Gospel Story Finder

When I was 20 and in the military, I had a friend named Brent. He was four-years-old. His father, Bob, was an Air Force fighter pilot with 120 missions in Vietnam to his credit. Whenever Brent would not behave as his father wished, his dad would say teasingly, “If you keep doing that you will grow up to be a bomber pilot”—the worst possible curse for a fighter pilot’s son!

That encouraged Brent until he was 15. One day his father tried the old line again and Brent responded, “I don’t care! I’ve never wanted to be a pilot of any kind.”

With wisdom, his father added, “Then be who you will be, but be Christlike as you do it.” The fighter pilot father knew something about the process of working toward perfection, of becoming more like Christ. He was a returned missionary. He had married a worthy young woman in the temple. He had served where called in the Church. He was striving to keep the commandments.

Bob’s closest brush with death was while making a bombing run into North Vietnam in 1966. His F-4 Phantom jet, fully loaded to knock out an important enemy bridge, was shot out of the sky by a ground-based cannon. He got the aircraft turned around and did not eject from the cockpit until the last possible moment. That strategy got him ever closer to the friendly borders of Thailand.

On the ground he ran from the enemy soldiers and their dogs for 36 hours until he was rescued by a helicopter gunship. While running back toward Thailand, he prayed that he would see his young bride and baby again. But, if captured, he would try to be like the Savior. His faith would allow him to exercise courage.

It was never easy for any of them. Bob has worked hard in his service as a stake president. Paul has worked diligently to be a good young father. Mom has dealt with many crises in her life. They all have tried to face their obstacles in a Christlike way. Pain, hurt, and dread have been a part of their lives. It was part of Christ’s life, too!

Bob doesn’t fly jets anymore. He is now serving as a mission president. Paul is now a stake missionary. Mom has never danced professionally, though she has used her musical talents on numerous occasions. She is now serving a full-time mission with her husband. Each has lived a good and faithful life.

My friend, the former four-year-old, is a returned missionary, recently married, and now continuing his education. He did not grow up to that “awful curse” of becoming a bomber pilot. He is growing up wanting to become like the Master.

I recently learned a valuable lesson about seeing deeply from a young woman named Rozlyn.
The story was shared with me by my friend who was devastated when her husband of 20 years moved out. With her children splitting time between parents, the prospect of attending church alone seemed daunting. She recounts:
“In a church where the family is of paramount importance, sitting solo can be painful. That first Sunday I walked in praying no one would speak to me. I was barely holding it together, and tears were on the brink. I sat in my typical spot, hoping no one would notice how empty the bench seemed.
“A young woman in our ward turned and looked at me. I pretended to smile. She smiled back. I could see the concern in her face. I silently pleaded that she wouldn’t come to talk to me—I had nothing positive to say and knew I would cry. I looked back down at my lap and avoided eye contact.
“During the next hour, I noticed her looking back at me occasionally. As soon as the meeting ended, she made a beeline for me. ‘Hi, Rozlyn,’ I whispered. She wrapped me in her arms and said, ‘Sister Smith, I can tell today is a bad day for you. I’m so sorry. I love you.’ As predicted, the tears came as she hugged me again. But as I walked away, I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I can do this after all.’
“That sweet 16-year-old young woman, less than half my age, found me every Sunday for the rest of that year to give me a hug and ask, ‘How are you?’ It made such a difference in how I felt about coming to church. The truth is I started to rely on those hugs. Someone noticed me. Someone knew I was there. Someone cared.”

“One. Two. Three. Pull!” The pullers jerk the handles surrounding the walrus skin blanket outward, sending 17-year-old Karmy McKay soaring high into the air. The spotter yells to the pullers and tugs the blanket to guide them to where Karmy will come down. She wobbles a bit, but manages to land on both feet. She grins, gamely ready to try the blanket toss again. Tourists applaud their approval.
Entertaining tourists is just one facet of Karmy’s day. Like many Latter-day Saint teens, her schedule is busy. She has a summer job, attends church meetings, helps around the house, works out, spends time with her friends, and plans her future. But Karmy does all this in a small, predominantly Inupiat Eskimo village north of the Arctic Circle.
Karmy and her brother, Kris, 16, are the only Mormon teens for hundreds of miles. There are 15 members in the Kotzebue Branch, and seven are members of the McKay family.
Rising early, Karmy pedals down the main dirt road to work at the village’s hotel, waving to everyone she meets. “That’s one of the things I like about living here,” says Karmy, who wears a kuspuk, a colorful print cotton parka, over her clothes. “You know everybody.”
Most summer days in Kotzebue are overcast and gray. The village is almost an island on a narrow neck of land surrounded by water, and is only 200 miles away from Russia. There is no movie house or swimming pool for Karmy and her family to go to. The teen center—with a TV and video games, several small playgrounds, and a ball field—does provide additional options for summer activities.
Mainly, though, kids provide their own entertainment. When they have free time, Karmy, Kris, and the other McKay children (Mindy, 11, Levi, 9, and Logan, 8), like to ride their bikes over the dirt roads. There are no mountains or trees here, just rolling tundra, covered with tiny low-lying plants. There are wildflowers of every hue. A constant breeze helps dissipate the clouds of mosquitoes and no-see-ums, a gnat with a particularly nasty bite.
Karmy, of Canadian-Yugoslavian descent, likes the small community. “Everyone here is friendly,” she says. “I’ve had opportunities I couldn’t have had anywhere else. Here, you can be involved in everything.”
That is, everything that’s “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” Valedictorian of her graduating class, she was also the president of student government and was involved with Future Homemakers of America, the National Honor Society, and Alaska State Battle of the Books. She played basketball and volleyball, ran cross-country, took Russian classes, completed home-study seminary, and earned her Young Women Recognition.
“In some ways I’ve missed out,” Karmy says about the lack of LDS youth. “I would have liked to have gone to Church activities with a lot of kids. I went to a youth conference in Utah once and that was neat. Here, standards are low. Kids drink, smoke, and tell dirty jokes. I have different values.”
Occasionally a “debate” will come up about the Church. Some people have bad feelings about Mormons. “I try to stay calm and politely correct them,” she says. Her own friends have, in Karmy’s words, “grown to respect my values. I think respect builds up over time.”
Along the shore, boats of various color gently sway with the dark water. The raucous calls of ravens disturb the stillness.
Less than a block away from the beach is the Kotzebue chapel, where Karmy and her family have spent many hours. Constructed in 1981, it replaced the old chapel, a building the McKays eventually bought and remodeled into their home.
It is in these two places where Karmy has developed a close, personal relationship with her Heavenly Father. The smallness of the branch has provided her ample opportunity to give talks and prayers. Through personal prayer, and church and seminary attendance, the gospel has become essential to her.
“Three. Two. One. Blastoff!” Kimber Gabryszak was thrust back into her seat as the space shuttle simulator took off. As mission specialist on this flight, she later “repaired” the Hubble telescope.
The space camp in Huntsville, Alabama, sponsored by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, is for students in the seventh through ninth grades. The camp is a long way from Kimber’s home on the banks of the Yentna River in Alaska. Kimber, 14, lives in a two-story wooden lodge, the Yentna River Station, built by her father and mother. The lodge is only 70 air miles from Anchorage, but there are no roads to be found here—only trees, water, moose, and bear. Visitors come by boat, plane, or snow machine—depending on the season and the height of the river. That’s why the Gabryszaks don’t leave their bush paradise very often. Kimber, who has lived here since she was 15 months old, manages to get to Willow, the closest “town,” about every two months. She visits with friends and goes to the movies.
So why and how did Kimber get in a space simulator? Kimber wants to be an astronaut. The oldest of six children, she is mostly self-taught through the state’s home-study curriculum. When the chance to go to space camp came, she worked hard, saving money and soliciting sponsors. “I needed to see if I really want to be an astronaut,” she says. “I love science. I want to work on a space station.” One of her prized possessions is the light blue space uniform she brought back from camp.
In Alaska, Kimber’s typical day starts at 7:30 A.M., with the family’s animals. “If they don’t eat, we don’t eat,” she says. So the 17 chickens, ten chicks, two cats, four dogs, goldfish, guinea pig, and goat are tended to. After breakfast, there is firewood to split, snow to shovel, the lodge to clean, and younger children to look after. When Kimber begins home-study seminary, her day will begin 90 minutes earlier.
At night, the Gabryszaks have prayer and scripture reading. They just finished the Book of Mormon and have started it again. On Sundays, the family gathers for a meeting where they sing hymns, accompanied by Kimber on the recorder. She’ll read and study her own lesson, and then help her two younger sisters and brother with Primary lessons.
One of the highlights of her summer is going to girls’ camp with members of the Wasilla Stake. “Sometimes it’s hard not to be part of a class,” she adds. “I went to seminary in town one morning. It was neat. Everyone was friends and they were doing neat things with the scriptures. Here, there’s no one my age to do that with.”
For now, Kimber is content to write to friends she’s met along the way. She has pen pals as far away as the British Isles, and writes regularly to a Jewish boy she met at space camp. He’s interested in the Young Men and Young Women programs, and often asks questions about the Church in his letters. Kimber also sent a Book of Mormon to another friend in Wyoming.
Life is good for Kimber. She is surrounded by a family she loves and by the great Alaskan outdoors. Although college, a mission, and temple marriage—and her dream of becoming an astronaut—may eventually pull her away, at the Yentna River Station, Kimber has already learned the most important thing of all: “I love Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. They take care of me.”
Alaska has spectacular sunsets, trees and brush in a rich variety of greens, flowers of every hue, and, in winter, snow that turns into a fairyland. It also has Karmy and Kimber, two young women who have proven that wherever you are, you’re never alone.

After recovering from three major surgeries which have prevented me from speaking in the past two general conferences, what a joy it is to be able to stand in this beautiful Conference Center today to teach and bear testimony to those who desire to hear the word of the Lord.
In the past two years, I have waited upon the Lord for mortal lessons to be taught me through periods of physical pain, mental anguish, and pondering. I learned that constant, intense pain is a great consecrating purifier that humbles us and draws us closer to God’s Spirit. If we listen and obey, we will be guided by His Spirit and do His will in our daily endeavors.
There were times when I have asked a few direct questions in my prayers, such as, “What lessons dost Thou want me to learn from these experiences?”
As I studied the scriptures during this critical period of my life, the veil was thin and answers were given to me as they were recorded in lives of others who had gone through even more severe trials.
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (D&C 121:7–8).
Dark moments of depression were quickly dispelled by the light of the gospel as the Spirit brought peace and comfort with assurances that all would be well.
On a few occasions, I told the Lord that I had surely learned the lessons to be taught and that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to endure any more suffering. Such entreaties seemed to be of no avail, for it was made clear to me that this purifying process of testing was to be endured in the Lord’s time and in the Lord’s own way. It is one thing to teach, “Thy will be done” (Matt. 26:42). It is another to live it. I also learned that I would not be left alone to meet these trials and tribulations but that guardian angels would attend me. There were some that were near angels in the form of doctors, nurses, and most of all my sweet companion, Mary. And on occasion, when the Lord so desired, I was to be comforted with visitations of heavenly hosts that brought comfort and eternal reassurances in my time of need.
Though my personal suffering is not to be compared to the Savior’s agony in Gethsemane, I gained a better understanding of His Atonement and His suffering.

My mid-teens were years when there was a confluence of conditions that tried and vexed me. Those are years when peer approval weighs so heavily. I found myself contending with shortness of stature, shyness, a home with outdoor plumbing, and a 4-H pig project, each of which had by then become an embarrassment. The periodic pain can be smiled at now but was real enough then. Programmed by doting uncles (and myself) in early childhood to love basketball and to aspire to be all-state, I had (until this period) been more adept at basketball than most peers. Soon I started not making the first string, then the second, and then the squad. It was a bitter pill. This failure (for the first time in athletic affairs) cruelly combined with other indications that I was for the first time outside that hard to define but real inner circle. It was a time of long thoughts. Somehow being at home feeding the pigs was not like working out with the team, especially when the boy down the block (whom I had helped somewhat to learn to play basketball) was where I wanted to be: he went on to be all-state, which he deserved.
During this time, I noticed that recycling regrets didn’t change reality. Pawing through the past was not productive. (This period was the time when my aspirations got diverted to the world of words, where there was a teacher who would not let me pass without genuine achievement.) Thus an insight dawned—not all at once—showing me that too much attention to what might have been actually gets in the way of what still can be.

Some years ago I was appointed chairman of the board of a music school in the city of Hanau, Germany. As part of my duties, I attended an exhibit of musical instruments. Although I am not a musician, I strolled through the thousands of instruments and tried to ask an intelligent question or two.
As I wandered around the main floor, I noted that each exhibit had a soundproof enclosure, supposedly so that those trying out trumpets, cornets, French horns, organs, drums, or tubas would not disturb those trying out violins, clarinets, pianos, flutes, oboes, or saxophones. Actually, “not quite soundproof” would be a more accurate description of those enclosures. A terrible noise filled the air, as if musicians from several orchestras were all tuning their instruments at once.
Then I saw a sign reading “Orchestral Instruments” with an arrow pointing upstairs. I’m saved, I thought, even though the sign was a bit unclear—the instruments on the main floor were orchestral instruments. But I headed up the stairs anyway, hoping to find a little peace and quiet.
Instead I found myself in another large room filled with even more musical instruments—most of them used for performing rock music. The air was filled with much louder and shriller noises than those I was trying to escape. I quickly scanned the room for the closest exit.
But suddenly I stopped. For just a fraction of a second, I thought I heard a beautiful melody among all those discordant sounds. Was it possible? Or was it an illusion?
Then I heard the melody again. What an unmistakably beautiful sound! It was definitely a strain of violin music—almost lost in the ocean of noise. I looked around to see where it was coming from. I noticed that two others had heard it as well and were also seeking it out.
Eventually, we found what we were looking for. In the smallest booth in the hall, a man was softly playing a beautiful violin while his wife stood nearby. He told us that he was a Swedish violin maker and that he was trying to market his product the best he could amid the electric guitars and synthesizers.
“I was deceived,” he told us sadly. “I rented this spot because it was supposed to be the site of the orchestral exhibits.” Then he turned again to his violin, and we listened entranced as he played a familiar masterpiece. We no longer heard the discord around us—just the beautiful notes of that violin.

I just started receiving the New Era in November 1990 and I love it. My favorite was the November Q&A on young men going on missions.
One morning during a sacrament meeting, the speakers were talking about missionary work. They were encouraging all the young men to go. I was watching the interpreter translating the speaker’s words into sign language and I started thinking about my own plans.
My heart swelled with hope and a desire to serve a mission. So I went to talk to my bishop and he encouraged me to go. I finally prayed and decided to go when I turn 19.
Michael RobbKalama, Washington

The faith of this family is personified by the faith of President Uchtdorf’s grandmother. She was standing in line for food following the end of World War II when an elderly single sister with no family of her own invited her to sacrament meeting. His grandmother and his parents accepted the invitation. They went to church, felt the Spirit, were uplifted by the kindness of the members, and were edified by the hymns of the Restoration. In 1947 Dieter’s parents were baptized in Zwickau; Dieter was baptized nearly two years later at the age of eight. The family’s commitment to the Church became strong and enduring.

“Shortly after we were married, we began looking for a church. We had promised each other we would have a Christian home. Our neighbors had a daughter who had just joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She asked us if we’d like to talk to the missionaries. As soon as they walked onto our porch, we knew these men were different. There was a spirit about them.”
Another homecoming, this one leading to serious study, fasting, prayer, and finally the realization that Heavenly Father was welcoming them into the only true church.
“All the pieces fit. Everything was right. And since then our love for God has grown, our faith has grown, and we’ve seen the truth in action in the lives of Latter-day Saints everywhere we’ve lived.”

Shortly after the death of Sister LeGrand Richards, I was assigned to be Elder Richards’ junior companion to assist him in creating the Atlanta Georgia Stake. As we were flying toward his beloved Southern States Mission, he said to me, “Brother Ballard, I am not afraid to die; the only thing I worry about is, will I be able to find Mommy over there.”
I was impressed to say to Elder Richards that in his case that could be a real problem. Immediately, I had his full attention. He looked me directly in the eye and said, “What do you mean by that?”
With my emotions near the surface, I answered this great missionary, “Elder Richards, when you die, so many people there will be anxious to greet you because you introduced the gospel to them that you might have difficulty finding Mommy in the crowd.” His response was, “Oh, you don’t mean that.”
We all might ask ourselves the question, Who will be there to greet us?
Oh, that I could have the power to touch your hearts that you would have the faith to take the simple steps that will bring the light of the gospel to many more of our Father’s children. The more I am involved in this work, the more I realize that Satan would have you and me believe that we cannot succeed in sharing the gospel. He lies to us. In fact, he is the father of all lies. Do not listen to him. Listen to the prompting of the Holy Ghost, and then act in faith in sharing the gospel.
I testify to you, my brothers and sisters, that I know the Lord lives. I know that when we are willing to seek his help and guidance, when we trust in him completely, he will bless us to understand what to do and how to proceed in the wonderful work of sharing this glorious message with others.
We do appreciate all you have done in the past. The leaders of the Church have great faith that, united together, the members and the missionaries of this Church can do much more in the future to build the kingdom of God.
May the Lord bless us all with increased faith to move his work forward, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Let’s go, guys. Time to get up,” a loud voice said, unconcerned that my exhausted body needed more rest. “Yeah,” I moaned in my most convincing tone. I rolled 90 degrees and half opened one eye to see what time it was. The illuminated digital clock read 4:35 A.M. in bright red. Dad’s portly figure towered at the bedroom door. The hallway light surrounded him, giving him the aura of a heavenly messenger dressed in white. Dad’s message, however, was not exactly prophetic: “We’ve got cows to milk. You guys awake?”
“Okay, okay,” Steve said slightly annoyed.
I closed my eyes, then felt my nose with my hand. It must have been ten degrees colder than the rest of my body, which was warmed by a stack of six blankets. I snuggled, eyes closed, listening to the wind howl outside the bedroom window. I heard the bathroom door open. “Let’s go, Steve,” I said to my brother as I slowly rolled to the edge of my bed. I flipped back the covers, sat up, and quickly pulled my pants over the insulated socks and long johns I wore all night. I grabbed one flannel shirt and slipped it on, then imitated the procedure with a second.
I heard the back door close as I headed downstairs. Steve was right behind me. In the coatroom I donned another pair of pants over the ones I had on, then two more flannel shirts of a quilted style, and a dirty green army jacket. Snowmobile boots, a heavy winter cap over my ears, a thick scarf, and sheepskin gloves completed the outfit. I took a deep breath and looked at Steve. He glanced back, in almost identical clothing. We pulled open the door and stepped out into eight inches of swirling, drifting snow.
Steve’s voice was muffled by the scarf over his mouth, but I detected a sarcastic tone as he talked, “Sure is a lovely morning.”
“Yeah,” I replied, pointing to the thermometer by the milk house. “Let’s check the temperature.”
Out of habit, we walked single file, stepping in Dad’s boot tracks. The barn lights shone brightly through the windows. I could see Dad’s reflection and knew he was throwing hay to the cows. Half asleep and shivering I was barely aware of what I was doing. Dad, however, was bustling around feeding and checking each cow to make sure she had made it through the night okay. We both stopped at the telephone pole, and Steve scraped the ice off the thermometer as I adjusted my view of the mercury. “It’s only twelve below,” I mumbled, “five degrees warmer than yesterday morning.”
As we stepped in the barn and untied our scarves, the warm air penetrating our nostrils was filled with the sweet aroma of oat straw and alfalfa hay. Johnny, our dog, ran to greet us. We each took a second to say good morning to him. Then, without speaking to each other, we moved to do our preassigned chores. In sleepy silence Steve and I prepared to milk as Dad fed the cows. The clanking of neck chains and hooves on concrete was drowned out when I turned on the radio.
As we milked I watched Dad and wondered what it would be like without him. He never missed a morning in the barn. He was never late, and he never complained. No matter what happened (and things inevitably would go wrong, especially in cold weather) he always handled it with cool, efficient professionalism. I wished I could be as patient as he was. He always shared a positive attitude, explaining that things were never as bad as they could be.
The next words were spoken half an hour later when Dad said he needed to check the heifer barn to make sure the water wasn’t frozen. We heard on the radio the wind chill outside was about 55 below. He left but returned in five minutes. We watched as he got the propane torch. “Not too bad,” he shouted cheerfully on his way back out the door.
“I’ll bet that water is frozen solid. He just doesn’t want us to get perturbed at the cold.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “that’s Dad.”
At 6:45 Steve and I were almost done milking. Dad returned. “Took you awhile, Dad. Everything okay up there?” I asked.
“No problem. Everything’s fine,” he said reassuringly.
I looked at Steve in disbelief. His face said without words exactly what I was thinking. “Right, Dad!”
We assembled in a circle and made sure each one knew what needed to be done before breakfast. After deciding who would do what, we dispersed. It took an extra 30 minutes on cold winter mornings to make sure every water line, calf, cow, tractor, and truck was safeguarded from the elements. I took some shortcuts while cleaning the feeder, hoping Dad wouldn’t check. It was a dumb thing to hope, but my fingers were numb and my nose resembled a circus clown’s. Of course Dad checked and discovered my slothfulness. As I refroze my fingers finishing what I hadn’t done before, I imitated Laman and Lemuel and murmured against Dad’s thoroughness.
At 7:20 we sealed up the barn and braved the bitter cold again on our way to the house. Around the breakfast table we discussed the things to do today and decided who would be responsible for each. The list seemed long, especially when I thought of the icy cold weather.
I expressed my disgust at the arctic conditions and complained to Dad about all the trivial things he wanted done. He smiled and explained the importance of each of the “trivial” jobs. I nodded in agreement, my face indifferent. Strangely, I looked forward to the next eight hours. I didn’t realize it then, but Dad was teaching me each day invaluable lessons about responsibility and preparedness. I was in the eighth grade.
Twelve years have passed since that cold January morning. We don’t milk cows anymore, but Dad hasn’t changed a bit. He still shares a positive attitude even after a crippling accident that has left him disabled. The lessons he taught us surface in my conversations and experiences all the time now. At last I understand what he has taught me by his example. I love my dad.

When the Salt Lake Tabernacle was refurbished, its rededication took place during the Saturday afternoon session of April 2007 general conference. During that session, I had an experience that helped me to understand, in a small way, the love our Father in Heaven has for His Son, Jesus Christ.
Satomi, our second daughter, was serving in the Salt Lake Temple Square Mission. I knew that the missionaries serving on Temple Square would be in the Tabernacle for the afternoon session, seated on the main floor. I had a seat in the balcony for that session, and I hoped to see my daughter.
Right before the session began, a door opened and a group of missionaries came inside. I saw that my daughter and her companion were in the group. They were guided to their seats. Then Satomi looked toward the balcony. She saw me and said something. I could see tears in her eyes. Her companion put her arm around Satomi’s shoulder and comforted her.
I could not hear what my daughter said, but I understood the word: “Father.” That word made me think of Satomi’s childhood and her school days. It reminded me of her desire to serve God, to do His will, to serve Him as a missionary. Soon, I was crying too. Here was my daughter, and I was well pleased with her.
At that same moment, I thought of our Father’s feelings for His Son as Jesus Christ suffered in Gethsemane. Heavenly Father might have been moved to tears when He heard His Son’s prayer: “Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take away this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt” (Mark 14:36).

"Hello! This is Radio Halton. Jenny speaking. Are you happy and ready to go? I’ve got great things lined up for you today. But first, let’s hear some music.”
This cheery message greets patients in Halton General Hospital, Runcorn, England, as they tune in to seventeen-year-old Jenny Ireland, their disk jockey for several hours each week.
Jenny sends out messages of comfort and hope along radio waves to hospital patients. But many of those patients don’t realize that Jenny operates the complex radio equipment without arms.
At Jenny’s birth, when her father saw only hands at her shoulders, his thoughts were, “Oh, how we shall miss hugs from this lovely daughter.”
Now, he says, “I have never been more wrong. Jenny’s hugs are whole body hugs. She couldn’t have been a more loving child.”
And this love for others now motivates Jenny in all areas of life. “I’d like to be everyone’s friend,” she admits. “My greatest ambition is to have my own radio program—and broadcast to the public. A lot of lives can be touched that way.”
Touching lives is something she’s already doing. Nothing is too great an obstacle. She even completed the physically demanding requirements for a national fitness award, setting an amazing example to the rest of her school friends. The final hike in Snowdonia, Wales, was grueling—days of trekking over mountains in all kinds of weather, with only a compass and map to guide her. Jenny also has no ligaments in one knee, which causes problems. But sheer determination keeps her going.
Jenny’s sociable nature helps her to reach out to others to share her strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. She doesn’t mind who knows.
Jenny also knows how to make people feel special—even those embarrassed by her disability.
“Sometimes children will point at me and talk behind my back or make fun. It really doesn’t bother me one bit. I just laugh. My lack of arms is no problem to me. If I believe in myself, then I can accomplish as much as the next person.
“There was no medical explanation for my being born this way. No one is to blame. I’ve learned a lot about myself in seminary. I feel I have things to do; and my disability is not a trial, but somehow a help to others. It’s making me a much stronger, more patient person and keeps the family close together.”
Jenny has a younger brother, Jared, age fifteen, and two sisters—Maxine, thirteen, and Kirsty, nine.
“The only chore I get out of is washing dishes,” laughs Jenny, “because I get a little wet—more like soaked! But, like Jared, I love to cook, and I really don’t need any help.”
Jenny once watched a video of herself and understands how people feel when they see her. “My immediate reaction was, ‘That girl needs assistance; she looks so clumsy.’ But when I’m doing things, I don’t feel clumsy. I’m just getting on with it.
“Of course there are days when I feel down and sorry for myself,” Jenny admits, “but my parents have taught me that my best friend is my Heavenly Father, and he’s always there when I need him.
“I can remember at primary school when everyone could write much faster than I. The teacher would be dictating, and I never could keep up. I’d come home crying. Mum said, ‘Ask Heavenly Father to help you.’
“Well, he didn’t seem to be helping—at first. Then a few weeks later I noticed I could do it! And I’ve kept up ever since, writing faster than others at times.
“When I was even younger,” she recalls, “I couldn’t reach to put on socks. So I sat there trying for hours until I could.”
School has presented many challenges for Jenny. But Church programs and loving parents and leaders have helped develop her self-esteem so that nothing can threaten her progress.
“I can remember a school debate,” she smiles, “when we had to speak on a favorite subject. I chose the Church. When I mentioned ‘Church is fun,’ everyone gasped. During question time someone asked, ‘Do you really get up at six o’clock every morning for seminary?’ At the end, the teacher commented, ‘That was an excellent advertisement for your church.’
“On another occasion,” Jenny continues, “during the fitness award practice walks we had to carry a backpack, and I felt so weighed down that I nearly quit. Usually, before such a big trial, I ask Dad for a blessing. This time I realized I’d forgotten. I was just about to look for a phone to call Mum to come and get me when a line from my patriarchal blessing came into my head: ‘You can achieve anything you set your heart to do.’ And with help from my Heavenly Father, I did it.”
Accepting President Spencer W. Kimball’s challenge to “do it” has taken Jenny wherever she want to go. She hikes, swims, skates, dances, camps, and paints. She also plans to graduate from seminary, learn to drive, save money for a trip to the United States, and be married in the temple. But foremost is her goal of conquering the waves—radio waves.
Jenny’s voluntary work as a hospital radio disk jockey has developed in her a desire to share music and words with anyone willing to listen. She loves all types of music from classical to modern and has a calm, humorous approach to the microphone.
“I think giving talks at church from an early age has helped me feel comfortable speaking into microphones,” she smiles.
The chairman of Radio Halton, Derek Owens, agrees. “She originally joined us as an assistant. Then one day the other disk jockey was absent, so Jenny took over his time without hesitation and put on a great show. Now she has her own show each week.”
With such praise from the boss, it’s no wonder Jenny feels an obligation to set the best possible example of being a Latter-day Saint.
Sometimes temptation to let down her standards can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with well-known disk jockeys from a major radio station—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly improving her career opportunities. Workmates kept pressuring her to go. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down—and my workmates, too, because eventually they would have seen me as a bad example.”
And Jenny knows bad examples can break down channels of communication. She’s more interested in building them, which is obvious as she broadcasts another cheery message.
“Time to close for today. But before we go, I’d like to interview the lady who’s been interviewing me for the past two hours. She, too, is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes known as the Mormon Church. Let’s ask her a few questions about the Church.”

When our youngest child was six years old and in the first grade at school, her teacher gave the children an in-class writing assignment. It was October, the month of Halloween, a holiday observed in some parts of the world. While it is not my favorite holiday, I suppose there may be some innocent and redeeming aspects of Halloween.

The teacher passed out a piece of paper to the young students. At the top was a roughly drawn picture of a mythical witch (I told you this was not my favorite holiday) standing over a boiling cauldron. The question posed on the page, to encourage the imaginations of the children and to test their rudimentary writing skills, was “You have just drunk a cup of the witch’s brew. What happened to you?” Please know that this story is not being shared as a recommendation to teachers.

“You have just drunk a cup of the witch’s brew. What happened to you?” With her best beginner’s writing, our little one wrote, “I will die and I will be in heaven. I will like it there. I would love it because it is the best place to be because you are with your Heavenly Father.” This answer likely surprised her teacher; however, when our daughter brought the completed assignment home, we noted that she was given a star, the highest grade.

That first trip to the mountains without my grandfather was 14 years ago. I now have a son. He turned five this year. Last week, we returned from his first trip to the mountains. Grandma McClary is now well into her 80s, so my mother comes each year to visit and help with the meals.
I watched my little boy this year as one discovery came upon another. I saw his wide-eyed amazement when he caught his first fish. I saw the excitement in his face whenever he gazed upstream and saw my father—his Grandpa McClary—waving to him.
I know the secret of the Windmakers now. It doesn’t have much to do with tall mountains, clear streams, or old blue fishing caps. The secret is about fathers and sons, and how they stay close.
The first evening, as the three of us sat at stream’s edge eating gingersnaps and listening to the water rush by, the wind began to blow. I pulled my little son close to me and softly said, “Your great-grandpa used to call these mountains the Windmakers. Do you want to know why?”
He said yes, so I began to share a secret and a tradition with a new generation, father to son.

One of the hardest things for many of you is modesty. How can we apply the spiritual power of our baptism to the principle of modesty? We hope one of the things that makes you different from the world is the way you dress. Marcie Matthews, a Laurel from Chicago, Illinois, shares her story:
“1998 was a year that I was able to see the results of many Young Women lessons, talks, and advice come into play. I am an average Mormon girl. Being able to keep my life this steady and strong has not been easy. I make goals all the time to help strengthen my testimony and my standards.
“Recently we had a Mutual activity on the importance of modesty. Every lesson before I felt like I was a modest dresser, but I knew there was still something I could change—my shorts and the length of my skirts. It was the one weakness that I knew I had but had placed far behind in my head. Everyone wore short shorts, Daisy Dukes, and miniskirts, and I had bought mine with my own money. Then I heard the lesson on modesty. I went home wanting to go straight to my closet and throw away everything that was not modest so it wouldn’t be there to tempt me. After, I told my parents. I guess I was looking for them to tell me that there was no problem in the way I dressed and then let me go.
“Later that night my dad told me he was proud of me and that he would like to buy me a couple of knee-length dresses for church. The next step was to go through all my clothes and give away everything. It was hard for me to part with my favorite skirts and the shorts that I loved so much, but I did. You will never see me in short shorts or short skirts again.
“I have never felt better about myself. I love being able to walk into the temple and church and feel like I am a child of God and am representing Him … by the clothes that I wear.
“I challenge every young woman to take this step. It will help you find out who you are and what you stand for. When we have to give up something that is a part of us, the blessings will pour in more than you can imagine” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

Kaylie’s fingers shook as she opened the brightly wrapped present. “Hurry up,” Erica said. “I picked it out just for you.”
Kaylie couldn’t remember a better birthday party. Her parents had let her plan the party all by herself. She had invited 10 friends. They’d had cake and ice cream in the kitchen, then went to her bedroom to open presents.
Erica, her best friend, had told Kaylie that she’d brought something “way cool.”
Eleven now, Kaylie wanted grown-up clothes. She’d be going to middle school next year and wanted to look like Erica and the rest of the girls in her class. They all wore clothes bought from stores in the shopping mall.
Kaylie’s dad had started a new business last year. There wasn’t money for new clothes, so her mother made her clothes or bought them from the thrift store.
“Finally!” Erica exclaimed when Kaylie’s fumbling fingers undid the tape.
Kaylie ripped the paper from the box and lifted the lid. The girls squealed as she pulled the blue sweater from the box.
“It has a butterfly on it,” Erica said.
Kaylie collected butterflies. She had butterfly barrettes, notebooks, and necklaces. But it wasn’t the butterfly that she was staring at. The sweater had tiny straps, so thin that they were practically invisible.
“Th—thank you,” she stuttered. “It’s beautiful.”
“Try it on,” one of the girls suggested.
Kaylie went into the bathroom. She pulled off her T-shirt and slipped on the sweater. It fit perfectly, but she had never worn anything so revealing.
“Cool,” the girls shouted when she went back into the bedroom.
She wore the sweater for the rest of the party, but she didn’t feel comfortable in it.
After Kaylie thanked each of the girls for their presents and walked them to the front door, she joined Mom in the kitchen.
Mom raised her eyebrows at the sweater. “One of your presents?”
“Erica gave it to me. She knows I like butterflies.” One of the straps slipped from her shoulder. Self-consciously, she pulled it back in place.
Mom put down the carrot she was grating and gestured to the kitchen table. Kaylie knew that look. Her mom was getting ready to tell her something important.
“I know,” she said before Mom could say anything. “It’s different from what I usually wear.”
Mom waited a long time before speaking. “It’s not very modest.”
“Erica’s my best friend.” Kaylie knew she sounded defensive. “You’re probably going to say I can’t wear it.”
Mom shook her head. “No, I’m going to let you decide what to do.”
Kaylie knew her mom was telling her that she was old enough to make her own decisions. Sometimes she wished she could go back to being a little girl.
“You know our standards,” Mom said. “I know you’ll make the right decision.”
Kaylie wandered back to her room. She looked at all the presents she had received. Ordinarily, she’d be showing her parents everything. Now she couldn’t think about anything but the butterfly sweater. Once again, the strap slipped from her shoulder. She knew she would never feel comfortable wearing the sweater and changed back into the T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier.
She remembered the sharing time lesson in Primary last week. Sister McClure had asked Jason to blindfold Sam. Sam then had to walk across the room. Sister McClure said Sam would have to listen carefully to Jason, who would whisper the right directions to him. At the same time, the other children and teachers called out to him, trying to lure him away from the straight path.
When Sam made it to the other side of the room, Sister McClure thanked him and then asked if he’d had a hard time crossing the room blindfolded.
Sam nodded and said that all the voices had confused him and tempted him to stray from the path. Only Jason’s directions had kept him going in a straight line.
Sister McClure said that members of the Church had someone who could lead them in the right direction because he talked with Heavenly Father. She asked if the children knew who that was.
Kaylie raised her hand. “The prophet.”
Sister Rojas, the chorister, then led them in singing “Follow the Prophet” for the closing song.
The words of the song echoed through Kaylie’s mind now.
What would the prophet do? Kaylie knew the answer instantly. He would never do something that made him feel uncomfortable. The confusion that had clouded her mind cleared.
An idea flashed through her mind. She pulled the sweater over the T-shirt, then looked at herself in the mirror. They looked good together. She walked back to the kitchen.
Her mom wrapped an arm around Kaylie’s shoulders. “I knew you’d figure out a solution.”
Kaylie hugged her mom back.

Everyone loves a carnival, but this one was the most exciting of all. The youth from the Boulder Second Ward, Boulder Colorado Stake, sponsored a free “Kids’ Carnival” for the children living in a local low-income housing development.
About 50 young people and leaders provided booths with fishing ponds, sponge throws, ring tosses, etc. for more than 100 children. There were also hot dogs, popcorn, and lemonade. Ward member Brenda Lyle, who has three children in the ward’s youth program and works at the family learning center adjacent to the project where the event was held, helped spearhead the activity.
“I’ve been involved in many service projects,” said Jan Lindeman, 15, “but this was one of the best because you could see the results of all our hard work in the kids’ smiling faces.”

Among the new members in Canada were many with relatives and friends in England. They wrote letters explaining their conversion and became anxious to bear their testimonies personally to their friends. The groundwork was already being laid for the spread of the gospel. Several months before Joseph Smith had fled from Kirtland, he had called Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, Willard Richards, and four Canadian converts to open the British mission. They arrived at the port of Liverpool, England on July 20, 1837.
These missionaries contacted friends and relatives and then began to work generally among the people of England. After nine months of preaching—in churches whenever they could, in rented halls, or door to door—they counted nearly two thousand converts. Most of the elders returned home that spring,. leaving Canadian Joseph Fielding to preside over the mission, with Willard Richards (not yet an apostle) and William Clayton, a British convert, as counselors.

When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.