Gospel Story Finder

As a boy, he took piano lessons, completing all of his grades. His piano teacher recommended to his parents that they approach the organist and choirmaster at the parish church for further tuition, as she could not advance him any further. Cliff was accepted into the local parish church as a chorister in a large choir, and as a pupil at the organ. He made good progress, and at the age of 13 he was asked by the headmaster of his school to play the organ for the daily assemblies which were held in a church close to the school. He continued this until he left school at age 17.

Let me offer an example of a powerful woman who played a key role in the Restoration, who trusted in the Lord, and who leaned not unto her own understanding.

Shortly after the Church was organized in Palmyra, New York, Lucy Mack Smith remained in Waterloo, New York, with a large group of Saints while her husband, Joseph Sr., and sons, including Joseph Jr., departed before her to Kirtland, Ohio. Her responsibility was to bring this group to Ohio when she received word from Joseph.

Well, word came in early spring 1831. Lucy, with the help of some of the brethren, began to move the group to Buffalo, New York, with the intention of making passage to Ohio by ship on Lake Erie. In her words:

When the brethren considered the spring sufficiently open for traveling on the water, we all began to prepare for our removal to Kirtland. We hired a boat . . . ; and . . . we numbered eighty souls.

And then, as they pushed off into the Erie Canal, headed to Buffalo:

I then called the brethren and sisters together, and reminded them that we were traveling by the commandment of the Lord, as much as Father Lehi was, when he left Jerusalem; and, if faithful, we had the same reasons to expect the blessings of God. I then desired them to be solemn, and to lift their hearts to God continually in prayer, that we might be prospered.

About halfway to Buffalo from Waterloo, passage along the canal became impossible. Conditions for the eighty Saints were uncomfortable, and murmuring began almost immediately. Lucy, relying on the Lord, had to unite their faith:

No, no, . . . you will not starve, brethren, nor anything of that sort; only do be patient and stop your murmuring. I have no doubt but the hand of the Lord is over us.

When they arrived in Buffalo on the fifth day after leaving Waterloo, the harbor leading to Lake Erie was apparently frozen solid. They took passage on a ship with Captain Blake, a man acquainted with Lucy Smith and her family. After a couple of days, although conditions on the ship were not conducive for all of them to stay while awaiting notice of departure, Lucy reported:

Captain Blake requested the passengers to remain on board, as he wished, from that time, to be ready to start at a moment’s warning; at the same time he sent out a man to measure the depth of the ice, who, when he returned, reported that it was piled up to the height of twenty feet, and that it was his opinion that we would remain in the harbor at least two weeks longer.

This was devastating news to the group, as supplies were low and conditions were difficult. Lucy Mack Smith further recorded her admonition to the Saints:

You profess to put your trust in God, then how can you feel to murmur and complain as you do! You are even more unreasonable than the children of Israel were; for here are my sisters pining for their rocking chairs, and brethren from whom I expected firmness and energy, declare that they positively believe they shall starve to death before they get to the end of their journey. And why is it so? Have any of you lacked? . . . Where is your faith? Where is your confidence in God? Can you not realize that all things were made by him, and that he rules over the works of his own hands? And suppose that all the Saints here should lift their hearts in prayer to God, that the way might be opened before us, how easy it would be for him to cause the ice to break away, so that in a moment we could be on our journey!

Now, please observe here the great faith of Mother Smith—how she chose to trust in the Lord and how she asked that the Saints with her not lean unto their own understanding:

“Now, brethren and sisters, if you will all of you raise your desires to heaven, that the ice may be broken up, and we be set at liberty, as sure as the Lord lives, it will be done.” At that instant a noise was heard, like bursting thunder. The captain cried, “Every man to his post.” The ice parted, leaving barely a passage for the boat, and so narrow that as the boat passed through, the buckets of the waterwheel were torn off with a crash, which, joined to the word of command from the captain, the hoarse answering of the sailors, the noise of the ice, and the cries and confusion of the spectators, presented a scene truly terrible. We had barely passed through the avenue when the ice closed together again, and the Colesville brethren were left in Buffalo, unable to follow us.

As we were leaving the harbor, one of the bystanders exclaimed, “There goes the ‘Mormon’ company! That boat is sunk in the water nine inches deeper than ever it was before, and, mark it, she will sink—there is nothing surer.” In fact, they were so sure of it that they went straight to the [news] office and had it published that we were sunk, so that when we arrived at Fairport we read in the papers the news of our own death.

Everybody loves Peanuts, according to Joyce Ensign, Logan, Utah. So she invited guests to a Peanuts party with Snoopy cards instructing each guest to bring his own security blanket and to come representing his favorite character from this famous cartoon series. The place was decorated with Peanuts posters, stuffed toys, and bowls of peanuts, of course. People sat on the security blankets and had a sing-along with music from “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.” Reading aloud from Peanuts wit and wisdom, and munching on frosted grahams and gigantic lollipops topped off the party.

I used to be guilty of judging by appearance back in the days when I could see, before I lost my sight because of diabetes. I remember in particular my girls’ chorus teacher in junior high school. She was about as plain as a person could be, and she wore drab clothing. Even in conducting the choir she seemed to be a shy, backward person with about as much personality as a soda cracker. I am ashamed to admit that we girls made many rude remarks and cruel jokes about her behind her back.
One day at the end of the school year, some friends of mine thought it would be funny to leave an anonymous note on her desk telling her what we really thought of her. I was elected to do the dirty work. But as I went into the empty room to leave the note, I couldn’t do it. Instead, overcome by what I now suspect was the Spirit, I quickly wrote a note thanking her for her efforts in leading the chorus and telling her I had enjoyed singing.
As I was leaving the note on her desk, she entered the room. I was frozen to the spot as she walked to the desk, picked up the note, and read it. As I watched, I was astonished to see tears come to her eyes and flood down her cheeks. She clutched the note to her heart and in her mild way said, “Thank you.”
As I looked into her eyes at that moment, I believe I saw her clearly for the first time. I felt like I saw straight into her soul and sensed at once her loneliness, her pain, and her gentle goodness. At that moment, I loved her with a love that was far more powerful than anything I had ever felt for my favorite teachers. The Lord permitted me to see her heart as he sees it.

As a child in Virginia, Kevin took an immediate interest in piano. “Before I studied piano I’d go up to the piano and fool around on it, just make some noise,” he said. When Kevin was five, his nine-year-old sister started lessons, and he decided to follow her example. “My mother thought I’d grow tired of it, sitting on the hard bench for a couple of hours. But I didn’t. And that’s when they discovered I had some talent and should continue. My parents have always encouraged me but never forced me. Sometimes when you’re very young your parents have to give you a little push, because you haven’t developed a lot of self-discipline. You really want to practice, but other things seem more important at the moment. Parents can look ahead for you and help you see the road you want to take.”
When Kevin was 10, his family moved back home to California. “By the time I was 12, I had no question I wanted to continue,” he said. “But at 13, I almost stopped when my teacher left on a concert tour and we had to find someone new.” Kevin finally became a student of Krzysztof Brzuza in San Diego and has attended the San Francisco Conservatory. He has also studied under Leon Fleischer at the Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore, Maryland, the oldest conservatory in the U.S.

Giving to those in need is important. President Monson tells of a Sunday School teacher who taught him to share.
I express gratitude for a Sunday School teacher [named] Lucy Gertsch. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and interested in us. She made the scriptures actually come to life.
We undertook a project to save nickels and dimes for what was to be a gigantic party. Sister Gertsch kept a careful record of our progress. As boys and girls with typical appetites, we [imagined] cakes, cookies, pies, and ice cream. This was to be a glorious occasion—the biggest party ever.
None of us will forget that gray Sunday morning in January when our beloved teacher announced to us that the mother of one of our classmates had passed away. We thought of our own mothers and how much they meant to us. We felt sorrow for Billy Devenport in his great loss.
The lesson that day was from the book of Acts, chapter 20, verse 35: “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Lucy Gertsch asked, “How would you like to follow this teaching of the Lord? How would you feel about taking your party fund and, as a class, giving it to the Devenports as an expression of our love?” The decision was unanimous. We counted very carefully each penny and placed the total sum in a large envelope.
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of each one present as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. We [had] learned through our own experience that indeed it is more blessed to give than to receive.

Often the Lord calls us to do difficult things that we may not be sure we want to do but that will bring great blessings. This is illustrated in the early life of President David O. McKay.

When [he] was eight years of age, his father [also named David] received a call to go on a mission. To accept such a call for two or three years away from home was no easy decision to make. Another baby was on its way, and plans had been made to enlarge the house and furnishings. The responsibilities of running the farm were too great to be left to his wife, so when David showed the letter calling him to a mission, he said: “Of course it is impossible for me to go.” Jennette read the letter, looked at her husband, and said decisively: “Of course you must accept; you need not worry about me. David O. and I will manage things nicely!”. . .
. . . In the absence of his father, the boy David quickly redirected his energies to chores and farm work. Circumstances thus helped to produce a maturity beyond his physical years. [Llewelyn R. McKay, Home Memories of President David O. McKay (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1956), 5–6]

I fidgeted impatiently in the backseat of the car, excited as much by the prospect of an end to our long ride from California to Kansas as by the thought of seeing my grandparents again.
“Do you think she’ll like my hair short? Last time she saw me I was wearing it in braids. Can you imagine? I must have been about ten or eleven. I hated those braids! Remember when Grandpa offered to cut them off with the hedge clippers?”
My mother exchanged glances with my father. “Don,” she began.
Dad cleared his throat and spoke to me in the rearview mirror. “Tara, you realize that they’ve changed. People do as they get older. You’ve changed, and they will have, too. You have to expect that.”
“I know, I know.” Impatiently I brushed aside the warning in his voice. “But I’m eager to see them.”
“So are we, dear,” Mom said, but there was an edge to her voice that I didn’t understand.
We reached the edge of the little town where my grandparents lived, and Dad turned down their street. Grandpa was waiting for us on the front porch.
I shot from the car and hugged him as tightly as I could. He seemed thinner than I’d remembered, almost fragile, so I released my grip on him.
He held me at arm’s length. “Tara, you look wonderful. But whatever happened to those beautiful braids?”
“Well, one day I was trimming a hedge and they just happened to get caught in the clippers,” I teased.
We laughed and hugged again.
“How’s it going, Dad?” Mom asked him. “You holding up okay?”
Grandpa kissed her soundly on the cheek. “You bet.” He turned to Dad and clapped him on the back. “Good trip out?”
Dad shrugged. “Can’t complain.”
I couldn’t stand this exchange of pleasantries any longer. “Where’s Grandma?” I interrupted.
Grandpa looked at Mom and she nodded.
“She’s at the rest home by the courthouse. We can see her tonight,” he said.
“Oh, can’t we go now?” I begged. “I want to see her.”
“Well, Tara, you’ve come all the way from California, and your father probably wants to rest after such a long drive. We’ll go tonight.”
“Please?” I wheedled. “Pretty please with sugar on top?” It had been my favorite childhood phrase when I had wanted something very badly, and I could see him weakening.
Dad solved it. “Let me unpack the car. You three go, and I’ll snooze a bit while you’re gone.”
I threw my arms around Dad. “You sweetie!” I turned to Mom and Grandpa enthusiastically. “Let’s go!”
We pulled up in front of the sedate red brick rest home. As Grandpa got out of the car, my mother leaned over the back of the seat to speak to me.
“Don’t forget,” she cautioned in a tight voice, “she’s not the same grandmother you remember.”
Not the same grandmother? Of course she was. Oh, I knew from Grandpa’s letters that sometimes her memory slipped and she couldn’t remember people’s names, but she was still my grandmother, the same one who had read me Winnie-the-Pooh when I had scarlet fever, the same one who had let me name the barn cats, the same one who had taught me how to make the world’s best grape jelly. The same one.
I leaped from the car and began to sprint across the vast green lawns of the nursing home, until I remembered that Grandpa was with us, so I waited patiently in the quiet Kansas afternoon for him to catch up to me.
My grandfather led us confidently, like a tour guide, through the cool halls of the nursing home, holding a jar of peaches he had put up himself. “They’re her favorite, you know,” he said. “Bring her some each time I come.”
We stopped outside Grandma’s room, and Mom reached over to squeeze my arm, perhaps to reassure herself as much as me. I ignored her touch and opened the door.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost engulfed in a flowered robe that was much too big for her. She looked up as we entered.
Her eyes looked past me and found my grandfather. “Oh, there’s the nice man with the peaches,” she said.
My mother dropped on the bed beside her and put an arm around her. “Hey, Mom,” she said, “remember me? I’m Annie.”
Grandma ignored her and held out her hand for the peaches. “It’s so nice of you to bring me peaches each time you come.”
I wanted to say triumphantly to Mom, “See? She does remember. She is the same grandmother.”
Then Grandma cocked her head and looked quizzically at Grandpa. “Now, what did you say your name was?”
I wanted to leave. I wanted to be outside in the cleansing heat of the summer day, where the sun could burn this scene from my mind. I wanted to forget it had ever happened. It was changing my entire world.
But my grandfather was speaking to Grandma. “I’m Frank. And this is your daughter, Annie, and your granddaughter, Tara.” He spoke slowly and patiently.
“Hello,” Grandma said politely to Mom, and held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Tara,” I blurted.
A smile lit up her face, and my heart with it. She remembered me!
“Why, that’s my name, too!” She peered closely at me. “Will you be going to my school?”
I looked helplessly at my mother. She was crying silently, her face in her hands. My grandfather touched my shoulder and gently nodded.
I took a deep breath. “I hope so,” I said.
“Good. We’ll have great times. I hope you don’t live too far from me.”
I didn’t know what to do. She obviously expected me to say something. Suddenly I decided what to do. I plunged into her world.
“Tell me about the other people who go to the school,” I prompted.
Grandma’s eyes looked back 60 years. “Well, there’s Edith Scott. She’s nice and has the most beautiful red hair. And there’s Rob Anders, but stay as far away from him as you can. He’s trouble. And there’s Frankie Gleason.” A sly smile stole over her face. “I’ll bet he goes for you in a big way.”
My grandfather caught my eye and winked.
“Oh, no, I don’t think he will,” I said. “I think he likes you.”
Grandma blushed and smoothed the lap of her robe. “Well, some have thought so, but I don’t know. He is a nice fellow, though.”
“Why, I’ll bet that one day you and Frankie Gleason get married and have a beautiful daughter,” I teased. My mother looked up at me startled, and I wrinkled my nose at her. I was beginning to enjoy this.
Just then a nurse walked in. “Are you ready for your lunch, Mrs. Gleason?” she asked my grandmother.
Grandma’s face brightened. “Can I have peaches?”
In the middle of the night, the phone rang. A few minutes later my mother came into my room and sat on my bed.
“Tara, that was the nursing home. Grandma’s had a stroke, and it’s a bad one.” Her voice broke. “They don’t expect her to make it to morning.”
I sat up, suddenly awake. “Are we going?”
Mom touched my forehead, smoothing away stray hairs. “You don’t have to go.”
“But I want to go!” I cried. “She’s my grandma!”
Mom bit her lip and looked at me before she nodded. “Okay. Get dressed. We’re going right away.”
The nursing home looked different at night. “It looks so asleep!” I burst out. Grandpa patted my arm.
As we crossed the lawn, I noticed something in Grandpa’s hand.
“Peaches,” he said, embarrassed. “Her favorite. Bring her some each …” His voice cracked.
It was my turn to pat his arm.
Inside, the only person in the lobby was a nurse, who nodded understandingly at us and said softly, “Go ahead.”
Grandma’s room was brightly lit, and a doctor stood beside her bed.
“How is she?” asked my mother.
The doctor shrugged helplessly. “I never know what to say. It’s been a massive stroke, and her heart isn’t strong.”
Grandma looked very small on the bed. She looked past my mother and my grandfather to me. “Tara! How kind of you to come see me.” Her voice faltered. “I don’t think I’ll be in school tomorrow. I don’t feel very good.”
“That’s all right,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “I’ll explain to the teacher. By the way, I brought someone with me to see you. Frankie Gleason.”
We stood in a stiff line at the cemetery to “accept condolences,” as my mother put it. I felt numbed, yet painfully aware of what was happening. Grandpa seemed to shrink even more as his friends filed by to lay gnarled hands on his shoulders and wordlessly offer looks of understanding with eyes that had seen other loved ones laid to rest in this same grassy stretch. This man who had been the strongest man in the world to me when I was a child suddenly looked vulnerable, and I moved closer to him, instinctively wanting to protect him.
After the other people had left, Dad cleared his throat. “They’re serving lunch at the church. Come on, Tara.”
I hung back, reluctant to let Grandpa stay there alone, yet not wanting to hurry him into a premature separation from Grandma.
“I’ll wait and go with Grandpa,” I said.
Mom looked up sharply. “Tara …”
Grandpa stopped her. “Let her stay, Ann. We’ll meet you at the church after I say . …” His voice wavered. “After I say good-bye.”
When we were alone, I told Grandpa I’d wait for him in the car. He nodded absently. In a rush of empathy, I put my arms around him. He held on to me, and I could feel his thin shoulders shaking. Tears collected in my eyes, and I blinked helplessly as they ran unchecked down my cheeks.
“I’ll miss her, too,” I said. “But you know what makes me feel good, really good? Out of the millions of people in the world, I got her for my grandma. I feel very lucky and very grateful to whoever picks grandmas.” I leaned my head against his. “And grandpas.”
Grandpa lifted his head and smiled at me. “And granddaughters.” He took a large white handkerchief from his suit pocket and blew his nose.
I patted his arm. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
When he got to the car, I offered to drive. I started the car, and as I pulled out of the parking lot, something rolled out from under the car seat and tapped my foot. I stopped the car and reached down to pick it up. It was a jar.
“Peaches,” Grandpa said. “They’re her favorite, you know. Bring her some each …” He buried his face in his hands.
I laid my hand on his arm. “Let’s take them to her.”
Grandpa raised his head and looked at me. Then he nodded.
He carried the peaches in one hand and held my hand with the other. Together we walked back to the grave.
Grandpa knelt with difficulty and placed the jar of peaches in the midst of the flowers. Then he turned to me.
“Looks kind of simple here with all those showy flowers.”
I smiled at him. “You’re a nice man, Frankie Gleason.”

Six months into my mission, I had a special interview with my mission president during one of our mission conferences. In essence President Waite told me, “Elder Agüero, I’m going to give you an assignment. You have to learn English because when you return home you will be a member of a stake presidency, a mission president, and a leader in the Church. You will need English to communicate with the General Authorities.”
I laughed, perhaps because at the age of 20 I couldn’t see myself in these positions and because I came from a new stake in Argentina that was among only three that had been organized in the country.
He said, “Don’t laugh, Elder Agüero. I’m being serious.”
I felt the Spirit very strongly through this man, my leader, who then explained to me the way in which I was to fulfill this assignment.
He said, “From now on, you will speak only in English, every day, for half the day, with your companion.”
My companion received the same instructions in his interview, and we started doing so. It was extremely difficult for me at first, but later after much effort, I began to understand basic ideas. I prayed at night, crying many times out of frustration and helplessness because I wanted to be obedient to the task I had been given.
After some months and a few companions later, the miracle came. While a missionary was giving a beautiful talk in English during a zone conference, I suddenly began to understand every word. The miracle did not end there. Over time I came to serve as the mission’s financial secretary, which helped me read and write English. I tried to understand the language by reading Church News, the Ensign, and other English materials. Through these I was able to get a feeling for the English language, which is still with me today.

I am a cross-country runner. One day before a race I had great fear come over me. This was an important race and I was afraid that I wouldn’t do well. I didn’t want to let my team down. I called my mom a little bit before the race began and told her how I felt. She began to sing the third verse of “How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85) to me. The song reminded me that I should not fear, because God is with me. I repeated these words over and over in my head until my fear went away and I was able to run the race.

That was five years ago. Now, Zayne is a deacon in the Lolo Ward of the Stevensville Montana Stake. When he turned 12, he wanted to fulfill his priesthood responsibilities by passing the sacrament. That was a big challenge for a boy who must use crutches to walk.

Originally, Zayne tried to pass the sacrament while balancing on his crutches. When that didn’t work, he decided to use his wheelchair instead. Now Zayne passes the sacrament by placing the trays on his lap and wheeling down the aisles.

Teachers Camron Stewart (right) and James Decker of the Sigonella Branch painted the bus stop at the Navy Air Station Sigonella in Sicily, Italy. With a little help from their youth leaders and a few of the boys’ friends who stopped by to help out, the bus stop looked great after the service project.
The young men had fun painting. Camron summed it up in these words: “It made me feel good, like I was making a difference in my community.”
Branch president Brian Stewart says this project, along with other activities the youth have recently participated in, has opened many doors for the young men to share their beliefs with friends and teachers at school.

In Springs, east of Johannesburg in South Africa, four large local malls agreed to house Light the World giving boxes to receive donations for specially identified nonprofit organisations needing support.

Members of the Church donated their time manning the stalls at the malls and received secondhand clothing, toiletries, stationery and cleaning products for the homes in need. Then, volunteers gathered at the centres to donate the goods. One of the beneficiaries was Vita Nova Centre, a centre that caters for persons with cerebral palsy, Down syndrome, autism and the physically and mentally challenged.
Another one of the stake’s service projects was St. Francis Care Centre, a hospice and palliative care for persons suffering from life-threatening and life-limiting conditions. Members participated in some much-needed garden work at the centre, before returning for a play date.
Jasmine Westpfahl (11) spent four weeks making 20 beanies for orphaned babies from scraps of wool. She presented the beanies to the St. Francis Children’s Home along with the other clothing donations that were collected from the community.
Members of the church in Ladysmith, South Africa donated almost 200 handmade curtains to the Môrester Children’s Home.
Môrester Children’s Home cares for children that were removed from their families by a court order because of unsafe and unhealthy circumstances in their homes. The home houses 157 children in 11 houses in Ladysmith and surrounding areas.
“During our visit to the care centre we found the curtains to be old and washed out and often two different curtains hung at the same window. We felt that curtains are associated with light, and this would fit in well with our campaign,” Sister Susan De Klerk, the communications director in Ladysmith District, said.
Hours of sewing the curtains, and more hours of altering the curtains to Môrester’s specifications yielded 198 curtains.
The group further donated a volleyball net and two volleyballs as well as boxes of biscuits.
With tears in her eyes, Nobambo Nzinya, a social worker at the Môrester Children’s Home expressed her gratitude for the efforts of the volunteers.
“The children kept asking when the centre is going to buy them cookies for Christmas. And I honestly didn’t know what to tell them as I knew that there was no funds available to buy cookies for Christmas,” Nobambo Nzinya said.
“We as the centre are so grateful. Your service proves that you work in collaboration with the Holy Spirit.”
Members and unit leaders in Cape Town organized efforts to collect and donate 200 comfort packs for children at MOSAIC, a community-based nonprofit organisation for abused women and children that provides support services, access to justice and training for abuse survivors.
While 200 comfort packs consisting of new clothes, underwear, face cloths, toys, toiletries, juice, two-minute noodles and biscuits may not prevent gender-based violence, they will certainly improve the lives of the affected victims.
“There were so many members from our region who were involved in this project. From unit leaders collecting and receiving items to more leaders delivering it to the event,” said Denise Van Der Merwe, the communications director of Cape Town Stake said.
“Volunteers put together donations with care, while congregational Church leaders encouraged their members to participate any way they could. There was so much love and service given to this project that it can’t be fully expressed,” she continued.
Two of South Africa’s biggest retail outlets collaborated with the Church in donating and giving the Church items at a discounted price towards the abused victims.
The executive director of MOSAIC, Tarisai Mchuchu-MacMillan, poured out her thanks to the Cape Town Stake for the service.
“I am so grateful to the Cape Town Stake for selecting MOSAIC. During this Christmas season the #LightTheWorld initiative has lightened the burdens of so many children who access our services at the Thuthuzela care centres by generously donating comfort packs,” said Mchuchu-MacMillan.
Across the Indian Ocean, volunteers from the Church in Mauritius gathered to paint an apartment that houses six orphaned children at the S.O.S Children’s Village.
The shelter for the orphans in Mauritius advocates for childhood development and supports orphaned children by giving them access to a home, safety, education and health care.
The director of S.O.S Children’s Village, Christiano Arlando expressed his gratitude for the members’ efforts. “I felt the members’ willingness to help during their service of painting one of the children’s apartments,” Arlando said.
Dressed in red Light the World t-shirts, volunteers took to the streets of South Beach and the Durban harbour to clean.
This clean-up was in collaboration with the local government of Ethekwini and Gagasi FM, a local radio station in KwaZulu-Natal.
The cleaning campaign was part of the city’s ongoing efforts ofto keep the streets of Ethekwini clean, while creating an awareness on the proper disposal of waste.
With the cleaning spots identified, and the pickup truck arranged, members of the Church, Ethekwini Municipality and Gagasi FM with brooms on the one hand and refuse bags in the other, swept through the streets of South Beach and Durban harbour.
Tons of clothing items, plastics, polystyrene food packaging, and beverage bottles were collected.
After two industrious weeks, members of the Bulawayo and Nkulumane Zimbabwe stakes completed two service projects at two centres—the Ramstein Salvation Army Home of the Aged and Qinisani Daycare Orphanage.
The time period of the service projects was packed with clearing of the yard, cleaning of the centres and construction of a rabbit cage. Donations of four rabbits were made to the two centres.
President Mzingaye Ndlovu, a leader for the Church in Buluwayo, addressed the attendees at the handover, a joyful event where members of the Church sang Christmas carols for the elderly.
“Continue to follow the example of Jesus Christ and also light the world here at Ramstein Salvation Army Home of the Aged. Our Lord Jesus Christ, went about in a ministry that extended over a period of three years. [During that period of three years] nothing was about Him. He sought to lift others,” Ndlovu said.
In keeping true to the spirit of Christmas, Elder and Sister Miller, serving as missionaries in the George-Knysna area on the western coast of South Africa, participated in a neighbourhood Christmas house lighting tradition.
Houses along one suburban street place Christmas lights outside their homes in a lighting spectacle that brings in visitors from all over the town. “We are the first house on the block to present a completely Christian nativity depiction in our yard which has been seen by many hundreds of people,” the Millers said.
In another service project titled “Light the world by helping one person help another”, missionaries identified an area in the George metropolitan area that needed upliftment.
“We identified a local neighbourhood park that was in bad need of upgrading, interviewed patrons of the park and a neighbourhood volunteer who helped clean the park,” Elder Miller said.
“We then kept track of what facilities were being used and what was in need of repair. We contacted and met with local government officials and presented a comprehensive plan to them and demonstrated our willingness as a Church to help fund the initial upgrade needs to get the project rolling. They approved our initial proposal and we ordered some facility upgrades.” the Millers said.

A few days ago I attended the funeral of a lifelong friend, Ralph Poulsen. He was a righteous man of accomplishment and integrity, yet he had to endure the pain and sorrow inflicted upon him by the consequences of a cruel disease. His dear wife, Joyce, suffered also as she was by his side through his agony and pain. As the days and years of suffering went on, she arrived at a time when she felt she could not handle another day. She had done all she could for him. Now a strength beyond her own was needed. In the depth of her sorrow, she pleaded more fervently to God for His help. With the morning came a blessed peace that filled her whole soul—a peace that has continued with her to this day.

Luis bounced up and down in the back seat and sang a silly song. “Please settle down, Luis,” Dad said. “I need to focus on driving.”
“I can’t settle down,” Luis said. “It’s just so awesome!”
Dad smiled. “I’m glad you’re excited to meet your new baby brother.”
When they got to the hospital, Luis raced to Mom’s room. He knew where it was because Mom had been there for five days already. She had to stay at the hospital because Baby Ian was sick, and Mom was a little bit sick too. Luis had asked to see Ian at least a bajillion times, but Mom always said, “Not yet.” She said that the doctors would decide when Ian was strong enough for a visitor.
Today the doctor had called. Today was the day!
When Luis walked into Mom’s hospital room, she was already holding Ian. Luis ran over to see his new baby brother. Ian was tiny. He looked way smaller than Luis’s baby cousins. And there was something different about his nose and ears. He looked like a little elf!
“Hi, honey,” Mom said. “Come wash your hands, and then you can hold the baby.”
Luis washed his hands with special soap. He climbed onto the hospital bed next to Mom. She leaned over to hand him the baby. Dad helped Luis put his hands in just the right place.
Luis looked down at Ian. “Hi, Ian,” he said. “I’m your brother, Luis. You’re going to sleep in my room, and I can show you all my toys, and we can play at the park.”
Baby Ian looked right at Luis. Luis thought he was the best baby ever.
When Luis’s arms got tired, Dad took a turn holding Ian. Mom held one of Luis’s hands and looked into his eyes.
“Luis,” she said. “Do you remember in Primary when you learned about the plan of salvation?”
Luis nodded. That had been a good day. Sister Lopez had a moon and a star and a big planet earth on sticks. Luis got to hold the sun.
“Do you remember how we lived in heaven before we came to earth and how we are going back to heaven when we die?”
Luis nodded again.
“Baby Ian is still very sick. And the doctor says that he won’t live very long. He is going to die soon and go back to heaven.”
Luis looked at Mom. He looked at Baby Ian in Dad’s arms. Then he frowned. His throat felt tight. “But I love him. I want him to stay here and share my room and play with me. Doesn’t he want to stay too?”
Mom put her arms around Luis. “Of course he wants to be with us. We’re his family. But he will see us again.”
“He will?”
Mom nodded. “Dad and I were married in the temple. We were promised that our family could be together forever. You and Ian will always be our children.”
“That means that Baby Ian will always be your brother,” Dad explained. “And you’ll see him again in heaven.”
Luis was sad. He felt kind of mad too. But he thought about meeting Baby Ian in heaven and smiled just a little. He reached out and rubbed Baby Ian’s soft hair. “We’ll be brothers in heaven? That’s awesome.”
Mom kissed Luis’s cheek. “It is awesome.”

My family was going camping that weekend, and I had a problem. My big brother, Neil, told me that toy rabbits are not allowed to go on camping trips, and I always sleep with Mr. Long Ears.
Neil said that stuffed bunnies are for babies. He said to take a flashlight instead. But a flashlight isn’t cuddly like Mr. Long Ears.
My little brother, Benjy, is almost two years old. Neil said Benjy could take his blanket because he’s a baby. Sometimes Benjy borrows my rabbit. But he always puts him back in my room at bedtime.
At breakfast Neil told me all about camping. He’s been camping with his friend Jeff.
“Is it dark in the tent at night?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Neil, “like the inside of the darkest cave.”
“That sounds very dark,” I replied. I decided to hide Mr. Long Ears in my backpack. His body fit OK, but when I closed the pack, his ears stuck out. I thought Neil would be suspicious.
“What else do you like about camping?” I asked Neil after school.
“The wild animals come out at night,” answered Neil. “You can hear them chomping all around the tent.” Neil bit into his apple and made loud chomping sounds.
I imagined wild animals eating a hole in the tent, and then I went to my room and took Mr. Long Ears from my backpack and rolled him up in my sleeping bag. There was a funny lump on one side. I thought Neil would be suspicious.
At dinner I asked Neil, “What happens if you want a drink of water in the middle of the night?”
“You crawl out of the tent and walk down the long, dark path to the water pump,” Neil explained. “You have to shine your flashlight all around first so you don’t step on a moose’s foot.”
I tried to think of a better place to hide Mr. Long Ears.
On Friday morning the backyard was covered with boxes and bags full of camping gear.
“Put your parka in the duffel bag, Josh,” said Mom, “just in case it gets cold tonight.”
I found my parka, and when I opened the duffel bag, Dad’s huge orange parka was right on top. A rabbit, even one with long ears, could fit inside that orange parka nicely. I ran and got Mr. Long Ears and zipped him inside Dad’s parka. I thought, When Dad gets his parka out, I’ll say, “What a surprise! How did Mr. Long Ears get in there?”
We drove for a long time, and Dad kept saying, “We’re almost there.” I was squashed in the backseat between Benjy’s car seat and Neil. Benjy had his blanket, and I had a flashlight. Neil had his popgun, his canteen, two flashlights, his toy camper truck, his baseball and bat, his cowboy hat, and his Frisbee.
Finally we arrived at Avalanche Creek. We started to help Dad put up the tent, but Benjy kept tripping over the ropes.
“Will you boys take him away?” Dad asked.
First we played sheriff and outlaws. We arrested Benjy and put him in the Avalanche Creek Jail (the tent). Then we played prospectors looking for gold, and the tent became the Avalanche Creek Mine. Next we played Indians, and the tent was a wigwam. We had a wonderful time all day.
After dinner we roasted marshmallows over the campfire coals. I roasted two at once—one for Benjy and one for me. It started getting very dark. Neil wanted to tell stories about the ghosts of old prospectors and outlaws still wandering around Avalanche Creek. I wanted Dad to get his parka.
“Aren’t you cold, Dad?” I asked.
“No,” Dad replied.
It looks like Mr. Long Ears will have to sleep in the car, I thought.
Mom took Benjy into the tent to put him to bed. Suddenly Benjy started to bawl.
“Maybe there’s a snake in Benjy’s sleeping bag!” Neil shouted. We rushed over to the tent to see what was wrong.
“Benjy lost his blanket,” said Mom.
“Don’t worry,” Neil told her, “we’ll find it with our trusty flashlights.” We started into the dark woods. I could hear Avalanche Creek gurgling. It sounded like a giant drinking from a huge water bottle. I kept shining my light all around to make sure no wild animals were lurking anywhere. We looked everywhere but couldn’t find Benjy’s blanket. Benjy was still crying when we got back to the tent.
“Maybe we’ll have to go home now,” said Mom, “instead of in the morning.”
“No, we can’t go home!” cried Neil. He was really disappointed.
Suddenly I had an idea. “Will you unlock the trunk of the car?” I asked Dad. Standing on the bumper, I shined my flashlight inside the trunk, opened the duffel bag, unzipped Dad’s parka, and pulled out Mr. Long Ears. I ran over to Benjy and put Mr. Long Ears in his arms. Benjy hugged Mr. Long Ears and stopped crying.
“You saved the day,” said Dad, giving me a hug.
“You mean, ‘the night,’” said Neil with a happy grin.
When we crawled into our sleeping bags, Neil didn’t say anything about Mr. Long Ears being in Dad’s parka. Instead, he showed me how to use my flashlight and my hand to make fun shadows on the tent walls.

Perhaps the most inspiring story in the history of the pre-existence is that of Joseph Smith's contemporary, the preacher Edward Beecher. His sister fell into spiritual apostasy over the question of God's harsh justice. In trying to bring her back to faith, he found himself unable to reconcile God's justice with the saga of human depravity and suffering that constitutes our history. He devoted himself to study and prayer, seeking a resolution. His brother described his search this way: None but those most intimate with the author, most acquainted with his habits of prayer, and deep humiliation before God, & entire consecration to Christ can form any idea of [his] travail of Soul. Many hours he lay prostrate on his face before God agonizing in prayer for the holy spirit. One felt in entering his study at such times as Moses felt when the voice said, "Put off thy shoes from thy foot for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground."

Paying such a price, it is no surprise Beecher found his answer. His brother described it as a "virtual revelation;" after "groping in some vast cathedral, in the gloom of midnight, . . . suddenly before the vast arched window of the nave a glorious sun had suddenly burst forth." The resultant vision was a paradigm-shattering epiphany about our pre-mortal existence that Beecher wanted to share at once with his congregation and the world. His father, the famous Lyman Beecher, and his family, including Henry Ward Beecher, urged him not to ruin his career by going public with such an unorthodox doctrine. Beecher kept the revelation to himself for a quarter century. But he came to fervently believe that this doctrine, and this doctrine alone, could rescue a Christianity suffering under the blight of apostasy. So he threw caution to the wind and issued a four hundred page manifesto, the boldest and most detailed exposition of the doctrine of pre-existence in religious history.

The story ends on a somber note. When I tracked down the story of Edward Beecher, I located the manuscript story of his life written by a devoted brother. It had been donated to a small Illinois college, and there was this note on top, written by one of his descendents. It read, "I am about to send on to you at last the manuscript Life of Edward Beecher by his brother Charles. . . . It is none too rich in human interest, perhaps, being concerned overwhelmingly with Edward's 'spiritual' (theological) development and his belief in the pre-existence of the soul, an unfortunate excursion into the realms of heresy which apparently wrecked his career."

Every day we make choices. Some aren’t a big deal—what color backpack we carry, for example. Other choices are a big deal—for instance, how we treat other people or whether we obey a commandment. Read the story below and pretend that you are the main character. What choices would you make?
Your mom says that you may invite two friends over after school tomorrow. First you call Julie, who lives a few miles away. She is in your Primary class as well as in your class at school. Her parents say yes! She will walk home with you; her parents will pick her up before supper.
Next you call Tasha, a nonmember who lives just a few houses away. She can come too. Before she hangs up the phone, though, she asks if anyone else is coming. When you tell her that Julie is also coming, Tasha says, “Yuk! Then I don’t want to come, after all.”
If you say, “Julie is my friend too. Why don’t you come and get to know her better?” go to A. If you say, “OK, I’ll tell Julie that something came up with my mom and that I can’t have anybody over,” go to F.
A. Tasha says, “Well, I guess I’ll still come, but don’t expect me to make friends with Julie.” After school, Tasha and Julie walk home with you. When Julie stoops to tie her shoelace, Tasha makes an ugly face at her behind her back.
If you say, “Julie, Tasha’s making faces at you. She didn’t want you to come,” go to J. If you say nothing but give Tasha a look of disappointment, go to E.
E. When you get to your house, punch and cookies are on the table. They turn out to be the favorite treats of both Tasha and Julie. As the afternoon goes on, you see that Tasha is actually being friendly with Julie. Tasha says, “Hey, Julie, I didn’t know you were such fun! You never say anything in school.”
If you suddenly feel jealous and try to discourage their growing friendship, go to B. If you try to help them become better friends, go to I.
I. You suggest that you all play on the tire swing. Tasha has the first turn swinging. As Julie climbs on the tire for her turn, a car full of teenagers zips by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, ‘cause it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.
D. Tasha hides the cigarette as her mother drives past, then starts to put it in her mouth. You yell, “Stop! It really is bad for you.” She says, “Once won’t hurt. I want to know what it tastes like.” She takes a puff and starts to cough. When she throws the cigarette down, you stomp on it and say, “I wish you hadn’t done that. Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to hurt our bodies.” Tasha asks, “Is Heavenly Father the same person as God? How do you know that He doesn’t want us to smoke?”
If you say, “I just do, that’s all. Come on—it’s Julie’s turn on the swing,” go to C. If you say, “Because he told us so in a scripture we call the Word of Wisdom,” go to G.
C. You all three go back to the tire swing and have a lot of fun. After a while, Julie’s mom picks her up and Tasha walks home. You’re glad that she and Julie have become friends too.
This is the end of the story—unless you want to do a little more missionary work. If you do, go to G.

I was called to serve in the New Zealand Wellington Mission. When I knew I needed to go home early, I felt like I had let Heavenly Father and my parents down.
I’ve learned so much from my mission and from this situation. I never needed to rely on Heavenly Father and the Savior’s Atonement like I did when I came home early. I needed to trust God and accept whatever He wanted me to go through and learn. I cannot deny the power of the Atonement and how I’ve truly come to know that Jesus Christ is my Savior. I’ve learned that God humbles me and teaches me through my weaknesses and hard times.
No matter where I am, or whether I have a name tag on my chest, I’m still a disciple of Jesus Christ. I know that the Lord still loves me and is with me, and He wants me to keep serving others. And even though I’m home, I know I’m not a failure because He’s helped me become a better person through this experience.
Natasha Krisanalome, Thailand

I was so excited to know if Heavenly Father wanted me to be a member of the Church or not and to know if the Book of Mormon was true. But I was confused about how to get an answer. My mom told me to stop and feel when I pray. She told me that if you feel the same, you should keep praying. If you feel bad, the answer is no. And if you feel happy, then the answer is yes. That night I prayed and said, “Heavenly Father, thank you for my day. Please tell me if the Book of Mormon is true. I want to be a member of the Church, and is that what I should do?” I waited, and then I felt joy. I said, “Thank you for answering me. Amen.” Heavenly Father said yes, and I know that Heavenly Father loves me.
James H., age 8, Arizona, USA