Gospel Story Finder

Scheduling is the third principle of building. Achieving the goal of a schedule can only be accomplished through establishing goals, great coordination, strategizing, planning, collaborating financing and working to accomplish our goals. One of the remarkable stories about building to a schedule is the story of Prayer Rock near Cody, Wyoming. On a recent trip to the area with our Scoutmaster who grew up in Cody we went to the visitors’ center in that same city and learned the story of the early saints that settled in 1900. When the saints first arrived in the valley it became obvious that a canal needed to be dug and built in order for the saints to bring water to their new farms. They went to work immediately building the canal. The work was led by Byron Sessions, he would become the Stake President the following year. The work was backbreaking and they soon realized the work couldn’t be finished in a year; no food could be raised until they had water for irrigation. Serious discouragement plagued the camp. A special prayer was offered and soon a modern manna from heaven came to the saints in the form of an $80,000 contract to construct 23 miles of railroad. Half of the saints worked on the canal, the other half worked on the railroad making enough money to buy food for the saints. As the saints worked on the canal they came to a cliff with a very large rock directly in the canal right of way. President Sessions, who was superintendent of the canal construction, strategized that a large hole would be dug at the base of this rock and then with the help of explosions at the rocks base this would cause the rock to crumble and collapse into the hole. Safety began to be a major concern. Morning and evening prayers were held in camp for the safety of the men and the horses. The digging continued. It didn’t seem to be working. “One afternoon as President Sessions discussed the matter with the men working there,” his own son, Biney, expressed the discouragement that several of them were feeling: ‘We’ll never get this down. We just as well give it up.’ This seemed to anger his father, who said, ‘I prophecy in the name of Israel’s God that that rock will be in there tomorrow at this time.’ Jim George, one of the men working there, turned his back to President Sessions , pulled out his watch and said, ‘Let’s test him out.’ He said, ‘It’s just four P.M.’” The work continued the next day. They took their usual fifteen-minute break at 3:30 and had just begun working again when President Sessions called them up for another rest break, an unprecedented but quickly obeyed order. Then, without a powder blast, without so much as a tap from a hammer, “that rock began to split from top to bottom and landed right where we had all been busy working five minutes before. George, with the same watch, dumbfounded, said, ‘Five minutes to four.’” The standing half of the rock is still visible; the fallen half was buried in the outside bank of the canal which flows smoothly between the two halves. This was considered a miracle by the Wyoming saints – it was a miracle. As we set goals and work to meet schedules we need to do all we can to meet these commitments.

The day we interviewed Talon Hobbs of Franklin, Idaho, it was easy to see why he loved his small family farm so much. The hill behind their fields glowed gold in the sun and was plastered against the dark green of the mountains. The sky was intense blue. The air was clean and crisp, with the drifting scents of fresh hay and distant animals. It was the kind of day that makes you want to stand still and enjoy where you are and what you are doing.
In fact, that is exactly the reason Talon gives for wanting to go into the family business. At 18, he has learned from his father how to do virtually every job on the farm. “My dad tells me what I need to get done, but I can choose what I do throughout the day. It’s really quiet. You’re not stressed. You get to have your quiet time. That’s what I really like about it.”
But it’s not easy work. There’s no such thing as procrastination when chores need to be done and animals cared for. “I figure you might as well get the worst job done first, then you get to do the easier ones. There is always something to do.”
And what about when it’s winter, when it’s 20º below with the snow blowing? Talon shrugs because he doesn’t really see that as the worst thing. “You just have to deal with it.” He goes on to explain how his parents will give their hired hands the day off on holidays such as Christmas. “We used to groan and moan about it when we were little, but now it’s our family tradition to be on the farm on Christmas Day doing the chores together.”
Ironically, the only way that Talon Hobbs will get to own part of the family farm and the outdoor life he craves is by getting more indoor learning. “I’ve always wanted to farm, even when I was little. I wanted to have some of my own animals, but Dad didn’t want me to get too tied down. He wanted to give us the opportunity to go to college. I plan to go into animal science. I’d like to take some plant science classes, and learn how to add to the farm and make it better. I’ll need to learn some small business management. I figure it’s better for me to take classes than struggle my whole life trying to figure it out.”
In the meantime Talon is getting ready for another kind of advanced education, his mission. Looking back, his mission preparation has been going on for years. He tells of meeting a girl just as they were starting high school and how he admired how she stood up for the gospel. He says, “I saw that she could be strong at that age, and her example made me realize that I also knew the Church is true. It made me think. Choosing to follow the Church may not always be the popular thing to do, but it’s always the best.”

Perhaps I can share an experience from my own life that will demonstrate why we should not let the world devalue that which we have learned through the Spirit.

While I was at UCLA studying for my PhD in Egyptology, I developed a sharp pain in my knee. It became so acute that I could only wear the loosest of pants, I could not kneel, and I flinched whenever my children moved toward my leg for fear that they might touch my knee. Deep within my knee, I could feel a small lump that was grinding against a nerve or something else. I went to see UCLA medical school physicians. They tried to feel this bump themselves but were unable to, so they took various kinds of x-rays and MRIs. Nothing showed up. Because of this, none of the many doctors who saw me believed there was anything inside my knee; they thought it must be some other problem, such as nerve damage. Some even tried to treat me for these other imagined problems. Because I kept insisting that there really was something inside my knee, I was finally referred to the head of orthopedic medicine, who said he was willing to make an incision and see if he could find anything. Through this incision, he found a piece of cartilage that had been chipped off and had started to gouge the surrounding tissues. Its removal completely cured me.

The point of this story is that according to the best practices and technology available, there was nothing in my knee. Because most of the doctors would only trust what they themselves could feel or see or what technology told them, they did not believe there was an actual, physical object causing me pain. However, using senses available to me but not to them, I could feel there was indeed something inside my knee. That others could not detect it didn’t change the fact that it was there nor the fact that I could feel it nor did it lessen the very real effects it had in my life. In the end, my senses, which were not available to empirical processes, were right.

Cooper’s video game system was getting old. Whenever he raced cars, the screen froze and he had to restart the game.
“Can I get a new game system for my birthday?” Cooper asked Dad.
Dad shook his head. “I don’t think it fits into our budget. Remember how we spent quite a bit of money last year to buy your guitar and pay for music lessons?”
Cooper frowned. He wasn’t taking music lessons anymore.
“What if I earn the money?” Cooper asked. “Then maybe you could help me order one online.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Dad said.
Cooper went to work doing extra chores and mowing lawns for neighbors. He saved all summer.
Finally he had enough money, and Dad sent it to an online seller advertising the best price for the gaming system Cooper wanted.
Cooper couldn’t wait. Whenever the mailman came, Cooper checked the mailbox. When a delivery truck came down his street, Cooper hoped it was bringing a package for him. But none of the trucks stopped at his house. Weeks went by.
“When is it going to get here?” Cooper asked.
Dad looked worried. “I’m not sure. The seller never sent me the tracking number.”
A few days later, Dad told Cooper some bad news. “I think the seller we chose is dishonest. I can’t contact him on the phone or through email.”
Cooper couldn’t believe it. “You mean he stole my money?”
“It looks that way.”
Cooper hoped it wasn’t true. At night he prayed for a way to still get the gaming system he’d earned. The next day he asked Dad if he could have one for Christmas, but Dad just said, “I’m sorry this happened. Next time we’ll both know to be more careful.”
It seemed there was only one thing left to do: start saving money again. But school had started and Cooper didn’t have as much time for extra chores. “It isn’t fair,” he complained to himself as he sat moping in his room one afternoon. Then he noticed something he hadn’t paid much attention to for a while—his guitar.
Cooper picked it up and tuned it. He strummed a few chords and played through the songs he’d learned. It didn’t take long because he hadn’t had many lessons. He sat with the guitar on his lap, his fingers itching to play something new. He wondered if he could make up a song of his own.
A few hours later, Cooper played his brand new song all the way through. It felt so great that he couldn’t wait to write another one.
Cooper practiced his guitar all winter. He read books about playing the guitar. And when he had time, he earned a little extra money.
When spring came, Dad said, “How are the savings coming? Are you ready to pick out a new gaming system?”
Cooper thought about it. “I don’t know if I want one anymore.”
Sometimes he played video games at his friends’ houses, but he hadn’t really missed playing them at home. Playing guitar was fun, and he felt like he’d accomplished something great every time he wrote or learned a new song.
“I think I’ll leave the money in savings until I know what I want to use it for,” Cooper said.
“Sounds smart.”
Cooper was surprised at how much fun he was having playing his guitar. All year long, his plan had been to play video games. Now he didn’t even miss them. Heavenly Father hadn’t helped him get the video game system, but He had blessed Cooper with something better—the ability to be happy without it.

I was baptised on the 14th in May 1955 in Liverpool, when the branch was meeting in Summerfield, a grand old house which stood on Mill Bank where the stake centre now stands. The following year, Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985), then an Apostle, visited Summerfield because he was in the area.
Even as a very young teenager, I could tell that there was something special about him. He did a wonderful presentation on tithing. We had been in the Church for less than a year and I was part of the choir along with my mother. I was seated at the front and had the advantage of watching him come down the aisle towards the stand.
He stopped and stood in front of the pulpit. He said that he wanted someone to help him.
He had taken the trouble to find ten pieces of three pence (a small gold-coloured coin with many sides resembling our 50-pence piece) before coming to the meeting. He then called a young primary boy named Geoffrey Nugent to come to the front and said, “I want you to help me. Hold out your hand.”
Geoff held out his open hand as Elder Kimball counted the ten coins, one by one, into his hand. Then he asked him, “What have you got there?” “I have ten threepenny pieces” Geoff replied and Elder Kimball said “Yes, now will you do something for me, will you give me one coin back?”
Geoffrey gave him one back, and Elder Kimball said, “Now see this one which you have given back to me? How many have you got left?” Geoffrey counted them and said, “Nine.”
“You’ve got nine and I’ve got one. That’s all the Lord wants from you. He wants one out of every ten of the pennies you have. Would you do that for the Lord? We call it tithing. Would you pay your tithing?”
Geoffrey said he would, and Elder Kimball said, “Well, I am giving you this one back. I am trusting you to pay it in tithing.” He then gave the coin he was holding back to Geoffrey.
I have never forgotten that lesson. Geoffrey went on to do that same lesson with one of his friends, Roy. Elder Kimball taught him, and the rest of us, about tithing, in a simple yet profound way. I was just a young teenager then, but that experience has stayed in my mind and heart all these years.

Our obedience and our faith in our leaders is put to the test through callings and releases. I recall an occasion when I was tempted to ask for a release from my calling as branch president. On my way to talk to the district president, I stopped at the post office to pick up my mail. Among the mail was the latest issue of the Liahona. As I looked over it, my eyes fell on a short message by President David O. McKay, in which he told how much the first leaders and missionaries of the Church had to suffer for the gospel. His words touched my heart, and I realized the foolishness of my decision. I kept my appointment with the district president, but never mentioned my original reason for coming. Instead, I took the opportunity to ask for additional counsel concerning my calling.
Years later the brother who had been district president asked me, “Brother Davila, what did you really want to talk to me about many years ago when you came to my house in Bogota?” I told him I had come to ask for a release. Then, with love and a smile, he said, “I knew what you were going to tell me. From the time you called me to make an appointment until you arrived at my house, I was praying that something might happen along the way that would change your mind.”
This experience has helped me to testify that our leaders are inspired, and that we should follow them humbly and willingly accept callings and releases that they extend to us.

A few years ago, I was extremely depressed. The only thing I could find a little motivation for was my best friend and her children. We went for walks on weekends, which I enjoyed. Over time, however, we began to go on walks less and less frequently. I began to miss my friend and her family. I later learned that our walks became less frequent because my friend and her family had resumed a practice they had stopped many years before—attending church.
One day they invited me to lunch. Seeing them again made me feel very happy. I told them how much I missed them. My friend’s six-year-old daughter suggested that we solve that problem by going to church together. So without thinking twice, she invited me to go.
Oh, no! How could I make this family understand that going to church was right for them but too boring for me? I hadn’t gone to church for years, but how could I say no to a child? I said I would go, but the truth was that I didn’t have the least intention of keeping that promise.
That Sunday, I went to breakfast with my dad. My cell phone constantly rang, reminding me that I had promised a little girl that I would go to church with her. I ignored my cell phone until my dad asked me why I wasn’t answering it. I admitted that I had been invited to go to a church meeting but didn’t want to go. He smiled and said, “Lluvia, never make a promise to a child if you are not willing to fulfill it.” I decided I would keep my promise.
When I arrived at church, I felt something different, something that I can’t describe. I still can’t explain how it happened, but the next Sunday, I found myself there again, and the next and the next, until I understood what I was feeling: the Holy Ghost.
The Church members began to make me feel at home. Without any doubt, I was curious about the Church. I began meeting with the missionaries, and I also began to gain a testimony. The missionaries’ visits became more constant, and my understanding of the gospel grew until I felt an immense desire to be baptized. I was baptized a short time later, and now I enjoy the blessings of the gospel. Because of this, I’m so grateful I kept my promise to a six-year-old girl.

Dear New Era:
After reading about keeping a journal in the FYI section, I decided to make writing in my journal every day a goal. I started out slow but steady, and within a few weeks it became a habit. And do you know what? Just yesterday, I filled the last page in my journal. If it wasn’t for the magazine, my journal would still be full of empty pages. I can’t wait to start my next journal.
Thanks so much!
Nancy FowlerCheyenne, Wyoming

They came in groups, with sleeping bags and clothes under each arm, from cities throughout the massive state, twice the size of Texas. Handfuls came in cars from small cities such as Delta, Cordova, Kenai, Soldotna, and Clear. Others came in buses and planes. This meant a sacrifice of hard-earned time and money for many conference-goers. Eight youths from Juneau raised $1,400 to charter a flight in. One boy flew in from White Horse in the Yukon Territory, more than 500 miles away, at a cost of $150. The group from Kodiak Island floated for about 13 hours on a ferry and then immediately boarded a bus for another 11-hour trip. The largest group, 154 youths from Anchorage, drove in school buses for about seven hours.
But no matter how they traveled, their spirits were flying high when they arrived. From the start the pace of the conference was breathtaking.
The first night they threw their sleeping bags and clothes into the halls of the chapel, and then half of the crowd danced together at a record hop in the cultural hall, while the other half boarded buses and were whisked up to Uhlerhaven ski lodge to ooh and aah at the midnight sun.
The next day everyone joined together in the modern cement block and wood chapel to listen as astronaut Don Lind, in Alaska doing graduate studies at the University of Alaska’s Geophysical Institute, gave the keynote address on the conference theme “Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory.” Brother Lind painted a panoramic word picture of pioneers who suffered tremendous hardships for the gospel because they had glimpsed its glory. He urged the youth to take note.
“You may not have to bury your children on the plains or freeze your feet at Valley Forge,” Brother Lind warned, “but you will have trials as every generation has had trials; you may have more trials than most generations. You need, brothers and sisters, to glimpse the glory to sustain you through those times.”
The vividness of his words and the power of his spirit burned firm resolve in the hearts of that little gathering. Determination etched itself on every face, and soon the glory of their state, the glory of their country, and the glory of the gospel pulsed and glowed in everything they did.
They left the chapel and broke into smaller groups for workshops. The topics were as diverse as the youth who attended them. There were fun workshops such as “Cooking for Guys,” “Auto Mechanics for Girls,” and “Courting Alaska-style.” Sheepish, but excited boys dusted their hands with flour as they learned how to cook Maori hamburgers and other delectable delights.
“I figure I’ve got to cook on my mission,” one boy said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Why not learn now?”
Normally dainty girls rolled up their sleeves and tied back their hair to learn a little about what goes on under the hood of a car.
“I don’t want to become a mechanic or anything,” one girl commented. “But I do want to know the basics.”
And everyone sat back to munch popcorn and watch slides showing a melodrama of a typical old-fashioned Alaskan date with picnic basket, shotgun, and a bear.
There were also spiritual workshops such as “Answers to Gospel Questions” and “How to Prepare for a Mission.” President Barben led a lively discussion on many gospel issues in the chapel, and a recently returned missionary taught classes of boys and girls some practical tips on how to prepare for and succeed on a mission.
By lunchtime everyone had worked up a good appetite. The hot sandwiches on giant, Alaska-sized buns, potato chips, milk, and homemade brownies were eaten with great relish. Members of the Fairbanks Relief Society watched with proud smiles from the kitchen where they had been hard at work since 7:00 A.M.
The second half of the workshops went even faster and more delightfully than the first. After each class, comments such as, “You’ve got to go to the one I just finished. It’s the best so far,” could be heard in the halls when friends passed each other on their way to the next session.
As the workshops continued, one boy finally admitted, “I don’t know which one is the best. They’re all good.” And after it all ended, everyone seemed to have a common lament: “I wish I could have gone to all of them.”
But the laments were short-lived because faster than the bursting open of arctic buttercups in the summer sun, they found themselves in formals and suits at the university student union for a dinner and an upbeat dance with a live band. Although it looked more like a scene from a posh movie with elegant couples swaying in harmony, the simple melody of love was still very real. Three girls paused to help a friend mend the sagging hem of her gown. Several boys asked their timid advisers to dance. And everyone took turns photographing each other. If one person stood on the sidelines alone, an arm would reach around him and draw him into the group. There were no in-groups or out-groups, only the common bond of gospel love that continued to grow as the conference continued to unfold.
Saturday started on buses, where a thousand spirit-building adventures had their beginnings. The engines had barely started up when the strains of hymns or camp songs sung with the vigor of gold miners could be heard through the windows of the bright yellow caravan. As they sped toward a day of fun on the shores of Harding Lake 30 miles from Fairbanks, a friendly rivalry developed between cars and buses on the two-lane roads. “Guess what, team? We’re about to be passed,” shouted one bus driver. Immediately the windows flew open and arms and shouts crowded through to greet the car speeding up temporarily to pass the cumbersome bus. “There goes the mission president,” someone announced, and the cheers grew louder still.
By the time the caravan stopped to unload its cargo, everyone was ready for the full day to follow. Tug-of-war, volleyball, frisbee, horseshoes, baseball—everybody joined in with their muscles or at least their lungs. When someone stood by the sideline looking a little forlorn, he was immediately handed a bat and told he was up next.
“It’s like we’re a family,” one girl commented as she watched. It was as if even the moments were too precious to waste on anything but loving concern. “This is about the only opportunity I have to get together with Mormon kids,” a boy from one of the small communities explained.
Later in the day the Dunns arrived. “We don’t get many General Authorities up here,” one boy explained as the group clustered on the shores of the lake waiting for the Dunns’ helicopter. “When they do come, we get excited.” The excitement was very real when the whirr of the propeller and the roar of the engine turned all faces skyward. As the Dunns stepped out of the craft, camera shutters clicked, handshakes were exchanged, and swarms of smiling people enveloped them. Suddenly a chorus of “Shall the Youth of Zion Falter” filled the air as everyone lifted their voices in unison. “Only in Alaska, only in Alaska,” murmured one boy almost to himself.
From that point on, the tenor of the conference intensified. A still-vibrant, but now-hushed feeling swept the crowd as they gathered in the sands with their backs to the shimmering sun and listened to Elder Dunn in the first of three addresses to them.
“I know that many of you have traveled long distances to come to this conference. Yet I get the feeling that it was all worth it,” Elder Dunn said, looking into their faces. “I think I see here spiritual eyes that are very comforting. I don’t have too much concern about the future when I can look out at such a sea of righteousness.”
He spoke and they listened. They listened until their hearts overflowed, the fullness glistening down sun-bathed cheeks. And then they listened some more. When it was time to climb back on the buses, many were reluctant to leave. Only the promise of hearing Elder Dunn the next day, Sunday, gave them the will to part.
Sunday began early, and many of the now-scrubbed faces were drooping a little as they entered the large cultural center on the university campus for church meetings. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month,” one girl on the planning committee later admitted quietly. But the tiredness almost felt good. It came from days filled to overflowing with Mormon-style work and fun.
It wasn’t long before the faces began to glow with spiritual awakening. The group divided for the first meetings. The boys met with Elder Dunn for a priesthood meeting in front of a huge mural of the Fairbanks countryside.
“Can you imagine,” he said, “what we could do if we took faith in God, confidence in self, and added that third ingredient—determination?” Then he answered his own question. “There isn’t a boy or a man in this room who couldn’t go all the way in doing anything he needs to do.”
Meanwhile the girls were meeting with Sister Dunn in the auditorium. The sweet spirit of womanhood at its best radiated from the girls as they listened to Sister Dunn bear her witness of the growth that can come through service in the kingdom.
“You know, girls, service is the only way to develop our capacities,” she said with quiet conviction. “The Lord wants us to grow and develop.”
From the third row a baby began to fuss and then cry. Sister Dunn paused for a moment, and everyone smiled as the mother offered the child comfort. Somehow it all seemed very right.
When the boys joined the girls in the auditorium for the final event of the conference, a three-hour testimony meeting, each paused for a moment in the greeting. The mysterious transformation that had occurred over the short night was most pleasing. Shirts and ties had replaced T-shirts, and soft dresses had replaced blue jeans. But the change was more than washing off the dirt and donning the Sunday best. They felt cleaner through and through. It was as if the words of the last night and the anticipation of the experience to come had brought a renewal of spirit, a new understanding of life.
As the meeting progressed, this renewal grew. Heart joined heart in a declaration of the power of righteousness that bowed many heads and filled many eyes. The lines of those waiting to bear testimony grew up the stairs the length of the auditorium.
“Do you know that the group sitting right here in this room could change the shape of Alaska?” Elder Dunn began the testimony bearing. “People want what you and I have if we are bold enough and courageous enough to share it with them. I’m just naive enough to think that you and I can convert the world.”
He spoke with boldness, and they answered with conviction.
“There is a feeling in this meeting that I can do anything that’s right,” one boy said, adding his testimony to Elder Dunn’s.
“I look around me and everyone is just sort of glowing,” observed one girl, her voice hushed in marvel.
And they did. It was a glow more beautiful than that of the midnight sun from the tallest mountain. It welled up from three days of nurturing and spilled over, moving all within its touch to swelling hearts and wet cheeks. Nonmembers stood to express their gratitude and testimonies in embryo. Adult advisers wept silently beside their youth. The Dunns watched in quiet wonder. And every heart joined in the silently resounding chorus, “His truth is marching on.”

For many years the girls were too shy about their writing to share it even with each other. It took a small accident by Charlotte to get them to share their work and their dreams of someday having their work published.
Charlotte was moving Emily’s notebook one day to set the table. She had done this many times in the past and had never neglected Emily’s privacy by reading her work. This day, however, the notebook fell open accidently to some poems, and before Charlotte could close it her eyes caught a few lines.
Having studied the best poets at her boarding schools, Charlotte was capable of recognizing good poetry when she saw it. Emily’s poems were good, very good, and Charlotte couldn’t put the notebook down. She knew her sister’s work must be published.
“Charlotte! How dare you!” Emily cried as she came into the dining room.
“It was an accident, Emily; really it was.” Charlotte realized what her sister must think. “Your poems are so good, though, I couldn’t quit reading them.”
Emily’s anger lasted for three days during which she didn’t speak to Charlotte. After all was forgiven, the door was open for the sisters to discuss their work with each other and make plans to try to publish it.

The two stakes selected several historic sites, significant during the Revolutionary War in eastern Pennsylvania, to visit as part of the group’s activities. But the visits had a purpose. As a service project, the youth conference offered 200 pairs of eyes and 200 hands to write down the information from the tombstones of an old cemetery. A complete index of the cemetery did not exist. The Warwick Presbyterian Church in Neshaminy, Pennsylvania, was used as a temporary hospital by George Washington’s troops. Many graves in the adjoining cemetery date from Revolutionary War times.
Some of the youth were more dedicated than others to doing a good job of recording the information from their assigned rows. Yet everyone seemed to take the opportunity to think about the people who once lived here. Of course, knowing about modern-day temple work gave an added luster to the hot chore of sitting in the sun trying to decipher weathered epitaphs.
“I liked working at the cemetery,” said Doug McMinn of the Wilmington Delaware Ward. “It was a neat thing that the names might be sent to the temple. Wouldn’t it be great to do a baptism for one of those names? That would be cool.”
Doug’s comment started a group of friends talking about the cemetery. Stacey Hollinghaus of the Wilmington Delaware West Ward looked a little sad when she said, “I found one that died on Christmas. It made me think about the family and how hard it must have been for them.”
Bill Ide of the Wilmington Delaware Ward remembered one tombstone he recorded, “Yes, and I had one that died right before his birthday.”
The gap between 20th-century teens and those who died to establish a new country was closing. Suddenly a service project took on a greater significance. For one morning, people who lived and died a long time ago became real. Present-day youth recognized their obligation to those who had gone before.

Service has taken on a special meaning to the girls in the Copenhagen Denmark Stake. The Young Women were asked to help an LDS family in Poland. They gladly responded and began organizing the first parcel of hard-to-get items to send to the Polish family of four. They sent such items as soap, toothpaste, flour, razor blades, vitamins, and shoes. The parcel was received so gratefully that the girls decided to gather more badly needed items and have them personally delivered by a family in their ward who offered to spend their vacation making the trip into Poland.
The family was able to deliver the items gathered by the girls to the Polish couple and their two sons, who were grateful to have contact with Church members. They were also able to bring the news that a temple is to be built in East Germany.
The Young Women of the Copenhagen First Ward also filled sharing socks made by some California Young Women. These socks, filled by the Copenhagen girls with candy and small gifts, were given to children in Poland.
News of their successful service project has spread, and four other Copenhagen wards have also adopted Polish families. The girls hold work projects to earn money to pay for the postage on the packages they mail to Poland.

Perhaps one of the most moving incidents related at June Conference involved a teacher named Rod, who upon moving to a new city faced problems at home and school. (“I don’t have any friends. I haven’t had a date since we moved here.”)
Rod took off—California, Washington, Montana, Wyoming. He ended up in a detention home. Upon his release he became progressively more cynical. An arrest for shoplifting put Rod back in the detention home; he was now regarded as a juvenile delinquent.
About this time a new teachers quorum adviser was called for Rod’s quorum. The quorum members began to make frequent and regular visits to Rod at the home.
At first his reaction was skeptical (“Your percentages are low, huh?”), but the bishopric joined in and convinced the judge to release Rod under the condition that the quorum look out for him “all the time, at school, after school, at the movies, on the ball court.” The judge placed Rod under the legal custody of his parents, while at the same time putting “principal control and responsibility for his actions in the hands of Rodney Gailbreth’s teachers quorum.”

In October 1856, during a general conference, President Young learned that two handcart companies, the Martin company and the Willie company, were traveling late in the season and would face harsh winter weather on the plains of the western United States. He stood at the pulpit as a prophet of God and declared:
“Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, … and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. … This community is to send for them and bring them in. …
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess, it is to save the people. …
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”4
As a result of President Young’s call to action, wagons with teams of mules, men to drive them, and flour and other supplies were immediately sent to rescue the people stranded on the plains.

As our hearts and minds turn at Eastertime to thoughts of our Savior’s suffering at Gethsemane, his crucifixion, and his resurrection, I recall an experience at an open house in the Arizona Temple following a complete renovation of the building. Nearly a quarter of a million people saw the temple’s beautiful interior. On the first day of the open house, clergymen of other religions were invited as special guests, and hundreds responded. It was my privilege to speak to them and to answer their questions at the conclusion of their tours. I told them that we would be pleased to answer any queries they might have. Many were asked. Among these was one which came from a Protestant minister.
Said he: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which carries on its face the name of Jesus Christ, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. I have noted your buildings elsewhere and likewise find an absence of the cross. Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Jesus, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith. I hope he did not feel that I was smug or self-righteous in my response. He was correct in his observation that we do not use the cross, except as our military chaplains use it on their uniforms for identification.

World peace and international peace are kind of lofty goals that we keep in our minds and hearts, but how many of us can have family peace for even 24 hours? Often our families are the hardest place for us to achieve a society of peace. President Tanner grew up in a family with 13 children. There was not always complete peace in that chaotic household as he grew up. However, his parents were wise and they taught those children to keep their covenants, to bear one another’s burdens, to mourn with those that mourn, and, especially, his father emphasized something that we do not always emphasize. A part of our covenant that we find in Romans 12:15 is that we should “rejoice with them that do rejoice.” This was an amazing part of that covenant for this family. After all, if there are thirteen children and two parents, your birthday celebration only rolls around one time in every 15 birthdays, so you might as well be happy for the others while they are celebrating. Or if you buy a dozen apples, there are not enough to go around for everyone to have one, so you need to learn to be unselfish and you need to learn to rejoice for others in their joys and successes. Among these thirteen now grown adult brothers and sisters, there are extroverts who are very firm-minded, but there is an unmistakable love and peace that they share. I witnessed this in a recent family trip that we took to England. President Tanner acted as a tour guide, because this is his area of expertise. Each one of his brothers and sisters loved, admired and appreciated the things that he taught. There were no jealousies or divisions, only love, admiration, and peace. From their growing-up years, they had learned to rejoice for each other in their successes.

During the weeks before Christmas, my companion and I had been teaching a man of the Jewish faith. Allen already knew a little about the Church. He told us that he wasn’t looking to get baptized; he just wanted to see what “the Mormons are all about.”
In four discussions we had taught him about the Savior, the Restoration, the Book of Mormon, the plan of salvation, plus other material to help him come to a knowledge of Christ. He had finished reading the Book of Mormon and a little more than half of the Doctrine and Covenants. We had fasted with him on Christmas Eve, hoping he would come to a knowledge of Christ and be baptized.
Christmas afternoon came with an unexpected knock on the apartment door. It was Allen. He was beaming with excitement. He had come to tell us that he could testify of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and Jesus Christ as the Savior of the world. Every expression on his face showed the joy and happiness he was experiencing. He was no longer a man looking for a knowledge of Christ, but one desiring to become a member of the Church.
It was through the Book of Mormon and the Holy Ghost that Allen was able to come to a knowledge of Christ. I was transferred out of the area before Allen was baptized, but being able to see his conversion and be a part of it truly was the best Christmas present ever.
Elder Christopher Albright is serving full time in the North Carolina Charlotte Mission.

Some years ago there went to his eternal reward one of the kindest and most loved men to grace the earth. I speak of Louis C. Jacobsen. He ministered to those in need, he assisted the immigrant to find employment, and he delivered more sermons at more funeral services than any other I have known.

One day while in a reflective mood, Louis Jacobsen told me of his boyhood. He was the son of a poor Danish widow. He was small in stature, not comely in appearance—easily the object of his classmates’ thoughtless jokes. In Sunday School one Sabbath morning, the children made light of his patched trousers and his worn shirt. Too proud to cry, tiny Louis fled from the chapel, stopping at last, out of breath, to sit and rest on the curb which ran along Second West in Salt Lake City. Clear water flowed along the gutter next to the curb where Louis sat. From his pocket he took a piece of paper which contained the outlined Sunday School lesson and skillfully shaped a paper boat, which he launched on the flowing water. From his hurt boyish heart came the determined words, “I’ll never go back.”

Suddenly, through his tears Louis saw reflected in the water the image of a large and well-dressed man. Louis turned his face upward and recognized George Burbidge, the Sunday School superintendent.

“May I sit down with you?” asked the kind leader.

Louis nodded affirmatively. There on the gutter’s curb sat a good Samaritan ministering to one who surely was in need. Several boats were formed and launched while the conversation continued. At last the leader stood and, with a boy’s hand tightly clutching his, they returned to Sunday School.

Later Louis himself presided over that same Sunday School. Throughout his long life of service, he never failed to acknowledge the traveler who rescued him along a Jericho Road.

At 12:51 p.m. on February 22, 2011, a magnitude 6.3 earthquake caused severe damage in Christchurch, New Zealand. One hundred eighty-five people were killed, and several thousand were injured. The fear and chaos in the city were palpable. It took me several hours of driving through rubble to collect my children from their schools and find my husband, who had been in the part of the city where the most damage occurred.
Once back at our home, we needed to decide what to do. It wasn’t safe to stay, so that same afternoon we hurriedly packed a few belongings and started driving north. We didn’t realize that we would experience many miracles along the way.
As we left the city, our van was nearly out of fuel, but we were able to get petrol at the first gas station to reopen. Our van was also struggling mechanically, so we dropped it off at a garage for repair. When we picked it up, the mechanic didn’t charge us, saying he wanted to help those who had been impacted by the earthquake. Friends and family showed us kindness, helping to calm us and our children.
We eventually drove to Hamilton, over 500 miles (800 km) to the north of Christchurch. Our young family was able to stay in one of the student dorms of a decommissioned school next to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple. It was there at the foot of the temple that we tried to help our children heal from the trauma of being earthquake refugees.
I remember looking up at the spire of the temple and taking a deep breath before stepping inside, as it took courage to convince myself that it too wouldn’t fall like the many buildings that had collapsed in our home city. In the temple lobby, the Spirit brought us peace as we planned our next steps: how we would start to make order out of chaos and move forward in our lives.
Early in the Restoration, the Lord declared, “I command you to build a house unto me, for the gathering together of my saints, that they may worship me” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:8). The Lord explained that this gathering of the Saints would be “for a defense, and for a refuge from the storm” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:6). In the aftermath of an earthquake, the Hamilton Temple was a gathering place of refuge for my family.

I remember a young man in my third area who was very passionate about serving the Lord and zealous in his effort and contribution to missionary work. He once tried to call a friend on phone but instead dialed a wrong number. The number belonged to a young lady who had been prepared to receive the gospel. They interacted for a few minutes and soon discovered they lived in the same area.
The meetinghouse was not too far from her home, and my young friend introduced himself and his faith and expressed interest in meeting her. The young lady’s name was Vivian. She was welcoming and friendly. She had a listening spirit. We acted promptly, and I soon met the strongest convert I will ever have on my mission.
What amazed me the most about Vivian was her readiness to act and keep commitments. She attended all Church meetings, usually arriving even earlier than the branch presidency on Sunday and earlier than everyone else on other meeting days within the week. She asked important questions that increased her knowledge of the gospel deeply. I was moved by her profound character and was inspired by her love for the Lord and for missionary work.
After her baptism, her voice became a powerful third witness to my later converts in the area as she spoke the language of the heart and with not many, but a few words, communicated passion for Christ, His righteousness, and the restored gospel unlike any other. To this day, I remember fondly the lovely experiences we had with her while walking in the sun, teaching and testifying to all those who would listen. She became an inspiration to the young men and women, and she helped us teach. It was a difficult area to work in but Vivian, with her light, made the hardest times the most memorable.