Gospel Story Finder

When I was very young I read Black Beauty and Beautiful Joe and other animal stories, and these inspired me with a desire to be kind to animals. I read books that stimulated my imagination, adventure stories. I was still very young when the “Last Days of Pompeii” come into my possession and it so stimulated my interest that I was never satisfied until I visited the buried city of Pompeii in 1937 and with my own eyes saw the devastation wrought by old Vesuvius volcano.

Making the varsity basketball team in junior high school was probably the most exciting athletic achievement of my life. Just being part of the team and working out with the other players was a thrill.
I still remember what happened one day during a practice session. One of our teammates missed a pass. Then, a few minutes later, he made another error. This time he swore, and our coach heard him.
Now, Coach Fishburn was the most outstanding man I had ever met. He was bright, and he knew basketball and young men. After the practice, the coach called us together to talk about our practice. And he brought up the subject of profanity. “A good athlete never needs to swear,” he said. “Swearing only cheapens the athlete and makes him look weak. Men of greatness have no need for foul language—it only makes them look small in the eyes of other people.”
Although my basketball career was brief, Coach Fishburn’s words have always stayed with me. “Men [and women] of greatness have no need of foul language.”

The ground began to tremble, and a shout went up from the members of the wagon train. “The buffalo are coming!”
Eight-year-old Emily held tightly to her mother’s hand as her father jumped to the ground, skillfully guiding their team of oxen into a circle formation with the other wagons. As 40 wagons and three carriages jammed together, Emily looked around for her older sister, Wilhelmina—“Willie” for short. Willie was traveling in the covered wagon ahead of theirs, riding on the spring seat with the driver.
Suddenly, a great herd of buffalo thundered over the hill behind them. Emily cried out and hid her face in her mother’s skirts as the fearsome beasts stampeded over the prairie and around the huddled wagon train.
When the dust cleared, Emily heard the wagonmaster calling for help and saw him carrying someone in his arms.
“Willie!” Emily cried. She ran toward her motionless sister and reached for her hand.
Mother spread a quilt on the ground, and the wagonmaster gently lowered Willie onto it. “She’s been badly injured,” he said. “It looks like she was thrown from the wagon.”
Emily stared in horror at the black stripe from a wagon wheel crossing Willie’s left shoulder to her right hip. The right side of her face was terribly cut and bruised, where either an ox or a buffalo had stomped on her.
Emily was so frightened that she started to cry. Mother put her arms around Emily as they knelt by Willie’s side.
Because Emily and Willie’s father was not a member of the Church, other priesthood holders, including their brothers and uncles, gave Willie a blessing. When they were finished, Willie stirred. Mother put her hand over Willie’s face and said, “Don’t open your eyes, dear.”
“Will she be all right?” Emily whispered.
Mother squeezed her hand while blinking back tears. “If it is Heavenly Father’s will.”
Suddenly, Emily remembered being taught by the missionaries back home in Delaware. They had said that if she had faith and believed in Heavenly Father, He would hear and answer her prayers.
Running toward a large rock, Emily dropped to her knees and prayed harder than she ever had before. “Please, Heavenly Father,” she said, “make Willie better.” A warm, peaceful feeling filled her heart, and she knew Heavenly Father was listening.
By the time Emily rejoined Willie, the company was setting up camp. Since Willie was unable to travel, the whole company would remain near Buffalo Creek for a time. “We will trust in the Lord that the weather and our supplies will hold out until Willie gets better,” Mother said.
As the wagon train waited for the smallest sign of improvement in Willie’s condition, they fasted and prayed, and the elders continued to pray for her and bless her.
Emily did what she could to help. She gave Willie water when she was thirsty. She read scriptures to Willie and told her stories. She gathered dried buffalo chips to be used as fuel for fire. Sometimes she helped the doctor gather herbs and roots from the prairie, preparing poultices [medicine] to help treat Willie. And every day, Emily prayed and prayed.
Three weeks later, Emily’s prayers were answered. Willie was well enough to travel! The company continued its westward journey.
“Oh, Willie,” Emily said as she sat in the back of the wagon with her sister. “I’m so glad Heavenly Father heard my prayers.”
Willie smiled. “I know that faith and prayers made me whole. What would I have done without you?”
Gingerly touching Willie’s brow, Emily said, “Your cuts are healing. Pretty soon you won’t be able to see them at all.” Emily snuggled close to her sister. “You’re a miracle, Willie.”
“So are you, Emily,” Willie said as she kissed her little sister on the cheek. “So are you.”

The moment I decided to be a teacher is very clear in my mind. During World War II, I was in my early 20s and a pilot in the Air Force. I was stationed on the little island of Ie Shima. This island, a small, lonely one about as big as a postage stamp, is just off the northern tip of Okinawa.

One lonely summer evening, I sat on a cliff to watch the sun go down. I was pondering what I would do with my life after the war, if I was fortunate enough to survive. What did I want to be? It was on that night that I decided I wanted to be a teacher. I reasoned that teachers are always learning. Learning is a basic purpose of life.

I first taught seminary in 1949 in Brigham City. I had been a student in that seminary in my high school days.

There were three courses originally taught in seminary: Old Testament, New Testament, and Church History. It was my privilege to add an early-morning class on the Book of Mormon. I had returned from the war with a testimony of the Book of Mormon and an understanding of how the gift of the Holy Ghost operates.

You have been taught all of your lives about the gift of the Holy Ghost, but teaching can only go so far. You can and, in fact, you must go the rest of the way alone to discover within yourself how the Holy Ghost can be a guiding and protective influence.

For young men and young women, the process is the same. Discovering how the Holy Ghost operates in your life is the quest of a lifetime. Once you have made that discovery for yourself, you can live in enemy territory and will not be deceived or destroyed. No member of this Church—and that means each of you—will ever make a serious mistake without first being warned by the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

Sometimes when you have made a mistake, you may have said afterward, “I knew I should not have done that. It did not feel right,” or perhaps, “I knew I should have done that. I just did not have the courage to act!” Those impressions are the Holy Ghost attempting to direct you toward good or warning you away from harm.

There are certain things that you must not do if the lines of communication are to remain open. You cannot lie or cheat or steal or act immorally and have those channels remain free from disruption. Do not go where the environment resists spiritual communication.

You must learn to seek the power and direction that is available to you, and then follow that course no matter what.

First on your “to do” list, put the word prayer. Most of the time, your prayers will be silent. You can think a prayer.

You can always have a direct line of communication with your Father in Heaven. Do not allow the adversary to convince you that no one is listening on the other end. Your prayers are always heard. You are never alone!

Take care of your body. Be clean. “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?”2

Read carefully the promises found in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants. The Word of Wisdom does not promise perfect health but that the spiritual receptors within you might be strengthened.

Stay away from tattoos and similar things which deface your body. Your body was created in God’s image.

I want to speak now in the pattern of straight talk about another matter.

We know that gender was set in the premortal world.3 “The spirit and the body are the soul of man.”4 This matter of gender is of great concern to the Brethren, as are all matters of morality.

A few of you may have felt or been told that you were born with troubling feelings and that you are not guilty if you act on those temptations. Doctrinally we know that if that were true, your agency would have been erased, and that cannot happen. You always have a choice to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost and live a morally pure and chaste life, one filled with virtue.

President Gordon B. Hinckley announced the following in general conference: “People inquire about our position on those who consider themselves … gays and lesbians. My response is that we love them as sons and daughters of God. They may have certain inclinations which are powerful and which may be difficult to control. Most people have [temptations] of one kind or another at various times. If they do not act upon these inclinations, then they can go forward as do all other members of the Church. If they violate the law of chastity and the moral standards of the Church, then they are subject to the discipline of the Church, just as others are.

“We want to help … strengthen them, to assist them with their problems and to help them with their difficulties. But we cannot stand idle if they indulge in immoral activity, if they try to uphold and defend and live in a so-called same-sex marriage situation. To permit such would be to make light of the very serious and sacred foundation of God-sanctioned marriage and its very purpose, the rearing of families.”5

President Hinckley was speaking for the Church.

The first gift that Adam and Eve received was agency: “Thou mayest choose for thyself, for it is given unto thee.”6

You have that same agency. Use it wisely to deny acting on any impure impulse or unholy temptation that may come into your mind. Just do not go there, and if you are already there, come back out of it. “Deny yourselves of all ungodliness.”7

Do not tamper with the life-giving powers in your body alone or with members of either gender. That is the standard of the Church, and it will not change. As you mature, there is a temptation to experiment or explore immoral activities. Do not do that!

The key word is discipline—self-discipline. The word discipline comes from the word disciple or follower. Be a disciple/follower of the Savior, and you will be safe.

One or two of you may be thinking, “I am already guilty of this or that serious mistake. It is too late for me.” It is never too late.

You have been taught at home and in seminary about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. The Atonement is like an eraser. It can wipe away guilt and the effect of whatever it is that is causing you to feel guilty.

Guilt is spiritual pain. Do not suffer from chronic pain. Get rid of it. Be done with it. Repent, and, if necessary, repent again and again and again and again until you—not the enemy—are in charge of you.

Life turns out to be a succession of trials and errors. Add “repent often” to your list of things to do. This will bring you lasting peace that cannot be purchased at any earthly price. Understanding the Atonement may be the one most important truth that you can learn in your youth.

If you are associating with others who drag you down instead of building you up, stop and change company. You may be alone and lonely at times. The important question may be asked then, “When you are alone, are you in good company?”

Unwinding a habit that you have allowed to entangle you can be difficult. But the power is in you. Do not despair. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “all beings who have bodies have power over those who have not.”8 You can resist temptation!

It is not likely that you will ever have a personal encounter with the adversary; he does not show himself that way. But even if he came personally to you to test and tempt you, you have an advantage. You can assert your agency, and he will have to leave you alone.

You are not ordinary. You are very special. You are exceptional. How do I know that? I know that because you were born at a time and in a place where the gospel of Jesus Christ can come into your life through the teachings and activities of your home and of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is, as the Lord Himself has said, “the only true and living church upon the face of the whole earth.”9

There are other things we could add to the list, but you know what you should and should not be doing in your life. You know right and wrong and do not need to be commanded in all things.

Do not squander these years of seminary instruction. Take advantage of the great blessing you have to learn the doctrines of the Church and the teachings of the prophets. Learn that which is of most worth. It will bless you and your posterity for many generations to come.

Not many years will pass until you are married and have children, a marriage that should be sealed in the temple. Our prayer is that you will find yourself, in due time, safely settled in a family ward or branch.

Do not fear the future. Go forward with hope and faith. Remember that supernal gift of the Holy Ghost. Learn to be taught by it. Learn to seek it. Learn to live by it. Learn to pray always in the name of Jesus Christ.10 The Spirit of the Lord will attend you, and you will be blessed.

We have deep and profound faith in you.

I bear my testimony to you—a witness that came to me in my youth. And you are no different from anyone else than I am. You have as much right to that testimony and witness as anyone. It will come to you if you earn it. I invoke the blessings of the Lord upon you—the blessings of that witness to be in your life, to guide you as you make a happy future.

Shortly after the initiation of BYU-TV, my wife, Marilyn, received an early-morning phone call from a friend in Pennsylvania. More than 25 years ago we lived near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and became friends with Robert and Kathy Brueninger during the time they were investigating the Church. They joined the Church soon after we met them, and one year later we accompanied them to the Washington D.C. Temple, where they were sealed as a family. They have been stalwarts of the Church for more than 25 years. Their children have grown, attended BYU, found their spouses here, and graduated. The Brueningers have been a model convert family. When Marilyn picked up the telephone, it was Kathy Brueninger on the other end.

She began by saying, “Guess what?”

Marilyn had no idea. “Tell me!”

Kathy then indicated that she and Bob had purchased a DISH Network satellite, which had been installed the night before. That morning Kathy had turned the TV on and was switching channels when suddenly she saw a familiar face. It was the January 2000 devotional in which Marilyn and I were speaking. She was unaware that BYU-TV was even on the DISH Network. As she told Marilyn about her experience, she started to cry. And then she said these words: “For the first time since we joined the Church, I feel fully connected! I can now participate in the BYU devotionals! I can watch general conference and Women’s Conference in my own home! We can watch the CES firesides and relive Education Week.”

As soon as their conversation ended, Marilyn called me at the university and relayed the story.

I have pondered the meaning of the event in Kathy Brueninger’s life and have concluded that we do not fully appreciate or understand the importance of this university to the membership of the Church. Technology is enabling the university to reach the world. It is becoming an incredible asset in the Church’s arsenal to build a worldwide community of Saints--to build Zion. It requires the very best of us! We must meet the challenge!

When Mitchell Compton was young, his mother often said to him, “Mitchell, God saved you for something special.” Then she would straighten his shirt and kiss him on the forehead. Mitchell didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he felt that it included protecting his four sisters, since he was the only son in the family.
As the years slipped by, his mother’s words receded into his memory. Mitchell drifted into intoxicating fun with friends. He knew he was not setting a good example for his sisters when he attended wild parties with kegs of beer. He sadly saw that his little sister was following his lead. Alcohol opened Mitchell’s gateway to drugs. By age 16, he was stealing to pay for his addictions. He spent many soul-searching years in jail.
Seven years later, his little sister died in a car crash. Her blue Mercury sedan landed upside down in a drainage ditch filled with three feet of water. Mitchell arrived at the scene of the accident too late to rescue her. He felt empty, like a vacuum had sucked out all his strength. Later, when he took the tragic news to his mother, she sobbed in a thin, bird-like cry and then collapsed into the arms of her friend. Mitchell was frozen at the sight. He was supposed to protect his little sister.
Wanting to get his life on track, he began attending AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meetings. While Mitchell was there, a young missionary pushed a Book of Mormon into his chest and then disappeared. Mitchell devoured the book and thought it was the truest form of religion he had ever read. When he rode public transportation, he often found other missionaries and discussed the Church’s beliefs with them.
Later at another AA meeting, Mitchell decided to believe in God and His Son, Jesus Christ. He started to pray, as Moroni instructed, but Mitchell felt nothing. He guessed he just didn’t know how to pray.
Mitchell found a free book at another AA meeting that dealt deeply with praying with a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Mitchell took it home and read it. When he finished, he put the book on his bed and fell to his knees. He begged to be forgiven as his tears wet his bedcovers. Then slowly, as if the veil had parted, he felt the forgiveness of his Savior.
Mitchell decided to take the missionary lessons. The warm feeling of the Holy Ghost continued with him each time he sincerely prayed. Later the missionaries gave tickets to Mitchell and his wife, Shauna, to attend the October 2014 Sunday morning session of general conference. They told Mitchell that if he would attend with a question in his heart, it might be answered.
Mitchell went to conference with this question to the Lord: “Should I be baptized, and on what date?” Throughout the meeting, he silently prayed, but it seemed his flow of inspiration had stopped. He prayed earnestly once again: “Lord, what day is a good day to be baptized? Please hear me.”
While President Thomas S. Monson spoke, the answer came to Mitchell. He heard an exact sentence in a soft voice, as if someone were sitting beside him. “Mitchell, any day is a good day for you to be baptized. It’s time for you to come home.”
Mitchell silently cried. His wife and the missionaries were crying as well. They seemed to understand what had happened to him.
The Tabernacle Choir added an additional confirmation as they sang:
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
Calling, O sinner, come home, come home, come home.1
Mitchell was baptized in November 2014. He and Shauna were later sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. They also performed the ordinances for his little sister who had died. Shauna was the proxy for his sister. As Mitchell lifted her from the baptismal water, he clearly heard his mother’s voice: “Mitchell, God saved you for something special.” He finally understood. He had not been there to save his sister from alcohol and death. But he was now there to rescue her so that she could live—live eternally with her Father in Heaven.
Since then, Mitchell and his wife have performed temple ordinances for many generations of his family. Although his mother has long since gone to the spirit world, he knows she now understands more clearly as well. By doing temple ordinances for his whole family line, he is making it possible for all of them to “come home.”

The Light the World initiative encourages members to serve those around them and to share the light of the Saviour wherever they are. Being an example and a disciple of Christ comes with being able to emulate the Saviour.
Sister Bulelwa Cotyi, Mdantsane Ward 3, says that #LightTheWorld has helped her realize the importance of helping the elderly in her neighbourhood.
“I saw the importance of lending a helping hand to all those who are in need—especially the elderly. This initiative has made me realize that we have a responsibility to serve and offer a helping hand to all those who can’t help themselves. The advent calendar made doing these tasks fun,” said Cotyi.
Sister Nomawethu Dingaan from Mdantsane Ward 3 expressed her gratitude for the initiative because it helped her invite a friend to church, and she was later baptized.
“I shared [with her] the Book of Mormon story of how faithful Nephi was, and today she is a member of the Church. She has a calling and next year she is going to the temple. I am really grateful for the pass along cards and scriptures that I got to share with her,” said Dingaan.
Sister Somila Mhini from Mdantsane Ward 2 says that when the video came out, she shared it on Facebook and shared it with friends as well.
“When I shared the video, people were asking questions about what we believe in and what we do. Questions about the campaign came up as well and people were interested in coming to church. I also found that people got enlightened about our practices and they also saw that we all believe in one God and we could have conversations about God and the Saviour,” said Mhini.
Brother Uviwe Malgas served a mission in Uganda, and he participated in the campaign. He felt very close to the Saviour and the experience helped him grow.
“I enjoyed using the advent calendar and using the activities relevant for mission standards. I enjoyed participating because this helped me grow closer to God; I enjoyed helping those in need,” said Malgas.

The dust chased the racing engine of the small import as it labored up the canyon road. It nearly succeeded in enveloping the car at the turn-around curve of each switchback only to be left behind as the gears changed and the complaining engine sped up. Near the top of the ridge the car turned sharply to the right, coasted up a slight incline to a small level opening overlooking the valley below, and stopped. The dust caught up with its now silent prey.
They sat in silence and watched the valley begin its transformation from day to early evening. After a few minutes, he opened the window, sniffed the last remains of the settling dust, and then opened his door to get out. “Well, here we are at Lover’s Leap. Ladies before gentlemen!” he said, as he opened the door for her.
They walked a short distance up the ridge to a large boulder. It was level enough near its base to serve as a chair for her as they attempted to find from this viewpoint the location of their homes among the orchards, fields, and tiny towns that made up their valley.
From that lookout the valley ran for fifteen miles to the north and twenty-five miles to the south. Its boundaries were fixed by the mountains that surrounded it on all sides.
“Brad, does it seem good to be home again?” she asked.
“You know, I think a large part of me is still back there giving discussions. It was, let me see, just twenty-six hours ago that I left my mission president and his wife at the airport. The plane flew home in about the time it took to figure out how to open the salad dressing lid on my supper. When the plane landed, I was in a different world. There was my mom and dad, brothers and sisters, my dog Smart, and you.”
“Listed in the order of their importance?” she teased.
“No, of course not. I’d rate Smart above my brothers and sisters. But what I want to know is, where on that ride did I change from Elder Roberts, missionary, to Brad Roberts, college dropout? Should I have asked the stewardess to help me drop my former identity out of the plane?”
“No. I think that if you ask for anything unusual on a plane now, they just fly you to Cuba.”
“This morning I woke up at six. I was racing for the shower to ace out my companion and just got to the door when I realized there was nobody to beat. I was home.”
“So you decided to get back to a civilized way of life and went back to sleep?” she asked.
“No, I went fishing.”
“And how did you do?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Brad Roberts, do you mean you were skunked?”
“Zero fish. It’s the full moon.”
She laughed. “That’s what my dad says when he doesn’t catch any fish—or else the river is too high or too low or under-stocked.”
“My old fishing hole, the one I kept secret from my brothers, the one you have to walk down the railroad tracks for a half mile and then into a bunch of trees to get to—I went there this morning.”
“By the way, how is it that you took me there once? Weren’t you afraid I’d tell everybody?”
“You are so bad at giving directions I knew that anybody you’d tell would wind up somewhere in the middle of a corn field in Nebraska.”
“Well!” she said, faking insult.
“So I tromp through the trees and what do I see across the river? A trailer camp with maybe a hundred campers and trailers. There’s no fish there now. All those guys from California or Montana or some place have taken my fish and gone. You know, I used to get my limit in an hour all the time there.”
“Has anything else changed, Brad?” The question, as she had intended it, should have evoked a discussion of the new motel, or the new stretch of interstate highway, or the addition to the ward chapel, or the way his brothers had grown in two years. But a certain edge in her voice betrayed her.
He caught the uncontrollable change in direction. “Whatever happened to Cathy Miller?”
“Isn’t she still waiting for Brad Roberts to get back from his mission?” she replied.
“All this time? Good grief, she waited all this time?”
“The happiest two years of his life,” she teased.
“What was it like for you?” he asked.
“The easiest thing in the world. I just called up all my old boyfriends and told them I was available.”
“Really? I knew you went and joined the Peach Fuzz Festival just for publicity; you know, for those guys who may not have been blessed to have been born in our fair town but could still read the paper.”
“It was the Strawberry Festival.”
“Cathy, what was it really like?”
She thought a while before answering. “After you left, I imagined I could wrap my life in Saran Wrap and let it sit for two years until you came back. But it’s a sterile existence to try to stop living and watch the clock tick. I couldn’t do it, Brad. I’ve had a busy life since you’ve been gone. But I always had a little comfortable room in my mind where memories of you hung like pictures from the walls. I often visited that room and remembered how good it was when we were together. That’s the way it was, Brad. You didn’t want me to tell you that I cried myself to sleep every night, did you?”
“No, Cathy. I never wanted that.”
They had walked back to the car. The sun had dropped down behind the mountain across the valley from them.
He reached through the window, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a small package. “Cathy, I’ve got something that I want you to have.”
She opened it up. An engagement ring lay mounted on a velvet cushion.
“It’s beautiful, Brad.” She spoke quietly, her voice nearly cracking.
“I bought it two years ago before I left.” In case she might not realize, he added, “Cathy, it’s an engagement ring.”
“I know, Brad.”
“Will you marry me?”
She touched his hand lightly. “Brad, could we sit down for this?”
The cold silence beat its fury on them as he helped her into the car and walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“Brad, why did you do this?”
“Because I want to marry you.”
“Why do you want to marry me?”
“We’ve talked about this before, Cathy. We agreed we would get married if you were still here when I got back.”
“And so now you feel obligated to me for waiting for you?”
His words leaped out. “Have you decided to go into law, for crying out loud! Why have we been writing all this time? Why did you go to summer school while I’ve been gone? So that you could work while I finished school. Why have you spent so much time with my parents while I’ve been gone?”
“You do feel obligated to me for the last two years, don’t you?”
“You’re twisting my words! You do remember that you said you would marry me, don’t you?”
“That was two years ago, Brad! Maybe you can say that it seems like you just left yesterday, but I can’t say that. It seems to me like you left ten years ago!”
He was confused and off balance. “I love you, Cathy,” he said softly.
“Why, Brad, you don’t even know me now; how could you love me?” Her words seemed to hit him. “Do you know who you love? You love a girl that doesn’t even exist anymore—a girl with my name but two years younger than me. You go ask her to marry you. But she won’t. Because she loves someone with your name but two years younger than you. You wouldn’t stand a chance with that girl.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“That I can’t accept your ring. At least not now.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Not really.”
She touched his arm. “You don’t owe me a thing, Brad. Most of all, you don’t owe me a proposal of marriage as a payment for waiting for you. I am not going to hold that club over your head. When I kneel across the altar in the temple, I’ve got to be certain that it’s the right guy for me and I want him to be convinced too.”
She handed him the jewelry box containing the ring.
“Am I still in the running?” he asked quietly.
“You are if I am, Brad. But with no pressure because of what we’ve talked about or written in the past. And not because our parents wish it. And not because of what it was like two years ago. You can’t save cotton candy.”
“You can’t what?”
“I was just remembering something that happened to me when I was a little girl. My father took me to a carnival and bought me some cotton candy. It was pink and looked like the clouds at sunset. I just thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. When we got home, it was time for bed. I decided to save it so that every day I could have it and look at its beauty. I put it in a little box and put the cover on. The next morning when I woke up, I rushed to look at my beautiful treasure. There was just a lump of sugar and a sticky cardboard funnel. I cried because I thought someone had destroyed it. When I told my mother that I had wanted it to last forever, she said, ‘You can’t save cotton candy. If you want cotton candy forever, you have to make a little every day.’”
They took a long silent look at their valley. The several small towns could be seen as small clusters of light around the darkness defining the lake.
“Cathy?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Yes, Brad.”
“What is it?”
“I’m hungry.”
A hint of a smile swept across his face. “Well, at least that hasn’t changed.”
“Watch it, fella! That’s no way to talk to Miss Strawberry Festival.”
“Let’s go to the taco place we went to before I left.”
“We can’t. They tore it down last year.”
The car backed slowly down to the road, stopped, and then in low gear crept down the dusty road.

Bárdur’s dream of uniting his family began to come true in 1994 when word was received that the Icelandic temple ceremony was scheduled to be recorded in the Salt Lake Temple. In May of that year, Ólöf accompanied him to Salt Lake City, along with the small group who had been called to make the recording. While there, surrounded by their friends, Bárdur baptized his wife in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. They were sealed in the London Temple one year later.

After five days, the recording project was completed. Before the group who did the recording left the temple, they were allowed to view a small portion of the finished product. “Seeing just a part of the film and hearing those first few words in our own language touched me deep in my heart—it was something I will never forget,” said Gummi. “That increased our fervent desire to share this wonderful experience with all our brothers and sisters at home.”

It was now possible to think about organizing a trip to the temple for the members of the Reykjavík Branch. There was much preparing to be done—in addition to becoming worthy for temple recommends, branch members had to do genealogical research to find family names, and they had to save money for the trip. When whole families were planning to go, this became a sizable amount!

“There was a wonderful excitement, an extra amount of love and care shown among the members as they prepared for this experience,” recalls district president Ólafur Einarsson. “It brought a feeling of unity to the branch that we had not felt before.”

The necessary preparations were completed, and 38 members of the Reykjavík Branch—adults and children—journeyed to the London Temple in June 1995. For a week, they devoted themselves to the work of the Lord. “It was an unforgettable experience to see the joy on the faces of our group as the Spirit touched our hearts,” recalls one branch member. “The love and kindness we felt toward one another continued to grow as we shared the joy of our temple experiences.” They returned to their homes and families with strengthened testimonies and a renewed love of the gospel.

As the Church becomes stronger, the saga of the Saints in Iceland continues. In June 1996—still filled with memories of their experiences the previous year—some of the members of the Reykjavík Branch made a second trip to the London Temple. There, they once again were blessed to participate in holy ordinances as they renewed their covenants with the Lord—in the language of their Viking ancestors.

A few years ago we were standing in a large crowd of people gathered early in the morning along the waterfront of Apia Harbor in Samoa. It was the occasion of the National Holidays, when hundreds of people came to watch the Fautasi, or long-boat, races that sweep in from the ocean to the calmer waters of the harbor to cross the finish line.
The crowd was restless, and most eyes were turned toward the sea, watching for the first glimpse of the fautasis. Suddenly there was a roar from the crowd as the boats came into sight in the distance. Each of them had a crew of fifty powerful oarsmen dipping and pulling the oars with a rhythm that forced the crafts through the waves and foaming water—a beautiful sight.
The boats and men were soon in full view as they raced toward the finish. Even though these powerful men pulled with their might, the weight of a boat with fifty men moved against a powerful adverse force—the resistance of the water.
The cheering of the crowd reached a crescendo when the first long-boat crossed the finish line. We walked over to the place where the boats docked after the race had concluded. One of the oarsmen explained to us that the prow of the fautasi is so constructed that it cuts through and divides the water to help overcome the resistance that retards the speed of the boat. He further explained that the pulling of the oars against the resistance of the water creates the force that causes the boat to move forward. Resistance creates both the opposition and the forward movement.

It was almost the end of the month, and I had visited every sister on my new visiting teaching list except one. I’d never met Joan (name has been changed). She did not attend church, and in the recent past, she had not wanted to have contact with the Church.

I had made many phone calls to her home throughout the month, but they were always greeted by her answering machine, no matter what time I called. I left several voice messages, introducing myself as her new visiting teacher, telling her I was looking forward to meeting her, and asking her to return my call. But Joan never called back.

With only a few days left in the month, I decided to drop by Joan’s home unannounced with a plate of muffins. But as I drove up and down the busy highway near her street, I realized that none of the numbers on the houses matched the address I had been given for her. I became increasingly frustrated, thinking, “Why am I doing this? She probably won’t even be home, and if I leave the muffins on her porch, some dog will most likely eat them.” Finally I checked my ward directory and discovered that Joan’s address on my visiting teaching list was incorrect. With the correct address, I found the home within minutes.

Armed with my muffins, I walked toward Joan’s house. I hesitated when I saw a big No Trespassing sign but cautiously continued toward her porch. I rang the doorbell two times. No answer. Thinking, “Well, at least I tried,” I left the muffins and my note near Joan’s front door.

That evening at dinner, I mentioned to my family my apparently wasted hour attempting to reach this faceless, voiceless, impossible-to-contact sister. During the meal the phone rang. Contrary to our mealtime practice, I answered it. The woman on the phone identified herself as Joan. Suddenly feeling as though I had been reunited with a friend, rather than the stranger she was, I whooped, “Joan! I’ve wanted to hear your voice for so long! I’m so excited you’ve called!”

Joan explained that she hadn’t returned my calls because of recent turmoil in her life. She continued, “Today I was at the courthouse, feeling defeated and humiliated as I stood in front of the judge and my estranged husband. When I drove home, I prayed, ‘God, I feel so worthless and unloved.’ Sobbing, I asked, ‘If You love me, please show me.’

“When I reached home, there before my eyes, as though a miracle from God, was a plate of muffins and a note saying, ‘I’m thinking of you. Love, your visiting teacher.’ It was as if God were saying to me that He loved me. I just wanted you to know that I know God used you to answer my prayer today.”

Since that day Joan has become my friend. We have read the scriptures and prayed together, and she has joined me at church. She has been a gift to me, teaching me never to give up when serving the Lord.

“Tonight for our family home evening activity, we’re going to weed Sister Lee’s garden,” Dad announced at dinner.
Preston liked going to Sister Lee’s house. She had chickens and roosters and yummy berries growing in her garden.
After dinner Preston helped his family load shovels and rakes in the back of the van.
On the drive to Sister Lee’s house, Mom asked, “Why is service so important?”
Preston thought for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure.
“It makes you feel good,” Preston’s older brother said.
“That’s true,” Mom said. “Any other ideas? Does anyone remember the scripture we just memorized together? ‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings …’”
The rest of the family joined in. “‘Ye are only in the service of your God’” (Mosiah 2:17).
“That’s right,” Mom said. “It’s from King Benjamin’s speech to his people. Preston, can you think of any other reasons why we serve?”
Preston thought of the comic book he had read that morning, the one about the boy dressed in a cape, saving the world. Superheroes did good things for other people. “Serving is like being a superhero!” he said.
Dad smiled. “You’re right. It is like being a superhero. You’re saving the day when you serve.”
They arrived at Sister Lee’s house. Preston liked the idea of being a superhero. He flew out of the car, grabbed a pair of gloves, and super-sprinted toward the garden.
First Sister Lee showed everyone the new baby chicks. Then the family got to work. There were hundreds and hundreds of weeds. They were the biggest weeds Preston had ever seen!
He imagined those weeds as evil forces, attacking the innocent tomato plants. Using his super strength, it was easy to pull the weeds out of the ground. He could feel his muscles getting stronger as he shook the dirt loose from the roots and threw the weeds in a pile.
Some of the weeds were too tough to pull by hand. Preston pulled out his super-power shovel, the one with the red blade. He jumped on the back with both his feet. The blade sunk deep into the dirt, and weeds came out even faster. The pile of pulled weeds grew until it was almost as tall as Preston!
Finally Sister Lee said, “That’s great! Come pick some berries, and then we’ll have a treat.”
Preston’s superhero strength was almost gone. With the last of his energy, he helped pick gooseberries, raspberries, and currants. Then Sister Lee brought out three different ice-cream flavors. Preston chose chocolate.
They were tired, but Preston felt good inside.
“Thank you so much for your service,” Sister Lee said. “You did in one hour what would have taken me a whole week.”
Preston smiled and licked his ice-cream cone.
Having super powers not only felt great. It tasted great too!

When I was in the seventh grade, in a health class, the teacher read an article. A mother learned that the neighbor children had chicken pox. She faced the probability that her children would have it as well, perhaps one at a time. She determined to get it all over with at once.
So she sent her children to the neighbor’s to play with their children to let them be exposed, and then she would be done with it. Imagine her horror when the doctor finally came and announced that it was not chicken pox the children had; it was smallpox.
The best thing to do then and what we must do now is to avoid places where there is danger of physical or spiritual contagion.

President Funk was called to her position by President Harold B. Lee in November of 1972. Her husband had received a phone call in his dentist office from President Lee’s secretary, and he immediately called Ruth, who was teaching music at East High School (Salt Lake City) at the time.

“Are you sitting down?” he asked. She did sit down, and her husband told her that President Lee had requested that he bring his wife to 47 East South Temple—the office of the president of the Church. Later she remembered feeling weak and then just crying.

Sitting across the huge wooden desk from the president of the Church was a thrilling experience for Brother and Sister Marcus Funk. She sat there as once again the priesthood bearers in her life discussed the Lord’s will concerning her. President Lee and Brother Funk conversed back and forth about her abilities, her love for and persuasiveness with youth, her tenacity for work, her limitless energy, and her deep devotion to the gospel and the Lord. Again she very trustingly and openly accepted their decision: She accepted the call to be the president of the then 103-year-old organization.

The bell rang out across the playground. Recess was over. Alvin put away his basketball and walked to the classroom.
“Please sit down and take out your math books,” his teacher, Mrs. Hall, said.
Alvin slid into his seat and reached into his school bag. Then he heard a knock on the classroom door. Mrs. Hall answered it and started talking with another teacher.
Just a few desks over, Blake and Jared started whispering.
“Pssst! Look what I found!”
“Whoa!”
“Wanna try it after school?”
What’s going on? Alvin wondered.
He could just barely see Blake and Jared out of the corner of his eye. It looked like one of them was pulling a little plastic bag out of his pocket.
Wait, were those drugs?!
Alvin’s heart beat faster. His parents had talked with him and his siblings about drugs before. He knew that drugs were against the Word of Wisdom and that they could hurt your body and brain. He also knew it was dangerous to take medicine that wasn’t yours.
What should I do? Alvin thought. He glanced around. Those drugs could hurt someone! None of the other kids seemed to be paying attention. Should I tell someone? Or just pretend I didn’t see it?
Alvin had trouble concentrating during math. He couldn’t focus during reading time. By lunchtime, he felt like a rock was sitting in his stomach.
“Are you OK?” his friend Mitch asked.
Alvin shrugged.
“What’s going on? Tell us,” his friend Hazel said.
So Alvin told them about what he had seen. “I think I need to tell Mrs. Hall.”
“But what if they find out it was you?” Mitch said. “They might be really mad at you.”
Alvin agreed. But the yucky feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. Finally he made a decision. He was going to tell their teacher.
“I’ll go with you,” Hazel said.
Alvin and Hazel found Mrs. Hall in her classroom.
“Mrs. Hall?” Alvin asked. “Can we talk with you in private?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hall said. “How can I help you?”
“Um … ,” Alvin said. Mrs. Hall smiled kindly. That made him feel brave. “I saw Blake and Jared with drugs in class today. I felt like I needed to tell you.”
“You did the right thing,” Mrs. Hall said. “You can always come talk to me when you see a problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Alvin let out a big sigh. The heavy feeling had disappeared.
That afternoon, the principal’s assistant came to their room and called Blake and Jared to come out in the hall.
The boys didn’t come back to class for three days.
When they finally came back, Alvin was nervous to see them again.
What if they figured out I was the one who told the teacher? he thought. What if they’re really mad at me?
But they just sat and joked with each other, like usual.
“Where have you been?” another classmate asked them.
“Oh … uh … we got caught with something bad at school,” Blake said. “So we got sent home.”
Everyone kept talking, and eventually Alvin relaxed. He was glad he’d spoken up about the drugs to help keep others safe. He wanted to make good choices to keep his body safe and healthy.

LeAnn, 16, is considering a profession in law. During her sophomore year in high school she took typing and secretarial classes. That summer she found a law firm that was willing to hire her as a receptionist. She was paid better than she would have been in traditional summer work. In addition, she was able to observe the workings of a law firm. She was also improving her secretarial skills and developing a legal background. (A good legal secretary can make 50–75 percent more than a general secretary.)

A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.
During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”
One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”
I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.

Thirty frightened girls packed their meager belongings in their scarves and trudged through the streets of Seoul, South Korea, to the home of Whang Keun-Ok. The house wasn’t really big enough to hold so many people, and the girls didn’t know what life would hold outside the comparative security of the orphanage where they had grown up. But they wanted to follow the woman they loved and trusted like a mother. They also wanted to participate in the church her example had led them to: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The pilgrimage on that November night in 1969 marked the beginning of Sister Whang’s Tender Apples Home—only one of the charitable projects which she considers her life’s mission.
In the meantime, the girls had learned that Stan was a Latter-day Saint. “Some of us had never heard of Mormons before, and some of us thought they were pagans,” says Jini. “But the only thing that seemed weird about Stan was that he was so tall. One day we said to him, ‘You’re such a nice person. It’s hard to believe you’re Mormon.’
“‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Your superintendent is a Mormon.’”
Jini was translating for the group, and she remembers sitting there stunned as the other girls begged her to tell them what Stan had said. Since the orphanage was sponsored by another religion, Sister Whang had agreed not to discuss her beliefs. The girls had known she was Christian, but that was all.
From the animated reaction, Stan knew he had said something he shouldn’t have. But it was too late. The girls started asking Sister Whang about her church. When the orphanage’s sponsoring religion found out, authorities told Sister Whang she would either have to convert to their church or find a new job.
It was then that Sister Whang decided to start an orphanage of her own—the Tender Apples Home. Those girls who were interested in the Church received permission to come and live with her.
Funding the orphanage was a constant challenge. Stan worked in the United States to raise money and find sponsors for the girls, and he says Sister Whang was constantly trying to find financial supporters. “She was good at opening people’s hearts and getting them to believe in her work,” he reports. “I think it was because she was so sincere.”
Eugene Till, who served as president of the Korea Seoul Mission from 1974 to 1977, believes that Sister Whang’s persistence also played a major role. “She would tell you what she needed, and she would accept nothing less than total fulfillment,” he says. “She never took her eye off a goal until it was accomplished. You can understand that kind of determination when a person is going to gain something from her work. But when the results of Sister Whang’s efforts came—clothing, money, food—she didn’t keep any of it for herself.”
Equally as important as supporting her girls temporally was giving them opportunities to feel the Spirit. Jessica Lyon Ohn spent three years in the Tender Apple Home, beginning in January 1975. She remembers that days started for the girls at 6:00 A.M.. with hymn singing, prayer, and scripture study. Sister Whang got up before the girls so she could pray and study the scriptures, then stoke the fires so the house would be warm when the girls woke up. Monday evenings were set aside for family home evening, and Sister Whang made sure the girls had money for bus fare so they could attend church each Sunday.
Sister Whang taught her girls to help spread the gospel. When President Till arrived in Korea in 1974, he learned from a survey that only 10 percent of the people in Seoul were aware of the name of the Church. During his three years as mission president, he and his missionaries concentrated on changing that. With Sister Whang’s permission, President Till assigned several elders—who formed a singing group known as “New Horizon”—to work directly with the Tender Apples choir to put on a musical show that would introduce the people in Korea to the gospel.
The group became immensely popular. Through it all, President Till remembers, Sister Whang “taught the girls that they shouldn’t be too proud of themselves, because they were just doing what they were supposed to do.” At the end of three years, more than 70 percent of the people in Seoul recognized the Church’s name.
One of Sister Whang’s major goals was to place as many of her girls as possible with Latter-day Saint families. Of the eighty-four children she brought up over a period of nearly twenty years, thirty-three were adopted into Latter-day Saint homes in the United States. Twelve have married in the temple, and nine have served full-time missions.
Also of utmost importance to Sister Whang was that the girls learn responsibility and be treated as equals. They were each assigned chores around the home—preparing food, washing clothes, and cleaning—and they were each expected to use the home’s resources wisely. Jessica remembers a time when one of the girls threw away a blouse that could have been repaired. When Sister Whang found it in the garbage, she lectured the girls on not wasting. Then, at the next home evening, she gave everyone a plastic sewing box full of needles and thread and taught them how to mend.
Even though the girls grew up and no longer live with her, Sister Whang cares about them still. Rosemarie Slover, former matron of the Seoul Korea Temple, says that when she and her husband, Robert, returned to Provo two years ago, Sister Whang asked them to check on her girls who lived in Utah, especially one who had just left Korea and would be homesick. Sister Whang corresponds with many of her girls, and her small, sparsely furnished room—she now rents the rest of her house in Seoul—is filled with pictures of them and their families.
And the girls feel a similar concern for their “mom.” In October 1990, she went to the United States to escort several children who were being adopted by U.S. families. Many girls who had sung in the Tender Apples choir gathered from far and near to see her. President Till speaks of watching her greet her “children,” with a broad smile on her face and tears in her eyes. As each woman arrived, often accompanied by a husband and children, Sister Whang would gather the group in a massive hug and hold on as if she would never let go.
“I’ve never seen Sister Whang show such emotion,” remembers President Till. “It was especially touching when I thought of what might have happened to those girls without her. A couple of them probably wouldn’t have survived. The rest of them probably would have ended up as servants or living on the street. Sister Whang truly provided physical salvation for those girls—and gave them the opportunity for spiritual salvation by introducing them to the gospel.”
But Sister Whang’s selflessness extends beyond her girls to everyone she meets. “She has a heart big enough for the whole world,” smiles Jini. “She can accept and love anybody.” Jini saw this illustrated vividly three and a half years ago when Jini went to Korea to find her brother, from whom she had been separated twenty-eight years earlier. He was now an alcoholic, both mentally and physically ill. He had no home, no money, no job—nothing but the tattered clothes on his back. Jini was forced to place him in a government institution.
Since family members were required to provide patients’ personal items, Jini called Sister Whang. Could Jini leave money and have Sister Whang phone the institution occasionally to see that her brother had the things he needed? Sister Whang promptly agreed. But instead of calling, she traveled to visit the man each week. By then she was the principal of a large preschool and kindergarten. But she regularly took nearly a whole day off work to bake him treats, ride the bus to the institution, then sit with him and hold his hand—even though he could give her little response.
“I couldn’t believe she did that,” says Jini. “She had never even met this guy. But she said, ‘I look forward to it every week.’”
“If there ever was a ministering angel, she’s one,” says Stan Bronson. “I believe with all my heart that she was raised up by the Lord for these purposes.”
Through it all, Sister Whang—one of Korea’s gospel pioneers—has done all she can to help build God’s kingdom on earth. She served for many years as district and stake Relief Society president, and she has been a temple worker since the Seoul temple opened in 1985. She asked to officiate two days each week instead of the normal one, reports Robert Slover, former temple president. Why? “She says it’s the Lord’s work,” explains Suzette Marble, “and she would do anything for Him—and be happy to do it.”
Sister Whang’s example has changed the lives of all who know her. “She never talks about what she has done, but she just goes about her work in her own small, quiet way,” observes Sister Slover.
“I think of her every day,” says Jini, “and I use her as a role model. She has taught me that one person can make a difference.”

Picture this: You sit down to dinner and look around. Gasp! You’re alone at a table with a half dozen of your past and present school teachers. Sitting next to you is Mr. Randal, your fourth period science teacher, and he’s staring right at you. He wants to chat.
Cringing already? Hey, I am, and they aren’t even my teachers.
There’s just something about teachers that makes most of us nervous (even those of us who no longer have to face their pop quizzes and long-essay finals). In fact, they make us so uneasy that the majority of us go through our junior and senior high years without ever getting to know what our teachers are really like, and most of us never even get to say thank you for all they do.
Two groups of LDS youth in the Boston area are doing something to fix that problem. It’s June 1990, and these New England LDS students are inviting their school teachers to “Appreciation Nights” at their local ward houses. The youth are spending an evening eating with, getting to know, and then saluting their teachers. They hope the time together will straighten out some long-standing misconceptions.
The youth of Nashua, New Hampshire, invite me to watch them set up for the following evening’s teacher appreciation dinner, which sounds about as exciting as watching 18 holes of TV golf. But I put some thought into it: a group of kids who would give up a night of summer fun to set up tables and cook for their teachers can’t be all bad.
I’m right.
Dave Eberhard, 17, a tall guy wearing a little black hat that seems too small for his head, says he’s the master of ceremonies for the big night. He looks like he might be a wise guy, but talk to him for a minute and you’ll find he’s articulate and bright—full of positive energy.
He says this is Nashua’s second year in hosting an appreciation night. “Last year’s dinner changed my relationship with my teachers,” he says. “They had always seen me as a class clown, but after they saw I appreciated them they began to notice how hard I really was trying. They looked at me from a different perspective.”
Dave adds that he learned more about his teachers as well. “I found out more about what really goes on after they get out of school. It’s a one-on-one relationship, and it’s not really school related or church related. It’s just you and the teachers out on the night.”
And according to Dave, the teachers loved the attention. “Some actually cried,” he says.
Elizabeth Davis, 16, sits on the front porch of her Pepperell, Massachusetts, home, her blue-rimmed glasses and baggy sweatshirt set against an old New England backdrop—1990 meets 1790. Elizabeth is talking about teachers. She has definite opinions. She loves her teachers, enough to help organize her ward’s own teacher appreciation night.
“Teachers don’t get a lot of respect,” she says. “That really annoys me. Most of my friends don’t think of teachers as people who are there to help them learn so they can get a good job, do something with their lives. The kids can be really mean.”
But Elizabeth says most of her teachers will go out of their way to help a student in need. She says that one of her teachers goes to a student’s house if that student is sick, to teach the day’s lesson (another scary thought, but kind of nice).
“All I hope is that after this night our teachers say, ‘Wow, our students really think of us.’”
It’s Tuesday night in Nashua. Sixty teachers and their spouses begin arriving at the appreciation night. They’re talking with their students, and the youth are relaxing.
I stop 14-year-old Cyndie Munk and ask her how it’s going. Three or four of her teachers are already here. “The teachers are just so impressed that we want to honor them,” she says, grinning. She sees her vice principal walk in and waves in his direction. “He never gets to do anything,” she tells me. “I gave him his invitation and told him what it was for and he absolutely beamed. Every time I saw him around school he just started smiling, asking if he was still supposed to come.”
The meal is served and Dave, the MC, sits with one of his teachers—Mrs. Rogers. Dave looks uncomfortable, but he gets over it. They chat. It’s fun to watch.
After the meal the bishop gives a “rah-rah” education speech and then the youth hand out certificates of appreciation to their teachers. My hometown newspaper would have written, “And a good time was had by all.”
The teachers are filing out and Cyndie sums up the Nashua evening for me. “My teachers said they’ve never had anyone do anything like this for them,” she says. “But I think they work hard. They give up a lot of their own time for us. I think they deserved this.”
“Two years ago I wouldn’t have done this, invited my teachers,” Jason Hunter, 16, tells me at the Pepperell dinner on Friday. Two of his teachers are here. “I’ve learned some things, though. If I am responsible, if I get my homework done, my teachers treat me differently. I’m sure that if I were a teacher and had a student who wasn’t trying, I’d get mad. The past two years I’ve made an effort in class, and now I think my teachers like me. I make the extra effort to think of them, to say good-bye when class is over, or tell them when I’m interested in something.”
Jason’s friend, Mike Bruneau, joins him. Mike’s 15 and feels lucky to be one of eight LDS students in a high school of 1,200—many of the youth in this area are the only member in their school. Mike says he tries to set an example, do the right things at school, and show respect for his teachers.
“I invited my French teacher, who gave me a lot of help earlier this year,” Mike says. “She just kept saying, ‘Thank you, thank you,’ when I gave her the invitation. I think it really touched her to see that someone cared about the good job she was doing.”
The Pepperell youth take a different approach than at Nashua. The students choose to entertain their teachers with a play and music before they hand out certificates. The play, a comedy about a class who is given a robot teacher to substitute for a human teacher, is a big hit. “Super Teacher,” written by Rebecah Davis, 15, illustrates that for the students, there is no substitute for the individual technique, enthusiasm, and humor of their teachers.
Rebecah says that most of the kids in her ward were skeptical of the appreciation night idea, but the teachers were so excited when they received their invitations that the youth lost their anxiety. “We couldn’t believe how excited our teachers were,” she adds. “Nobody had ever done anything like this for them before.”
“This is what it’s all about,” one teacher says to me, leaning close like he’s sharing a secret. “Knowing that you made enough of a difference for someone to say thank you.”
He returns to a group of other teachers who are standing around, talking with their students. They are laughing about something I can’t hear, but I don’t move closer. There’s something happening there, something kind of nice.
Hints from the New England youth on hosting successful teacher appreciation nights:
Hold the event at a time of year when both teachers and students are not very busy. (Christmas or the end of the school year can be bad times.)
Get the support of your leaders and bishopric before organizing anything. They should have some good ideas, or at least be able to help with the planning.
Invite all your teachers, not just your favorites. If word gets around (and it probably will) that you didn’t invite certain teachers, their feelings could be hurt.
Eating with your teachers, instead of serving them, is a nice way to get to know each other.
Make your program short and focused on the goal of honoring your teachers. (Make them laugh or cry, but stick to the theme.)
Give your teachers a certificate or some other memento of the evening.

Rex: As long as we can pray, there will be miracles in our lives. Personally, I have been the beneficiary of these miracles on several occasions. Let me tell you about two of them, involving two separate people. A few of you have heard me talk about each of them. Fewer of you have heard both, and none has heard the connection between the two of them that occurred to me in a very powerful way as we were preparing this talk.

As some of you know, in late June of 1987, we made a sudden and emotionally devastating discovery that I had a very fast-acting form of lymphoma that was in its final stage at the time we discovered it. The day before I left to take my treatments at the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Maryland, I asked for a blessing from my home teacher, Rodger Galland, and my next-door neighbor and stake president, our new BYU president, Merrill Bateman. A couple of sentences that President Bateman pronounced during the course of his sealing the anointing will remain with me through this life and the next. His words were unequivocal. He said, “This disease will not take your life at this time. The Lord yet has other things for you to do in this life in the Church and in government, and you will recover and do them.” It must have affected him as profoundly as it did me, because at a stake conference, while I was still at NIH and things were looking somewhat bleak, he told our entire stake how convinced he was that that blessing had come from the Lord and that I would live.

I want you to know that I had that same conviction. During my darkest hours at that hospital, when it seemed that nothing was going right, I would fall back on the words of that blessing and the surety with which my friend, my brother, and my ecclesiastical leader had pronounced them.