Gospel Story Finder

Then a Brother Vance rose from his seat in the congregation. A large, strong, grandfatherly man who worked well with his hands, he related his thankfulness to the Lord for the growth of some lilac bushes that were most precious to his wife.
The bushes had grown so tall they blocked the sunlight to the Vances’ tiny home. Brother Vance told his wife he had to cut the bushes back to ground level and move the roots to a new location. She vigorously protested his decision, afraid the bushes would not survive. But he felt it was necessary.
He told of the painful but loving task of pruning the bushes, preparing the soil in the new location, and, finally, digging up the roots and planting them.
He described how every day he weeded, watered, and looked for signs of new life. The lack of new growth, he said, made him worried and concerned that he had destroyed his wife’s lovely bushes. The more he thought of his love for his eternal companion, the more feeling he developed for the roots he had nurtured in the earth.
Finally, early one morning, he was relieved to find green evidence that the roots were alive and growing. He brought his wife to see her lilacs and offered a prayer of thankfulness for the growing results of his work.

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

—Kevin Leach, 20, from Sparks, Nevada, spent a summer as an emergency medical technician intern in Atlanta, Georgia. He was able to associate with a lot of other people in the medical field. He came to see that besides his EMT and paramedic training, a nursing degree would be important. Since returning, he’s taken the additional courses necessary, and will soon graduate with three degrees.
“I’m not only going to be able to be a paramedic out on the streets, but I’ll be able to be a nurse in the hospitals, to ride on Life Flights, to teach emergency medicine up to a certain point, and to move up into administration. What I discovered was that some extra work can open a lot of doors.”

When it comes to lifestyle choices, there are some definite areas where Evan stands out. “It’s difficult at times because everyone else swears,” he says. Swearing is quite common there, Evan explains. But there’s a part of Irish culture that Evan says can be an even bigger challenge.
“The lads like to meet up and go out for drinks,” he explains. “I’m always the odd one out.”
He’s talking about school friends his own age. Drinking alcohol at a young age is common where Evan lives. These social outings happen so frequently that Evan says he sometimes thinks of going along so he’s not always left out. But each time, he stays home.
“I think, ‘What’s going to happen if I do go with them?’” he says. “I know that if I choose not to go, I’ll be blessed because of it. The blessings of keeping the commandments are far greater than the pain of being the odd one out.”
“The blessings of keeping the commandments are far greater than the pain of being the odd one out.”
Evan relies on the Holy Ghost to help him through daily choices. In addition, he also has other sources of strength to draw on.
His Irish friends in the Church are only a text away.
Where Evan lives, because the youth in the Church are spread far and wide, they do a lot of virtual meetings. For one thing, they meet in seminary online.
“Weekly seminary is so good,” Evan says. “Not only do we get to learn about Christ and the gospel while we’re doing seminary, but afterwards the teacher leaves the Zoom call open for us.”
In that open call, they get to hang out, joke, play games, and just be friends with others who share their same values. For Evan, some of his closest friendships have formed through these Church contacts.
One of those connections is his good friend Rob. “We find loads of things funny that are similar,” Evan says. “Rob will find something funny on social media that he knows I’ll like, and he’ll send it to me. Then we’ll text back and forth a bit. A few hours later, I’ll find something funny and send it to him.”
Pretty normal stuff, right? But these small interactions are a big help throughout the week. “It’s good because we can share each other’s laughs, but there doesn’t have to be any swearing or anything else involved.” They can also text each other anytime they just need a little extra strength in the gospel.
Even though the Latter-day Saint youth in Ireland are a bit spread out, they still try to get together physically throughout the year—sometimes involving youth from the entire country.
These activities have involved everything from service projects to renting inflatable sumo wrestling suits. “They’re a lot of fun!” Evan says.
Occasionally at the end of the activities there will be a disco (a dance). These are very different from the school and community discos that take place nearby. For example, at a community disco, if a boy asks a girl to dance with him, it’s almost like asking her on a date—or even to be his girlfriend. Again, it’s just part of the culture there.
Things are different at the Church discos, however. There, Evan says, “we can ask someone to dance and they wouldn’t think we were asking them to be in a serious relationship with us. It’s a lot better.”
These get-togethers with other Church youth in Ireland have a lasting effect throughout the year. They continue their friendships by playing online games, sending texts and talking on the phone, and supporting each other until they can gather again in person.
Evan loves spending time with his family, including going cycling together and singing hymns at home.
Evan has a bit of advice for other youth in a situation like his. “If you feel like you’re the only Church youth at your school, don’t change your standards to try and fit in. If you swear, drink, or smoke to fit in, you’ll miss out on a lot. The blessings are a lot better than the satisfaction of trying to fit in!”
And just in case you fear that Evan is lonely at school because he chooses to live differently, think again. He says that people are aware of his beliefs and respect him even though he’s from a different religion. “I’m accepting of their beliefs, and they’re accepting of mine,” he explains. “I’m great friends with everyone at my school.”
In the end, Evan might not be surrounded by Church youth on a day-to-day basis, yet he lets his gospel light shine all the same. Besides, who knows how many gospel seeds he’s planting just by being such a good example? After all, things tend to grow just fine in Ireland!
Evan’s Testimony
“I know that the Church is true. I know that Joseph Smith did translate the Book of Mormon—and Helaman is one of the best bits in all of it! Because I have faith, I know I can live again with Heavenly Father. I know that Jesus Christ will walk the earth again. And I know that if we do as Nephi says, if we go and do, we will be blessed.”

When I was 17, I was preparing to serve a mission, but I had a job requiring me to work some Sundays. One day in sacrament meeting, my branch president spoke on the blessings of keeping the Sabbath day holy.
I prayed to God to ask for His guidance. A week later I decided to leave my job because I wanted to receive Heavenly Father’s blessings. A few days later I was approached about a new job where I could earn twice what I made at my old job. Also I didn’t have to work on Sunday.
It was then that I understood the importance of keeping the Sabbath day holy and that every law has its blessing if we obey it (see D&C 130:21).

He started with a short story about Arturo Toscanini, the late, famous conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, who received a letter from a lonely sheepherder in a remote mountain area of Wyoming. It included these words: “‘Mr. Conductor: I have only two possessions—a radio and an old violin. The batteries in my radio are getting low and will soon die. My violin is so out of tune I can’t use it. Please help me. Next Sunday when you begin your concert, sound a loud “A” so I can tune my “A” string; then I can tune the other strings. When my radio batteries are dead, I’ll have my violin.’
“At the beginning of his next nationwide radio concert from Carnegie Hall, Toscanini announced: ‘For a dear friend and listener back in the mountains of Wyoming, the orchestra will now sound an “A.”’ The musicians all joined together in a perfect ‘A.’
“The lonely sheepherder only needed one note, just a little help to get back in tune; he could go on from there. He needed someone who cared to assist him with one string; the others would be easy. Then, with all strings in tune—in harmony—the lonely sheepherder would have a source of companionship and joy and could play uplifting strains.

It hadn’t been that way with Tessie. She was as awkward in her world as he was in his, new in California after being given to her mother in a messy divorce settlement. He remembered the first day she’d moved into the neighborhood, lost in the shuffle of refrigerators and dining room tables. She had sat in the branches of the birch tree between his house and hers, thin legs dangling, her big eyes solemn. His heart had gone out to her as he watched from beneath his car, where he’d given up on his drive shaft to watch the scene next door.

He had worked on his car a lot back then, where he could be alone and not worry about being the life of the party or what to say when the best-looking cheerleader in the school said hello to him. Tessie had watched him from high in the birch tree, never saying a word, just watching him work. It had bothered him at first, like having a shadow looking over his shoulder, and then he’d grown to like it. It was comforting to have her there, and lonely when she wasn’t.

It was almost Christmas when David had come home late one night from a date with Sherri Gilbert. Sherri was cute, and a lot of guys liked her, so when Hank had excitedly told him that she was looking his way, well, it had only seemed right to ask her out. He hadn’t known then that the movie would be boring, the hamburgers cold, and that she would talk about nothing but her summer in France with her cousin Louisa. He had been ready to swear off women forever when he’d turned the corner and seen Tessie sitting on her front porch, her head on her knees.

She’d heard the car and looked up as it turned into his driveway. He’d cut the engine and waited a few minutes before slowly climbing out.

“Past your bedtime, isn’t it?” He’d glanced at his watch and seen that it was almost midnight. “My name is David White.”

“Hello.” She’d lifted her head slightly and peered through her bangs. “How come your car’s always broken?”

“Broken?” He’d grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe I never fix it the right way.” He’d glanced at it in the driveway. It certainly didn’t look like much, one side stripped down to primer, waiting for its paint job. “Maybe if I had somebody to help me, I could talk it over and do a better job.”

She’d hesitated a minute. “Maybe I could help. I used to help my dad with his car.”

“Hey, I’d like that. I don’t suppose you have a name?”

“Tessie Tobin.” He’d thought he’d seen excitement in her eyes. “I’m only seven, and everybody tells me that I’m too little to do anything, because I’m the shortest girl in my class, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

He’d hidden a smile. “I don’t think so. I like short people just as much as the tall ones.”

And that had been the beginning. She’d kept her promise and left the birch tree to become his first-class mate, always ready with a wrench or rag or sometimes just a glass of lemonade.

But he discovered when he arrived at BYU as a freshman, that Hawaii is a rather small pond, and the large splashes he had made there became tiny ripples in the world of intercollegiate sports. At BYU he was a 4:18 miler competing with the likes of Paul Cummings who was under four minutes. It looked as if Henry Marsh had come as far as his talent would take him.

But then came one of those wonderful turning points that can only be recognized much later for what they are. Not knowing what else to do with him, the coaches stuck Henry into the steeplechase, where they had a slot to fill. When they announced their decision to him, it was hard to react one way or the other, because he didn’t even know what the steeplechase was. He listened, worked, and did his best, but he was still able to run only an undistinguished 9:25 that year.

At this point, Henry interrupted his steeple-chasing to fulfill a mission to Brazil. He grew spiritually in the mission field, and to his chagrin he grew physically as well.

“For about 12 months in the middle of my two-year mission I didn’t run a step. I put on 20 pounds, and I was pretty out of shape. But the last six months I started running and trying to incorporate running with missionary work. I went to an athletic club, and we taught the people as we ran with them.”

Nevertheless, the Henry Marsh who returned home in August of 1975 struck no terror in the hearts of the world’s other steeplechasers.

“When I came back from my mission, I wasn’t having much success in running. I quit the team in January. I thought it just wasn’t worth the time. But I couldn’t feel good about that decision because I had this nagging feeling that I hadn’t really reached my potential. I hadn’t really developed my talent to the fullest. Finally I realized that I couldn’t quit until I had given it my all.

“My philosophy of life is that you try to take advantage of all the opportunities that come, because if you don’t, they’re going to be gone. It’s very hard for me to sit back and watch things pass by. Every day that ticks off there are certain things that you have the potential to accomplish, and if you don’t that’s too bad.

“The thing in life that motivates me the most is the need to reach my full potential with the talents and capacities that God has given me. It was frustrating sometimes, but it was mostly a question of not being able to quit until I knew what my potential was.”

Henry’s reasons for going on a mission were tied in with this same concept. “The importance of a mission had been instilled in me since I was a child. I don’t think I would have felt fulfilled religiously if I had not taken advantage of the opportunity I had to go on a mission. It’s a lot the same type of need I have to reach my potential in running. Except that reaching my religious potential is even more important.”

The decision to stick with running was soon vindicated, because 1976 was pure magic. In one of the great Cinderella stories in the annals of sports, Henry exploded from a 9:25 weakling to an 8:23.99 star, top American, and tenth-place finisher in the Olympics, with the second fastest time ever by an American, missing the record by seven-tenths of a second. He literally came from nowhere to stun the American sports scene.

His goal for 1976 had been to run an 8:55 and qualify for the NCAA meet. At the beginning of the year it seemed like an ambitious goal indeed, but as the year progressed it began looking more and more possible. In an almost magical progression, his times dropped every week. Improvements that should have taken months, came in days. He not only qualified for the NCAA meet, but astounded everyone there by finishing a strong second with a time of 8:27, which qualified him for the Olympic trials.

Never except in his wildest dreams had Henry even thought about going to the Olympics, but now it was a possibility. Still, he felt his chances were only about 50–50. He would be competing with real names in the sport. He proved himself again, however, by finishing second in the trials. He was on his way to Montreal. At the Olympics he again surprised everyone by reaching the finals, the only American to do so, and the second youngest finalist in that event in the history of the games. His eventual tenth-place finish was a triumph for a 22-year-old in a sport where runners reach their peak at around age 30. And this 22-year-old had been an “also ran” to “also rans” less than a year earlier!

In January of 1972, after eating at a nice restaurant and attending the Osmonds in concert, I asked my wife to marry me. She said, “No.” A little over a month later, as I was walking her home from Church, she said, “Well, are you going to marry me or am I going to have to get a job?” I wisely agreed to marry her. She had, very sensibly, not accepted my invitation too quickly and been careful to make sure she had chosen the right man. She understood President Gordon B. Hinckley’s counsel: “This will be the most important decision of your life, the individual whom you marry. . . . Marry the right person in the right place at the right time” (“Life’s Obligations,” Ensign, February 1999, 2).

A faithful young woman decided not to compromise her standards when she was asked to dress immodestly to fit into the business division of the fashion company where she worked. Understanding that her body is a sacred gift from our Heavenly Father and a place where the Spirit can dwell, she was moved to live by a standard higher than the world’s. She not only gained the confidence of those who saw her living by the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ but also preserved her job, which for a moment was in jeopardy. Her willingness to do what was pleasing in the sight of the Lord, rather than what worked for the world, gave her covenant confidence amidst difficult choices.

This past week you received an invitation from Sister Rasband and me that was posted on your discussion board. It gave you the links of two different videos that Elder Bednar and I made while we were in Rome. Sister Rasband and I asked if you would please watch the videos and then share them with your friends. We have now had the opportunity to read a few of your posts and have been very touched by your comments; thank you for responding to our invitation.
As you may recall, one of the videos is with Elder Bednar and I standing in front of the Mamertine Prison in Rome, where the Apostles Paul and Peter were imprisoned. We went into that prison, a dungeon, two levels underground. There is just a little rock stump where Paul was chained for two years; you can imagine how that made us feel. We had decided to record spontaneously, with no teleprompter, no script—to just stand out in front of this prison and testify to the world that the same keys that were on the earth at the time of Peter and Paul are on the earth again with the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
In reference to the other video where Elder Bednar and I gave a virtual tour of the Rome Temple, we hope you have had the opportunity to share this video with your member and non-member friends. Think of someone you can do a little missionary work with using one or both of these videos.
Perhaps you could send a little note such as, “I am sending you a video of two of the Apostles of our Church bearing testimony in Rome of the divinity of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then you could add your testimony. Or you could say, “I know you have wondered about our temples. Well, let me show you a virtual tour of the recently dedicated Rome Italy Temple.” Then bear your testimony about temples. I hope you are willing to do this if you have not already done so.

The Savior taught that the first and great commandment is to love God and that the second, which “is like unto it,” is to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–39). The Four Corners area—where Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah come together—is home to the Navajo Nation, a place where, for Latter-day Saints, “love God” and “love your neighbor” have become a way of life. Here’s what some Church members in the area have to say about living the second great commandment.
Yellowman family
“People like being included. They just need to be invited.”
The home of Tom and Gina Yellowman, in Kirtland, New Mexico, is a place where friends and neighbors gather regularly for dinners. “But there’s a catch,” Gina says as she, her son, and her daughter prepare fry bread in the kitchen. “You can only come if you bring someone from your ward who hasn’t been attending church or someone, member or not, who needs a friend.”
She explains: “We kept meeting people who felt isolated. So we decided to have a barbecue where they could get to know others. For example, my niece came. She’s a high school volleyball coach, and a couple of her players and their families came too. Two of the girls on the team hadn’t realized before that they are both members of the Church.
“And there are people who live across the river on the reservation, but they didn’t know each other. When they came here, they figured out, ‘Hey, we’re neighbors,’ and now they have friends nearby who share the same standards, people they can turn to for help or just to borrow a potato because they live far from the grocery store. That was our goal—to bring people together so they can support each other.”
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat” (Matthew 25:35).
The Yellowmans say that the dinners are an extension of a family tradition of providing food to others. Tom explains: “It started one night when we took our children out for hamburgers. We didn’t have a lot of money, so it was a special treat. When we got there, we saw some homeless people in the parking lot. We bought a couple of extra meals and let the kids hand them the food.”
After that, each Christmas season the family prepared small bags of food to give to people without a home. Extended family members joined in, so did friends, and soon they were distributing 75 to 100 bags in Farmington and Shiprock.
“When my kids and their cousins hand out these bags,” Tom says, “they tell people how grateful they are to be able to give them food.”
“One man even asked us to pray with him,” says Toma, Tom and Gina’s 22-year-old son. “That made the experience particularly meaningful to me.”
“We grow to love those whom we serve.”
The Yellowmans also know that loving your neighbor starts with loving your family. That includes Sister Yellowman’s father, Wallace Thompson, who lives in an outbuilding next to the family home. Daughter Tayla, age 27, says she likes having her acheii (maternal grandfather) nearby. “He’s helped me to learn about our native language,” she says. “I’ve also gotten to know him as a person. He’s such a character! He’s got his own style of humor. He’s also very direct, so be ready for that. But it’s been a blessing to really get to know him.”
Trevor, a 19-year-old son, says he helped care for acheii after he had open-heart surgery. “He didn’t have full use of his hands, and he couldn’t reach his back,” Trevor says. “So I helped him to bathe.” As he served his grandfather, a bond of love grew between them.

I would like to share an experience that has had a profound impact on my life.
Seven years ago, my son Marc had an acute pain in the stomach area. It often woke him up late at night and we made regular trips to the medical clinic. The ultrasound examinations they performed on him did not provide any reason for the pain, and it continued until it began to seriously impact his schooling. The pediatrician suggested we put medicine in his bag and let the teacher give it to him when the pain got very bad.
One day, the teacher called me and was quite concerned because the pain was more excruciating than usual. He was going to send him to the hospital. Of course, I was very upset. The doctor prescribed some medicine and told my son to stay in bed at home because he could not walk. With tears in my eyes, I hurried to the pharmacy, not knowing if my son would live or not, his pain and moans were so bad.
When I got to the pharmacy, I saw a scene that greatly impacted me. There was a young mother there trying to purchase medicine for the baby she was holding that was about a year old and you could see that he was in very bad shape. Everyone in the pharmacy could hear the conversation between the pharmacy employee and the young mother when the employee told the mother that she did not have enough money to purchase medicine for both severe malaria and anemia. With tears in her eyes, the young mother said “my son must be hospitalized, and I only have 5000 f CFA, the last note I have left. If I buy two medications, my son will have nothing to eat to take his medication.” The employee could not help her. The young lady took one of her prescriptions and left sadly.
Listening to the exchange while standing in line, there was a battle going on in my head between two voices. One told me to buy the medicine for the young lady, while another dissuaded me from it, warning me of the risk of putting my own son’s life in danger without returning home with his medicine full.
After this internal fight of a few moments, another voice said to me: “She could be your daughter, or your mother. If you were in her place what would you have wanted someone to do for you?”
After thinking of this, I made my decision, to buy the drugs for the young stranger. I asked the guard who regulated the entries to call her back because she and her baby had left the pharmacy.
Before the mother returned, I asked the cashier to give her the entire medical prescription without mentioning my name or my presence, and I would pay the bill. The cashier respected my wishes and when the young mother asked for the identity of her benefactor, to offer thanks, she was simply told that she could return to her home.
I said a prayer within me: “May God strengthen your child and grant him healing”. After that, an indescribable deep peace and immense joy came into my mind. I was happy to see the lady leave with the medicine.
Given my now limited means, I bought a very small part of the medication prescribed for my son and went home with joy in my heart. I had arrived in tears at the pharmacy, but returned home joyfully, even though I was still feeling fear of knowing in what state I would find my son.
Imagine my surprise and joy when I returned home to see Marc sitting in the living room, quietly watching his favorite TV series called “Fireman Sam”. He was miraculously cured.
Later, becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and studying the scriptures, I was able to understand that the miraculous healing of my son was certainly linked to the gesture I made towards the unknown. While I was giving love to someone else, God was working for me.
Today my son is 13 years old and has not felt his pain since that day at the pharmacy.
There is power in the love we give to our neighbor without expecting anything.

Several years ago, on a flight home from a Church assignment, Sister Sabin and I found ourselves seated directly behind a very large man who had a big, angry face tattooed on the back of his bald head as well as the number 439.
When we landed, I said, “Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if I ask the significance of the number tattooed on the back of your head?” I didn’t dare ask about the angry face.
He said, “That’s me. That’s who I am. I own that territory: 219!”
Four hundred and thirty-nine was the actual number on his head, so I was surprised he got it wrong since it was so important to him.
I thought how sad it was that this man’s identity and self-esteem were based on a number associated with a gang territory. I thought to myself: This tough-looking man was once someone’s little boy who still needed to feel valued and to belong. If only he knew who he really was and to whom he really belonged, for we have all been “bought with a price.”

After the closing prayer at my cousin’s Eagle Scout court of honor, somebody rolled out a cart with bowls of ice cream and a variety of toppings. I was one of the first to get to the refreshments. As I poured chocolate syrup over my ice cream, I laughed with my brothers and cousins.
While eating, I looked around the room. We were in the gym, and metal folding chairs had been set up for the audience. Most of the chairs were empty now. People were gathered in small groups talking and laughing. My great-grandma Clark sat alone.
Grandma Clark had once been an energetic world traveler, but a couple of strokes had left her frail. I crossed the room, sat down next to her, and asked if I could get her some ice cream.
Grandma simply said, “Michael’s getting me some.”
I turned and saw my father, Michael, walking towards us with an ice-cream sundae. He was always thinking of others.
My father often encouraged me to serve others, but it was through his example that I really learned how to serve.

About the first part of October, our teacher, Miss Olson, began telling us about Halloween in the olden days in our town. People wore special costumes and went around town doing good deeds, such as taking food and clothing to those who needed them. “They weren’t like some of you boys today, going out Halloween night and destroying people’s property or putting their plows on someone else’s roof.”
I was sure she was looking directly at the four of us sitting in the southwest corner of the classroom. As far as I knew, none of us had been involved in any vandalism. But we were in the fifth grade now and were strong enough to do almost anything. The idea that Halloween had been a night for doing good and not for mischief kept coming up the next few weeks, but none of us boys realized how much of it we had absorbed.
One Monday, Miss Olson announced, “Next Saturday night you are all invited to a Halloween party at my home. Everyone is to wear a costume. We’ll play games, and there will be refreshments. The party will begin at seven-thirty, and anyone who shows up without a costume will be sent home.”
Directly after school, Tom, DeForest, Raymond, and I conferred. None of us had any money to buy a costume, so we all figured out what we could rig up. We had several conferences during the week to update each other’s progress, and we decided to meet at the corner a half block from my house, then walk the four blocks to Miss Olson’s home together.
Even though we arrived early the night of the party, several girls were already there, wearing the usual Halloween costumes—princess, ballerina, and so forth. There was one Gypsy. She pretended to tell our fortunes, telling us we’d go on journeys or inherit a large fortune. After each “fortune,” she placed a small piece of hard candy in our hand, closed our fist around it, and patted our cheek. One girl was wearing an Austrian dirndl (native dress) that her brother had brought home from his mission there.
We had a wonderful time playing games. When we bobbed for apples, none of us boys was able to get one. Only one of the girls got one. She dunked her whole head into the water to do it, and almost all the curl came out of her hair.
The next game went more smoothly. Apples were hung from the ceiling on strings. A girl on one side and a boy on the other were to try to get a bite from it without using their hands. I was matched up with Nora. We eventually worked out a solution: We both pressed our mouths against the apple to keep it somewhat stationary. Then Nora was able to get her teeth a little way into it and hold it still until I got a bite. Most of the others saw what we did, and succeeded in getting at least a nibble too.
After some more games, we sang songs around Miss Olson’s piano. Then the living room door opened, and her mother and father came in carrying plates. On each plate was a cheese sandwich cut diagonally, a mound of potato salad, and a cup of hot chocolate. Forks and napkins followed. And as soon as we gobbled down the food, the plates were taken to the kitchen and we were each given a dish heaped with orange ice cream with small black candies on it, and a large orange cookie with a dab of black frosting on top! It was then after nine-thirty. We all shook hands with Miss Olson and her parents and thanked them for the nice party.
Outside, the four of us boys got together. The moon was about half full, and some thin clouds partially obscured it. We knew that our parents weren’t expecting us home till about ten o’clock, so we walked along the streets, looking for evidences of Halloween pranks. A few gates had been removed, and just in front of one door a bucket of water had been balanced on the top of a rake. The dwellers would get a watery surprise when they opened the door the next morning!
We stopped in front of the Christiansens’ home. All the blinds were drawn, and there wasn’t a light anywhere. They were an elderly couple and were almost totally deaf. Mr. Christiansen spoke only Norwegian, and though I understood Norwegian pretty well, I couldn’t speak it. Most Norwegians can understand Danish, even if they can’t speak it, but when I tried to talk to him in Danish, he’d wave his hand and tell me that I should know that he didn’t understand English.
Next to the kitchen of their home was a wooden lean-to. Its foundation was four feet above the ground. Under it Mr. Christiansen stored his wood and coal so that it could be out of the weather but handy to get at.
Miss Olson’s lessons about Halloween in the olden days struck a chord in us as we stood there, and we decided to chop some wood for the Christiansens. When I went home for my favorite ax—my father had made it specially so that I could cut kindling—I told my parents what we were going to do, and they seemed very pleased.
Having the shortest distance to go, I was at the woodpile first. I found several pieces of sawed logs under the kitchen stairs and was busily chopping those into kindling by the time the others arrived.
At first we worked as quietly as we could, but then we began to sing. Pretty soon we were singing louder and louder, and I was thinking, How happy Mr. Christiansen will be when he comes out in the morning and sees all this kindling. And how happy Miss Olson is going to be on Monday when we tell her what we did after we left her party. I don’t know how the other boys felt, but I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Suddenly the light in the kitchen went on, the door flew open, and out came Mr. Christiansen. He was in his nightshirt, and his feet were bare. He yelled, in Norwegian, “Thieves! Thieves! You are stealing my wood!”
I tried to speak to him in Danish, but he just yelled, “No! No! I don’t understand English, and you are stealing my wood!”
Then Mr. Christiansen saw the lighted lantern that I had placed on a nearby rock. “And you are trying to burn my house down!” he bellowed.
All we could do was grab our saws and axes and leave. I felt terrible. This certainly wasn’t the way it was supposed to turn out.
DeForest was the first to say anything. “So much for doing good deeds on Halloween. I wonder if people in the olden days ever ran into this kind of trouble.”
Now, I can understand the old man’s confusion. As poor as they were, Mr. Christiansen had always worried about someone setting his house or his barn on fire or stealing his kindling. And it must have been hard for him to chop and cut all the wood for their everyday needs. We had tried to reason with him, but was it really us? I mean, that night I was dressed in a mountain man costume—a red flannel shirt underneath a jacket that Mom had sewn fringes of cloth scraps on, Dad’s old leather boots, and a hat I’d made from a rabbit skin. Our string mop had become my scraggly beard.
Tom wore an old crumpled hat, one of his father’s old coats that his mother had sewn patches on here and there to cover supposed worn spots, and an old pair of overalls that were also covered with various colored patches. He had rubbed soot on his cheeks to look like a scruffy beard, and was a very convincing hobo.
DeForest had so many freckles that they seemed to be plastered on top of each other. He hated them, so he had painted his face white and his nose red, made a top hat out of black construction paper, stuffed paper into his dad’s work shoes, and wore two different plaids for his pants and shirt. He made a really great clown.
Raymond was wearing a suit of long underwear that had been dyed green and had “muscles” sewn into it, and a blue blanket that had been fashioned into a cape. He’d glued blue scraps of material onto the front nt in the shape of the letters SR for “Super Raymond.”
So no wonder Mr. Christiansen didn’t recognize us. When he’d gone to bed, all had been quiet. Then he was awakened by our singing, which to his deaf ears must have sounded like coyotes’ howling. Imagine how he must have felt when he saw all sorts of strange-looking characters lurking around his woodpile. I would have yelled too.
When I went home and told my folks, my mother said, “We’ll get this all straightened out tomorrow. I’m sure that when Mr. Christiansen finds out what you were trying to do, he’ll be happy and grateful.”
The next morning on the way to church, I was startled to see him bundled in two heavy quilts, sitting in a rocker in his yard. He was asleep, and I figured that if he had been sitting there protecting his woodpile all night, he was entitled to sleep.
He was asleep in the chair again on Monday morning. His head was bent over to one side, and he looked cold and tired.
At school, we told Miss Olson the entire story and how puzzled we were by the outcome.
“I know all about it,” she told us. “I’m very proud of you boys for what you tried to do. I’m in touch with Mr. Christiansen’s daughter, Mrs. Larsen, and I’m sure that everything will be straightened out to your credit.”
Neither the chair nor Mr. Christiansen were in his yard when I came home from school that afternoon. As I entered the kitchen, my mother said, “Miss Olson and Mrs. Larsen have explained to Mr. Christiansen what you boys were trying to do for him last Saturday. He wants to apologize to all of you. You’re to go over tomorrow after school.”
The next afternoon, Miss Olson opened the door as we approached the Christiansens’. The old couple were sitting by the window. Their daughter stood next to Mr. Christiansen. “Now, here is the way we’ll work this,” Miss Olson said. “You boys line up in single file. When I introduce you, you shake hands with Mr. and Mrs. Christiansen, then tell Mrs. Larsen your parents’ names and where you live. She’ll translate your words into Norwegian for them.”
Tom was called on first. Mr. Christiansen thanked him profusely, in Norwegian. The old couple smiled and shook hands with him.
DeForest was next. The couple knew his family quite well. In fact, Mr. Christiansen had made bins for DeForest’s grandfather’s salt refinery.
Then came Raymond. After Mrs. Larsen explained in very loud Norwegian who he was, Mr. Christiansen thanked him over and over again. Then Raymond winked at Mr. Christiansen and grinned at him. One of his teeth had been blacked out with black gum. Mr. Christiansen almost laughed out loud.
I was last. As Mrs. Larsen started to tell the couple about me, Mr. Christiansen waved her to silence. “I know this boy. He comes over to visit, and he talks to me in a very strange language.” He grabbed my hand and held it in both of his. Mrs. Christiansen did the same with my other hand.
“Well, I think that everything is straightened out now,” Miss Olson said. “Do you boys think that you could finish what you’d started to do for the Christiansens last Saturday night?”
I hurried home for my special ax, and Raymond and DeForest borrowed Mr. Christiansen’s ax and saw. Tom busied himself with carrying in the wood. We soon filled up three coal buckets, two for the kitchen and one for the bedroom.
Mrs. Larsen told us to wash our hands; then we were ushered into the dining room, where we saw stacks of sandwiches, a huge bowl of potato salad, a tray full of pumpkin pickles, and cups of steaming hot chocolate. Mr. Christiansen offered a prayer in which he thanked the Lord for us, our families, and Miss Olson.
When we left, the Christiansens stood by the door and thanked us again for coming. We decided that maybe we’d have an olden-days Halloween next year too.

With a twinkle in his eye, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”

When I moved to Utah, I was instantly greeted by Jenny. She welcomed me to the ward and introduced me to others in the room. Jenny radiated love for others.
Each week, she searched for those who were a bit lost at church. They would be quiet, often sitting in the back or in a corner in meetings. She hugged each one and engaged them in conversation. It didn’t matter who they were—no one escaped Jenny’s embrace. She glowed with Christlike love and acceptance.
Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described what can happen when we minister out of love: “We will serve not because our service is being counted and measured but because we love our Father in Heaven and are motivated by a higher and nobler pursuit—helping our friends find and stay on the path home to Him. We are loving and serving our neighbors as Jesus would if He were in our place, truly trying to improve people’s lives and lighten their burdens.”
President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke of the “poor in spirit” who struggle and shared his deep testimony of the power of Christ’s love: “There can and will be plenty of difficulties in life. Nevertheless, the soul that comes unto Christ, who knows His voice and strives to do as He did, finds a strength, as the hymn says, ‘beyond [his] own’ [“Lord, I Would Follow Thee,” Hymns, no. 220]. The Savior reminds us that He has ‘graven [us] upon the palms of [His] hands’ [1 Nephi 21:16]. … When He says to the poor in spirit, ‘Come unto me,’ He means He knows the way out and He knows the way up. … He knows the way because He is the way.”
Each of us can share Christ’s love with those around us who are feeling “poor in spirit.” From testifying to encouraging to simply wrapping our arms around them and saying, “Jesus loves you!,” we can find many ways to share His love with those who desperately need reminding.
Each of us can invite others, say hello to them, pray for them, search for them, and share Christ’s love with those who struggle. This work of ministering can unite us all with bonds of charity as we do Christ’s work among our brothers and sisters.
The author lives in Utah.

Sister Kim told you about the earthquake. It was a 7.6 quake. Many people lived in tents for weeks or months, including some of our missionaries. Most of my responses were automatic because I was involved with Hurricane Iniki that hit Kauai. I was the Senior Medical Administrator at the time in the Guard, and was in the Diamond Head Crater Civil Defense Command Center when the first communications came out of Kauai. In the ensuing days, I worked with other relief organizations and military units to quickly take relief to the people of Kauai. From this experience, I knew exactly what to do when the earthquake hit Taiwan. I learned that experiences in other fields can be transferred to church callings.

About a week after the earthquake, I received a call from the vice-president of the Tsu Chi Buddhist Benevolent Society in Central Taiwan in the morning. He said, "President Kim, we are an organization of older people who have money and good will. We are in the process of building temporary housing for the victims of the earthquake. But we lack the muscles to pour cement and build the foundations for those homes. We know that you have young missionaries here. Can you help us?"
I said, "How many young men do you need?"
"About forty."
"When do you need them?"
"The cement trucks start arriving at 2:00 this afternoon."
I concluded, "I will try and give you the help you need."
I called my Assistants and had them call four zones of missionaries to bike to Chunghsing and help the Buddhists build their temporary housing. Some of them biked over two hours, but by 2:00 they were all working side by side with their Buddhist brothers. Some of our missionaries came from families in the construction business, so they were even of greater help. For two weeks they worked together and built a great relationship. Later, the Vice-President confided in me, "We actually had asked some other churches to help, but they declined saying that they needed to take care of their own members. Your church truly is a church where love has no bounds." This story was even printed in the Tzuchi Foundations' magazine, so we got great coverage from that. I learned that selfless service brings greater rewards most of which are unexpected.

Fortunately, we have fine examples of meekness to help us, and I need go no farther than my own Quorum.

The Acting President of the Council of the Twelve, President Howard W. Hunter, is a meek man. He once refused a job he needed as a young man because it would have meant another individual would have lost his job. This is the same lowly man, when I awakened after a weary and dusty day together with him on assignment in Egypt, who was quietly shining my shoes, a task he had hoped to complete unseen. Meekness can be present in the daily and ordinary things.