Gospel Story Finder

Kelly Quinton, 16, of Corner Brook, tells of being asked by her teacher to give a report on Mormonism and answer questions from the class afterward.
“We hadn’t been members very long then, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to answer all of their questions, but there was nothing anyone asked I couldn’t answer. My teacher later told me she was impressed by how much I knew about my religion and of how strongly I felt about it.”

During my growing-up years in the small farming community of Spring City, Utah, an opportunity afforded itself each summer to be with my father alone for two weeks herding sheep in the mountain range of the Manti-La Sal. On one occasion the fog rested heavily in the area to the extent that you could not see your outstretched hand in front of you, and the evening was drawing nigh.
My father suggested that I return to camp, and he would soon follow. I remember questioning how I would be able to find the camp amidst the fog. My father simply said to me, “Give the horse the reins, and he will get you to camp.” Following this counsel, I loosened my grip on the reins, and with encouragement to the horse, the journey began. At times I would be struck in the face by a low-hanging limb I couldn’t see or have my leg brush close to a tree. Eventually, the horse came to a complete stop, and the silhouette of the camp was in view.
Sometimes we may not always be able to immediately find the desired way before us, but the wisdom of those who have gone before, coupled with the wisdom of those who are with us still, will be our guide if we let them have the reins.

Fortunately, I was able to create a successful consulting business, successful enough so that after several years of hard work, I was able to pay off our home mortgage and to put aside some savings. At that time, I realized, thanks to my wife’s suggestion, I could work a little less and spend more time helping with our most important responsibility: our children. The month after making the last payment on our home mortgage I received a call from Salt Lake. That led to our receiving a mission call to preside over the Switzerland Geneva Mission. How grateful I was to have chosen to turn to the Lord during that previously very difficult period of my life. Though I had planned to spend more time with my family, we were grateful to show the Lord our willingness to keep the covenants we had made with Him—to let Him prevail in our lives.

On the day that no one in the neighborhood saw “Hanse,” as she was called, concerned neighbors rang her doorbell, but to no avail. They were anxious for this gentle and gracious widow who found a place in their hearts. They looked on her as one of their own.

Finally, a member of the bishopric forced open the door and there, in the bedroom, was Marie Woodruff Hansen, as if she had fallen asleep, but never again to awaken in this life.

As the bishopric member paused to take in this sad but peaceful scene, he was startled, when from behind him he heard the words, “I love you.” Knowing that Marie lived alone, he turned; and there in the corner was a bird cage. A second time the bird said, “I love you.”

It was as if Marie, herself, had paused at the portals that mark the point between life and death to send back one final message before moving on to that new day.

Behind her was a neighborhood of friends, both young and old. She knew them all. They were like family to her; Marie’s baked goodies found their way into their homes, and they looked after her like a favorite aunt or a grandmother. Home teaching and visiting teaching were only the beginning as the whole neighborhood was caught up in this love affair. Children were welcomed into her home. They always knew there would be fresh-baked cookies. There was a warmth about that little home that was a reflection of Marie’s whole life. Many prayers had been offered here: prayers of gratitude, prayers of thanksgiving.

The words she taught her pet bird were the words she lived by. Even in death they echoed in the ears of those she left behind. Ahead of Marie was a husband who had gone first, too many years ago. She had lived a full life and left one final message of good-bye in the words she knew best: “I love you.”

Marie Hansen left a great legacy, probably greater than she realized. For did not the Savior say, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another”? (John 13:34.)

Now you see it; now you don’t. David’s paycheck disappears into his mission fund so fast you’d think it was one of the coins he can make appear or disappear at will. A master of the sleight of hand, David turned his magic hobby into mission dollars when he started working at a magic store and later performing as “Magician Monte” at local restaurants and birthday parties on weekends. Now that he’s attending a local community college, he has a job as a bank teller and only does his magic show on the side.
“Your mission starts way before your mission,” David says, as he looks sage-like over the top of his glasses. He’s been preparing since he was 12, when he decided he wanted to go on a mission. Sacrifice and discipline are what David credits with his successful mission-savings plan. He started putting away half his paycheck when he was 14. At 17, he almost has all his mission money saved.
He’s been preparing in other ways, too, like staying fit, studying the scriptures, and learning how to talk to people about the gospel. “Saving money is very important because it gets one thing out of the picture so you can focus on the spiritual things,” David explains. He also tries to magnify his callings and set an example. “I think it’s very important as a priest to set an example for the teachers and the deacons.”
David’s dad set the example for him. He loves to hear his dad’s mission stories and enjoys setting an example for others. But “even if they weren’t in my life,” he says, “I’m sure I’d want to go on a mission because it’s a commandment.” He also makes sure he fulfills another commandment by faithfully paying his tithing.

I was shy and a bit of a bookworm. I’d pick reading and arithmetic over recess and soccer any day. I always did well in school, and I earned good grades. But my mother knew that I needed more than straight A’s in school. She always encouraged me to do active things and to get involved in other activities. Most of the time I would have stayed home, but her influence helped me gain other leadership abilities, and I developed a willingness to meet challenges and try new things. By the time I left high school, I was “into” varsity basketball and many outside clubs and other activities.

I love whole wheat pancakes. On my mission in Brazil, I bought a nice nonstick frying pan to cook them in. I also made sure that I had a plastic spatula so as not to scratch the pan.
About this same time, I received my first junior companion. One of the first things I did was show him my frying pan and plastic spatula, with specific instructions on how to use them. I didn’t mind him using them to fry an egg or something, but I didn’t want my pan ruined.
On our next preparation day, I heard my companion stirring something in the kitchen. I soon realized that he was frying an egg. I decided to peek in to see if he was following my instructions.
When I turned the corner, I just about had a heart attack. There he was, with the frying pan in one hand and a metal spoon in the other, trying to flip the egg. He was scraping and scratching, trying to get underneath the partially cooked egg, all the while destroying my frying pan.
Before I could yell, it hit me. It was an honest mistake. With help from above, I was able to calmly walk over to the drawer, pull out the spatula, and hand it to him, saying: “Here, use this. I think it will work better.” He thanked me and went on frying his egg.
Back in our room I realized that, as strange as it sounds, I had been “worshipping” that frying pan. For days, it had been more important to me than many other things, including my relationship with my new companion. It had been affecting the spirituality of our companionship. It had become my idol.
I’m so thankful that my Heavenly Father taught me an eternal truth through this small but powerful experience. I’ve come to better understand what the Lord meant when He said, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3)—including the nonstick kind.

I started attending my new senior school last September. In a school of over a thousand students, I was the only Latter-day Saint. In my religion class of 30 people, only I and one other girl attend church of any kind. On my first day of class, my religion teacher, Mrs. Johnson*, asked us to name the holy books that are used in different religions. I said the Book of Mormon, and at first she wasn’t sure which church used it. I explained that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She asked me to choose my favorite scripture for the following week and also tell the class about my church.
The following week I read Moroni 10:4, which was the first scripture the missionaries shared with me and my mom. I told the class about the First Vision and how Joseph Smith received and later translated the gold plates. I was really nervous because my friends think that you are a geek if you go to church. I was afraid that they would make fun of me. But when I started speaking, the Spirit was with me, and everybody listened with interest. Afterward, they asked questions.
Since then, Mrs. Johnson has started reading the Book of Mormon and the Ensign, although she hasn’t yet come to church. Also, in every religion lesson we talk about my beliefs. And some of my friends are planning to come to church activities.
My prayer is that one day I will be just one of many Latter-day Saints at my school. Everyone deserves an opportunity to learn about Jesus Christ and His Church and return to live with Heavenly Father. If we keep the gospel to ourselves, we are being selfish. We should share it with everyone, no matter who they are. That is what Jesus Christ wants us to do, and I am trying to be like Him.

I had faithfully read the Book of Mormon daily since I was a teenager. Even on nights when I’d fall into bed exhausted and realize I hadn’t read for the day, I would pick it up and read at least a few verses.
Two years ago I was asked to teach the Old Testament in early-morning seminary. I was more unfamiliar with the Old Testament than any other book of scripture, so some days I would spend three to four hours studying and preparing my lessons. Because I spent so much time studying the Bible and latter-day revelation, I stopped reading the Book of Mormon every day. We were reading it as a family at night, and I would use it for an occasional cross-reference, so I felt that I was getting sufficient daily gospel study.
In the middle of the school year in January, my stake president challenged the entire stake to read a chapter in the Book of Mormon each day. Though I wondered how I would find time given my heavy seminary studies, I decided I should accept the challenge. I needed to do it not only to strengthen myself but also to set an example for my children and students.
From that moment on I read a chapter from the Book of Mormon each day as I started preparing my seminary lesson or as I got ready for bed. A spirit and a power I didn’t know was missing returned to my life. My seminary lessons, which had been going well, became even better. Parts of the Old Testament that were difficult to understand became clearer. I also realized that I better understood the Book of Mormon as a result of the intense study I had been doing of the prophets and the law of Moses.

My father was a good man and a hard worker. He always took me out to work with him on our farm, but he never asked me to do anything that he didn’t do right alongside me. My younger brother and I thinned and hoed beets and cut seed spuds (potatoes) in the summer. In the fall, we picked spuds. When we were teenagers, we had a little herd of cows. That’s where our dairy started. It was hard to leave our friends to go home and take care of those cows, but those chores taught us how to work.

When I was 17, my mother had a sewing job for a doll factory. She worked from home, but she would go to the factory to get more to do and to turn in her work. The man she gave her sewing to had something special about him.
As my mother got to know him, she realized that something had happened to make him sad. She invited him to visit us, and he came that very day and spent several hours with us. We learned that he had come to Argentina from Brazil in search of work and had never returned to his home, as he wanted to.
Our family has a custom of inviting someone to spend Christmas with us, and in December we began, as we do every year, to discuss whom to invite as our guest. However, this Christmas was different for a special reason; it was the first we spent as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I thought of my mother’s co-worker right away but didn’t say anything. Later my mother mentioned that she wanted to invite him.
The next time my mother turned in her sewing, she asked him whom he was going to spend the holidays with, and he replied that he didn’t know. My mother told him how nice it would be if he would come to our house on Christmas Eve, and he said he would let her know.
Late on Christmas Eve, someone came to the door. When we answered, there stood my mother’s co-worker and his three-year-old son. It was exciting to meet this little boy and spend the evening with him. He had the loving spirit of his father. Our family felt like we had bells ringing in our hearts as we listened to the sweet singing of this little boy on Christmas Eve.
I am grateful for the gospel, which added to the spirit of our Christmas beginning that year and increased our family’s resolve to “remember … brotherly kindness [and] charity” (D&C 4:6).

One time I went on a first date with a girl in my ward. The next morning we were the only two who showed up for our ward’s temple trip. We offered to help with whatever ordinance needed the most patrons … which turned out to be sealings.
I was so nervous, but to my surprise, doing vicarious sealings with a girl less than 12 hours after our first date wasn’t nearly as awkward as I thought it would be. If anything, that experience gave me more perspective on how important each aspect of temple work is—including sealings (read more in my digital article).

Chandra’s little brother, Kendall, was a wiggle worm. He couldn’t sit still in church for five seconds. He crawled under the benches, and he dropped the hymnbook on the floor to listen to it thud. One Sunday he even escaped and went running down the aisle, laughing and giggling. That made Chandra want to crawl under the bench herself. “I don’t want to go to church next week,” she told her mother as they drove home in the car. “It’s too embarrassing when Kendall is such a wiggle worm.”
“It is embarrassing,” admitted mother, “but remember that it’s hard for a three-year-old to sit quietly for a long time. What could we do to help him?”
“I don’t know,” Chandra said crossly. “He’s just impossible.” When she got home, she changed her Sunday dress and went to the kitchen to set the table. There was Kendall doing puzzles. He was very quiet and seemed to be thinking intently. Chandra watched him for a minute. He can be quiet when he has something quiet to do, she thought. All of a sudden a great idea hit her. “I know how to de-wiggle this worm!” she exclaimed.
That afternoon while Kendall was napping, Chandra began. Her mother gave her some old magazines and Church manuals, and Chandra found pictures of things that Kendall liked—trucks, animals, and food. There were pictures of Jesus and of reverent children too. She glued them all to stiff paper, then cut them into puzzle pieces—but not very many, because she knew that three-year-olds need easy puzzles. She got some envelopes and carefully put each puzzle’s pieces into a separate envelope. She smiled as she looked at the puzzle of Captain Moroni. Kendall loved soldiers.
Now what? Chandra thought for a minute. Then she got out old coloring books, cut out pictures of animals, and glued light-colored flannel on the back of them. She made two of each animal by gluing plain paper to flannel and using the first animals as a pattern, then using a black marker for their outlines and simple details like eyes. She found some dark-colored flannel and cut out a large ark-looking boat. Putting all the pieces in a large manila envelope, she mused, Maybe Noah will help Kendall be quiet.
By this time Chandra was getting tired, but she had one more idea. She found an old sock that didn’t have a mate. She cut two eyes, a nose, and a mouth out of leftover bits of flannel and glued them onto the sock to make a puppet. She didn’t know how to put yarn on for hair, so she decided it could be bald. A bald bishop! That sounded good. She put her hand into the sock. The bald bishop looked very wise. “Thank you for your reverence during the sacrament,” he said.
After she put all the finished projects inside a book bag, she couldn’t wait any longer. “Mom!” she called. “Come see my Wiggle Worm Kit! It’s going to help Kendall be reverent in church.”
When Mother saw all the things Chandra had made, she was impressed. “I think this will really help,” she said. “Could I also put in a Bible storybook and some stickers? Maybe some drawing paper and a pencil would be good too.”
When everything was in the bag, Chandra heaved a sigh of relief. She was proud of her work. Thanks to the Wiggle Worm Kit, Kendall would be able to sit still longer and make less noise. “I wish Sunday was tomorrow!” she declared happily.

In the case of yet another inactive family, the specially assigned teachers lived in the same neighborhood. The teachers first showed genuine friendship and neighborly concern until they felt they could talk with the inactive family in a serious manner. They sat down with the family one day and asked if they could begin teaching them the gospel in weekly sessions in their home. The teachers assured the family that they would not pressure them in any way and that their visits would be designed to teach the doctrines of the Savior and answer questions the family might have. Within a few weeks, the home teachers took the family to church, and soon the family began to attend on their own. The bishop interviewed the couple and helped them to set goals for the husband to be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood and for them to be sealed in the temple.
The bishop reports that it was touching to see this family with their five children sealed for time and eternity. The sealing room in the temple was filled with friends and members of the ward.
The family now bears strong testimony to the truth of the gospel, and many in the ward say they have never seen people change so much. The husband now serves in the presidency of the elders quorum.

We taught Peter for seven months before I was transferred. Some Navajo elders then taught him in his own language. He asked them, “Where is my tall blonde friend?” He was receptive to their teachings and joined the Church. I am proud to have helped open the door for my good friend to receive the gospel.
Peter couldn’t go to church very often because there was no one to stay with the sheep. He lived 60 miles away from a church and had no truck. He couldn’t walk that far, and few could go the 120 miles round trip over rough country both to pick him up and to take him home. But I didn’t worry too much about him because Peter was a good man who lived a good life. I knew that his Heavenly Father knew where he was just as surely as Peter knew where to find old Box. Even alone on top of his distant mesa, he was within the fold.

In the mission presidents’ seminar last June, Elder Thomas S. Monson told of the great faith and trust in the Lord of Randall Ellsworth, a missionary who, in Brother Monson’s words, “was crushed under that devastating earthquake in Guatemala, pinned for, I think, twelve hours. Found himself totally paralyzed from the waist down. Kidney functions, not present. No hope to ever walk again. …

“He was flown to … Maryland and … interviewed in the hospital by a television reporter. The television reporter said to him, ‘The doctors say you will not walk again. What do you think, Elder Ellsworth?’ He said, ‘I’ll not only walk again, but I have a call from a prophet to serve a mission in Guatemala, and I shall go back to Guatemala and finish that mission.’ …

“He exercised twice the [requirement] outlined by the doctors. He exerted his faith. He received a blessing from the priesthood and his recovery was miraculous. It astounded the physicians and the specialists. He began to be able to stand on his feet. Then he could walk with crutches, and then the doctors said to him, ‘You may return to the mission field if the Church will permit you to go.’ He went. We sent him to Guatemala. He returned to the land to which he had been called, to the people whom he dearly loved.

“While there he was walking, proselyting a full schedule with a cane in each hand. [His mission president] looked at him and said, ‘Elder Ellsworth, with the faith that you have, why don’t you throw those canes away and walk?’ And Elder Ellsworth said, ‘If you have that kind of faith in me [take the canes].’” He put down the canes and has never used them since. (Mission Presidents’ Training Seminar, June 1977, tape recording, Missionary Department.)

Currently I am swimming, serving as a student body officer, learning the piano and bass trombone, playing the piano for priesthood opening exercises, keeping an A average in AP classes, doing my duties as a priest and Eagle Scout, and holding a job to earn money for my mission. Most of the times overlap. I finally had to sit down and make a weekly schedule. This helped tremendously. I left at least 10 minutes of “me time” between each of these activities. But when work and swim continued to fill the same time slot, I had to drop swim for a while. That relieved much of the stress I was going through. Sometimes you just have to let things go, and prioritize your activities in order of importance.
Ryan G., 18, Mississippi

Roswell Georgia Stake
The youth leaders in the Roswell Georgia Stake run a tight ship. Youth activities for the stake are planned well in advance and put on the stake calendar. Once an activity appears on the calendar, it doesn’t move or change. In fact, it’s sort of a joke that the only things that might change the schedule of activities in the Roswell area are “death and tornado.”
A natural disaster of any kind, however, was the furthest thing from anybody’s mind when the youth council planned a fun “mini-youth-conference” for a weekend in the spring. There would be speakers on a variety of interesting subjects, some fun activities, and a dance.
Then, three weeks before the mini-conference, the unthinkable happened. A tornado touched down in the Roswell area. Andrew Opp, a priest and a leader on the stake youth council in Roswell, and his sister, Emily, helped in the massive cleanup effort. After several days of helping his dad and other men in his ward and stake move trees and other debris from driveways, yards, and roofs, Andrew had an idea.
“I looked around and realized that even after a day’s work, we were hardly putting a dent in things,” said Andrew. Why not postpone the youth conference and have a day-long cleanup project instead? After all, it was on the list of reasons to change the stake schedule. After getting the leaders’ approval, they formulated a plan and announced the change.
“The youth in our stake are really great,” said Andrew. “Everyone always pitches in and gets the job done right.”
And they did. Guys and girls worked hard all day in neighborhoods that looked like war zones, lifting and clearing debris.
The tornado hit hard at Dagmara Walczak’s house. Dagmara is a Laurel in the stake, and her home is in a neighborhood that felt the full force of the tornado.
“I thought it was great that in a time of need people from our church came and helped out. It really makes you feel loved,” she said.
And what of the originally planned activity? Were the youth that excited to give up a day of fun for a day of hard work, sweat, and tree sap? You bet.
“This is fun because you can chat with your friends while you work,” said 17-year-old Ben Jarvis. “And besides, these people are our friends and neighbors; it gave us all a good feeling to help them out.”

Elder Andrew Ballantyne’s excitement bounced in his throat. The cloud cover at Inverness Airport blocked all views of Scotland’s Highlands, but it didn’t matter. He was nearly home—home, family, and Gemma. For the first time in two years, he allowed Gemma fully into his thoughts. They’d agreed not to write after he’d been away 12 months. It became easier then to give his whole attention to the work.
“Are we there, young man?” His thinking was interrupted by an elderly lady in a tweed skirt occupying the next seat. She had awakened with a start as the flight attendant announced, “Fasten your seat belts.”
“We certainly are,” he smiled. “Inverness at last.” He gave a long sigh of satisfaction, settling back once more to dreams of Gemma, brown hair waving across her face; eyes, large and laughing.
“My, oh my! Have I slept all the way from Heathrow?” the lady peered at Andrew as if seeing him for the first time. Her face looked weatherworn and inquisitive.
“You a visitor then, young man? I’m Mrs. McKivett by the way. I cannot quite place your accent.” She pushed her glasses firmly on her nose, squinting more closely.
Andrew, with his cropped black hair and square-faced good looks, had a certain air of authority about him, a sense of purpose, reassuring and calm. “Not exactly a visitor,” he chuckled. “I’ve been in Switzerland for two years doing missionary work for my church. I expect my accent’s a mixture of German, French, American, and Scottish by now.”
She smiled back, nodding slowly. “Ahh … that explains everything.”
Before he could ask what everything meant, they were taxiing to a halt, and the confusion of disembarking began.
He saw them as soon as the baggage cleared. His parents; 16-year-old Adam, now taller than himself at six feet; and 11-year-old Beth, grinning widely, skipping around the three of them. With a lump in his throat he reached out to meet their embrace. Looking from face to familiar face and swiftly absorbing the changes that had taken place, he felt complete—like his mission had crowned them all with a circle of love. But part of the circle was missing.
“Is Gemma working or something?” he asked his mother as soon as the barrage of questions and answers quieted.
Andrew thought he saw an expression of dismay before she glanced away. He caught his breath. “Let’s get home first, dear,” she whispered gently, “then we can talk properly.”
The drive to Relkennan seemed to take forever. Andrew scarcely noticed as they sped over bridges and down winding roads. The view of the firth, reappearing now and again between frosted hills, then slithering down to the sea, was shrouded in a mist, as cheerless and chilling as his thoughts. His replies to the family became more automatic than interesting.
“Don’t worry, son,” his father leaned across, patting his arm. “You must be exhausted. We’ll get you in the house; then you can get some sleep before tonight’s social.”
But Andrew’s mind was racing too fast for sleep. As soon as he unpacked, he went looking for his mother, following his nose and smells of fresh baking. Her face shouted bad news before she spoke.
“I’m sorry, dear,” her placid features broke into small lines of worry as she struggled to find the words.
Andrew felt suddenly weak. “Is she … she’s not ill, is she?”
“No. It’s not that. Gemma’s … that is … we would have written but didn’t want to spoil things for you before your return.”
“She’s found someone else, hasn’t she?” Andrew stared out of the window, desolation sweeping all else aside. Then clearing his throat, “Is she happy? What’s he like? Is he a member? How long … ?”
“It’s best you see for yourself tonight,” Sister Ballantyne said, putting an arm around her son. “Go and rest, Andrew. You’ll feel better after a nap.”
But sleep was now further away than ever. His future looked bleak. It had always held Gemma. Even though she had stayed in a distant corner of his thoughts for two years, he could not imagine the future with anyone else.
It was as though his thoughts turned into prayer and a hymn began playing through his mind. They’d sung it at the last zone conference, and it was the first time Andrew had even noticed it in the hymnbook. Now here was number 336 in clear replay. He could even see his companion up there conducting with resolute conviction. “School thy feelings, O my brother; Train thy warm, impulsive soul. Do not its emotions smother, But let wisdom’s voice control …”
Jumping off the bed, Andrew rummaged through his backpack until his fingers touched the familiar worn covers. As the pages flipped open to exactly the right place, a sheet of paper dropped out. The mission president had given everyone the same quote that day: “What man thinks in his heart, he advertises on his face.”
With a rueful grin, Andrew decided, there and then, he would not spoil this homecoming for anyone. Somehow he would smile at them all. He sighed, then fell into a fitful sleep.
The meetinghouse was full. Members, family, and old school friends, everyone. “Well, young man,” a familiar voice piped up, as he worked his way around the congregation after the formal welcome. “I thought I’d find you here. Remember me?”
“Of course,” Andrew blinked in amazement at the elderly lady from the plane, still in the same tweed skirt. “I had no idea you were LDS.”
“LDS? Never heard of it. I think they called me an investigator last week. Prefer to be called Eva McKivett actually, but not to worry.” Hooking her hand through his elbow, she steered him towards a seat at the back of the hall. Andrew’s stomach knotted as he saw where they were heading. There was no way out. Next to the empty chairs sat Gemma and her boyfriend.
“I have great respect for you young elders,” Eva continued. “Taught me a few things this past month. Must say I like what I hear and feel.” She gazed unwaveringly at Andrew.
“Now then,” she eyed his missionary badge, “now then, Elder Ballantyne, please point out your family to me. Done a good job bringing you up, they have. And then tell me which of these pretty lasses has been waiting for you to come home.” Her blue eyes twinkled knowingly behind the glasses as she tapped his arm.
By now Andrew was squirming in discomfort. He had caught Gemma’s eye before sitting down, but on hearing her gasp, didn’t dare turn in her direction.
“My parents are over there … by the bishop,” he stammered. “Would you like to come over and meet them?” He half stood, hoping she would follow.
“No, no, my dear, not yet. Only just sat down.” She pulled him back into the chair. “So which one … ?” Eva began a survey of the handful of young women scattered around the hall.
“Excuse me.”
Andrew let out his breath with a relief at the interruption. Then he realized it was coming from the young man next to Gemma.
“Gemma made me come tonight. We might as well get this over with. Glen’s the name, Glen Munroe,” he said, extending one hand to Andrew and slapping him on the back with the other.
While Andrew introduced Mrs. McKivett, he took stock of Glen out of the corner of his eye. The light red hair and fair complexion, so typical of Highlanders, gave Glen a distinctive air.
He turned at last to Gemma. As their eyes met, he was puzzled by what he saw, but the look was gone in a second. Her smile was warm as she held out her hands. “Welcome home, Andy. It’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you. But it’s gone quicker than I expected.”
Andrew swallowed hard. This didn’t feel right. He wanted to give her a hug, sit down, and talk and talk. “Yes … quicker than you’d ever imagine,” he said, deciding the cool approach was his only option.
“Okay, Gemma,” Glen grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. “That’s about as much missionary talk as I can take for one night. No offense, Andrew, but you’d never catch me taking off for two years.” He pulled Gemma to his other side, away from Andrew. “Wouldn’t go and leave a beautiful girl like this floating about waiting to be snapped up by someone else.” He laughed as they moved away.
Andrew caught a glimpse of Gemma’s blush as she bit her lip with embarrassment. His stomach churned, but he gave her a quick wink, shrugging his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows in defeat. He felt someone poking him in the back. He’d forgotten Mrs. McKivett.
“Ah ha!” she said, head nodding vigorously. “So that’s the one.” She pulled the back of Andrew’s jacket until he sat down again.
“I think it’s time to turn the tables. Let me be a teacher for a moment, and you can be … what’s the word, an investigator?” Her voice sounded bossy, but her kindly smile said otherwise.
Andrew winced. “Whatever you say.”
“Do you love this young lady?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
He looked grave for a moment. “For the sake of her happiness, I guess I could go away, far away. Back to Switzerland maybe.”
“Is that what you really want?”
“Of course not.”
“Is that what she really wants?”
“Er … I don’t know.”
“Are they engaged?”
“Don’t think so. I couldn’t see a ring.”
“Then what are you waiting for? My father always said, ‘If what you want is right, then don’t give up until it’s yours.’”
“Sounds like he should have been a missionary,” said Andrew with a fleeting grin.
“And that’s another thing, young Andrew. When I came to this church, the first thing I asked the elders for was a hymnbook. Music’s been the joy of my life. In there I found this hymn, number 336 I think it is. You go and read verse four. Then find that lass before it’s too late.”
She shooed him away before easing herself to her feet and making her way over to his parents.
It was an hour later before Andrew could escape the crowd and find a peaceful moment on his own in the chapel. Sinking quietly into a seat in the corner he shut his eyes and leaned back. It was good to be home, but he missed having a companion when it came to talking things through.
What if Mrs. McKivett is wrong? he thought. Suppose Gemma really loves Glen? I can hardly go all out to break up a relationship that could bring her happiness.
He reached for a hymnbook, but his thoughts continued. It’s odd, Eva McKivett finding that song, he thought. As he was carefully reading verse four, he became aware of someone entering the chapel.
When Gemma whispered, “May I join you?” he raised his head. For a second he didn’t know if he wanted this conversation or not. Then Mrs. McKivett’s parting remarks echoed in his mind. His smile of welcome advertised a wealth of feeling far deeper than he intended.
“I … I’m sorry about Glen, Andrew.”
“You don’t need to apologize. You’re a free woman. Always were.”
“When you and I stopped writing, he was constantly around. He is very persuasive you know.”
“I noticed.”
“We got engaged last week.” She looked down at her fingers. “No ring yet. Glen couldn’t afford one.”
Andrew turned away. With his heart sinking, he made quick mental reminders to keep cool, keep smiling, let her think he didn’t mind.
“But,” she went on with a rush, “I only agreed because he said I owed it to him after all this time. I guess he convinced me that I did owe him.”
“Do you mean you don’t really love him?” Andrew’s voice rose a pitch as he stared at Gemma.
“I don’t know. I thought I did,” she looked pleadingly at him. “I don’t expect you to understand. And I don’t expect us to be back where we were before. I simply want you to know that Glen and I are no longer a couple, as of 10 minutes ago. He’s so angry he scares me right now.”
“Gemma, listen to me.” Andrew spoke softly. “We’ll deal with Glen. I’ll be right there for you. Right now I want you to know something.”
She watched his face anxiously.
“The things I felt for you before I left have increased a hundred times.” Andrew paused, watching Gemma’s frown turn into a smile of relief. “It’s as if,” he concluded, “as if someone’s fine-tuned the strings and an amazing song is about to begin.”
For Andrew, his homecoming circle could not have been more complete.

I remember when, as a young deacon, I would cover a portion of the ward on fast Sunday morning, giving the small envelope to each family, waiting while a contribution was placed in the envelope and then returning it to the bishop. On one such occasion, an elderly member, Brother Wright, who lived alone, welcomed me at the door and, with aged hands, fumbled at the tie of the envelope and placed within it a small sum. His eyes fairly glistened as he made his contribution. He invited me to sit down and then told me of a time many years before when his cupboard had been empty of food. In his hunger, he had prayed to Heavenly Father for food to eat. Not long thereafter, he gazed out his front window and beheld someone approaching his door, pulling behind her a red-colored wagon. It was Sister Balmforth, the Relief Society president, who had pulled that wagon almost half a mile over the railroad tracks and to his door. The wagon overflowed with food collected from the sisters of the ward Relief Society, with which Sister Balmforth filled the empty shelves in Brother Wright’s kitchen. He described her to me as “an angel sent from heaven.”