy and a closeness to God that was far better than the short-lived pleasures of the world.
I know that God lives, that He knows us personally, and that He truly wants us to be happy because He loves us more than we can imagine. He is our Father.

The Young Women of the La Canada (California) First Ward are planning to make waves—big ones. They intend to repeat their win of last year in the stake swim meet, which in itself isn’t surprising until you realize that because of failure to meet swimsuit standards only one girl from their ward qualified in 1974.
Two years ago most of the girls didn’t have or want a one-piece swimsuit. Last year in bishop’s youth committee, the bishop asked, “What are we going to do about winning the meet this year?” The subtle coaxing came across, and various suggestions were proposed. Availability and costs of buying appropriate suits for everyone were discussed and dismissed. Sewing was the best alternative to promote both unity and modesty.
Finding 47 yards of chlorine-proof, stylish, inexpensive, and two-way-stretch fabric proved as hard as mastering the butterfly stroke. Moving from yardage stores to sportswear factories to fabric distributors, everyone had just about given up when a distributor, who admitted he had a soft heart for Mormons, got an appointment with one of California’s largest swimsuit manufacturers. The girls were offered an orange-and-purple-patterned fabric and immediately took to it with scissors and sewing machines. Soon every girl in the ward had a new suit, as did eight nonmembers. Many of the girls had never owned a one-piece suit. The stake meet was more than a swimming test for the La Canada young women—it was a victory through obedience to and acceptance of gospel standards.

When I was 15, my father and I took a walk one Sunday evening. Suddenly, my father stopped and suggested that we go to the Mormon Church. I was surprised, but out of curiosity I went with him. The choir was singing a beautiful hymn. I had never heard anything so touching.
After the song, a missionary stood up and gave a talk about the Godhead. He later talked to my father and me for a few minutes.
I didn’t go back to church until one year later when I went to learn English from the missionaries. When each English class ended, we drifted into religious discussions. The missionaries taught me about the gospel and how to pray to God the Father in the name of Jesus Christ. They told me about the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, and many other gospel principles.
All this was so new to me, yet it had a familiar sound. I studied the scriptures intently and prayed sincerely for enlightenment, which was given to me.
My father noticed a change in me. But when he realized that I was getting serious about the Church, he became angry and forbade me to go to church. I went anyway. Frequently he sent my brother to bring me home in the middle of Church meetings.
When I turned 17, my father asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told him I wanted his approval to be baptized. He pounded his fist on the table and shouted, “Never!”
By this time my parents had joined a different church. My father sent the church’s minister and others to talk to me, but I was firm in my testimony of the gospel. Father told me I was a disgrace to the family, and I was forced to leave home. I stayed at the home of a Relief Society sister for about a week. During that time my father’s heart was softened, and he allowed me to come home.
Within several months my father realized that nothing could take away the testimony I had of the gospel, so he gave his consent for me to be baptized. My joy and happiness were so great that they made a deep impression on my father. He even wanted to go with me to Oslo to attend my baptism.
All through this time, my mother didn’t say very much, but I could tell that she believed the gospel was true. We spent many hours talking about the gospel together.
However, the struggle was not over at home. My father wouldn’t listen to me. I put pamphlets on his nightstand, as he always read long into the night. I invited the missionaries to our home often, and they talked to my father, but nothing seemed to help.
One day my father asked me, “Do you ever pray?” I told him that I prayed every day that his eyes would be opened to the truthfulness of the gospel. He responded that it was all from the devil but then said, “Let’s pray together.”
I said, “All right, you pray to your God, and I will pray to my God, and we will see which answers first.” So we did.
Soon after that I started noticing that he was reading the pamphlets and the Book of Mormon. He went to church several times with me but would never talk about it or show me any change in his beliefs. Still, there was rarely a day when we didn’t discuss different principles of the gospel.
One day, after three years of this, he told me he was going to Oslo and wanted me to go with him. When we arrived at the station, one of the local elders was there. I asked him where he was going.
The elder said, “Don’t you know? I’m going to baptize your father.”
I cried and laughed! One month later my mother and youngest brother were also baptized. My sister and her husband joined the Church a short time later, as did three of my brothers.
Sara Elvira Eriksen’s faithful posterity in the Church now numbers in the hundreds. This account from her personal history was submitted by her children, Rose Anderson, Betty Farley, Aksel Tanner, and Janet Bylund.

A lot of young men find ways to pay for their missions. But Patric Balck has found what he calls “an ideal place to work.”
Patric, 18, a newly ordained elder in the Handen Ward, is a groundskeeper and apprentice gardener at the Stockholm Temple. For four years now, he has spent his working hours mowing lawns, trimming trees and bushes, and tending flowers, all under the direction of the head groundskeeper.
“It’s more than just a job,” Patric says. “It gives me an opportunity to talk to nonmember friends and tourists. I’ve given out copies of the Book of Mormon. I try to make people who visit the grounds feel at home. And, of course, I try to make sure the grounds look good.”
Patric says the temple is a wonderful place to work, “because of the calm feeling that is always here.” He says he notices a new interest in religion among young people in Sweden, and that he’s eager to serve a mission and find out if that same interest is growing elsewhere.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Patric has received his call and is currently serving in the Idaho Boise Mission.

In our little Finnish town, the ski race was the biggest event of the year.
It’s part of Russia now, the village in Karelia where I spent my childhood. The Russians annexed it, along with the rest of the Karelian region, after the two countries fought a war in 1939–40. But when I was young, the land of lakes, marshes, streams, cold weather, and hills was part of Finland. And that meant it was a land of skiing and of ski races.
Each February, when the worst of the winter chill was over, the townsfolk would come out of hibernation and gather at a large sand pit on the outskirts of the village. The sand pit was the site for the finish line of the cross-country ski competition, and for good reasons. For one thing, the hole torn from the side of the hill by summertime construction workers was large enough not only for the finish line, but for a food stand as well. One race day, the air was full of the aroma of gooey, steaming meat pies and sausages. For another thing, the snow-covered sides of the sand pit formed a natural amphitheater. Standing around its sides and rim, spectators could clearly see the final stretch of the course, and the entire town knew who the winner was the moment he crossed the line.
There were many preparations for the contest. Race officials tied blue paper armbands on some of the older children, authorizing them to monitor the crowds of people and keep competition lanes uncluttered. Trails were marked for the different events—short courses for younger children, longer courses for older children; separate trails for male and female teenagers and for men and women; and even a grandpa trail for the older folks, who always performed well in their own special race. Each group followed its own path, clearly marked by colored paper streamers. But the biggest event of all was the men’s 30-kilometer race. The winner was the hero of the village for a year, the man who had proved what he was made of. Many a quiet farmer, shoemaker, or storekeeper imagined himself gliding past his neighbors and on to victory.
As children, though we had a hero of our own. We called him Tappi-Eiska. He was the smallest and shortest possible full-grown man without being a midget. He was also the nicest, fun person we knew outside our family circles. Maybe his shortness helped us relate to him, because we could look at him eye-to-eye. Maybe we understood the struggles he’d been through because of his size. “Eiska” is probably a shortened form of Einari, which could have been his true first name. But “Tappie,” in Finnish, means “stump” or “shortie,” and it might well be that originally the nickname was intended as an insult. It didn’t matter to us children. He was the one we felt should be the best skier of the year.
The problem was, Tappi-Eiska wasn’t a very good skier. The first year he raced in the men’s division was a complete failure. The men had to go around a ten-kilometer course three times, and when the winner came in, Tappi-Eiska was just finishing his first time around the course. By the time Tappi did finish, the other skiers were all in the bath house or on the way home. Only a few disappointed children waited for their tired friend at the finish line.
The rest of that winter and all of the next one, Tappi-Eiska spent every spare minute skiing on that trail. In the summer he swam and rowed a big army boat around in the Vuoksi River. He didn’t grow taller, but he did grow muscular. We children were excited, certain that all those muscles and all that practice would make him a winner at last. We thought a man should win just because he was nice. It always happened that way in the movies.
But Tappi-Eiska didn’t win that year, either. This time, he crossed the line with the last group of skiers. At least he wasn’t hours behind, and some other people besides us saw him complete the race. We figured his legs were just too short to compete with the big men. Maybe he’d even stop trying now.
But during the next year, Tappi-Eiska showed us what the Finish word sisu means. It means determination or courage. And that’s what this man had. He went on training and training and training. By the time of the next ski contest, we knew Tappi would win. Of course, we had felt that way every year, but this time it seemed possible all over again.
The striding skiers kicked up snow as they raced into the forest. Through one lap, through two, and back into the forest again. When we knew they would be coming into sight, some of us, on skis ourselves, moved out from the sand hole to meet the winner, sure that it would be our hero, Tappi-Eiska.
We waited in the cold. The trees were white with frost. Smoke from the few visible chimneys stretched straight up in gray ribbons. Our cheeks were red. But then, suddenly, we were warm all over! Emerging from the edge of the forest was the shortest man in town, now the biggest man in town—Tappi-Eiska! He was ahead of everyone! Even the adults rose to their feet to cheer him on.
He came to the hill. We could see his short legs pumping so fast we could hardly focus on them. Then behind him came another man, a huge, lumbering giant! I’m sure many of us wished inside that somehow this long-legged pest would trip or break a ski, anything to keep him from passing. But as the two neared the top of the sand hole, the larger skier slipped past and crossed the line first.
How often in the years since then have I felt sorry for the man who came in first. Few of us cheered the winner. But when Tappi-Eiska crossed that line, there was much noise and confusion. We followed him on our skis down into the pit, and no older children with blue armbands could have stopped us. We gathered around Tappi-Eiska, then threw him into the air, skis and all. Many townspeople, who knew of Tappi’s struggles, joined us. Some were weeping without shame. We completely forgot that he had come in second, not first. This stubbornly determined little man had shown us the value of not giving up and had become the hero of my childhood.
That was 1938. World War II came the next year and took many things away. There were no ski contests. I never got my chance to be one of the older children wearing a blue armband and monitoring the crowd. And Tappi-Eiska never got another chance to prove he could cross the finish line first. But for me, and for the others, he would never have to. He had already proved he was a true winner in every sense of the word.

My former stake president once shared an experience that made me think about media safety in a new way. It all started when his family began hearing noises in the middle of the night.
“We’d run downstairs from our bedrooms but never saw anything,” Brent Butler said. “Some mornings we’d go downstairs and find the cat food bag toppled over on the kitchen floor.”
The family also began noticing a musty smell, which wasn’t unusual given that they live in a canyon. But then they found animal droppings behind the couch. One night after their oldest daughter returned from a date, she went to the kitchen and turned on the light. Then she screamed, “There’s a skunk in the house!”
When Brother Butler ran downstairs, he saw the biggest skunk he had ever seen. As his daughter jumped on the couch, the skunk ran down the stairs to the basement.
“Apparently, the skunk had wandered into the garage, climbed through a hole around a water shutoff valve, and got behind the basement staircase,” he said. “From there he found his way into the basement. He would come upstairs at night, eat cat food, and go back down.”
Brother Butler had seen the valve hole, but he thought it was too small to worry about. “I was wrong,” he said.
Then he shared this interesting observation: “If we’re not careful, metaphoric ‘skunks’ can sneak into our phones, computers, and televisions. They can surprise us and our children. Cyberspace offers lots of wonderful things, but we have to work to keep out uninvited guests like pornography, harmful social media, and other dangers.”
After she screamed, Brother Butler’s daughter called for her parents.
“It’s important that we have a close relationship with our children so that if a cyber skunk does show up, our children will come to us,” Brother Butler said.

Elder Lawrence described a friend who decided to pray for the gift of charity. He related her experience: “She wrote: ‘I have been praying specifically for an increase of charity for several months. … Gradually my perception of others has changed. … I have begun to not just love the people around me but to enjoy them. Before, I may have kept my distance, but now I am genuinely interested in everyone.’”2

Illustration by Mark Robison
Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, “Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her!” I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

I have seen for myself what faithful priesthood leaders and members can do. In 1955 I became an officer in the United States Air Force. My bishop at home gave me a blessing just before I left for my first station, which was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

In his blessing he said that my time in the air force would be missionary service. I arrived in church on my first Sunday at the Albuquerque First Branch. A man walked up to me, introduced himself as the district president, and told me that he was going to call me to serve as a district missionary.

I told him that I would be there for training for only a few weeks and then I would be assigned somewhere else in the world. He said, “I don’t know about that, but we are to call you to serve.” In the middle of my military training, by what appeared to be chance, I was chosen from hundreds of officers being trained to take the place in headquarters of an officer who had died suddenly.

So, for the two years I was there, I worked in my office. On most evenings and every weekend, I taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to people the members brought to us.

My companions and I averaged more than 40 hours a month in our missionary service without once having to knock on doors to find someone to teach. The members filled our plates so full that we often taught two families in an evening. I saw for myself the power and the blessing in the repeated call of prophets for every member to be a missionary.

On the last Sunday before I left Albuquerque, the first stake was organized in that city. There is now a sacred temple there, a house of the Lord, in a city where we once met in a single chapel with Saints who brought friends to us to be taught and to feel the witness of the Spirit. Those friends felt a welcoming home in the Lord’s true Church.

I would like to focus on the first trait that describes them: “valiant for courage.” To me, this describes the conviction of these young men to courageously do what is right, or as Alma describes, “to stand as witnesses of God at all times … and in all places.”2 The 2,000 stripling soldiers had countless moments to demonstrate their courage. Each of you will also have defining moments in your life requiring courage. A friend of mine, John, shared with me one of those moments in his life.
Some years ago, John was accepted at a prestigious Japanese university. He would be part of the international student program with many other top students from around the world. Some enrolled with a hope to deepen their understanding of the culture and language, others viewed it as a stepping-stone to an eventual profession and employment in Japan, but all had left home to study in a foreign country.
Soon after John’s arrival, word of a party to be held on the rooftop of a private residence spread among the foreign student population. That evening, John and two friends made their way to the advertised address.
Following an elevator ride to the top floor of the building, John and his friends navigated the single narrow stairway leading to the rooftop and began mingling with the others. As the night wore on, the atmosphere changed. The noise, music volume, and alcohol amplified, as did John’s uneasiness. Then suddenly someone began organizing the students into a large circle with the intent of sharing marijuana cigarettes. John grimaced and quickly informed his two friends that it was time to leave. Almost in ridicule, one of them replied, “John, this is easy—we’ll just stand in the circle, and when it is our turn, we’ll just pass it along rather than smoke it. That way we won’t have to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone by leaving.” This sounded easy to John, but it did not sound right. He knew he had to announce his intention and act. In a moment he mustered his courage and told them that they could do as they wished, but he was leaving. One friend decided to stay and joined the circle; the other reluctantly followed John down the stairs to board the elevator. Much to their surprise, when the elevator doors opened, Japanese police officers poured out and hurried to ascend the stairs to the rooftop. John and his friend boarded the elevator and departed.
When the police appeared at the top of the stairs, the students quickly threw the illegal drugs off the roof so they wouldn’t be caught. After securing the stairway, however, the officers lined up everyone on the roof and asked each student to extend both hands. The officers then walked down the line, carefully smelling each student’s thumbs and index fingers. All who had held the marijuana, whether they had smoked it or not, were presumed guilty, and there were huge consequences. Almost without exception, the students who had remained on the rooftop were expelled from their respective universities, and those convicted of a crime were likely deported from Japan. Dreams of an education, years of preparation, and the possibility of future employment in Japan were dashed in a moment.
Now let me tell you what happened to these three friends. The friend who stayed on the roof was expelled from the university in Japan to which he had worked so hard to be accepted and was required to return home. The friend who left the party that night with John finished school in Japan and went on to earn degrees from two top-tier universities in the United States. His career took him back to Asia, where he has enjoyed immense professional success. He remains grateful to this day for John’s courageous example. As for John, the consequences in his life have been immeasurable. His time in Japan that year led him to a happy marriage and the subsequent birth of two sons. He has been a very successful businessman and recently became a professor at a Japanese university. Imagine how different his life would have been had he not had the courage to leave the party on that important evening in Japan.3

On one occasion I accompanied a stake president and bishop to visit a less-active member. We taught him, in a very simple way, about the blessings of the Sabbath. We expressed to him our sincere love. He responded, “All I needed was to have someone come and give me an abrazo,” or hug. I immediately stood up and embraced him. The next day was Sunday. This same brother came to sacrament meeting with his entire family.

I still had a long way to go to gain a better understanding of Heavenly Father’s concern for His children, but from time to time in my life I had other spiritual experiences. I tried to read all the books about God that I could find. I went to many different churches. But not until about eighteen years later, when the elders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on my door, did I begin to really understand. I came to know our Heavenly Father, how to make a covenant with Him, and how to receive the right to speak with Him always. I learned to feel accepted and welcomed by Him.

Last October when my teachers quorum was learning about becoming more Christlike, we served some families in our ward. During the Duty to God lesson that month,* we talked about the many examples of service in Christ’s life. We also read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53, which says that one of a teacher’s priesthood responsibilities is to watch over and strengthen the Church. Together, we thought of some ways we could do this through service.
For example, as a quorum we mowed our bishop’s lawn. We also visited an elderly man in our ward, which was fun because he told us stories about his life and shared some lessons he’d learned. Both of these experiences made me feel great. As a quorum, we also completed the “Serve Others” section in the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet. I felt like an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hands, and I felt like I was coming closer to Heavenly Father as we served.

The Mia Maids of the Bluffdale Eighth Ward in Bluffdale, Utah, decided to make a hands-on sign of their commitment to living virtuous lives. After some memorable lessons and discussions on the topic of virtue, each one of the girls traced her handprint on the flag and wrote inside it what they were committing to do to be virtuous. These were some of the promises printed on the flag:
“I promise to keep clean thoughts and to have friends that don’t promote bad things.”—Sierra Hirschi
“I promise to watch clean things so my thoughts will be clean.” —Erica Wilcox
“I promise to keep myself temple worthy and clean so someday I can be sealed for time and all eternity.”—Katelyn Pitchford
“I promise to keep the music I listen to clean.”—Karley Newbold
“I promise not to date until I am 16.”—McKayla Hill
The virtue flag now hangs in the bishop’s office so every time the girls are in his office they are reminded of their commitments.

I wonder in this age if it is enough to just have the courage to say no, or do we have a further responsibility to be of service to others in helping them overcome the great curse that is now plaguing our society? There was one time in my life that I wished that I had exerted a little more influence in preventing a friend from partaking of a harmful substance. We were on a Scout outing in Yellowstone. Late one evening we went to see Old Faithful erupt. Walking back to our tents, my friend stopped me in a dark, secluded spot and took out a can of beer. I don’t know where he managed to get it. He said, “I have a treat for us”; then he offered to share the can of beer with me. Of course, my home training and teachings of great leaders in the auxiliaries and priesthood had been such that this was no temptation for me and that I was not to accept his offer. He drank the whole can, and I made no effort to dissuade or stop him. It had a harmful effect on our friendship. I really don’t know why. Maybe it was because I had a sense of guilt for not being more aggressive in preventing him from partaking of the beverage. And maybe on his part, he was afraid that I would reveal what occurred in a way that it would get back to his parents. Over the years I have been saddened by the loss of that friendship.

“See, Mom!” I was almost shouting as we walked into the cultural hall. “Nobody’s here!”
She looked down at me with a slight grimace. “There are plenty of people here. It’s early. More people will come.”
I knew that more people would come, but none of them would be from my class. There were only four of us, and the other guys never came to any of the Primary service projects. I only came because Mom and Dad made me. It was a real waste of my time.
Sister Montgomery, the first counselor in the Primary presidency, came over to us. “Good morning, Sister Drew. I’m glad Rick could join us today.”
I stared at the floor.
“I’m sure that he’ll have fun making up bags to take to the less-active children in the Primary.” Sister Montgomery paused. “Why don’t we go over to that table and paint, Rick?”
I looked up. Painting was one of my favorite things to do. Sister Montgomery took me to the table with small ceramic figures on it. “You can paint three, if you’d like. There aren’t very many of us here today.”
I looked into the box and chose three pairs of Noah’s ark animals. Those were the ones I’d like to be given.
After I finished painting, Sister Montgomery had me decorate three paper sacks. The little kids were having a ball. I guess they like to cut and paste.
I wasn’t done with my second bag, when Brother Kennedy, the ward mission leader, came in. Sister Peterson, the Primary President, had us sit in a semicircle around him. He told us about how we could be missionaries by being friendly to the less-active children in our ward. He talked for a long time. I listened really closely until Brother Tisch came in with a couple of big brown boxes and a few gallons of milk. I watched him take doughnuts out of the big boxes. I wanted one with the colorful sprinkles.
Before I knew it, a bunch of the little kids were running up to the table—Brother Kennedy had finished!
“Rick, you can get a doughnut now, too.” Sister Montgomery was standing next to me.
I stood up and walked as fast as I could, but it was too late. All the sprinkled doughnuts were gone. I had to settle for a plain-frosted one. I sat on the floor and ate it slowly.
After eating, we finished decorating the bags, then put some treats, a church schedule, one ceramic figure, and a picture of the Savior into each one.
“Because there aren’t very many of us here today, each group will have to visit a few extras,” Sister Peterson announced.
I groaned—more time wasted!
Some of the leaders walked around with slips of paper with the addresses of those we were going to visit. Other leaders were gathering the classes into groups.
“I guess it’s you and me, Rick!” Brother Tisch put his hand on my shoulder. “Where’s your coat?”
I trudged over to the coatrack. I didn’t want to go outside. It had been cold when we came to the church, and it would take forever for the cars to warm up.
I returned to where Brother Tisch was, and we grabbed the bags. He led the way out the door. I turned toward the parking lot. Almost everyone was gone, and all of the cars I saw had people already in them.
“Rick,” Brother Tisch called from behind me.
I turned around. The bags were in a red wagon. Brother Tisch was pulling it by the handle. “My wife had to run some errands with our car, so I borrowed my daughter’s wagon.”
I just stood there.
“Come on, Rick—let’s go! If we walk quickly, it won’t be too cold.”
Brother Tisch checked an address on a slip of paper, and we walked to the house that was farthest from the chapel. “This is Diana’s house.”
“Brother Tisch, I really don’t want to go up there. She goes to my school.”
Brother Tisch nodded. I was sure glad that he understood. I stayed by the wagon while he knocked on the door. No one was home. Great! I thought.
Brother Tisch returned to the wagon with a smile on his face. “I’ll take this one to her later.”
We walked to the next house. This time the girl on our list was home. She smiled as Brother Tisch told her about the bag. I didn’t say anything. The same thing happened at the next two houses.
“Rick, I’d like you to talk to the next boy. He should be in your Primary class.” Brother Tisch had stopped walking. “Would you please do it?”
I hesitated.
“Just do it the way I did,” Brother Tisch reassured me.
I nodded, though my stomach jumped a little. This bag-giving stuff looked pretty easy. Besides, I knew Carl pretty well from school. I hadn’t known that he was supposed to be in my Primary class, though.
I knocked on the door. When Carl came to the door, I gave him the bag and told him all about it, just the way Brother Tisch had.
Carl stood there quietly. After I finished, he said “Thanks” and shut the door. For a second, I thought I saw tears in his eyes. But I must have been mistaken. It was only a silly bag of stuff.
Brother Tisch walked me home. We didn’t talk much. I was thinking about the look on Carl’s face.
The next day, as I walked into Primary and looked at the row of chairs where my class sits, Carl was there!
“Thanks for the bag. I never knew when church started. My mom and dad don’t go to our meetings very often, and I always feel kind of dumb asking about it.” Carl had a big smile on his face. “I put the picture right next to my bed, so I can see it every day!”
I felt a warm feeling grow inside of me. It seemed to start in my chest and move up to my face, and I had to smile, too.

Cleaning up after a hurricane sounded like it might be fun. That’s what the Boy Scouts of Troop 304 in the Athens Georgia First and Second wards thought when they heard about the hurricane hitting the coast of their neighboring state, South Carolina.
Jacob Keith decided to take on the assistance effort as an Eagle project. At first Jacob was a little hesitant. He said, “I’m not much for calling people I don’t know, but I got used to it after a while. I was surprised how helpful people were. When I called the Scouts, I didn’t think they would want to spend their whole weekend in South Carolina working. But they said yes.”
The group ended up unloading semitrailers into a warehouse. When the boxes were light, they made a game out of it. When the goods were heavy, like the load of doors they had to unload, they just buckled down and got the job done.
The most impressive thing was that the project was planned and carried out completely by the Scouts themselves. Scoutmaster Scott Johnson said, “The relief team thought I was one of the boys. They spoke on the phone to Jacob, so they went to him to make decisions and organize the effort.”
The troop spent two weekends helping distribute relief goods.

In October 1833, only a few months after the laying of the cornerstone for the Kirtland Temple, the Prophet Joseph Smith went on a mission to Canada with Sidney Rigdon. In all, the Prophet served fourteen short missions. On the way to Canada, he received the following revelation:
“My friends Sidney and Joseph, your families are well; they are in mine hands, and I will do with them as seemeth me good. …
“Therefore, follow me, and listen to the counsel which I shall give unto you.
“… I have much people in this place, …
“Therefore, … lift up your voices unto this people; speak the thoughts that I shall put into your hearts, and you shall not be confounded before men;
“For it shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment, what ye shall say. …
“Therefore, continue your journey and let your hearts rejoice.” (D&C 100:1–3, 5–6, 12.)
According to the Prophet Joseph’s journal, once he and Sidney Rigdon arrived in Canada, they found the people eager to accept the gospel.
Friday, the 18th [October 1833], … we arrived … in Upper Canada.
Sunday, 20.—At 10 o’clock we met an attentive congregation at Brantford; and the same evening a large assembly at Mount Pleasant. … The people gave good heed to the things spoken.
Thursday, 24.— … Freeman A. Nickerson and his wife declared their belief in the work, and offered themselves for baptism. Great excitement prevailed in every place we visited.
Sunday, 27.—Preached to a large congregation … , after which I baptized twelve, and others were deeply impressed. …
Monday, 28.—In the evening, we broke bread, and laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and for confirmation, having baptized two more. The Spirit was given in great power to some, and peace to others. May God carry on His work in this place till all shall know Him.
Tuesday, 29.—After preaching … , I baptized two, and confirmed them at the water’s side. … We took our departure from Mount Pleasant. …
Friday, November 1.—I left Buffalo, New York, … and arrived at my house in Kirtland on Monday, the 4th … and found my family well, according to the promise of the Lord … , for which I felt to thank my Heavenly Father.
The sacrifice made by many Saints to serve missions brought great blessings to their lives. The Church was also blessed by the strength and faithfulness of the new members. In Canada, for example, many joined the Church, including a future President of the Church, John Taylor, and the mother of future President Joseph F. Smith, Mary Fielding.