Gospel Story Finder

Jody had come up to Raven’s Roost nearly every week since he had moved with his family to Tucker Springs, and he’d gotten to know Sir Lancelot quite well, at least from a distance. “If you want this button to add to your collection of shiny things, you’ll have to take it from my hand!” he told the bird.
The huge bird alighted on a limb of the scrub oak. He cocked his glossy black head and eyed the lustrous object. “Come on,” Jody encouraged.
The raven cawed noisily, his high, harsh cry echoing off the red rocks. At length, he hopped to the ground, advanced a step or two, and came to a stop.
“That’s the best you can do?” Jody questioned. “All right, but next time it’s all the way or nothing, understand?” He tossed the button a few feet in front of him. The raven, cawing at Jody and eyeing the treasure, stretched forward and plucked the button up in his long bill. Then he flew back to the limb.
He regarded the boy a moment, as if saying thanks. Then, just as Sir Lancelot was about to fly off with the precious gift, Jody heard a whizzing sound, followed by a soft thud. The raven toppled lifeless to the ground, the brass button rolling from his slack bill and disappearing into a crevice in the rocks.
For an instant Jody just stared, disbelieving. “Sir Lancelot!” he choked out. Then his attention turned to the direction of the sound.
Hollis Fletcher stepped out of the brushwood about a hundred yards away, a rock flipper in his hands. “I told you I’d get even, Farnsworth,” he sneered. “You should have dropped out of that spelling contest, like I told you. Outside of the Fourth of July and the county fair, it’s the biggest thing that happens around here. And I would have won.
“I’ve lived in Tucker Springs all my life,” Hollis went on. “Every time I earned a hundred on spelling at school, I rewarded myself with getting a new marble for my collection. I probably have the best marble collection in the whole state, but there aren’t any trophies for that, like there is for the spelling contest. I worked hard to win it—it wasn’t right for some nobody from nowhere to come into town and take the trophy that should have been mine. Especially some kid two years younger than I am.”
“I won fair and square,” Jody retorted through his tears, dropping to his knees beside the dead bird and touching its blood-spattered plumage. “Besides, you won the trophy in last year’s contest.”
“I could have had two, Farnsworth!” Hollis growled. “Around here, two is better than one, especially at my house. With one, it can be just luck. Nobody questions or forgets a two-time winner—especially my father! He would have given me a horse, Farnsworth, just like he did my brother for his two-year win at the county fair for his Jersey cows!”
Hollis turned and started down the path, then paused and burned a look over his shoulder at Jody. “Maybe now you’ll know how it feels to lose something.”
Jody scooped up a rock, jumped to his feet, and hurled it at Hollis’s retreating shape. “I hate you!” he screamed, his face twisting with grief and rage. “I hate you!”
Hollis turned back toward the screaming youth and smiled. “That’s good, Farnsworth. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At home, Jody poured out the story to his father. “He killed Sir Lancelot to get back at me!” he sobbed. “Sir Lancelot was just a good old bird who didn’t do anything except make music.” Jody wiped at the tears that burned his eyes. “It wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard, but it was music to me. I hate Hollis for what he did.”
His father sighed. “It was wrong what he did, Son, no doubt about it. But you can’t go around with all that hate in your heart. For one thing, it isn’t healthy; for another, it’s—”
Jody pulled away from his father. “I hate Hollis Fletcher, Dad. I wish he’d move away!”
In the weeks that followed, the resentment and bitterness in Jody Farnsworth’s heart grew.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy, Jody,” his father commented one day as they walked down the dirt road toward Hennesey Lake, their fishing poles over their shoulders.
Jody didn’t look at his father. “Is it wrong for a kid not to be happy all the time?” he blurted, kicking at a pebble in the road. “Even Jesus got mad at the moneychangers in the temple. And when Lazarus died, He wept. Is it wrong to be like Him?”
“No,” his father returned, “but this is the first time we’ve gone fishing that you haven’t been happy.” After a long silence, his father continued. “You know, Jody, if harboring all that spite for Hollis was right and proper, you’d be feeling pretty good inside. But I’ve never seen you look so poorly.”
Jody’s eyes fired up like smoldering coals rekindled. “I’m just supposed to forget about what he did, is that it?”
“It would be hard to forget what happened,” Jody’s father admitted. “But you can forgive him for what he did.”
Jody’s eyes widened. “What? Forgive Hollis Fletcher for shooting Sir Lancelot? How am I supposed to do that?”
His father stopped and eyed the boy. “You have to want to. That makes it a whole lot easier.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
Jody’s father set his fishing pole aside and squatted down to the boy’s level. “There are a lot of things in this life we don’t like doing that need doing. Your mother dreads wash day, especially in the middle of July. It’s a hot, exhausting, all-day job. But what do you think would happen if our clothes didn’t get cleaned on a regular basis? We’d go around looking and smelling like Amos Twigg’s cow barn. And last fall I dreaded having to shoot Jack. That old horse was in constant great pain, and nothing more could be done except put him out of his misery. It was the hardest thing I had to do in my life. But it needed doing. And that brings me to you, Jody.”
“Me?”
“For the past month you’ve been carrying around such poisonous thoughts that I worry about your soul.”
“I just can’t forgive him, Dad,” Jody said angrily.
Later that morning, as they sat fishing, Jody accidently snagged his finger on his hook while baiting his line. “Shall we leave that hook in your finger?” Jody’s father questioned.
“Of course not!” Jody winced, at the smart.
“Why not?”
“I want to get the hurt out so it will heal, of course.”
“It might be a good idea to let that other, bigger, hurt out, too, Jody.” His father helped dislodge the small hook from the boy’s finger, then dug in his fishing box for some ointment and applied it to Jody’s finger. “The best medicine for resentment is forgiveness. It lets out the poison so that the wound can heal.
“You know,” he added, “I was thinking about what you said earlier today about being like the Savior. There’s a lot to that. He loved everybody, didn’t He? Even His enemies. Don’t you suppose He was the best example of forgiveness, too, Jody?”
Jody’s eyes fell, then lifted. “You mean, while He hung suffering on the cross He forgave the soldiers who crucified Him?”
“Yes. And in Gethsemane He suffered for all our sins.”
Jody was silent a long spell. Then he stood up. “Can we go home now, Dad? There’s something I need to do. Something I want to do.”
Jody was halfway up the little rutted lane that led to the Fletcher farmhouse, when Hollis spotted him. Jody’s heart was pounding. He never imagined that something he wanted to do could be so hard.
Hollis met Jody a short distance from the house, his countenance as dark as a storm over the tablelands. “You came to tell my father what I did, didn’t you, Farnsworth?”
“No,” Jody answered. “I just came to tell you that I forgive you for what you did. I’m not saying it was right; I’m just saying that I don’t hate you.”
“What?”
“Staying mad isn’t going to change anything,” Jody said. “It just makes things worse.”
After an awkward silence, Hollis wondered aloud, “Why are you doing this?”
“It was just something that needed doing. Well,” Jody concluded after another uncomfortable silence, “I still have a few chores to finish up at home, so I guess I’d better be going. See you later.”
A few days later he returned to the mesa and searched the skies for another raven. “I know there are more of you up there somewhere,” he said out loud. “I don’t have any shiny stuff to give you—I’m all out—but—”
“I do,” a voice behind Jody said. Hollis stepped out of the brushwood. He pulled out a leather pouch he’d brought with him and displayed its contents to Jody. “Now we have a lot of shiny things to give those ravens!”
Jody stared at the multitude of shiny aggies, taws, glassies, cat’s eyes, and other bright-colored marbles. “Why are you doing this, Hollis?”
The older boy’s smile grew as big as Jody’s wonder. “It was just something that needed doing.”
Hollis set a bright yellow glassie on a rock, then sat next to Jody beneath the scrub oak, where the two boys waited and watched.

Homemaking.
The word usually conjures up images of sewing, cooking, and home beautification techniques. But three future homemakers in the small town of Orderville, Utah, are using their homemaking and art skills in a rather unusual way.
Aurelia, Ellen, and Deborah Johnson, three sisters who are also members of their local chapter of Future Homemakers of America, painted over a graffiti-covered wall with a mural carrying the slogan: “PRIDE: A drug-free alternative.”
With the help of several classmates and friends, and the luck of two sunshine-filled weeks in the middle of winter, the sisters were able to send their message of hope.

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.
“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”
With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!
On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.
On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.
Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

One Sunday I felt uncomfortable about going to meet with the members in Sada. I told my wife that I felt I would be letting them down if I did not go. “Ernie,” she replied, “if the Spirit is prompting you not to go, then you must listen to that warning.” I did—and my next visit to Sada proved the wisdom of her counsel. Had I visited that Sunday, I would have been caught up in a riot. Police used tear gas to break up an angry mob, and the Saints were forced to scatter when the gas drifted into the meetinghouse.

On June 10, 1953, my wife and I had the privilege of being married in the Salt Lake Temple. After President Harold B. Lee, then an apostle, concluded the beautiful ceremony, he had us stand in the center of the sealing room. Looking to the left into the mirrors that reflect off one another to show hundreds of images, he said, “On the left are the eternities you came from, and on the right the eternities to which you are going.” We looked and could see our images. Then he brought our thoughts back to the sealing room where we were and said, “This is like the world. It is but one step to all the eternities.” We were lovingly advised to stay true to the commitments of chastity, to obey the law of sacrifice and the law of consecration whereby we give all of our time, talents, and everything with which we are blessed to the service of the Lord. Then he said, “Make sure you understand that an argument never solves problems. As you stand here today, commit yourselves to having and expressing love and appreciation for each other.” It was a great teaching moment in our lives that we have never forgotten.

Draw a picture. Another way to record what you are learning is to draw it. One time when I was visiting a friend for family home evening, her grandmother shared personal stories about faith and prayer. Before the lesson began, my friend gave her young children paper and crayons so they could draw the stories while their great-grandmother talked. Drawing pictures helped them pay attention, and they even asked questions along the way to clarify parts of the story.

On Church assignment in Hawaii, Sister Wirthlin and I visited the island of Molokai. As we walked back to our car after laboring up a trail in the mountains, we came upon a young man headed toward the overlook. I offered a polite greeting. From his answer, I could tell he was from Germany.
His countenance bespoke a sincere heart and an approachable personality. I spoke his language and understood his culture, having served a German-speaking mission. The Spirit prompted me to introduce the gospel to him. However, due to other people around us, our brief encounter was interrupted without my having said a word about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I failed to be the missionary that every member of the Savior’s Church ought to be.
As we drove away, I had the disturbing feeling that I had failed in my duty to proclaim the gospel. I was troubled while we drove around the island to see Molokai’s beautiful waterfalls. As we got out of our car, another car drove up and stopped. The young man we had seen earlier stepped out, smiled, and gave me a warm handshake. As I grasped his outstretched hand, I thought to myself, This time I will do my duty.
We introduced ourselves and I learned he was a university student in a small city south of Dusseldorf, Germany. We spoke of my fond memories of Germany, and of my admiration for the German people. Speaking of my work in Europe gave me an ideal opportunity to explain some of the basics of the gospel. As we parted, I asked for his address and telephone number, which he gladly shared. I felt he was truly a newfound friend.
Upon my return to Salt Lake City, I wrote to the Germany-Dusseldorf Mission and asked President John F. Charles to send missionaries to continue the gospel discussion. I don’t believe my wife and I met this young man twice by coincidence.
But the Lord doesn’t always give us a second chance to share the gospel. I failed to follow the Spirit the first time the still, small voice unmistakably spoke to my heart and mind.
We must act when the Spirit speaks. When I did, the young man responded positively to my message. It wasn’t really my message. It was God’s, brought to my mind by the Spirit of the Lord. I was but an instrument in the Lord’s hands.

Tran Van Thah was so excited and so happy that only the seat belt kept him from jumping up and down right in the car. He was in America at last, the real America—Camp Pendleton didn’t count. That had been just one step in their long journey and no more the real America than was the jet flight from Saigon.
Seated between his mother and his grandmother on the back seat of their sponsor’s car, he was speeding along the highway on his way to a new home and a new life. He was well aware that their being here was not all luck. It was because of his father’s skill as a construction worker that Mr. Hudson had decided to be their sponsor. It also helped that they could all speak English.
“That’s the Columbia River, Thah,” Mr. Hudson explained.
“Yes, sir,” Thah answered.
“I’ve read about the great Columbia. It is even mightier than I pictured it.”
Thah’s father laughed. “When a Red Cross worker at Camp Pendleton asked Thah what he needed, he said, ‘A book about the Pacific Northwest.’ He got it, too, and read it from cover to cover.”
Thah wanted to ask whether the many boats on the river were for fishing or for pleasure. But the two men were talking about construction now and he couldn’t interrupt. It was a beautiful June afternoon with not a cloud in the blue sky, and there were flowers everywhere, even on the trees. The car soon turned onto a long bridge. Thah saw ships below him and a white-peaked mountain etched against the distant sky. “Mt. Hood,” he said softly.
Mr. Hudson heard him. “That’s right, son. And now you’re in the state of Washington.”
Mr. Hudson left the bridge, drove through a small city, and stopped by a little white house. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said, unlocking the front door and handing the key to Father. He showed Thah how to turn a dial on the wall to bring in heat. He told Mother that there was food in the kitchen. “I’ll pick you up in the morning,” he said to Father. “We’ll take Thah to school and then I’ll show you our layout. You’re registered in the seventh grade at junior high, Thah. Are you all set to go tomorrow?”
“I am most eager to go,” Thah answered, bowing politely.
Thah turned up the heat, and Mother and Grandmother prepared the evening meal—good, dry rice with luscious bits of meat and vegetables stir-fried in oil. Grandmother even unpacked the chopsticks so they no longer had to jab their mouths with sharp forks.
That night Thah fell asleep, warm and full for the first time in many weeks and looking forward to his new American school. When morning came, however, he felt less confident. Will my classmates like me? he wondered. Will I be able to do the lessons?
Mr. Hudson led the way to the office of the principal, who was expecting them. “I’m glad you came to our school, Thah,” he said. The boy and his father bowed low.
“I’m honored, sir,” replied Thah, hoping that his voice didn’t betray his feelings.
As the morning wore on, Thah came to several conclusions about American schools: the teachers were kind, the work was easy, the students were noisy, and the halls were endless. He no sooner became interested in a class when a bell would ring, and everyone would jump up and hurry to another classroom, without so much as bowing to the teacher. He was dizzy from consulting his class card and looking for room numbers. The building was huge and the students were so tall that he felt lost in a forest of giants. Long before noon he became hungry.
At last a louder and longer bell sounded, and students stampeded from every door, nearly knocking him over. “Hello, Thah,” said a friendly voice above him. “I’m Kent Jones, your big brother.” Thah looked up at a smiling red-haired boy with a sprinkling of brown freckles across his nose. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to show you around. The dentist kept me two hours longer than I counted on. Come on, let’s go to lunch.”
Thah liked Kent. It is a good idea for a school to find big brothers for new boys, he thought. Thah was so hungry that he even liked the strange American food in the cafeteria. “You didn’t get anything to drink,” said Kent when they had found a place to sit. “What would you like?”
“Something very cold, please,” Thah answered. “I am so thirsty.”
“Okay,” said Kent. “I’ll see what I can do.” A few minutes later, he was back with a cup of ice-cold water. “Got it from the teachers’ dining room. Your good manners really made a hit with them. They’d give you anything.”
After lunch, Kent said they would go outside for PE. Thah was glad they would be together, but he wondered what PE meant. Later he decided that the P was for play. The E remained a mystery. They went outside and played a game with a small hard ball and a club called a bat. The object was to hit the ball hard and run fast. Thah was a fast runner, but they wouldn’t let him run until he hit the ball, and he could never hit the ball. It was the most frustrating experience of the day. He was on the verge of tears when he heard a piercing whistle, and the boys started back inside. Kent didn’t go. “The coach wants to see us,” he explained.
Now the master is approaching, Thah worried. Will I be expelled for failing to hit the ball? Will I be sent to the primary school in disgrace, to study with the little children? “I’m so sorry, Mr. Coach,” he said, bowing, “that I’m such a bad PE player.”
“Don’t feel bad,” the coach responded. “I’ll put you in another class for now. Practice up at home, and when you’re ready to play, let me know.”
That evening while the family ate supper in their warm house, Father told about his day in the construction business. Mother and Grandmother told about their trip to the food store and how nice it was to get all the soiled clothes washed and ironed. Thah could hardly wait for the others to finish so Father would say, “Well, Thah, how was your day at school?”
When his turn finally came, he told all about failing to hit the ball. “Will you please help me, Father? Will you practice with me until I am good enough to get back in the game?”
Every evening after supper Father and Thah went to a vacant lot to practice. Father threw the ball, but not too hard, and finally Thah was able to hit it. At the end of the week he hardly ever missed. “Maybe soon I can tell Mr. Coach I’m ready for the game,” Thah declared.
“Tell him tomorrow,” said Father. “If you hit that ball any harder, it will land in Saigon.”
Some of the boys snickered when Thah came out with Kent for PE the next day. “Here comes the champ!” called one.
“You’re supposed to hit the ball,” teased another, “not just wave the bat in the air.”
“Cool it, you guys,” shouted Kent with anger in his voice, and they were quiet. Thah didn’t care. He knew he could hit the ball and hit it hard. He could hardly wait for his turn at bat. In the meantime he watched closely to find out where to run. Finally he was given the bat. On the first throw he hit the ball a mighty blow and ran to first base.
“Run! Run! Run!” yelled all the boys and the coach. Thah ran to the next base and the next. They kept on shouting and cheering for him. “Run home! Run home!”
Thah hesitated. Are they teasing me again? he wondered. You can’t run home in time of school.
“Run home! Run home!” called the coach, and Thah did. He ran all the way, stopping breathless at his own front door. It is a half holiday they gave me, he decided, for hitting the ball so hard.
He tried the front door. It was locked. So was the back door. Mother and Grandmother had gone shopping. Thah sat down on the steps to wait. How proud they’ll be of me! He sat there until he was hungry. This must be the day that Mrs. Hudson invited Mother and Grandmother to lunch, he remembered. He still had his lunch money. He would just go down to Burgerville to eat.
Thah carried his shrimp burger and paper cup of orange drink to one of the outdoor tables. It reminded him of the sidewalk cafes in Saigon. A mother with four children sat at a table, but most people ate in their cars. Presently a police officer walked over with his lunch and a drink. “Mind if I sit here, son?” he asked.
“I would be honored,” said Thah.
The officer sat down and unwrapped his sandwich. He looked at Thah and then looked at his watch. “You wouldn’t be playing hooky, would you?” he asked.
“I’ve never heard of that game, sir. Is it anything like baseball?”
“Well, the two could go together,” replied the officer, smiling. “Is school out early today?”
“School is still in session. I just won a half holiday.”
“For perfect attendance all year?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t been here that long.” Thah knew he should never boast, but the officer was so interested that he couldn’t help telling him the whole story. “I once won a half-holiday in Saigon for conjugating the most French verbs, but they didn’t make me run home. They let me ride my bicycle like I always did. Do you know why they made me run?”
The officer almost choked on his drink and had to wipe his mouth with a paper napkin. Thah could see genuine laughter in his eyes, not derisive laughter like the boys in the game.
“Yes, I know why,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you while we ride back to school to get your bike.”
“I had to leave my bicycle in Saigon,” Thah explained. “Will you please tell me anyway?”
“It’s like this,” said the officer, spreading out Thah’s napkin and drawing a baseball diamond on it with a gold pen. He explained what strikes, bases, hits, fouls, outs, and home runs meant.
“I made a mistake,” gasped Thah. “It wasn’t a half holiday. I am a truant. Please take me back so I can explain.”
“Let me explain first,” said the officer. And he did on a little telephone right in his patrol car. “And anyone who laughs at Thah gets thrown in the jug,” he warned before he hung up. Thah knew that was a joke and he could guess that jug was an American word for prison. Best of all he knew that he had made a hit with his new American friend who would go to bat for him any time.

When it came time to plan youth conference, leaders of a stake in northern Utah, USA, asked the youth what they thought would make it memorable.
After some discussion, their answer was simple: “We want to serve!” They decided they wanted to make a difference where they live. They wanted to help the hungry and the homeless, the lonely and the elderly. They also wanted to hold workshops in which professionals could help people struggling with serious issues like suicide and depression.
They adopted the theme, “You Love, You Serve.” And during the three-day youth conference, they did just that.
The youth served in a food bank and sorted canned food donations.
Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Along with sorting food, youth also built benches for a homeless shelter.
“Knowing that Jesus Christ served those around Him makes me feel like I’m emulating the Savior,” said Stephen J., 13. “Taking His name upon me, that’s what’s great about being able to serve others—we’re being like Jesus, and that’s who I want to be like the most.”
For another service project, the youth prepared hygiene kits for a homeless shelter for youth.
Some of the youth spent the afternoon cleaning up trash and weeding gardens in a community park.
“When I went to school in the school next door, this park was totally trashed. It’s been that way for a long time,” said Karlos S., 12. “And now we’re the ones who actually cleaned it up. I’ll always have that feeling that it was amazing to clean something up as we did the work of the Lord.”
“It would have been hard to weed this whole place all by yourself,” said Glenn B., 13. “But when we worked at it together, we got it all done in a couple of hours. Look what we did together. That’s pretty cool.”
The youth wanted to put on a talent show where seniors were the guests of honor.
In addition to the talent shows, youth also asked seniors what their wishes were. On the night of the talent show, several seniors had their wishes granted. One man simply wanted a pizza. Another wanted Mexican food.
On the last day of the youth conference, a Superhero 5-K run was held to raise money to help the homeless.
“Serving together got us into different types of groups, and that helped us to get to know new people,” said Rosemary A., 13. “And that’s part of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, to get to know other people. It’s nice to work side-by-side to help others, to give instead of just always receiving.”
Throughout their conference, the youth learned something marvelous about their theme. “You Love, You Serve” works like a cycle—your love for the Lord causes you to serve others as He would. Then as you serve, your love for Him and for others grows, and so does your desire to serve.

It was while Hal was studying physics at the University of Utah that a conversation with his father marked one of those defining influences in his life. He asked his father for help with a complex mathematical problem. “My father was at a blackboard we kept in the basement,” Elder Eyring recalls. “Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hal,’ he said, ‘we were working this same kind of problem a week ago. You don’t seem to understand it any better now than you did then. Haven’t you been working on it?’”

A little chagrined, Hal admitted he had not. “You don’t understand,” his father went on. “When you walk down the street, when you’re in the shower, when you don’t have to be thinking about anything else, isn’t this what you think about?”

“When I told him no,” Elder Eyring concludes, “my father paused. It was really a very tender and poignant moment, because I knew how much he loved me and how much he wanted me to be a scientist. Then he said, ‘Hal, I think you’d better get out of physics. You ought to find something that you love so much that when you don’t have to think about anything, that’s what you think about.’”

The advice deeply impressed young Hal. He went on to finish his degree in physics, graduating not long after the end of the Korean War. During the war, the number of missionaries called from each ward had been greatly restricted. Further, by the time he graduated, Hal had already committed to a commission in the United States Air Force. So he entered the military without having served a full-time mission. But in a bishop’s blessing prior to his departure, Hal was promised that his military experience would be his mission.

That blessing proved to be prophetic, for though Hal was originally sent by the Air Force to the Sandia National Laboratories near Albuquerque, New Mexico, for temporary schooling, circumstances were such that he stayed on there for the full two years of his duty. Two weeks after his arrival, he was called as a district missionary in the Western States Mission. He served almost two years to the day in that calling.

After the fall harvest, Josiah Stowell and Joseph Knight traveled to the Manchester area on business. Both men knew that the fourth anniversary of Joseph’s visit to the hill was at hand, and they were eager to know whether Moroni would finally trust him with the plates.
Local treasure seekers also knew it was time for Joseph to get the record. Lately one of them, a man named Samuel Lawrence, had been roaming the hill, searching for the plates. Worried that Samuel would cause trouble, Joseph sent his father to Samuel’s house on the evening of September 21 to keep an eye on him and confront him if it looked like he was going to the hill.20
Joseph then readied himself to retrieve the plates. His yearly visit to the hill was to take place the next day, but to keep ahead of the treasure seekers, he planned to arrive at the hill shortly after midnight—just as the morning of September 22 was beginning—when no one expected him to be out.
But he still needed to find a way to protect the plates once he got them. After most of the family had gone to bed, he quietly asked his mother if she had a lockbox. Lucy did not have one and got worried.
“Never mind,” Joseph said. “I can do very well just now without it.”21
Emma soon appeared, dressed for riding, and she and Joseph climbed into Joseph Knight’s carriage and set out into the night.22 When they arrived at the hill, Emma waited with the carriage while Joseph climbed the slope to the place where the plates were hidden.
On the night of September 22, 1827, Joseph and Emma drove a carriage to this hill, where the Book of Mormon plates were buried. After obtaining the plates, Joseph hid them in a hollow log for a time to protect them from treasure seekers.
Moroni appeared, and Joseph lifted the gold plates and seer stones from the stone box. Before Joseph set off down the hill, Moroni reminded him to show the plates to no one except those the Lord appointed, promising him that the plates would be protected if he did all within his power to preserve them.
“You will have to be watchful and faithful to your trust,” Moroni told him, “or you will be overpowered by wicked men, for they will lay every plan and scheme that is possible to get them away from you. And if you do not take heed continually, they will succeed.”23
Joseph carried the plates down the hill, but before he reached the carriage, he secured them in a hollow log where they would be safe until he obtained a lockbox. He then found Emma, and they returned home as the sun began to rise.24
At the Smith home, Lucy waited anxiously for Joseph and Emma while she served breakfast to Joseph Sr., Joseph Knight, and Josiah Stowell. Her heart beat rapidly while she worked, fearful that her son would return without the plates.25
A short time later, Joseph and Emma came into the house. Lucy looked to see if Joseph had the plates but left the room trembling when she saw his empty hands.
Joseph followed her. “Mother,” he said, “do not be uneasy.” He handed her an object wrapped in a handkerchief. Through the fabric, Lucy felt what seemed to be a large pair of spectacles. They were the Urim and Thummim, the seer stones the Lord had prepared for translating the plates.26
Lucy was elated. Joseph looked as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But when he joined the others in the house, he made a sad face and ate his breakfast in silence. After he finished, he leaned his head forlornly on his hand. “I am disappointed,” he said to Joseph Knight.
“Well,” the older man said, “I am sorry.”
“I am greatly disappointed,” Joseph repeated, his expression changing to a smile. “It is ten times better than I expected!” He went on to describe the size and weight of the plates and talked excitedly about the Urim and Thummim.
“I can see anything,” he said. “They are marvelous.”27

My father was an example for me of what the Lord teaches in the 121st section about getting heaven’s help in preparing young men. During my early years, he was sometimes disappointed by my performance. He let me know it. Hearing his voice, I could feel he thought I was better than that. But he did it in the Lord’s way: “Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy.”3

I knew, even after the most direct correction, that Dad’s reproof was given in love. In fact, his love seemed to increase when he used even his strongest correction, which was a disapproving and disappointed look. He was my leader and my trainer, never using compulsory means, and I am sure that the promise given in the Doctrine and Covenants will be fulfilled for him. His influence on me will flow unto him “forever and ever.”4

Illustration by Allen Garns
For a long time, I felt the desire to bake bread or make some extra food and just drop it off to someone in our ward to share my love and the Lord’s love with them, but I had never done it.
I love to cook, but only my husband and I are at home now. So I make smaller meals because huge meals usually take us several days to finish.
One night I decided to make some lasagna. Instead of making one large pan, I made two smaller pans. That way we would eat one for dinner, and I could give the other pan to someone who needed it.
I called the Relief Society president to see if anyone needed a meal brought to them. She mentioned a single mother who worked and had two children. That afternoon, I texted the mom and told her that I had made an extra lasagna and wanted to bring it over to her and her family.
She texted me back and said, “That is so weird! Sure, that would be great!” She was still at work, but her children would be home, so I could bring it over anytime.
A little while later, she texted me again and asked, “Did you know it was my birthday today?” I assured her that I had no idea. She replied, “Well, happy birthday to me!”
When I took the meal over, she had just gotten off work. She was thrilled, as were her children.
On Sunday, she found me at church, and with tears in her eyes, she told me that every year on her birthday, her grandmother would make her dinner—and it was always lasagna. Her grandmother had passed away the year before, and that was the first birthday her grandmother wouldn’t be there to make lasagna for her.
When I dropped off lasagna on her birthday, it strengthened her testimony that the Lord is aware of her and loves her. And it strengthened my testimony that if we make ourselves available to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands, He will show us where we can serve.

The wide-bodied airliner began its takeoff roll, returning us to the United States after a four-year business assignment in Switzerland. As we accelerated past the B Concourse at the Zürich International Airport, I strained to see if the faithful farewell wishers from our Zürich Second Ward were there. Sure enough, there standing on the upper spectator deck waving to us were Sister Gräub and Sister Kappes. By bus, tram, and train they had made this extraordinary effort to say good-bye to the Hancock family. Pent-up emotions erupted as tears unashamedly poured down my cheeks. One of our four children returning with us inquired of her mother, “Why is Daddy crying?” Connie responded, “Because he loves the people here so much.”

Františka Brodilová joined the Church in Vienna in 1913—a year before the start of World War I—and didn’t have contact with other Church members until 1929.
Portrait of Františka Vesela Brodilová courtesy of Visual Resources Library
Františka Brodilová could hardly have foreseen the role she would play in Church history when a missionary knocked on her door in Vienna in 1913. The year after her conversion, World War I engulfed the Austro-Hungarian Empire, missionaries returned home, and many male members were called into military service, leaving Františka and a few other sisters to meet on their own.
It was the most contact Františka would have with Church members for many years. After the war, Františka’s husband, František, was promised a post in the new government of Czechoslovakia. After they moved to Prague, Františka was the only member of the Church in the country. František passed away a few months later, and Františka was left with two young daughters—Frances and Jane—to provide for.
On her own, Františka taught her daughters the gospel. “I was raised in the Church,” Frances recalled. “The church was our home!”1 Františka also wrote to Church leaders in Austria asking that missionaries be assigned to Czechoslovakia. Church leaders were reluctant because the last missionary in Prague, some 40 years earlier, had been jailed for preaching and then banished from the city. Despite the new government, Church leaders feared that little had changed.
Undeterred, Františka continued writing letters and praying for a mission to be established. In 1928, after Františka had been on her own for a decade, 83-year-old Thomas Biesinger—the same missionary who had preached in Prague years before—returned. It seemed that the family’s isolation had come to an end. A short time later, however, Elder Biesinger’s declining health forced him to leave the country.
Františka was discouraged but decided to keep writing letters to members and Church leaders abroad. Her perseverance was rewarded: on July 24, 1929, Elder John A. Widtsoe (1872–1952) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles arrived in Prague with a group of missionaries. That evening, Františka and the group climbed a hill near Karlštejn Castle, where Elder Widtsoe dedicated Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the gospel and formally organized a mission. “Few people can realize the joy we experienced,” Františka later wrote. “We [had] been praying for years for this day.”2
Františka was present when Elder John A. Widtsoe (both in the middle row) dedicated Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the gospel in 1929.
For nearly six months, the branch met in Františka’s home. Františka eventually assisted her daughters in translating the Book of Mormon into Czech and laid a foundation for the Church in what is now the Czech Republic.

“Let’s ride our bikes down by the stream,” I said to my friend Amy.
“OK. I just need to ask my mom first,” Amy answered.
A little while later we were happily riding down our street. The stream was just a few blocks from my home. A dirt path ran beside it. We rode our bikes to the end of the path, and on our way back we stopped to toss some rocks into the stream.
“Let’s race sticks,” I said. We both looked for a small twig to toss into the water.
“Ready, set, go!” Amy yelled. We threw our sticks into the water and watched as they floated around a bend in the stream and out of sight.
“I think you won,” I said.
We continued riding our bikes back up the path. I stopped to pick up a stick lying across the path and tossed it in the stream. Before I could spot where the stick had landed, a buzzing cloud encircled me. Within seconds, hundreds of yellow jackets covered my body. Chills of fear ran up my spine. I had stepped on their nest somewhere underneath the brush.
“Run!” Amy yelled. “They’re all over you!”
Just as I was about to swing my arms to try to swat them away, I had a strong feeling not to move. I remembered what I had been taught whenever a bee or wasp was on me: The best thing to do is stay still. They won’t sting unless they feel threatened.
Fighting the urge to run, I felt the yellow jackets crawl into my hair. They walked across my ears and up the sleeves of my shirt. My rapid breathing shook my body, even though I tried not to move.
“Hurry, Amy, go get my dad,” I stammered under my breath. My friend raced up the dirt path.
Suddenly, one of the yellow jackets stung my cheek. Shocked by the sharp pain, I jumped and screamed. The persistent thought remained: “Hold still!”
I continued to stay motionless as the yellow jackets crawled on me. I quietly prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me escape the swarm. Please, please help me.”
A minute later, a wasp stung my other cheek. Startled once more, I flinched. My body trembled as I began to cry. Then the entire swarm flew away.
Worn out, I picked up my bike and walked up the dirt path as tears streamed down my cheeks. As I reached the paved road, I could see the relief in Dad’s eyes as he ran toward me. Sobbing, I explained everything that had happened.
“You were very blessed,” Dad said as he examined my cheeks. “What made you stand there so still?”
“At first I felt like swatting at them and running, especially when I realized they were crawling in my hair and clothes, but then I had a strong feeling to hold still,” I explained.
“That was the Holy Ghost, Kelly,” Dad said. “The Spirit gives us promptings so we will know in our minds and feel in our hearts what to do. It may not be what we want to do, but if we obey those feelings we will be protected from danger. I’m so grateful you listened and followed His prompting.”
Even though my cheeks throbbed with pain, I felt extremely blessed to be safe from the swarm.

It’s easy to survive the loss of some things—pencils, telephone numbers, even umbrellas—but when a name is accidentally left off a guest list, there’s only one thing to do—hurry over and make amends.
That’s why Lee Ann and Gloria were standing in front of Brother and Sister Facer’s doorway, knocking on the door. When the Facers answered, the two young women eagerly explained why they had come. “Our stake Mutual is having a Thanksgiving dinner for all the senior citizens in our stake, and we hope you will be able to come!”
“We’d love to!” exclaimed the older couple. “We haven’t had our children with us during the holidays in such a long time. What a special treat to be remembered by you young people. We’ll be there!”
As the two girls from the Taylorsville Utah First Ward, Taylorsville Utah Stake, walked back toward their homes, they breathed sighs of relief, knowing that at last all details were being taken care of.

One night, my family went over to our friends’ house. My brothers and I were playing with their kids, and we went into the TV room and started watching a show. When my mom came to check on us, she told us she didn’t want us to watch that show, so we shouldn’t go into the TV room again. Then she left. But I went into the TV room anyway and watched the show.
That night, my mom asked if I went back into the TV room. I told her that I didn’t. The next morning I felt so terrible that I started crying. I went to my mom and said, “I lied! I’m really sorry!” She gave me a hug and thanked me for telling the truth. But I still didn’t feel good. I went into my room and knelt down and prayed. I told Heavenly Father I was sorry for disobeying my mom and lying to her, and that I didn’t like the feeling I was having. When I finished praying, the terrible feeling was gone. I felt happy again.

“Come on, Tito, it’s time to get to work!” Pedro stretched his arms toward the early dawn sky, then reached over and scratched the donkey’s ears.
Pedro and Tito were a team and had an important but difficult job. As they did every morning before daybreak, they went down to the sea where there were large mounds of salt that had been evaporated from the salty seawater. The donkey stood still and sleepily watched as his master shoveled salt into two large gunnysacks. When they were full, Pedro hoisted them onto Tito’s back and tied them down securely.
“You are loaded, old friend, so now we are off.” Pedro picked up the lead rope and guided the donkey toward the foothills.
The city where the salt was to be delivered was several miles away and was reached only by traveling along a dirt path that wound over stony, steep hills. Day after day the pair would make the long journey, sell the salt in the open-air market, and return, tired and hungry, to their little shack near the sea. To relieve his loneliness on these trips, Pedro often sang or talked to his shaggy brown friend as they walked along. Tito would twitch his long ears and keep on plodding.
About halfway to the city, they had to cross a small river. And as there was no bridge, Pedro would jump across from stone to stone. But Tito had to slosh through the knee-deep water. The donkey never seemed to like wading across the river, and he needed a lot of coaxing each time they came to it. “Now, come on,” Pedro would say, impatiently pulling the lead rope. “Every day it is the same. You know that you must get to the other side, so why don’t you just do it!”
But Tito would always dig in his heels and refuse to budge.
“The water won’t hurt you. Do you expect me to carry you across?”
Finally the donkey would put his ears back, bat his big brown eyes resentfully at his master, then slowly and carefully step into the water.
One day the current was a little stronger than usual. When Tito got to the middle of the stream, he stumbled and fell to his knees. The salt in the sacks started to wash away, so that by the time the donkey got back on his feet, they were nearly empty.
“What a foolish thing to do!” scolded Pedro. He was very unhappy to lose so much salt, but it was too late to turn back. They would have to go on and sell what was left. To Tito’s delight, his load was much lighter, and it was much easier to climb the hills!
The next day the little team got their load of salt and headed for the hills. When they got to the stream, Tito slipped and fell again. And again a lot of the salt washed away, leaving very little to sell in the city.
Day after day the canny donkey slipped and fell into the water. Realizing that Tito was doing it on purpose, Pedro scolded him and even used the switch on him. But it was no use.
Pedro was not only angry but worried. Hauling salt was the way that he made his living. Without money, he couldn’t eat or buy clothing. “What shall I do?” Pedro asked a friend one evening. “I must stop that dishonest little donkey from shirking his part of the work!”
“He is a smart one,” his friend said. “He does not like carrying that heavy load over all those hills.”
“But what can I do?”
“I have an idea,” said the friend. “Not too much farther down the shore is a man who has harvested a pile of sponges from the sea. He is looking for someone to take them to the city. Perhaps it would make a good load for your donkey to carry.”
“Thank you. I shall go see him right away,” said Pedro.
The next day Pedro loaded Tito down with sponges. The cargo wasn’t very heavy, and the donkey twitched his ears happily, thinking that his master had finally learned that he, Tito, didn’t like working hard.
When they got to the river, Pedro warned the animal, “If you fall in this time, you’ll learn a hard lesson!”
Tito stepped slowly into the river, and, as usual, “fell” into the water. But this time he was in for a big surprise! The sponges filled with water so that when he got to his feet, his load was many times heavier than before! Now it was even harder to climb the hills than when he had carried salt!
After two more days of hauling sponges, falling into the water, and increasing the weight of his load, Tito was careful to keep his footing while crossing the river. A few days later Pedro again loaded sacks filled with salt on Tito’s back and headed toward the city. When they came to the water, the little donkey didn’t hesitate a moment but crossed the river quickly and willingly did his share of hauling the salt to market.

Today there are more than a hundred temples all over the world. But when Joseph Smith was commanded to build a temple in Kirtland, Ohio, he had never even seen one! The Kirtland Temple was the first temple built in the latter days.
Since Joseph Smith did not yet know what a temple ought to look like or exactly how it was to be used, Heavenly Father revealed to him a plan for the temple. He and his counselors saw a vision of the completed building. In the vision, Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, and Frederick G. Williams saw the pattern of the temple both inside and out.
When an architect suggested that the seats in the building be rearranged, the Prophet Joseph would not allow it. He had seen them in the vision. According to his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, when the Saints wanted the temple to be built as a frame or log house, he said, “‘Shall we, brethren, build a house for our God, of logs? No, I have a better plan than that. I have a plan of the house of the Lord, given by himself.’”* The temple walls, two feet thick and over sixty feet tall, were to be built of stone.
Constructing the temple seemed nearly impossible. The Saints were so poor that they could barely afford to care for their own families. The magnificent temple cost about $40,000–$60,000 to build, a great sum of money in the 1830s! There were very few experienced builders among them, and none of them had ever built something as enormous as a temple. Also, enemies outside of the Church vowed that they would stop construction on the temple. But the Saints knew that they had been commanded by God to build it and that He would help them: “Verily I say unto you, it is my will that you should build a house. If you keep my commandments you shall have power to build it.” (D&C 95:11.)
The Saints set to work. Men spent one day each week in the stone quarry or on the temple site, and some of them guarded the unfinished temple at night to protect it from mobs. Women spun cloth to make clothing for the workers, and they made carpets and curtains for the temple. Glass and fine china were crushed and mixed with the plaster so that when the sun struck the temple’s outside walls, they glittered. Everyone labored and sacrificed for two and a half years until the temple was finished.
When the temple was dedicated on March 27, 1836, the Lord rewarded the Saints for their obedience. Spiritual blessings were poured out upon them—-people spoke in tongues, heavenly choirs sang, some people had visions, and others saw angels. A pillar of light rested on the temple, and angels were seen on the roof.
One week later, on April 3, Jesus Christ appeared in the temple to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. The Savior accepted the Kirtland Temple as His house. Moses, Elias, and Elijah also appeared to restore priesthood keys.
Although the Saints suffered many trials to build the Kirtland Temple, the eternal blessings given to them were well worth all of their sacrifices. Through their faith, diligence, and obedience, they led the way for Church members throughout the world to receive temple blessings today.