Gospel Story Finder

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”
After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

In 1967, a friend of the Simonets in Nancy, Francine Babin, and her children, were baptized. Her husband, Jean-Albert, was baptized six months later. “When Francine read the Book of Mormon,” says Brother Babin, “it was as though the sun exploded inside of her. She is normally rather quiet, but after the missionaries taught her the gospel, she could not stop talking about it.”

Like the Simonet children, the five Babin children are examples of the strength that second-generation members bring to the Church. They are bringing up their children and serving as leaders in Paris, Versailles, and Mantes-la-Jolie.

There are remarkable lessons to be learned from the saintly woman who came to be known to the world simply as Mother Teresa of Calcutta. This slight but spiritually sensitive soul, born in 1910, determined early in life that she wanted to serve her Lord and Savior through loving and caring for the "poorest of the poor" in India.

In 1948 she received permission from her local authorities and from Rome to assume a different role as a nun, to go out into the streets, to visit the homes of the poor, the starving and emaciated, the sick and the dying, to deliver tenderness and food and love and a kindly word, including the word found in and through Jesus Christ. After establishing the congregation (ministry) known as the Missionaries of Charity in 1948 and being named as its overseer (under her local bishop), Mother Teresa's work expanded and grew to fill the earth, and the poorest of the poor in many lands began to receive the comfort and peace and sustenance and dignity to which each person is entitled as a child of God. She continued her work, driven and directed by that charity that flows from heaven, until her frail and spent body gave up the ghost in 1997 and left behind a legacy of love that will forevermore be celebrated. That's the story.

Let's now consider "the rest of the story," a poignant insight into her life that was not known by the public until 2007, the tenth anniversary of her death. A male member of the Missionaries of Charity published a book entitled Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light (Doubleday, 2007) and made known, for the first time, most of her personal correspondence, and with that correspondence a secret she had carried in her heart for some fifty years. You see, in spite of a lifetime spent in the service of God and her fellow mortals; after decades of taxing and arduous labor and grueling hours devoted to the lower crust of society; and after almost fifty years of ministering to "the least of these" (Matthew 25:40), Mother Teresa had lived a life of pain, of emptiness, of spiritual alienation, of searching for comfort, of doubt and despair. The author explained that Mother Teresa strove to be that light of God's love in the lives of those who were experiencing darkness. For her, however, the paradoxical and totally unsuspected cost of her mission was that she herself would live in 'terrible darkness.' Mother Teresa wrote that since 1949 or 1950 'this terrible sense of loss this untold darkness this loneliness, this continual longing for God which gives me that pain deep down in my heart Darkness is such that I really do not see neither with my mind nor with my reason the place of God in my soul is blank ”There is no God in me when the pain of longing is so great I just long & long for God and then it is that I feel He does not want me He is not there. . . . The torture and pain I can't explain.'

Her unbearably long season of unrest actually caught her off guard; it was not something, in her wildest imaginations, she would have anticipated. And yet, in spite of it all, in spite of the doubt and the pain and the agony of loneliness in spite of what she did not feel she knew in her mind that God loved her, was reinforcing and upholding her, and would stand by her. In time she came to realize that her sufferings were divinely orchestrated by God to allow her to more closely identify with those with whom she spent her life: the lonely, the confused, the starving, the downtrodden, to allow her to know something of their pain. And with greater maturity she also came to know that her torturous personal agonies had been put in place to humble her, to drive her to her knees, to cause her to trust implicitly in the Lord Jesus Christ, and to allow her a glimpse into the nature of her Redeemer's passion, his alienation, his rejection, his emptiness during the hours of Gethsemane and Golgotha. She became a fellow traveler on the road of pain, one who participated in the fellowship of His suffering.

Mother Teresa certainly didn't live in the peace and solace and sweet refreshment that one would expect to be enjoyed by such a saintly person, but she was possessed of a faith in Jesus a total trust, a complete confidence, and a ready reliance upon his merits, mercy, and grace that transcended her bitter cup and enabled her to power to do her work and maintain her optimism and tender tutorials to her sisters and co-workers.

Desiree’s lower lip quivered as she watched her mother carry her dresses into the dry cleaner. She knew they wouldn’t be clean in time for church on Sunday. Mom had explained that to her, and Desiree had said that she understood, but now she wasn’t sure. When Mom came back, Desiree bit her lip to make it stop quivering. She didn’t want Mom to know she was upset.
“I want a new dress,” Desiree said when Mom got into the car. “It will be my first day in Sunbeams.”
“Sweetheart,” Mom answered, “you don’t need a new dress. Your dresses will be just fine when the smoky smell is gone.”
“But what will I wear on Sunday?” Desiree frowned.
“I don’t know yet,” Mom replied. “We’ll find something.” When Desiree sighed unhappily, Mom added, “Just be glad that no one was hurt in the fire.”
“What if I pray for a new dress?” Desiree asked.
Mom sighed. “I think it would be better to pray that some other little girl could get a new dress.”
“Why?”
“Well, it might be a good idea to focus on being thankful that we didn’t lose very much in the fire instead of worrying so much about things we want,” Mom explained. “We should pray for others to have the things they need.”
“We don’t have everything we need,” Desiree said.
“Yes, we do,” Mom said. “We might just have to wait a little while to get it all back.”
Desiree drew pictures in the frost-covered car window with her finger the rest of the way home. As she thought about what Mom had said about praying for others, she decided it would be a good idea. She knew of children her age who needed shoes, clothes, and even enough food to eat. The more she thought about them, the more sorry she felt for acting selfish. Her mother was right; she did have everything she needed.
“Hey, there are your cousins,” Mom said as they pulled into the driveway. Desiree’s cousins were standing on the front doorstep with a big plastic bag on the ground beside them.
After Mom parked the car, she let Desiree’s two cousins inside. They were both older than Desiree.
“Look what we have!” the girls exclaimed.
“What is it?” Desiree asked.
“When we heard about the fire, our mom helped us go through some of our things,” Angela, the oldest cousin, explained. “Here, you can have these.”
Desiree took the big plastic bag and eagerly opened it. Inside she found some toys, stuffed animals, and clothes. At the very bottom was a pretty Sunday dress. Desiree squealed with delight as she pulled the dress from the bag. “Look!”
Mom clapped her hands in surprise. “Oh my goodness! How did you girls know she needed a dress for her first Sunbeam class?”
Angela shook her head. “We didn’t.”
“Thank you!” Desiree cried happily.
“Remember to thank Heavenly Father, too,” Mom said. “He’s the one who inspired your aunt to send us the dress.”
“But how did He know? I didn’t pray for one—honest!” Desiree said.
Mom hugged Desiree and smiled through happy tears. “He knows what we need even before we ask Him, just like He knew we needed to get out of the house before we started smelling smoke. Remember?”
“Wow!” Desiree smiled. “He really does know everything.”
Carrying her new dress up the stairs, Desiree went into her room to pray in thanks.

Janet Egbo of Big Qua Town Ward, Calabar Nigeria Stake
I am a teacher by profession, I reside and work in Calabar. I have always wanted additional income because what I earned was not sufficient to support my family. I was part of the self-reliance group in my stake and I joined the Starting and Growing My Business group.
I learned a lot of principles throughout the Starting and Growing My Business group meetings, which motivated me to start a business of my own. I never knew that I could start small and grow big.
The principles I learned that gave me the guide I needed to succeed were: payment of tithing, praying, savings, budgeting, and record keeping. I was able to start with two bags of flour and a bag of sugar. Today I have rented a shop for the business.
I have a variety of commodities on my shelves, and my shop is a mini supermarket because I have most of the items that households may need.
I am indeed grateful that I heeded the call to join a self-reliance group. I now have the additional income I needed.
I am now growing my business. I keep record of my sales, use a budget, and I can save money.
I now pay my tithing and fast offering, take care of my basic needs, and that of my family members.

A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

When he was just 10 years old, Joshua Dennis spent five days trapped in the pitch-black darkness of an abandoned mine. When rescuers finally heard his faint cry for help and pulled him out of the horrible darkness, he was disoriented, cold, and exhausted. Much to their surprise, he wasn’t afraid. Josh spent his time sleeping, yelling for help, and praying. “Someone was protecting me,” he explained. “I knew people were going to find me.”
Joshua’s simple but profound faith had been nurtured by his parents, who taught him that he had a Heavenly Father who knew where he was at all times. They taught him he had been born with the Light of Christ within him. Truly, Josh had been brought up in light and truth (see D&C 93:40) so that when he found himself huddled on a ledge 2,000 feet deep in a mine, he had drawn upon that light to sustain and comfort him, to give him courage and hope. Josh experienced what Abinadi taught when, speaking of Christ, he said, “He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened” (Mosiah 16:9).
Remember little Josh Dennis? He is now Elder Dennis, serving a mission far away from the dark mine which held him captive. Now Elder Dennis finds his way along the narrow, unfamiliar paths of Honduras, sharing a message of hope, salvation, and light. What he teaches every day is the paradox he experienced as a young boy lost in a mine: that amidst encircling gloom, amidst the darkest possible circumstances, it is possible to feel hope, peace, and comfort—all because of the light which is stronger than all darkness, the light of Jesus Christ.

Tessa stared down at her shoes. It was time for gym class. Kids were picking teams to play kickball. She knew she would get picked last. She always did.
Soon no one else was left but Tessa. “I guess we’re stuck with her again,” the team captain whispered to his friend. Both of them snickered.
Tessa pretended she hadn’t heard.
A few minutes into the game, a girl on the other team kicked the ball. It was coming right at Tessa!
I’ll show them I can play! Tessa thought. She lunged forward to catch the ball. But it hit her arms and bounced to the ground.
“Can’t you do anything right?” the team captain said.
Tessa spun around to face him. “Fine! You don’t have to be stuck with me anymore!” She stomped over to the ball and kicked it hard.
Tessa’s best friend, Shondra, ran after her. “Hey, it’s all right,” Shondra said. “Anybody can drop a ball.”
“Yeah? Then how come nobody wants me on their team?” Tessa said.
“Maybe it’s because you get so mad,” Shondra said. She walked back to where the other kids were waiting.
Tessa sat on a bench in the corner of the playground. Her eyes stung with tears. She didn’t want the school to call her parents again. They had already called before. The principal said Tessa had trouble getting along with other kids.
Tessa didn’t know why she acted the way she did. She didn’t want to cause trouble. She just felt so angry and sad sometimes, and she had a hard time keeping it in.
Tessa sighed. “I’ll never fit in,” she said to herself.
When school ended, Tessa hurried outside. Mom was there to pick her up. She listened as Tessa told about her day.
“They never choose me to be on their team,” Tessa said. “I feel like no one is ever on my side.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Sometimes people are unkind. But Heavenly Father is always on your side. And so is your family.” She gave Tessa a hug. “Let’s go home now. I have a surprise for you.”
When they got home, Grandma was there! Tessa always loved her visits.
“I want to know everything that’s going on in your life,” Grandma said. “How’s school?”
Tessa looked down. “Not very good.”
“Your mom said you were having a hard time,” Grandma said. “You know that she and your dad are praying for you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know that Grandpa and I pray for you, right?”
Tessa nodded.
“Well, now you have a lot of other people praying for you too!”
“What do you mean?” Tessa asked.
“I put your name on the prayer roll in the temple,” Grandma said. “That way, lots of people are praying for you—even people who don’t know you.”
“So, it’s kind of like they’re on the same team as me?” Tessa said.
“Sure, you could look at it that way,” Grandma said. “Heavenly Father is always cheering you on! And now, so are all those people who are praying for you.”
“Thank you, Grandma!” Tessa gave Grandma a big hug.
The next time Tessa felt upset at school, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She remembered all of the people who were praying for her. That helped her feel a little better. Then she bowed her head to say a prayer of her own.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, she prayed. Thank you for cheering me on.

Dawn turned the sky a rosy red above the Idaho mountains as Toby helped Pa load the last of the wheat into the wagon. There was still room for Ma’s crocks of butter and the small basket of eggs packed in straw. Pa shook his head as he limped around the side of the wagon and pulled the canvas tarp down tightly over the load.
“I was counting on our winter wheat to make the mortgage payment,” Pa told Toby. “But since that storm ruined most of the crop, I hope that the cow will bring enough to keep the bank happy.” Pa tied down the tarp and added, “I know that you wanted to come along, Toby, but somebody has to stay home and tend the stock. Maybe your ma can trade her butter and eggs for a few supplies and enough material to make you a new shirt.”
Toby swallowed hard, and vigorously scratched Shep’s ears to hide his disappointment. The dog wagged his tail and followed Toby and Pa as they walked back to the cabin for breakfast.
When the meal was over, Pa led the brindled cow from the barn and tied her to the back of the wagon. Ma stopped and stroked the cow.
“Now that her calf is weaned, I’ve been hoping to sell her milk and butter to the miners.” Ma sighed and climbed aboard the wagon. “Mr. Pauley says that they’ve been asking for fresh milk and eggs and butter.”
“We’ll be home around nightfall,” Pa said to Toby, picking up the reins. “You take good care of things while we’re gone.”
“And see to it that my hens are safe,” Ma cautioned. “We need what few eggs they lay to get us through till the crops are harvested.”
Toby hung his head and dug his toe into the dirt, remembering that the fix they were in with the hens was partly his fault. It was his job each evening to close the little door that the chickens used to go into and out of the coop. But one night last month there had been a terrible thunderstorm, and he’d been too scared to go out and close the door. That night a fox had gotten into the coop and killed half the flock. Worst of all, it had carried off Biddie, Ma’s only setting hen, before Pa could run him off. Now there were only four hens and a rooster left.
“Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll take good care of the chickens,” Toby promised as he waved good-bye to them. Slowly the wagon disappeared around the bend at the edge of the clearing.
Toby went to the barn to feed the calf and pigs; then he fed the chickens. It was past noon before he finished the list of other chores that Ma and Pa had left for him. He made himself a sandwich and sat out on the porch in the sun while he ate. Shep sat down beside him, hoping for a piece of crust.
“We have time to go fishing before evening chores,” Toby told Shep. “We’ll surprise Ma and catch her a nice mess of trout for supper.” He tossed Shep the last bite of his sandwich and got his fishing pole from the barn.
With Shep at his heels, Toby was halfway across the clearing before he remembered the chickens. He stopped and looked back. The hens were pecking contentedly around the barnyard. “I guess no old fox is going to bother them while we’re gone,” he told the dog. Shep wagged his tail and plodded along beside Toby as they went down the path to the fishing hole.
Toby settled himself on the bank of the creek and dropped his line into the water. “I bet we catch a big one,” he said. But Shep just turned and wandered off through the bushes along the creek.
Toby pushed his hat back and leaned back on his elbows to look up at the blue, cloudless sky. He watched a black speck grow bigger and take shape. The bird glided gracefully through the air on motionless wings. An eagle, Toby thought idly. He watched and admired the bird as it made wide, lazy circles overhead. Suddenly Toby sat straight up. “That’s not an eagle,” he said aloud. “That’s a chicken hawk after Ma’s hens!” Toby dropped the fishing pole and took off running. He didn’t even wait to call Shep. He pounded up the path from the creek. The chickens were squawking fearfully by the time he burst into the clearing.
The hawk swooped down, just missing a red hen. Still too far away to scare away the hawk, Toby prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to get there in time.” Still running, he scooped up a handful of stones. “Get out of here, you old hawk!” he yelled, peppering the air with stones. The hawk gave a startled cry and excitedly flapped its wings. It screamed its anger as it swooped down one last time, then flew away.
By the time Toby reached the barnyard, all the hens had disappeared. Only the bedraggled rooster was hiding in the chicken coop. Toby sat down on the chopping block and held his head in his hands. “Now I’ve lost all the hens. What will we do without eggs?”
Just then a speckled hen stepped cautiously from the bushes. She took several jerky steps, then ran for the chicken coop. Toby rushed to close the little door behind her.
The rest of the hens must be out there, too, he thought. Maybe I can find them all before Ma comes home. He ran to the barn for a burlap sack to drop over the chickens in case they were still too excited to be caught with his hands.
By sundown Toby had found all but the red hen. He circled deeper into the woods, hoping to drive her into the clearing. It had grown almost dark under the trees. If the hen were still there, she would be roosting by now. Toby peered into the lower branches of the trees and under the bushes, watching for her dark shape. He saw nothing at first, then just ahead in a patch of tall grass, he saw several birds.
They must be quail or grouse, Toby thought as he crept closer. If I can catch them for Ma, it will make up a little for losing the hen. Toby took off his hat and sneaked up on the birds. As he slipped his hat over the first bird, he was startled to see that it was a hen with eight half-grown chicks. Slipping the hen from his hat into the burlap sack, he reached for one of her chicks.
It was fully dark when Ma and Pa came home. Toby grabbed his lantern and rushed from the cabin to meet them. “You brought the cow back!” he cried. “I thought that you were going to sell her.”
Ma smiled and climbed down from the wagon before Pa drove the team into the barn. “Pa got a hauling job up at the mine. It’s only two days a week, but it will pay enough to make the mortgage payment. Did you close the chicken coop?”
“Yes, Ma, but you’d better come have a look at the hens.” On the way to the chicken coop he told her about the hawk. Inside he held his lantern high and moved toward the roost.
“My goodness!” Ma cried. “Where did all these chickens come from?”
Toby grinned. “It’s Biddie’s brood, Ma. See—there’s Biddie too. I found them roosting in the woods while I was searching for the red hen. The young ones will soon be laying size, Ma. You can sell eggs to the miners after all. I’m just sorry that I never found the red hen.”
“That’s all right Toby. You did the best that you could, and I’m very proud of you.”
Toby and Ma both turned when they heard scratching noises at the coop door. Toby cautiously opened the door, then stood back as the lost red hen jerk-stepped into the coop.
Ma put her arms around Toby and hugged him tightly. “Heavenly Father certainly has been watching over us this day. With His help we’re going to make it just fine.”

My friends, let's go back in time to late November of 1989. I was a senior attending Malad High School (Idaho); the Oakland A's had just won the World Series; popular hairstyles were spiked for boys and big hair (i.e. lots of Aqua Net) for the girls; Milli Vanilli was at the top of the pop charts; cell phones and the Internet were not available to the common man; and would you believe Robin Williams, the guy who played Mork and Mrs. Doubtfire, inspired a nation with this phrase from the movie Dead Poets Society: "Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary."
With that background, I would like to tell a story that my mother wrote about a family trip to Oregon.
It was very cold, about 34 degrees, with sleeting rain through the Columbia River Gorge. Da'lynne, Laura, Zane, Dad (Richard), and I (DayOnna) were in the gray Starcraft van heading back to Malad, Idaho, from Aloha, Oregon, where we had spent the Thanksgiving holiday with Grandma Bowen. Roger and Tyler stayed back in Malad because of basketball practices.
We had a bed set up in back of the van so anyone could lie down and try to sleep because the trip took nearly 14 hours to complete. Dad drove us to John Day but was tired of fighting the weather, so he climbed in the back to rest, and I started driving. As usual, all the kids were fighting over the front seat, yelling back and forth, "Shotgun!" Zane, eight years old and the youngest child, had no say in the matter; therefore, he was sitting in his usual spot on top of the cooler between the two front seats.
Times have changed. We had no car seats for kids and no seat belt laws, nor cell phones nor iPads to entertain the kids. Can you imagine? Continuing from my mom's journal entry:

I had been driving about an hour when everyone began complaining that they needed to go to the bathroom. The Boardman rest stop was coming up, so I pulled in. With Dad asleep in the back of the van, all the kids and I got out to use the facilities. When I got back to the car, I asked the kids if we were all there, and they responded, "Yes."

We started down the road with the intention to get across the Blue Mountains before it got dark and temperatures dropped to freezing. When I hit Pendleton, the kiddy choir started up again, all professing their undying hunger. I didn't want to pull over, but there was a McDonald's at the last Pendleton exit just before we started up the Blue Mountains range. I pulled in to the McDonald's parking lot and turned off the car. I turned to Zane and asked him to wake Dad and get some money. He got a funny look on his face like "oh no!" I asked him again to wake Dad and get money, and he responded, "I can't; he is not here."

"What! Where is he?" I asked.

Zane replied, "Back at the rest stop." Apparently Dad woke up after the girls, Zane, and I went to the restroom. As Zane came out of the men's room, he saw Dad go in but didn't think to tell us about it until I asked him to get the money from Dad.

Needless to say, I turned around and hot-footed it back to Boardman going 90 miles an hour. It took an hour to backtrack.[1]

Now, let me be very clear here. What my dad went through was not a pleasant experience. He left his coat in the car and tried to stay warm by running his hands under the hand dryer in the men's restroom. Yet he would be the first one to tell you that he is as guilty of forgetfulness as the next person.

As my siblings and I started high school, my dad could see the busy schedules of our teenage lives begin to crowd out precious family time. So he required my sisters and me to be home between five and seven o’clock for dinner every night. At first this was hard, but as we honored his wishes, something beautiful happened.

Every evening we came home to each other from school, work, and activities. We learned how to prepare dinner. We ate and talked together every night and then read the scriptures together. I still remember the spirit I felt as my mother and father testified of true gospel principles. There was a spirit of love and acceptance there that allowed us to express ourselves and discuss difficult topics. And when our parents needed to teach us something, it came naturally during scripture discussions, with love and testimony. We argued less among each other and became best friends.

Although I was involved in many things during my high school years, this memory stands out most in my mind: my family time together around the dinner table. All the other rewarding experiences I had during those years were silver, and this was gold.

Those dinner hours we spent together had a huge impact on the way I dealt with challenges and how I felt about life and myself. I knew that no matter what happened outside our home, I had a family who cared about me.

Heidi Hamilton relies on help from her friends just like everyone else. But after a bout with encephalitis a few years ago, Heidi realized just how important that help can be. Heidi, who lives in Fremont, California, was an active, healthy 15 year old until her illness made it impossible for her to walk. During her long and difficult recovery, the priests in Heidi’s ward brought her the sacrament and built some rehab equipment necessary for her physical therapy. Because her condition made her feel cold all of the time, the young women made her a quilt. The bishop gave her art lessons once a week.
But the real heroes are the friends that Heidi has in her family. Her four brothers and her sister pitched in so that her mom and dad could take her to endless appointments and physical therapy sessions. It was a tough challenge, but Heidi says she thinks the family is stronger because of it.
“My family and I had to have a lot of faith,” says Heidi. “They all remembered me in their prayers, but I was always calm. I knew things would be fine. I owe my family and my friends a lot.”

Silvia H. Allred, first counselor in the Relief Society general presidency, has told of her mother, Hilda Alvarenga, who was called to serve as Relief Society president in a branch in El Salvador when she was a convert in her 30s. She told the branch president that she was inexperienced, unprepared, and inadequate. But the branch president called her anyway. While serving, she learned leadership skills and developed new gifts, such as teaching, public speaking, and organizing meetings, activities, and service projects. She helped others in the branch become builders of the kingdom.2 Today, as in our past, Heavenly Father expects His daughters to have a leadership role in every ward or branch. Sisters such as Hilda Alvarenga are becoming pioneers and role models for future generations.

by Debbie Jones
“Yes, it is a gold wedding band.” As the young men and women of my ward gathered around to admire the band, all sorts of questions arose. “Whose could it be? Where did you find it? I wonder how long it has been buried in the flower garden?”
While my friends had been mowing, power raking, and shoveling in the widow’s yard, I had been weeding her flowerbed. Sister Kelly and I were digging out a big clump of grass and shaking the dirt off the roots when the precious ring fell out.
It’s always fun to find buried treasure, but that one unanswered question still remained: To whom did the ring belong? I thought how sorry the owner must have felt when he lost it and how much it would mean to him if he could get it back.
That night as I said my prayers, I asked the Lord to help me find the rightful owner. I knew I would need His help because the house had been rented to many couples over the years.
You can imagine my surprise when just two days later, the doorbell rang and at the door stood Brother Huff, asking me if I had his wedding band. He explained that he and his wife were spending some time in Salt Lake City. They were waiting in a restaurant for breakfast when their good friends, Brother and Sister Thatcher, walked by. They invited the couple to join them. In conversation, Sister Thatcher, my Young Women leader, mentioned the ring we had found. How excited they all were when Brother and Sister Huff discovered that the ring was found at the house where they lived 14 years ago! He had lost his wedding ring while raking leaves.
Brother Huff had since purchased another band, but he was thrilled to find his original wedding ring again. He offered me 20 dollars in appreciation, but I refused. I knew it was the Lord who really deserved the thanks. And besides, I was as happy as he was.
A short time later, the doorbell rang again, and there stood the florist with a beautiful arrangement of flowers. I opened the card and read the words, “Thanks again. Brother Huff.” The next day I took the bouquet to church to share with the Payson Utah Third Ward and all who were involved in that service project.
From this experience I received much more than flowers. I now have a stronger testimony of church service and prayer. Don’t miss your next project, because you never know what service surprises await you!

I am reminded of a highly successful business executive in Salt Lake City who served as a counselor in his ward bishopric while at the same time earning his master’s degree. During the hectic period preceding finals, the bishop asked him, “Lynn, I know you are facing a crisis in your schooling. Let us relieve you of your meeting schedule and some of the details of your assignments during the next two weeks.” Lynn answered, “Bishop, I would ask that rather than relieving me of responsibility, let me assume additional duties. I want to go to the Lord and ask his help by right, not by grace.” He never slackened. He graduated among the highest in his class.

My wife and I were recently blessed to serve as mission leaders to labor with the outstanding missionaries in Uruguay. I would say that these were the best missionaries in the world, and I trust that every mission leader feels that way. These disciples taught us every day about following the Savior.
During regular interviews one of our great sister missionaries walked into the office. She was a successful missionary, an excellent trainer, and a dedicated leader. She was looked up to by her companions and loved by the people. She was obedient, humble, and confident. Our previous visits focused on her area and the people she was teaching. This visit was different. As I asked her how she was doing, I could tell she was troubled. She said, “President Olsen, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough. I don’t know if I can be the missionary that the Lord needs me to be.”
She was a remarkable missionary. Excellent in every way. A mission president’s dream. I had never worried about her abilities as a missionary.
As I listened to her, I struggled to know what to say. I silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, this is an outstanding missionary. She is Yours. She is doing everything right. I don’t want to mess this up. Please help me know what to say.”
The words came to me. I said, “Hermana, I am so sorry you are feeling this way. Let me ask you a question. If you had a friend you were teaching who felt this way, what would you say?”
She looked at me and smiled. With that unmistakable missionary spirit and conviction, she said, “President, that is easy. I would tell her that the Savior knows her perfectly. I would tell her that He lives. He loves you. You are good enough, and you’ve got this!”
With a little chuckle she said, “I guess if that applies to our friends, then it also applies to me.”

About 20 years ago I was assigned to go to Montevideo, Uruguay, to tour the mission and dedicate the first chapel built in that city. During the previous year President David O. McKay had broken ground for that chapel, hoping that he could return and dedicate it. Other duties prevented his doing so, and hence I was sent.
After our dedicatory service an Italian sister came up to shake hands. Before doing so she held out her right hand and asked me to look at it. I did but saw nothing unusual about it. Then she called my attention to a scar in the palm of her hand and explained:
“When President McKay was here to break ground for our chapel,” she said, “I had a cancer in the palm of my hand. The doctors could not help me, and the cancer was spreading. I felt impressed by the holy Spirit that if I could just touch President McKay’s hand, my cancer would be healed.
“Many people went forward to greet the President, and because there were so many, I became discouraged. But my prompting continued. I felt it was the Holy Spirit urging me on. I did meet the president. My right hand was heavily bandaged, so I had to shake hands with my left hand.
“When I returned home I took the bandage off and to my great delight saw that the cancer was already drying up. I now show you this right hand, all healed, and I want you to tell President McKay about it.”

I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

1838 My brother Don Carlos and my cousin George A. Smith returned [from missions through Kentucky and Tennessee], having traveled fifteen hundred miles—nine hundred on foot, and the remainder by steamboat and otherwise. They visited several branches, and would have accomplished the object of their mission had it not been for the troubles at Far West.
When nearly home they were known and pursued by the mob, which compelled them to travel one hundred miles in two days and nights. The ground at the time was slippery, and a severe northwest wind was blowing in their faces; they had but little to eat and narrowly escaped freezing both nights.

by Judy Knight
Kidnapped! Many of the members of the Vacaville First Ward, Fairfield California Stake disappeared on the evening of May 27th! Where did they go? What happened? Who was responsible?
The circumstances leading up to their strange disappearance can be explained by the Vacaville First Ward Laurel class and their plans for an unusual, fun-filled evening.
Shirley McMurdie and Missi Bartanen spearheaded the advertising by printing airline tickets for Zion Airlines bound to Hawaii, which included an authentic luau dinner and entertainment.
As the guests arrived at the church in their gala Hawaiian attire and in a festive mood, they were asked to be seated in the waiting room until the departure of their flight. After the last call for boarding had been given, they entered the foyer between the chapel and cultural hall, which had been decorated to simulate the interior of an airplane. Nine-year-old David Knight had provided the artistic renditions of scenery along the way, including detailed U.S. Navy ships and submarines and groups of frolicking whales.
Two stewardesses, Lori Gould and Carrie Budge, gave out flower leis and pineapple tidbits, while the pilot welcomed everyone aboard and explained details of the flight. Suddenly, two hijackers, armed with water guns, appeared, speaking rapidly in Portuguese and demanding the plane change its course. The ward members had been hijacked to Rome, Italy!
The surprised passengers found themselves guided into the Relief Society room, which had been cleverly changed to a Roman cafe. A gourmet Italian meal was provided, beginning with antipasto trays covered with cheese, salami, olives, relishes, marinated mushrooms, and cauliflower. The second course was an Italian salad and breadsticks, followed by delicious Bolognese spaghetti and garlic bread. People laughed and lingered over a pretty Palermo Cassata dessert.
As the last dishes were cleaned and put away, the exhausted Laurels agreed it had been so much fun it ought to become a tradition!