Gospel Story Finder

When I married, I never thought that the word divorce would ever become part of my personal history. But despite my pleas and best efforts to save our relationship, my husband left and our marriage ended. I felt like a failure.
A time of deep pain, humiliation, and shattered dreams followed. I had never experienced greater loss or grief.
In the midst of my sorrow, my ministering brothers came to see me. They consoled me and gave me a blessing. Then, in their deep voices, they sang a hymn for me that I didn’t recognize. For me at that difficult time, it was the most beautiful, comforting hymn I had ever heard. They sang:
Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One. 1
I could not help but weep at the words and music. They confirmed for me, and strengthened my testimony of, the truth that the Savior understood me, loved me, and would never leave me alone in my sorrow.
As my ministering brothers finished singing, I remembered the words that Isaiah used to describe the Savior: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5).

Black clouds piled up in the west as I fastened my seat belt and Mom started the car. My mood was as dark as those clouds. Why did Mom always tell people I would play a musical number on the piano whenever anyone asked me? I was only 12, but I was often asked to play for church programs and in other wards. Bishop Bowen had asked me to play a musical number in his ward’s sacrament meeting this evening. We used to live in his ward.
“Why do I have to play?” I asked Mom. “I like to practice at home, but I don’t like to play in public. Some of my friends will be there and they’ll make fun of me. They all know I play the piano and they tease me about it.”
“You have a special gift for music, Kent,” Mom said. “You need to share your talent.”
I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and didn’t say anything else.
When we got to the church, Mom parked the car. The wind was blowing hard as we hurried into the building.
Sitting in the chapel, I flattened my hands over my shaky knees to quiet them. Mom patted my shoulder and smiled at me. I pulled away and swallowed hard.
After the sacrament, Bishop Bowen announced the rest of the meeting. He said who would be the first speaker, and then he said, “We’re so happy to have Kent back with us this evening. He will play a musical number for us.”
A lady sitting behind us leaned forward and patted my shoulder and smiled. “Why do my friends tease me so much, but the adults always like to hear me play?” I wondered.
I heard the wind howling outside. My throat was dry. Too bad I couldn’t get a drink of water. My fingers were stiff so I rubbed them.
The first speaker finished his talk. Ready or not, it was my turn. My stomach churned as I stared at the keys. I felt like striking them with all my strength. Too bad I wasn’t playing my favorite song, “The Storm.” A storm raged inside me as well as outside.
A minute passed as I sat there trying to compose myself, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, I raised my hands and let them fall gently on the keys. The soft chords dropped from my fingertips and quieted the storm inside me. I pictured a bright moon in the sky making a stream of light on ripples across a lake. My fingers rippled over the keys like the moonlight over the water. I felt like I was playing at home. I loved every minute of it.
When I finished, I slipped into the pew beside Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders, and I heard rain spattering against the windows. A sudden flash of lightning jarred the quiet congregation.
The second speaker stood up to give his talk, but I could only hear the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain outside. A sudden blinding flash seemed to almost come right into the building, followed by a loud crash. All the lights went out in the chapel! The speaker continued his talk even though it was hard to hear him without the microphone. Babies cried. Kids wiggled. Everybody was whispering.
When the speaker finished, Bishop Bowen stood up and spoke loudly. “Our meeting is finished except for the closing prayer. But we surely can’t go out into this storm. Kent, will you please play your musical number again?”
I was shocked. How could I quiet all that confusion and fear? I felt my way to the piano bench in the darkness and found middle C. Then I knew I would be all right. I had never felt such peace as the memorized notes blended into each other. The nervous confusion in the chapel stopped and everyone seemed to be concentrating on the music.
The congregation was silent as the last tones died away. The storm outside had calmed down. Someone offered the closing prayer, and then everyone began to leave, finding their way carefully in the dark. Some of my friends were waiting for me in the foyer.
“Hey, Kent, how did you do that? Your music took away the scare,” one said.
“I wish I could play like that,” said another.
No one made fun of me. What a relief! A woman touched my elbow and said, “Tonight you used music for a great purpose. You gave us calmness over panic. I’ve never felt more uplifted and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Please don’t ever stop playing.”

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip.
I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there may be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained from all the energy they had expended.
He was even more surprised and asked what I meant. I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I know of their challenges and sacrifices. I told him of the struggles of young people in those areas to obtain the needed funds to support themselves on missions. For the family to have enough food is often a challenge. Clothing is shared and worn out. Fashion is whatever is available, and in many cases that is not much. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several of these missionaries in the field for their entire missions. We talked about the relative value of an adventure trip as compared to that of missionary service.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate these funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?” I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning, but there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting and enticing while other things are important.
Later, the bishop said he had talked to the young people and they had caught the vision and spirit of our previous conversation. They wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. They asked if they could come and bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation, and could they have the picture and an article put into the news?
I surprised him again. I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Recognition from on high is silent. It is carefully and quietly recorded there. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”
They did this, and now, as a reward, each has a memory and a pride which they recognize as one of the finer and more important things that they have ever done.

In anticipation of the hurricanes, the Church had moved food, bottled water, generators, chain saws, and other equipment to safe sites near the coast. As soon as the storms passed, supplies and equipment were quickly moved to locations like the storehouse for use and distribution. Stakes and wards in surrounding areas organized thousands of LDS volunteers into work groups that came each weekend from September to November to put tarps on roofs, cut up trees lying across roads, and pull up water-soaked carpets.

Ben Bradley, 13, was on one of these crews. He and his father, sister, and brother drove seven hours each way from Albany, Georgia, to Gulfport, Mississippi, making the trip several times. “We wanted to help,” Ben says. “I learned that all it takes is a willingness to pitch in, and Mormons are good at that.” Often crews would complete a work order at a member’s house and then perform similar tasks in other houses or yards in the neighborhood. The Church was widely recognized for its ability to help its own members and its willingness to help others, too.

It was a long process for Sukardi of Indonesia and his family to find closure and hope following the 2004 tsunami that devastated the coasts of Southeast Asia.
“We thought it was the end of the world; it was unbelievable,” said Sukardi, looking back to December 26, 2004, the day a massive underwater earthquake struck off the coast of Indonesia, causing a tsunami that killed more than 225,000 people in 11 countries. “But we are alive, and we are together, and we are happy.”
Sukardi, like thousands of others, lost family members and friends, his home, land, and nearly his life. After being washed away with the tsunami, he managed to grab hold of a coconut tree and cling to it as he waited for the floodwaters to recede.
Joined by family members, each with similar survival stories, Sukardi now resides in a home built with the help of Latter-day Saint Charities, an arm of Church Humanitarian Services, as part of the Church’s efforts to assist tsunami survivors.
The Church’s emergency relief efforts during the months immediately following the tragedy provided commodities such as food, hygiene kits, medical supplies, and clothing. Because of members’ significant donations, the Church began planning longer-term relief. As part of that long-term effort, fishermen and carpenters were given jobs constructing more than 130 replacement fishing boats. Men were hired to use large, wide-tracked backhoes to help reconstruct the dikes around shrimp farms. Sewing machines, looms, hand tractors, and other tools were donated to encourage a return to self-sufficiency.
“All of the first year was focused on reestablishing livelihood and helping individuals get back to work,” said Brett Bass, director of Church Humanitarian Services. “Then we looked at our resources, identified the most pressing needs, and refocused our efforts on permanent reconstruction.”
The Church’s efforts included constructing community centers, homes, schools, medical clinics, and clean water systems—all made possible by a tremendous outpouring of humanitarian generosity. In the time of need, Church members from around the world contributed to help make these efforts possible.
The Church’s monumental efforts in Indonesia concluded in December 2007. Major projects included building 902 homes and 3 community centers, constructing 15 schools, building 3 fully equipped health clinics, rebuilding a hospital wing, and completing 24 village water projects.
Abdul Samad lived in a hastily constructed community barracks for two and a half years before he and his family moved into their new home. He lost his wife and her mother in the flood but now hopes to make life better for his remaining family, three daughters and a son.
Each of the 902 homes built and donated is 44 square meters. The hundreds of recipients frequently said they believe their homes were the best homes built, that they would pass them on to their children and grandchildren. They loved the colors used and the tile on the floors and expressed gratitude for having something solid and reliable in their lives again.
“When the earthquake hit and the tsunami followed, the first thing they did, if they were in their house, was run outside,” said Jeff McMurdo from International Organization for Migration, which partnered with the Church to build homes. “From the moment it started, they were running. So when they get the keys to a house, they are able to get some measure of closure to the whole tragedy of the tsunami experience.”
The Church continued rebuilding efforts by partnering with Islamic Relief and the Adventist Development and Relief Agency to build 15 schools, along with training new teachers and developing curriculum and education support systems.
Many of the area’s teachers were killed in the tsunami, creating a significant teacher shortage. Kamaruzzaman, a teacher from Banda Aceh, is one of just two surviving teachers from his school. With the loss of buildings, teachers, and children, the education system operated in a very makeshift fashion until these new schools were constructed.
“They have been going to a temporary building for school—a community hall where there are about 40 students in the room,” said Kamaruzzaman, who is now a head schoolmaster of a newly built school. “The students now have a better school that’s more helpful to learning. They now have a more hopeful future.”
Each school building was furnished with desks, whiteboards, and libraries to provide a quality learning environment for children. As more teachers became available, an emphasis was put on training and developing new curriculum.
Herliana, an education coordinator for Islamic Relief, said she is very proud to be a part of this project. “There were no schools; there were few trained teachers left,” she said. “This has been a great contribution to the communities. Together we are making a big difference in the lives of the children, teachers, parents, and families.”
Fauziah, an animated and smiling woman, is now a water operator for her small village near Bireuen in Aceh Provence. In this position, she keeps records and collects water-usage fees from those who use the community’s new water system.
In partnership with International Relief and Development, the Church completed 24 village water projects that consisted of renovating wells, installing storage tanks, improving sanitation, and upgrading delivery systems. These efforts are providing clean water to 20,000 people.
“Before, it was hard to get good water and it took a long time to go get it,” said Fauziah as she expressed gratitude to have access right outside her home. “Now our children will be healthier and will have a better future.”
Bath and laundry facilities were also built in the villages, and residents received training on how to take care of the facilities and keep them clean.
While each village also received personal hygiene training, the more elaborate efforts to improve healthcare moved forward with the completion of three fully equipped health clinics and the rebuilding of a hospital wing.
“This is much-needed,” said Syarman, a community leader in the Bireuen district, where access to medical care previously required a 15-kilometer walk. “Our people will be able to get needed medical assistance near their homes. It is better than before, and we are grateful.”
The Church also arranged training for doctors and medical staff and provided needed medical equipment.
For Bill and Linda Hamm of Anchorage, Alaska, USA, the work presented a personal challenge: they were called to serve as humanitarian service missionaries to oversee tsunami relief efforts in Indonesia. “We were exhilarated by the challenges and overwhelmed by the opportunity,” Brother Hamm said.
This opportunity was also extended to Jim and Karen Greding of Thousand Oaks, California, USA, a couple called to oversee the completion of the projects after Brother and Sister Hamm’s 18-month mission concluded. With the assignment to be present and to check on the work being done, these individuals acted as representatives not only of the Church, but also of the many individuals who made contributions.
“We were to oversee the quality of the work and to make sure the money allotted for projects was being used properly,” Sister Greding said. Church representatives were present at every stage of the process, an act that, combined with their funding methods, distinguished the Church from other organizations.
“We regarded our finances as sacred funds and made every effort to see these funds used efficiently and not be wasted,” said Bill Reynolds, director of field operations for tsunami relief. “Many organizations provide funding and wait to see what is happening through infrequent reports. We provided sequential funding that relied on benchmark expectations that we personally oversaw. The organizations we worked with knew that if we said we wanted something done and in a certain way, they needed to meet those expectations.”
The Church focused on helping Indonesia and its people take a simple step forward, a step away from tragedy and pain, a step toward reestablishing life. While these efforts played just a small part among the many individuals and organizations that offered aid to the tsunami victims, the missionaries were able to share their love, the love of the members, and the pure love of Christ.
“We were not permitted to proselyte, but we were representing the Lord and tried to share our testimonies through our work by being kind, polite, or simply by smiling,” Sister Hamm said. “Sometimes we had the opportunity to explain where the funds came from, and we told about our prophet and how he called for a 24-hour fast, with the money that would otherwise be spent on food to be donated to a special fund. I think the Spirit bore witness and they understood that there were individuals around the world who loved them.”
Evidences of the tsunami are still very much apparent, but the people have expressed gratitude for every effort that has been made on their behalf.
“This is simply an experience you can never forget, and anyone who travels to these areas will not be able to miss the evidences of destruction where the land became sea permanently, where so many lost their lives and loved ones,” Sister Greding said. “But many who were suspicious of Christians have changed their hearts. Some stared at us, but most in their limited English said to us, ‘Thank you, mister.’ We heard that often.”

One extremely hot afternoon I was crossing the green agricultural lands of the Pampas in Argentina. The sun was scorching the highway to the point that the heat waves became visible. Nevertheless, I was confident and comfortable because I had just purchased a brand-new car, fresh from the factory, with a big motor and plenty of power to conquer the elements and allow me to travel briskly in air-conditioned comfort.
Suddenly, I noticed that the temperature in my new car had begun to climb and the big motor began to show signs of strain. When the temperature gauge got to the danger point, I pulled the car over to the side of the road in the hope that with my very limited knowledge of mechanics I could discover what was wrong with the car. I must admit I was rather disgusted to think that something could stop my big new car. It wasn’t long after I had lifted the hood that I discovered, to my amazement, that a myriad of colorful little butterflies had collected on the radiator, choked off the cooling process, and stopped the car. I was then struck with the realization of how a few hundred little butterflies, in their collective strength, could master the immense horsepower of the motor. No, it wasn’t an eagle, a hawk, or anything else more or less justifiable, but just a couple hundred little butterflies.
This incident made me think about what often happens in our own lives. I thought about the tremendous potential that exists in each one of us, potential that can direct us to eternal life.
The Prophet Joseph Smith said:
“Here, then, is eternal life—to know the only wise and true God; and you have got to learn how to be Gods yourselves, and to be kings and priests to God, the same as all Gods have done before you, namely, by going from one small degree to another, and from a small capacity to a great one; from grace to grace, from exaltation to exaltation, until you attain to the resurrection of the dead, and are able to dwell in everlasting burnings, and to sit in glory, as do those who sit enthroned in everlasting power. …
“… [You] shall be heirs of God and joint heirs with Jesus Christ. What is it? To inherit the same power, the same glory and the same exaltation, until you arrive at the station of a God, and ascend the throne of eternal power, the same as those who have gone before.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1938, pp. 346–47.)
How many times do we allow little “butterflies” to reduce, restrain, or restrict our immense potential from guiding us to exaltation?
Proportionately they are relatively few, those who are detained in their journey by the so-called grave or serious sins, like those we might find in the newspaper headlines. Generally, it is not the mighty eagle that defeats us, but the tiny little “butterflies.”
To better illustrate this concept, I would like to mention some of those “road hazards” that become obstacles in our marvelous journey to the celestial kingdom.
Have we thought about the tremendous spiritual deterioration that results from not keeping the Sabbath day holy? This commandment involves much more than just resting from our labors. Keeping the Sabbath day holy inherently builds spiritual character and prepares us for what is to come. By observing this commandment, we will have power over evil; we will be more capable of keeping the commandments of the Lord and maintaining ourselves unspotted from the sins of the world. (See D&C 59:9.)
More specifically, speaking about the Sabbath day, have we thought about the spiritual malnourishment that results from not attending our sacrament meetings, or attending them with a wrong attitude? The sacred covenant made by the members of the Church at baptism should be the prevailing thought and feeling in our hearts and minds as we partake of the sacrament. If we can achieve this, we will always have the Spirit of the Lord with us.
No member of the Church can ignore or simply put aside the weekly renewal of this covenant and pretend to maintain the Spirit. If we really understand the purpose of our sacrament meetings, we will attend them not just to hear someone speak, which is of course important, but to renew the sacred covenants made with our Father in Heaven in the name of his son, Jesus Christ. Those who make a habit of not attending this weekly service, and fail to repent, put in great danger their spiritual stability and welfare.
Have we ever stopped to think what it means to our salvation when we neglect prayer, or don’t develop daily from our prayers repeatedly gratifying experiences? We are continually referring to the “power of prayer,”. but are we always willing to pay the price so that the promise we find in 3 Nephi 18:18–20 may be fulfilled?
“Behold, verily, verily, I say unto you, ye must watch and pray always lest ye enter into temptation; for Satan desireth to have you, that he may sift you as wheat.
“Therefore ye must always pray unto the Father in my name;
“And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.”
Another example: do we realize that every time that we sustain the leaders of the Church we are duty bound to support them? The raised hand becomes a symbol of the covenant we make to support them. Each time we criticize or condemn them, we become literally covenant breakers. President Joseph F. Smith made the following comment about this problem:
“The moment a man says he will not submit to the legally constituted authority of the Church, whether it be the teachers, the bishopric, the high council, his quorum, or the First Presidency, and in his heart confirms it and carries it out, that moment he cuts himself off from the privileges and blessings of the Priesthood and Church, and severs himself from the people of God, for he ignores the authority that the Lord has instituted in his Church.” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed., Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1939, p. 45.)
I have had innumerable experiences listening to the reasons people have for not paying their tithing, most of which are just cases of a simple lack of faith.
I remember once in 1957, while I was acting as a new president of a branch in Argentina, I decided to interview the members with respect to the importance of paying tithing. I found myself talking with one good brother of the branch whose name was Jose, who had difficulty paying his tithing. I asked him bluntly, “Brother Jose, why don’t you pay your tithing?” I’m sure Jose didn’t expect me to be so direct.
After a moment of silence he responded: “As you know, President, I have two children. The wage of a laborer is very low. This month I have to buy my children shoes to go to school; and, mathematically, I just don’t have enough money.”
In an instant response, I said, “Jose, I promise you that if you pay your tithing faithfully, your children will have their shoes to go to school, and you will be able to pay for all the needs of your home. I don’t know how he will do it, but the Lord always keeps his promises. Besides that,” I added, “If you still find that you don’t have enough money, I will give you back what you paid in tithing from my own pocket.”
On the way home, I wondered if what I had done was the right thing. Here I was, recently married, just getting started in my career, and faced with my own economic problems. I began to worry about my own shoes, let alone those of Jose’s family! Even though when I got home my dear wife wholeheartedly supported me and reassured me that everything would be all right, I must say that that night nobody prayed harder for Brother Jose’s economic welfare than I did.
One month later, I once again sat down with Jose. Though the tears in his eyes almost made it impossible for him to speak, he said: “President, it is incredible. I paid my tithing; I was able to meet all of my obligations, and I even purchased the new shoes for my children, all without an increase in my wage. I know that the Lord keeps his promises!”
Jose remains to this day a faithful tithe payer.
Up until now, I have mentioned only a few of the problems arising from the little “butterflies” that we find in our eternal pathway. Of course, there are many more. We could mention, for example, the lack of self-control that leads many people to break the Word of Wisdom; the various excuses for not complying with the program of personal and family preparedness; the lack of encouragement and the apathy with regard to our genealogical responsibilities; the failure to return often to the temples of the Lord to do the necessary work for our kindred dead; in some cases the lack of interest, in other cases the fear, that precludes many from participating in missionary work. These are only examples of a list that goes on and on.
It is highly probable that we will never lose our status as members of the Church simply for not adhering to one or more of the aforementioned commandments. Nevertheless, whether individually or collectively, these little “butterflies” affect our spiritual development and, fundamentally, the real capability of each individual.
“For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.” (D&C 58:28.)
The Lord hasn’t sent us to the world to fail. We have been invested with all of the talents and abilities necessary for the journey to arrive, to be once again in His presence. Our greatest challenge is to use faithfully and decidedly all that He has given us to reach our exaltation. If such is our accomplishment—if we “live by every word that proceedeth forth from the mouth of God” (D&C 84:44)—at the end of our journey we will once again be part of a glorious experience such as we had at the start, when “all the sons of God shouted for joy.” (Job 38:7.)
I know that the Lord has made this possible and that he blesses us and will continue to bless us as we progress to our glorious destination. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Relief Society program can help us reach even the needs we may not know exist. I was told about one visiting teacher who, in a caring attitude, sent the sisters she visits a Christmas card. When she went to preparation meeting, the message teacher asked the visiting teachers to send a Christmas card to each of the sisters they visit and include their personal note with the card.
The visiting teacher was perplexed. She had already sent the cards, but she did not write the personal note. After debating with herself for some time she finally determined to send another card, this one with a personal note.
When she visited her assigned sisters in January, she went first to the home of an inactive member. When she entered the room, she could see that all evidences of Christmas had been put away—except for one card standing alone on a small table. It was the card with the note in it. The sister explained that she had left the card out to show her nonmember friends that members of her church go the second mile. She said that she had told them this before, but now she had some tangible evidence they could see.
When the visiting teacher went back the next month, the house was tidy, the furniture dusted, and the card still stood on the small table. The next month, the card was still there—and the next, and the next.
The visiting teacher had not realized that this inactive sister needed a positive manifestation of concern. She also learned how much even small acts of kindness do matter.

Alison shared more thing about her father. “Because he would not be dishonest, some people wanted him out of office. One morning we woke up and there was a can of petrol in front of our house with matches on it. A week later a guy came on his knees apologizing. He said he was hired to burn our house. He had come one night, and it looked like our whole house was sparkling and it scared him, so he ran away. I believe it was an angel of the Lord that stopped him from burning our house down.”

Thank you a thousand times over for the March 1988 issue on service. About three months ago I was assigned a service project for a bi-stake youth conference, and I stewed and fretted over my assignment for days. Why me? What could I possibly do to make this a success and yet fun and rewarding for these 14–18-year-olds? And with so many youth, it just had to go over well.

Days later my son Cleon received his New Era, and I went through it as I always do. WOW!—an answer to my prayers. Our youth conference is over now, and I had to sit down and thank you and the New Haven Connecticut Stake that shared this idea.

Our service project was a big hit, and the youth learned a lesson also in missionary work, because they now realize that everyone doesn’t open their doors with welcoming smiles and eagerness to all that knock on them. Now I know why, evermore, I appreciate and enjoy getting the New Era each month.

Linda PeckWinston Ward Young Women PresidentRoseburg, Oregon Stake

The October dawn was frosty as I helped load our belongings into the covered wagon. The weight I carried in my ten-year-old heart was heavier than the bundles of clothes and food under which I struggled. It just isn’t fair, I thought. I don’t want to leave our home and my friends and travel three hundred miles to an unknown place.
It was 1877, and our home near St. George, Utah Territory, was already one of the farthest away from Salt Lake City.
My mother called. “Mary Agnes, please make sure everything is cleared from the back porch before we leave.”
As I made my way around the house, I thought back to the day six months ago when my father had returned from the dedication of the St. George Temple. Mother and I had stayed home because my baby brother was very ill. One look at Father told me that something serious had happened.
Mother spoke first. “William, what is the matter?”
My strong father took her in his arms with tears streaming down his face. “We must leave our beautiful home.” He could say no more.
Leave? How could we leave? After years of saving and doing without, we had finally been able to buy 260 acres of farmland and build a comfortable brick home where the ten of us could live. We had many horses, cattle, and other farm animals. We lived near my grandmother and my cousins. I was able to attend the school in town. Who would ask us to sacrifice all this?
Later, I heard my parents discussing what was happening. Families were needed to extend Church settlements and influence farther south. Brigham Young had called my father to move with his family. He counseled my father to sell all that we had so that we would not be tempted to return to Utah. We were needed in Arizona.
Arizona. A place where there was very little water. Where there were great distances with nothing to see. Men had been called there by the prophet last year. Many had returned to Utah because they could not endure the hardships. Father said no greater sacrifice could be asked of him.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “It is hard to leave, is it not, Mary Agnes? Do you know the real reason we are moving?”
I shook my head.
“We are going to Arizona because the prophet gave that call to us. Remember what I told you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with nonmember neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship as we pleased in peace.
“Terrible as it was to leave our home, there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go to the unsettled desert. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could make excuses to not go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me to her as she continued. “In the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.’*
“Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago that we would follow the counsel of the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I gained strength to face the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed in the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I would follow the prophet, even to the last frontier.

Marcy hated her eye patch. She’d had to wear it every day for two weeks while her eye healed from surgery, and it made her feel like a scary, one-eyed pirate.
It wasn’t so bad wearing the patch at the hospital or at home because nobody but Marcy’s family saw it. But today was different. Marcy had to face other people for the first time since her surgery. “Mom, please don’t make me go to Primary,” she begged. “The kids will make fun of me.”
“No, they won’t,” Mom said as she braided Marcy’s hair.
“They will,” Marcy insisted. “Nine-year-olds don’t think eye patches are neat, Mom.”
“Sweetie, you might be surprised. I bet they’ll be interested in your surgery. You may be the star of the class.”
Marcy shot her mom a look of disbelief. “Cammy will make fun of me. She always wears the prettiest clothes—she wouldn’t be caught dead in an eye patch. And Dean will probably call me names.” Mom listened while she twisted shiny lavender ribbons around Marcy’s smooth braid.
“Your teacher won’t make fun of you,” Mom said, tying the ribbons into Marcy’s hair.
“Mom,” Marcy sighed, “teachers aren’t allowed to tease.”
“You’re beautiful,” Mom said. “Don’t worry about the patch.”
Marcy frowned. “I don’t look beautiful.”
“Marcy,” Mom said, “to me you look beautiful, and to Heavenly Father you do, too. It says in the scriptures that Heavenly Father doesn’t look on outward appearances, but on the heart. He doesn’t care about fashionable clothes or stylish hair. Or, for that matter, crutches or wheelchairs—or eye patches.”
Marcy sighed again. “Tell that to Cammy and Dean.”
Soon it was time for church, and Marcy’s family drove away in their red van. They slipped into the chapel and sat on the last row. Marcy kept her head down, hoping nobody would notice her.
After sacrament meeting, Marcy trudged down the hall toward her classroom, keeping her head toward the wall to hide the patch. As she got closer to her classroom, tears began welling up in her eyes. Her face flushed hot, and her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest.
She stood outside the classroom door, hoping everyone would notice her lovely hair and pale purple ribbons instead of the ugly black patch. She took a deep breath, but couldn’t go in. The sound of squeaky chairs and gentle laughter inside the room sounded so normal. She didn’t feel like she fit in with those happy sounds.
She glanced around and noticed the hallways were strangely empty. It seemed everybody but her was already in class. She gripped the doorknob. It felt cold on her clammy hands. Turning the knob, she vowed not to cry, no matter how badly the children teased her. She slid through the door and into the nearest seat, keeping her uncovered eye focused on her feet.
Then she heard it. A giggle. She thought it was Dean, but she couldn’t be sure. Then there was another snicker, and another. Then her teacher’s deep voice. “Welcome back, Marcy.”
Marcy looked up at him, knowing he wouldn’t tease her. She gasped when she saw his face. He was wearing an eye patch! A black eye patch, exactly like Marcy’s.
Marcy giggled. Then she looked at the other children in the class. They were all wearing eye patches! Even Cammy. She had painted a yellow tulip on hers, to match the yellow tulips on her blouse. Dean had scrawled his initials on his patch in bright blue puff paint. The rest of the class wore variously decorated patches, with gold stars, smiling suns, or plain black. “Basic black,” her teacher said. “It goes with everything.”
Marcy laughed again to see the variety of eye patches. And suddenly, she didn’t dislike her eye patch quite so much. For the first time all day, she knew that Heavenly Father really did look on her heart. And she knew He could see that hers was full of gratitude and happiness.

Elder Adam S. Bennion once told me of an incident that occurred when he was visiting the Utah State Penitentiary. If you will, speculate for a moment how difficult it is to speak at such a place with six to eight hundred or a thousand inmates. You cannot address them, “My dear brethren, I am glad to see so many of you here this morning.” You cannot address them as fellow citizens because they are not while they are felons. About every other manner of address seems quite as inappropriate.
This great teacher stood before them and said, “Now, I am going to talk with you. I am going to ask you some questions, and I want you to get up and answer me. What was it that brought you here as inmates of this penitentiary? I am frequently a speaker at various gatherings of young people and at graduation exercises, and I would like you to tell me so that I can warn them.”
With the adroitness of a skilled teacher, he finally had them on their feet, and they began to answer. Do you know what they said, almost without exception? “We are here in the state penitentiary because there came a time in our lives when we were made to feel that nobody cared what happened to us.”
As a young boy I was out on a farm away from our home waiting for my father to finish his day’s work. I was playing about, manufacturing things to while away the time, when I saw over the fence in the neighbor’s yard some broken-down buildings with the sheds caving in and with rotting timbers. I imagined as a young boy that that might be a castle I should explore, so I went over to the fence and started to climb through.
Then I heard a voice as distinctly as you are hearing mine: “Harold, don’t go over there.” I looked in every direction to see where the speaker was. I wondered if it was my father, but he couldn’t see me; he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no one in sight. I realized that someone was warning me of an unseen danger—whether there was a nest of rattlesnakes, or whether the rotting timbers would fall on me and crush me, I don’t know. But from that time on, I accepted without question the fact that there are processes not known to man by which we can hear voices from the unseen world, by which we can have brought to us visions of eternity.

Great! I thought sarcastically. I had to come up with a devotional for seminary on service, and I didn’t know any good stories to tell.
“What should I do?” I asked my mom when I got home from school and explained the situation.
“Well, your dad is going over to Grandma’s right now,” she answered. “Why don’t you go with him and ask Grandma for an idea.”
When we arrived at Grandma’s house, she greeted us with her usual smile.
“Do you have any good stories about service?” I asked. “I have to give the devotional in seminary tomorrow.”
“Stories?” Grandma said. “I have a bunch of them. Let me go get my binder.”
She returned, flipped the binder open and said, “Now, here’s one you could use. In fact, I feel like this one would be perfect.” She proceeded to recall the details of an experience she had had many years earlier.
“This happened during the Vietnam War, when we lived in Colorado Springs. Your grandpa, who was flying in Vietnam, was gone, and I was staying busy just trying to keep up with all the kids.
“I was singing in a chorus made up of officers’ wives at the Air Force Academy. During a break at one of the rehearsals, a friend told me about a service project she was doing for wounded servicemen who were recovering at the Fort Carson Army Hospital.”
Grandma explained how her friend would go regularly to read magazines and books to the servicemen. Some of them had birthdays coming up and she wanted to take cakes to them, but she was discouraged because she couldn’t find anyone to help her, and she couldn’t bake them all herself. Grandma volunteered immediately to help her bake some cakes.
The very next day her friend called and asked if she was really serious about helping and could she have one ready to go that afternoon.
Grandma told me, “I was pretty busy myself that day with family and Church responsibilities, but I felt like I should help. I made a chocolate cake from scratch and topped it with white frosting and chocolate swirls.” I knew exactly which cake she was talking about. She had made it before for family gatherings, and it was one of my favorites.
That afternoon Grandma’s friend came by to pick up the cake and take it to the hospital. Two hours later, she called and said, “I thought you would be interested in what happened with your cake. I took it to a 36-year-old sergeant, a veteran of many years in the army. He was recovering from wounds received in Vietnam. He looked like a typical, tough drill sergeant without a kind word in his vocabulary. When I took the cake into his room, handed it to him, and wished him a happy birthday, he looked up at me with a stunned expression on his face. Then the tears started rolling down his cheeks.”
The sergeant told Grandma’s friend that this was the first birthday cake he had ever had. Nobody had ever cared enough to bake him one.
As Grandma listened to her friend, she was amazed that one small act of service could have such an effect. Grandma closed the binder and said, “Tell your seminary class that I’m glad I took time to bake that cake.”
Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their respective teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second, and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know; I was there.
How I hoped the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
As though it were just yesterday, I remember the very moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. I even heard him say, “This will be a home run.” That was humiliating, since the ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a prayer while running, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.
This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.

A few days before our oldest granddaughter was born, her parents were wondering if the baby would be a boy or girl. At church the following Sunday, they sang these words: “There is hope smiling brightly before us” (“We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” Hymns, no. 19). With sudden knowledge they turned to each other and said, “It’s a girl!” When the baby was born, they named her Hope.
Hope, who is so appropriately named, is now five years old. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. She is in her first year of school, and she has so much she wants to learn. The “brightness of hope” shines from her eyes (see 2 Ne. 31:20).

To illustrate, after the collapse of the South Vietnamese government, many refugees were sent in 1975 to the United States.
“As the first group came into the Presidio Army Base in San Francisco, Relief Society sisters in that area were called during the night to come to the base [to] help wash, feed, and put clean clothes on the children. The Relief Society sisters began arriving at 4:00 a.m. and worked all day, giving immunization shots.” (Relief Society Courses of Study 1979–80, Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1978, p. 42.) These sisters treated infections, comforting and ministering to the homeless children.

My companion handed me an envelope and said, “Sister Jones, I think this is for you.” I looked at the return address and was pleased to see my cousin’s name printed neatly in the corner. I had just been transferred to a new city from the other side of southern France and didn’t think anyone back home in the United States was aware of my new address. I opened the envelope and read a short note in which my cousin said that she had recently received an e-mail from her French pen pal after eight years of no contact.
My cousin explained that although she and Céline had received each other’s address in their high school French and English classes, respectively, they had never actually written to each other. My cousin was therefore very surprised to receive Céline’s e-mail. She didn’t know if Céline lived in southern France where I was serving, but she included her name and address, asking me to contact her if possible.
Because I was new to the area, I handed the note to my companion and asked her if my cousin’s pen pal lived in the mission. “Not only does she live within mission boundaries,” she responded, “she lives in our district!” Excitedly, we called Céline to introduce ourselves, and she agreed to meet with us. We took the short train ride to Montauban.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted warmly by Céline and her parents. They invited us to their home and asked us to share our message. As we taught them about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Spirit bore witness of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. The family expressed their appreciation for the values taught by the Church, and after a lengthy discussion we left them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, a prayer, and a promise to return.
That was the first of several visits with Céline and her family. My mission ended while they were still in the process of learning about the Church, but before I said good-bye to Céline, I asked her why she had decided to contact my cousin after eight years. Her response surprised me: “When I was cleaning out a drawer, I came across her address on a small piece of paper I thought I’d lost. I felt strongly that I needed to write to her.”
On the way home to our apartment I gazed out the train window and marveled at how a loving Father allowed a lost address to be found and an old connection to be made at the very time I was unexpectedly transferred to a new city for the last six weeks of my mission. He is mindful of all and will make miracles happen, even with such a small and simple thing as a pen pal’s address.

As time went by, a pair of missionaries taught us the riches of the restored gospel, of the doctrine of the plan of salvation, and of eternal families. We were baptized, and when my father began his calling as district president, his first objective was to journey to the temple and receive the blessings which would come because of that sacrifice. It was a 15-day journey covering 4,800 miles (7,725 km)—a journey filled with difficulties and setbacks, highways in poor condition, uncomfortable buses, not even knowing the route, but with great hope in the ordinances we would participate in.
Upon arriving in the city of Mesa, Arizona, we headed down an avenue at the end of which we could see the house of the Lord, gleaming and beautiful. I remember the joy which filled our hearts; we all broke out in songs and praising, and tears ran down the cheeks of many Saints.
Later in the temple, we knelt as a family to hear the beautiful promises about an eternal family, with the certainty that our mother, though absent, was now our mother forever, and we felt the peace which comes from knowing that we are an eternal family.
The promise of life eternal thus gave us the riches of eternity! “Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich” (D&C 6:7).

Twenty-six months ago when I first arrived in Germany, I wrote home to Layton, Utah, and asked my mother to subscribe to some Church publications for me. A couple of months later I was surprised to receive my first New Era. At the time I mistakenly thought I was much too old and mature for such a magazine. But as the months came along so did the New Era, and I found myself being uplifted by such wonderful stories as “Strike the Steel,” “Jensen and Ernstein,” and “If Thou Art Willing.” The poems, stories, and articles are in keeping with the common, simple philosophy of the Church. I shall always read the New Era—especially during my last months of duty here in Europe. I know that it will be a strength to me on my future mission. The magazine has helped me keep the Spirit of the Lord during these years of military service. I sincerely thank the Lord for this blessing.
Sherman FleekMainz, Germany

by Daniella Pilgrim and Marleen Van Laere
The youth of the Antwerp Branch in Belgium wanted a goal to work toward. They came up with the idea and presented it to their leaders. They wanted to earn their way to the Swiss Temple and do baptisms for the dead.

With a little help from the leaders of the branch, they faithfully put in hours organizing barbecues, dances, movies, and family home evenings. They were indeed blessed financially, but as the Lord stated that all things are spiritual, additional blessings came to the youth. Without knowing the full effect, they played an important role in missionary work by fellowshipping investigators, and through these same activities created more unity and love among the members of the branch.

The departure date was set, letters written, and reservations made. After the bus trip, the first thing the group of 25 youth and 11 leaders wanted to see was the temple itself. Many had tears in their eyes, for it was the first time they had seen the temple.

The group spent two days doing baptisms. The night before their return trip, they held a testimony meeting, which was one of the highlights of the trip. Testimonies were borne by group members of the truthfulness of the gospel and the joy they felt in doing temple work. The meeting was closed with the group singing, “The Spirit of God like a Fire Is Burning.”

The group returned home safely with wonderful memories of the temple.