Gospel Story Finder

The winter of 1848 was difficult and challenging for the pioneer settlers in the Salt Lake Valley. During the summer of 1847, Brigham Young had declared that the Saints had finally reached their destination. “This is the right place,” said Brigham Young, who had been shown in a vision where the Saints were to be established. The early members of the Church had endured tremendous adversity as the Restoration of the gospel unfurled. They had been driven from their homes, persecuted, and hounded. They had suffered untold hardships as they crossed the plains. But now they were at last in “the right place.”
And yet the winter of 1848 had been extremely harsh. The winter had been so cold that some people’s feet had been badly frozen. A spirit of uneasiness began to descend upon the Saints. Some Church members declared that they would not build their homes in the valley. They wanted to remain in their wagons, for they were sure that Church leadership would herald them on to some better location. They had brought seeds and fruit plants, but they dared not waste them by planting in the barren desert wasteland. Jim Bridger, a well-known explorer of the time, told Brigham Young he would give a thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn raised in the Salt Lake Valley because, he said, it could not be done.
To complicate matters, gold had just been discovered in California. Some Church members envisioned that life would be simpler and more abundant if they were to move on to California in search of riches and a better climate.
Under this cloud of discontent, Brigham Young addressed the members of the Church. He declared:
“[This valley] is the place God has appointed for His people.
“We have been kicked out of the frying-pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. God has shown me that this is the spot to locate His people, and here is where they will prosper; He will temper the elements for the good of His Saints; He will rebuke the frost and the sterility of the soil, and the land shall become fruitful. Brethren, go, now, and plant … your … seeds.”
In addition to promising these blessings, President Young declared that the Salt Lake Valley would become known as a highway to the nations. Kings and emperors would visit the land. Best of all, a temple to the Lord would be erected.
These were remarkable promises. Many Church members had faith in Brigham Young’s prophecies, while others remained skeptical and left for what they assumed would be a better life. Yet history has shown that every prophecy Brigham Young declared has come to pass. The valley did blossom and produce. The Saints prospered. The winter of 1848 was a great catalyst for the Lord to teach His people a valuable lesson. They learned—as we all must learn—that the only sure and secure road to protection in this life comes through trusting in and obeying the counsel from the prophets of God.
With frozen feet and a barren wasteland, those early Saints surely needed faith to trust their prophet. Their very survival and lives were at stake. Yet the Lord rewarded their obedience and blessed and prospered those who followed His mouthpiece.

The unique qualities possessed by these men and women whom I have mentioned can be of invaluable assistance to us as we face the problems and the trials which lie ahead. May I illustrate by mentioning the experience of the Jerome Kenneth Pollard family of Oakland, California.
This past May, as Elder Taavili Joseph Samuel Pollard was traveling to the mission office on the last day of his mission in Zimbabwe, the mission car he was driving somehow spun out of control and hit a tree. A passerby was able to rescue Elder Pollard’s companion, but Elder Pollard, who was unconscious, was trapped in the car, which burst into flames. Elder Pollard perished. His mother had passed away eight years earlier; hence, his father was rearing the family alone. A brother was serving in the West Indies Mission.
When the news of Elder Pollard’s death reached his father, this humble man—who had already lost his wife—called the son serving in the West Indies Mission to let him know of his brother’s death. Over that long-distance telephone line, Brother Pollard and his son, no doubt grief stricken and heartsick, sang together “I Am a Child of God.” Before concluding the call, the father offered a prayer to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for His blessings and seeking His divine comfort.
Brother Pollard later commented that he knew his family would be all right, for they have strong testimonies of the gospel and of the plan of salvation.

One day at school when I was playing with my friends, I saw a new girl in our class. She was sitting next to where we were playing. She looked like she wanted to play with us. I invited her to come and play, and she said yes! I felt good that I had asked her to be our friend. From that time on we were good friends. I was sad when she moved back to her old school, but I’m happy I had the courage to invite a new person into my circle of friends. I hope I can do it again very soon.

“Great song!” Zach exclaimed, tossing his book-filled backpack onto his friend Adam’s bedroom floor. A radio blared away in the corner.
“I’m glad you like it,” Adam said. “I just bought the whole CD with my birthday money.”
Zach grinned. “Cool! Let’s see it.”
Adam tossed the unopened CD to Zach, whose grin disappeared when he saw the cover. “How did you even buy this? It’s got one of those warning labels on it for bad language and other stuff.”
Adam shrugged. “I guess I was lucky. The guy at the store must not have noticed.”
“Well, you noticed. You should take it back.” A still, small voice deep inside Zach was warning him of danger.
“But I like this group,” Adam protested. “The label’s probably about just a few words in one song. And besides, if anything is really awful, we can skip over it.”
Putting aside his uneasiness, Zach thought it over. “I guess we could,” he admitted at last. “I don’t remember any bad language in the song we just heard on the radio.”
“Neither do I,” Adam said, unwrapping the CD and opening the case. Inside was another warning label.
This time the warning voice was too loud for Zach to ignore. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.
“Lighten up!” Adam snapped. “A few swear words won’t kill you. Just tune them out and listen to the music.”
Zach had a strong feeling that he should leave, but he didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings. He sat on the floor as Adam put the CD in the player. “The first song is one we haven’t heard,” Adam announced over the pounding beat.
Zach cringed, afraid that he was going to hear something awful. He remembered his dad’s warning: “If you hear bad words all the time, you’ll get used to them. Then it’s easy for them to slip into your own conversation.”
The first song ended without any bad words, though. Maybe Adam was right. “Here’s the one you like from the radio,” Adam said.
Zach gasped as a stream of dark, dirty words came pouring from the CD player. The tune was the one he had heard on the radio, but the lyrics were much worse. He tried to focus on the music and not listen to the words, but he couldn’t.
“Turn it off,” he said.
Adam kept listening.
“Turn it off!” Zach insisted. “Please!”
“Cover your ears,” Adam replied, turning up the volume.
Zach couldn’t stand it. He scooped up his backpack and rushed out of the room. Hurrying down the hall, he heard Adam singing along to the music.
Zach ran home, his heavy backpack banging his shoulders all the way. By the time he arrived, he felt weak and sick. Dropping his backpack, he went straight to his room, closed the door, and knelt by his bed. “Heavenly Father?” he began quietly. “I need Thy help. I feel awful. I listened to music that was full of words I can’t get out of my head—bad words. Adam said we could pretend they weren’t there, but it didn’t work. I knew better. My parents warned me, and so did the Holy Ghost. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m sorry. Please help me, Heavenly Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Zach waited, straining to hear an answer. Nothing came right away, but he didn’t give up. He could feel the sunlight streaming through the window, warming his skin as he kept listening. When he finally got up, he felt he had an answer.
The next day at school he walked up to Adam. “I can’t listen to CDs with you anymore if you’re going to play that kind of music,” he said.
Adam looked sheepish. “Don’t worry. My brother heard that song and told my parents. They took the CD away.”
“Are you mad at your brother?”
Adam shook his head slowly. “I shouldn’t have bought it in the first place. It’s really not even music with all that bad language. It’s just junk. I’m glad it’s gone.”
Zach nodded. “I couldn’t get the words out of my mind.”
“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “Neither could I. I have some good CDs, though, without bad words. We could listen to those in about a week.”
“Sounds great,” Zach said. “But why a week?”
“Because by then I won’t be grounded anymore.”
Zach smiled. “Good music is worth waiting for.”

Juanito tried to brush the dirt off his torn shirt. “Why did I have to lose my temper again?” he muttered to himself.
As he made his way down the path, he could see his mother and sister gathering vegetables from the family garden behind the house. Nearby, his grandmother was sitting on a bench under an orange tree working busily on her nanduti (lace).
“Hola, Juanito!” his mother said as she walked toward the house with a basket full of vegetables. “Why are you so late today?”
“I’m sorry, Mama, I’ll try not to be late again,” replied Juanito. He turned away quickly and hurried into the house to change his clothes before she noticed his torn and dirty shirt.
“Oh, Juanito, you’ve been fighting again!” his mother said crossly when she saw his swollen cheek. “When will you learn that fighting is not the way to settle your problems? Come into the house and let me put some salve on your face while you tell me what happened this time.”
“We were playing soccer after school,” Juanito began, “when some older boys came along and started pushing everyone out of the game. Carlos and Pablo left, but I decided I would not be a coward. So each time they knocked me down I got up again. Then one time when the ball was not even near me, Roberto tripped me and I fell into a puddle of mud.”
“Oh, Juanito, I’m sorry,” sighed his mother.
“Roberto just stood there laughing at me and calling me names, and before I knew it I hit him. Then all the others were after me,” Juanito explained.
Mama only frowned as she applied salve to Juanito’s face. “There,” she said at last. “I’m finished. Now Juanito, I want you to promise me that you will not fight again. Fighting is not the way to settle a problem.”
“I’ll try, Mama, but it won’t be easy,” Juanito replied softly.
Soon after the family turned their attention to preparing the vegetables to be taken to market the next morning. As he worked, Juanito thought about Señor Benet, the village baker, who had asked Juanito to sell his bread in the market for him.
Early the next morning Juanito dressed in clean white clothes. He combed his hair carefully and hurried to Señor Benet’s shop. The basket of round flat bread was still fragrant and warm.
“I know you will do well, Juanito,” said Señor Benet.
“Thank you,” Juanito answered. “I’ll see you this evening with an empty basket,” he called as he hurried to catch up with his family.
When they reached the plaza, everyone was setting out their wares, but Juanito decided that he would make better sales if he moved through the crowd.
“Pan del dia (fresh bread)! Pan del dia!” he called as he walked along. By the time the sun had risen high in the sky, he had sold nearly half of the loaves.
It is hot, thought Juanito, wiping his forehead. I think I’ll rest in the shade for a few minutes.
“Hola, Juanito!” came a voice from the crowd. “What are you doing and what have you got there in your basket?”
Juanito looked up into the face of Roberto.
“I’m selling this bread for Señor Benet,” Juanito replied.
“Bread! Is that bread?” asked Roberto, picking up a round flat loaf. “It does not look like bread. See how it flies through the air like a bird!”
With a quick twist of his wrist, Roberto tossed the bread so that it floated down the street.
“Stop!” cried Juanito. “You must not do that!”
Roberto was laughing so hard he could not hear. He reached for another loaf and sent it sailing.
Clenching his fists, Juanito stepped toward him. Then he seemed to hear again his mother’s words, “Fighting is not the way to settle a problem.”
When Roberto reached for another loaf, Juanito paused a moment and then stepped back and began to laugh. His laugh was soft at first and then it grew louder and louder, until all those nearby began to stop to see what was happening.
Looking toward the crowd, Juanito said in a loud voice, “See this Roberto! He buys bread to throw away. Watch how he does it.”
Juanito picked up a loaf and handed it to Roberto. “Go ahead! Throw as many as you like. I will keep count, and you may pay me when you have finished.”
“Pay you?” muttered Roberto. “I’ll not pay …” he began. Then he noticed all the people who had gathered around them. “Oh, yes, of course,” he stammered. “Let me see—I owe you for three loaves.”
Roberto reached into his pocket and opened his wallet.
“Here is your money,” he said gruffly. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Pan del dia! Pan del dia!” Juanito began to call again. Soon all the bread was gone, and he made his way to where his mother and father were waiting to go home.
“Such a fine salesman,” said Señor Benet when Juanito handed him the money. “From now on you will take all my bread to market.”
Juanito whistled as he hurried down the trail, listening to the coins he had earned jingle in his pocket. “Mama was right,” he said to himself. “Fighting is not the way to settle a problem—especially if I can let my head work instead of my fists!”

Recently I heard of a far-sighted home teacher in an elders quorum who was given the name of an inactive member. On his way to priesthood meeting early one Sunday morning, he called at the home of this member.

“I’m on my way to priesthood meeting and thought you might like a ride.”

This man, startled and somewhat angry at this early Sunday morning disruption of his sleep, said, “No. I’m not interested,” and slammed the door. He wondered how the Church got his name.

The following Sunday morning again the doorbell rang. The member opened the door and saw this same individual, bright and smiling, on his way to priesthood.

“Just dropped by in case you had changed your mind. We would like you to join us.”

He got an unfriendly reply of, “Go away! Leave me alone!” and slammed the door shut.

A week later the events were repeated. The home teacher added, “We have a great group of men. We need you. You’re a member of our quorum. Would you mind if I stop by next Sunday?” This man, who wanted to get lost from activity, decided the only way to stop his early-morning caller was to go to the meeting and prove he was not interested.

The next Sunday when the home teacher rang the doorbell, he was not greeted with a “Go away! Leave me alone!” but with a man dressed and ready to prove his disinterest. But the spirit of the priesthood meeting, the friendly handclasps, the sincere interest changed his attitude and awakened the conscience of a man who needed a gentle push.

One of Julie’s greatest challenges was with a young man she attended honors classes and ran cross-country and track with. “All through my three years of high school if I said anything religious he’d verbally assault me and cut me to shreds. It was ugly,” Julie says. “He’d get so angry and yell, ‘How can you possibly believe in a God? There is no way. You are wasting your effort and your life.’” Julie would respond, trembling with conviction, “I know God is there and loves me. Loving God brings me so much joy; there is no better way to be happy.” Sometimes he said crude and obscene things in front of their classmates. And often he laughed at her and goaded other students into doing the same. “But my testimony grew in a new way—from adversity,” exclaims Julie. “I did care about him. If he’d only open his heart to the Spirit, he’d know the truth,” she says.
At the end of Julie’s senior year, that young man wrote in her yearbook: “I know I’m really rotten to you. The truth is I respect you. Great things are in store for you.”
Julie felt he was begging to be challenged, wanting someone to prove there really was a God. His criticism forced others to analyze their feelings about God and turn to Julie with their questions.

Kris Fisher is well known in Toronto, Ontario, as a world-class swimmer. But talk to Kris, and before you hear about flip turns and his time in the backstroke, you’ll likely hear about his brother, Tom.
Kris says, “Tom told me this,” or, “It’s like Tom always says.” He often quotes what his brother has said about life or swimming. But don’t misunderstand—Kris isn’t a parrot, and he doesn’t live in his brother’s shadow. Tom is, however, a powerful influence on Kris, a powerful influence for good.
Kris had started into some rough water. He was 16 years old and quickly becoming an internationally recognized swimmer. He ranked 50th in the world for his age group. He swam on the Canadian national youth team that competed in Sweden. He received a grant to help with the costs of swimming. Maybe those waters don’t sound too rough, but his success fueled his ego until it began to crowd out his dependence on serious swim practices, family support, and ultimately Heavenly Father.
“I got cocky,” Kris recalls, sitting on the steps of the Gorgas Library at the University of Alabama, where he now attends school. “I was getting swallowed up in pride instead of being humble and remembering what got me where I was.” His confidence led him to relax in his swimming practices and meets, and, even more dangerous, in his spiritual pursuits.
“The Church had become more of a once-a-week, just-on-Sunday thing,” Kris says. “I was going to church with my parents, but as soon as I left, it was like I stepped out of the Church world and stepped back into the regular world. The Church would just sort of slip out of my mind for the rest of the week.”
During this time, Tom was serving his mission in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Kris and Tom are the only children in their family and had both been competitive swimmers. They spent a lot of time together growing up, whether they were heading off at 5:00 A.M. for swim practice or just watching one of their favorite sci-fi television shows together. But with Tom leaving for college and then a mission, Kris, four years younger than Tom, got used to being alone.
Kris’s I-don’t-need-anyone’s-help attitude, however, began to take its toll. His swimming fell to a low, causing him to miss out on making other national teams or receiving additional grants. And the more frustrated he became with his performance in the pool, the more frustrated he became outside the pool. Arguments with his parents became part of the regular routine as they tried to counsel him; and the Church, though still a part of his Sundays, had become something he thought he would get serious about when he was older.
Through the letters Tom wrote home, Kris sees, looking back, that Tom understood what was at the root of Kris’s swimming frustrations. Tom wrote Kris letters about how he could improve—not his strokes or his time, but his testimony. He gave him advice about scripture study, prayer, and service. He also encouraged Kris to follow their parents’ counsel. Though both Tom and Kris understood the commitment needed to be a world-class swimmer, Tom had come to realize the more important commitment needed to be a valiant son of God—something Kris was still figuring out.
“It’s like the way Michelangelo described making a statue,” says Kris. “He said that the statue was already there [in the piece of stone] and he just cleared away the extra pieces. It was like that with Tom. He knew what was underneath my surface; he just helped clear away some of the rough edges.”
The rough edges didn’t chip off with the first pound of the chisel, though. Kris tried with half-hearted effort to implement some of Tom’s written advice, but he never really got into a daily routine of scripture study and prayer. So when Tom came home from his mission, Kris didn’t react very well to Tom’s missionary zeal.
For the first few weeks after Tom’s return, Kris didn’t want to hear Tom’s advice. “Tom had changed so much by being around the gospel 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I would just stand back when he tried to help me,” Kris recalls, grinning at his own stubbornness. Tom tried to get Kris to study daily and join in family prayer. He used analogies comparing swimming to the scriptures. He reminded Kris that he needed to put on the “whole armor of God.”
Kris remembers clearly when understanding finally clicked into place. “It always put me on the defensive [when he would talk to me about living the gospel] and I would think, ‘You’re used to all that. I’m not used to it. I haven’t been like that for a while.’ And then it just hit me. ‘I haven’t been like that for a while.’ Maybe there’s a reason things haven’t been going so well.”
Kris continues, “I was struggling and wasn’t going where I wanted to go. Then I finally realized that all Tom was doing was trying to help me, and I do need help from other people. There are other people out there who want to see me do well—my family and Heavenly Father want to see me achieve what I can achieve with their help. I changed my attitude—I’m not invincible. And when I made the gospel more of an everyday thing, all of a sudden it wasn’t just something I believed; it’s something I do and live.
“Tom helped me see that I wasn’t doing things in the gospel. I wasn’t training my spirit, and your spirit shrinks just like your body does if you don’t exercise it.”
Now that Kris has become converted through the help of his brother, he is continually strengthening those around him and helping them swim a smoother course—in and out of the pool. It is not uncommon to overhear Kris chatting about the gospel with his nonmember teammates on the University of Alabama swim team as they travel to meets. And he isn’t afraid to tell fellow students how they can make their lives better by living gospel principles.
“People can change a lot,” says Kris. “They can turn around and find out that all hope is not lost.”
Kris is no stranger to challenges, and he knows that others around him face the same things. But because of Tom’s help, he now knows that faith in Christ can calm even the stormiest seas.

When I was 18, I asked my father to help me pay for my mission. At first he said, “No way. It’s too much money.” But a couple of days later, he asked me, “Do you really want to go on a mission?” And I said, “Yes. With all my heart.” My father said he would help me.
I didn’t understand why my father would pay such a great price for me. Then I realized it was because he loved me. It made me think of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for us. He paid the highest price because He loves us.

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.
Upon returning home, he completed his education at Brigham Young University in business management and graduated in 1970. Some time later, he met Annette Christensen at a BYU student ward. “She was the Relief Society president, and I was the elders quorum president,” he says. “She was always busy serving in worthwhile and constructive ways.” They began dating and were later married in the Provo Utah Temple on 27 December 1973. They have five children and reside in Sandy, Utah.
Brother Burgess, 57, was born in Alpine, Utah, to Reid and Ethel King Burgess on 24 May 1946. He grew up working in the family-owned mercantile store and on their 20-acre (8-ha) farm. His parents taught him the value of family, hard work, and the principles of the gospel—the same values he has tried to teach his own children.
In 1997 Brother Burgess returned to Brazil, where he served as president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte East Mission. His other Church service includes counselor in stake presidencies, stake Young Men president, bishop, and high councilor; all told, he has served with the youth of the Church for more than 24 years.

“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.

There is a boy in my ward who has hemophilia (a disease that makes people bleed too easily). He is three years old. One day he fell off his bike and had a terrible seizure. He was in the hospital for three days. My whole ward fasted for him, and after the fast he got well enough to go home. I am so happy that he is home. I am thankful for fasting. I know that when we fast, wonderful things can happen.Jamie Robbins, age 10,Crestline, California

Like most boys from Whitney, “T” had a desire to share the gospel himself. As a child, he had sat in Sunday School listening to returned missionaries tell about the “happiest two years” of their lives. Even when they reported persecutions it only fed the missionary flame within his young heart. Later, he went to the stake patriarch for a blessing. “Brother Dalley very slowly pronounced a blessing upon my head, which included an answer to a boy’s prayer. I was promised, if faithful of course, that I would go on a mission to the nations of the earth and would raise my voice in testimony and that many would rise up and bless my name because of my influence in helping to bring them into the Church.

“I went home walking on air, I was so happy.” When the time came, “T” accepted a call to the British Mission. He attended his farewell party, as so many boys from Whitney before him, on the old tennis court.

The beginning of Elder Benson’s fruitful mission is the beginning of the end of this story of a boy from Whitney. The boy would come back two and a half years later, a boy no longer but a tried and seasoned man. He spent several more years in the Whitney area, served as an outstanding Scoutmaster, married a beautiful and righteous wife, grew and learned, but that is another story.

This much can be said, however—that Brother Benson and Elder Benson and President Benson never stopped loving his hometown, never stopped visiting his old ward, never stopped dropping in on his old friends, because a boy from Whitney does not forget.

Living near the coast on Vancouver Island, Marnie gets many opportunities to go to the ocean. “I hike to Witty’s Lagoon sometimes. You can see whales and sea lions there,” said Marnie. “Once when I was there with my friends Kara and Nina and my sister Stephanie, two sea lions came up not far from us and played for fifteen or twenty minutes. When we got out of the water, they swam away. Another time our family was at Witty’s Lagoon with Brother Bedesso from our ward. We put inflated inner tubes on each end of a big log we found so that it would float better. Then Dad, Brother Bedesso, Stephanie, Kristy, Melissa, and I all sat on the log and sailed in the lagoon. Later that day we caught a dogfish, which is a kind of small shark.
“I like to swim in fresh water, too,” said Marnie. (There are two fresh-water lakes near Marnie’s home.) “I like to wade in the water and put logs out to sail.”
“Our family goes to Sealand sometimes. There are three killer whales there, and we know that if we stand in a certain spot, the trainer will pick us to feed the whales. So Stephanie, Melissa, Kristy, and I have been able to feed the whales.”
Marnie does her share to help her mother, Linda, and her father, Doug, do the housework and yard work. “I help clean the house, and I put my laundry away and make my bed. Sometimes I take care of Kellie, and I make supper every Saturday. Well, not exactly every Saturday, but lots of Saturdays. In the summer I water the raspberry bushes.
“Each day Stephanie, Melissa, Kristy, and I draw sticks with jobs written on them to see who clears the table after supper, washes the dishes, and dries the dishes. One stick says that that person gets the day off. If you get three days off in a row, the next day you have to do the clearing, washing, and wiping all by yourself.”
Marnie, Melissa, and Stephanie are in the same class at school. “It’s a combined class with twenty-one other students,” Marnie explained. “Having sisters in your class is neat. We don’t always do our homework together, though, because we don’t always have the same homework. Sometimes,” she added, “being in the same class can cause problems. Like today: I expected Melissa to bring home her social studies book because she always brings her books home.”
“And Marnie usually ‘forgets’ her books,” Melissa put in.
“Well, we have a social studies test tomorrow,” added Marnie, “and not one of us brought our book home to study, because we all thought that someone else would bring hers.”
“In Primary Melissa and I aren’t in the same class, but sometimes our teachers let us sit together during opening exercises and Sharing Time. I like Primary. One of my favorite lessons that I learned in Primary was from a talk that one of our leaders gave. She said that once when she was little and had gone out trick-or-treating, some teenagers took her bag of candy away from her. Her brother saw how sad she was and gave her his bag of candy. I thought that was a good lesson.” And it’s a lesson that Marnie Payne lives by.

Ethan sat in sharing time and looked on as his best friend, Sam, bore his testimony. His friend Sarah was waiting her turn. Sam talked about a service project he did. He said he had a testimony of service. Sarah bore her testimony about families. Ethan’s teacher also bore his testimony. He talked about temple work. All of them testified that the Church is true. It seemed like everyone except Ethan had a testimony.
“What do I have a testimony of?” Ethan wondered.
He thought back a few years to when he and his friends were baptized. His Primary teacher, Sister Calder, had given a talk on the Holy Ghost.
“The Holy Ghost can give you a burning feeling in your heart. He can help you know what is true,” she’d said. “And that’s how you get a testimony of what you believe.”
Ethan tried to do what was right so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He read the scriptures and prayed. But he had never had that burning feeling people talked about. Did that mean he didn’t have a testimony?
This question stuck in Ethan’s head all the next day. He was still thinking about it when he and Sam were skateboarding after school. He wondered how he could ask Sam about it.
“Hey, Sam,” Ethan finally asked, “were you scared when you bore your testimony yesterday?”
Sam hopped off his board and walked to the grass. “Not really,” he said, sitting down. “I’ve shared my testimony at family night before.”
Ethan joined him and set his skateboard on his lap. “But how did you know you had a testimony?”
“Well, I prayed and I felt good about it.”
Ethan slowly nodded and spun a wheel with his hand. Somehow he wanted to feel that way too.
That night, when the house was dark and quiet, Ethan knelt by his bed to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “please help me have a testimony. Help me know that the Church is true. That Joseph Smith was a prophet. And that the Book of Mormon is true.”
In the middle of his prayer, Ethan stopped. He thought for a minute. Then he asked himself, “Well, do I know anything yet?”
And then a quiet, peaceful feeling came over him. It wasn’t a powerful burning feeling. But Ethan knew, that was the Holy Ghost.
A thought came into Ethan’s mind: “I know that I know.” And as he thought about it, he realized he had felt this peaceful feeling before.
Whenever he read the Book of Mormon, it felt good and right. Now he knew that feeling was the Holy Ghost testifying to him. When he went to church and it felt good and right to be there, that was the Holy Ghost too. He had already been getting a testimony!
He didn’t need to know everything right now. But he did know that the Holy Ghost was real and could help him keep building his testimony.
Ethan began to pray again. But this time it was to say thank you.

One night his son was lying in the upper bunk bed as they read aloud alternate paragraphs from the last chapters of Second Nephi. President Romney heard his son’s voice break and thought he had a cold. As they finished, his son said, “Daddy, do you ever cry when you read the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes, son,” he answered, “sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” he said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”

“Ski down here to the right, Ethan. Remember to keep your ski tips together and the backs apart, and follow me.”
Ethan was nervous. He watched as his ski teacher put his ski tips together and snowplowed a short way down the hill. This was only his second day of skiing, and even though he loved the snow and the mountains, he was still a little scared of skiing. As he looked at the path his teacher had taken, he thought it looked too steep.
“I think I’d rather go this way,” Ethan called to his teacher, pointing off to his left. There was another path that looked much easier. It was flat and straight as far as he could see.
But his teacher shook his head.
“You don’t want to go that way,” he called to Ethan. “It gets a lot harder than it is right there—you just can’t see it.” He pointed again to the path on the right and said, “Go right where I went,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
Ethan faced a tough decision. The path his teacher wanted him to take looked scary. The other path seemed like a better choice. Should he listen to his teacher or do what he wanted to do?
He really wanted to take his own path, but Ethan decided to follow his teacher’s advice. His palms were sweaty inside his mittens as he pushed his skis out into the triangle shape his teacher had taught him and started down the path on the right.
It was easier than he thought! He skied quickly down to where his teacher was waiting.
“Good job, Ethan!” his teacher said as Ethan skied over to him. “I’m glad you trusted me. Do you see that?” he said, pointing up the hill.
Ethan looked at the very steep, rocky, scary-looking hill his teacher was pointing to. “Yes,” he answered.
“That’s the path you wanted to go down,” his teacher replied.
Ethan gulped. His teacher was right—the path on the right was much better.
“Are you glad you listened to me?” his teacher asked.
“Definitely!” Ethan replied.
As they skied down the rest of the hill, Ethan trusted his teacher without worrying. He knew his teacher would tell him the right way to go.
Heading home after his ski lesson, Ethan thought a lot about how scary it would have been if he hadn’t trusted his teacher and hadn’t taken the safer path. His mom was always quoting a scripture about trusting in the Lord instead of in our own understanding. Maybe that was because Heavenly Father’s plan was the safest path—even if it did seem harder at first.
Ethan could remember a few times when he had wanted to do something that seemed easier or more fun than keeping Heavenly Father’s commandments. He decided that from now on he would trust Heavenly Father and follow His path. He felt a warm feeling inside because he knew he would be safe.

“Meet you at the graveyard.” That was the byword for the Pleasant Hill First Ward Young Men and Young Women, Walnut Creek California Stake, for their super service project. They met at the cemetery in Martinez, California, carrying rakes, hoes, and shovels that were put to good use during the next few hours. Some of the older volunteers started cataloguing the graves, too, to help with the genealogical records for the graveyard. The cemetery was the only one in the county during 1850 through 1870, so many of the pioneers who settled that part of the San Francisco Bay Area are buried there. Despite the rain, the group of 35 volunteers transformed the badly neglected cemetery into an orderly, well-cared-for place.

Like the Malmroses, other couples find that when they trust the Lord, He prepares the way. That’s what happened for Alvin and Corazon Rieta of Kawit, Cavite, in the Philippines.
“Two years prior to our decision to serve, we began putting into place firm plans for our family business,” Elder Rieta explains. “Our son and daughter had graduated from college and could take over for us, but we wondered who would solve business problems and how our clients would react to our plans.”
Sister Rieta was also concerned about leaving her aging mother. “I was afraid we might lose her while we were away,” she says. “I also felt unequal to the challenge of teaching the gospel.”
They counseled with their bishop and with a couple who had recently served in Davao. “All of them bore strong testimonies that the Lord would guide each couple to know how to deal with their affairs at home, their family, and the funds for their mission,” Sister Rieta says.
“As we sought guidance,” Elder Rieta says, “our fears were addressed—our business went well in spite of challenges, our clients expressed joy and support, and our family drew closer together in taking care of our sick mother. We began to understand that the Lord truly would help us.”
The Rietas now serve in member and leadership support in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission.

It was my very first Christmas after Dad died. I was only seven then, but I was the man of the house—at least that’s what Dad had always told me whenever he went someplace. Whenever he had to go away, he’d say to me, “Son, you’re the man of the house while I’m gone, and I want you to look after Mom and Aaron.”

Aaron’s my little brother, and he was only four that Christmas. We didn’t have much money with Dad gone; at least that’s what Mom told me. Now when she went to the store, she didn’t buy peanuts and candy like she used to when Dad was still alive. Aaron didn’t get much for his birthday either—just a ball, and it wasn’t even brand-new. I didn’t tell Aaron that because he liked the ball just fine.

Christmas was getting close, and I was getting excited. I told Aaron all about Christmas. He couldn’t remember the other ones because he was just a baby back then. I told him about the lights and the decorations and about Jesus in the manger and about the presents and the stockings and Santa Claus. Aaron doesn’t talk much, but he listens a lot. I really like Aaron because he’s a good listener.

Lots of times when we were in bed at night, Aaron would ask me to tell him about Christmas. I’d talk and talk until I was sure he was asleep, but as soon as I stopped talking, he’d whisper, “Alma, tell me again,” and I’d have to start all over. He’d never go to sleep until I finally told him that my throat was sore and that I had to stop talking.

The thing Aaron liked most to hear about was the Christmas tree. He’d make me tell him about it all the time. Whenever I talked about the tree, his eyes got really big and he’d smile. He always asked me if we would have a tree, and I’d say, “Sure. Everybody has a tree. You can’t have Christmas without a tree.” Well, I shouldn’t have said that, because later Mom told me that we couldn’t afford to have a tree.

I was in trouble then, because it was getting really close to Christmas, and everybody on our street had trees in their windows. Aaron was getting more excited. He asked me every night to tell him about Christmas and the Christmas tree.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something. Well, on Sunday my Primary teacher told a story about a pioneer boy who found his own Christmas tree. He just went outside and found a tree in the woods and cut it down. It didn’t cost him anything. I didn’t hear the rest of the story. All I could think about was getting a tree.

On the way home I looked for a tree. We weren’t pioneers or anything like that; we were just poor. We didn’t live in the woods either, but there were some Christmas trees growing in our neighborhood. Lots of people grew Christmas trees in their yards, and there were some growing in the park, but most of them were too big for our house. We didn’t have a very big house, so I knew I had to get a little tree that would fit.

I looked and looked, and I almost decided that there weren’t any trees our size when I saw one in Brother Hubbard’s yard, right next to the sidewalk. The tree was about as high as my mom, and it was really fluffy. It had lots of branches, and it was kind of blue and green. I knew that that was the tree I was going to get for Aaron.

That night in bed I told Aaron all about the tree and asked him if he would help me cut it down. He said he would, and then he asked me to tell him about Christmas again.

The next day, when Mom was in the house cooking supper, Aaron and I went to the garage and got an ax and one of Dad’s saws. Dad had two axes, but one was too big for me. The other one was still kind of big, but I was the man of the house and I figured I could use it.

We put the ax and the saw into my wagon and started down the street. At first Aaron pushed while I pulled, but after a little while he climbed into the wagon and rode.

Brother and Sister Hubbard weren’t home when we got to their house. I was glad because I didn’t want to ask them if I could cut down their tree. I figured it would be easier to just cut it down like the boy in the story and not ask anybody anything. Besides, I didn’t think Brother Hubbard would mind. He was the nicest man I knew, next to my dad. Brother Hubbard was our home teacher, and he visited us all the time. He did lots of nice things for us, especially after Dad died. He told us that whatever we needed he’d try to get for us. So I didn’t think he’d care if we cut down his tree, because Aaron really needed a Christmas tree and I didn’t know how else to get him one.

I got right to work, but Aaron just sat in the wagon and watched. Although he was cold, he didn’t ask to go home. He wanted a Christmas tree. First I had to saw off some of the branches so I could chop at the trunk. That was kind of hard because the branches prickled my hands and face.

As soon as I got the branches out of the way, I got the ax out of the wagon and started to chop, but it didn’t work very well. The ax was too big, even though it was Dad’s little one. It kept hitting into the branches and bouncing off the trunk. I knocked some bark off, but I couldn’t chop down the tree. I kept trying, though, until I dropped the ax on my foot. Then I just had to cry because the ax was heavy and my foot really hurt. I didn’t let Aaron see me, though. I put my head down close to the trunk and pretended I was looking at it.

I finally decided to use the saw, and it worked better. Pretty soon I had cut halfway through the trunk. But the tree still didn’t fall over, and the saw kept getting stuck. It would squeak and then stop. I pushed and pulled and kicked the tree, but that just hurt my foot, and I scratched my face on some branches. I was tired by then, and my hands and feet were cold. I started to cry. This time Aaron saw me, and he started to cry too. When I tried to get him to stop crying, he said that he was cold and wanted to go home and that we could get Mom to come back and help us. Yet I was the man of the family, and this was my job.

While we were both crying, Brother and Sister Hubbard drove up in their car. They didn’t know what we were doing at first, but as soon as they got out of their car, they could see. Brother Hubbard’s a nice man. He’s old—kind of like a grandpa—and he’s my best friend, next to Aaron.

“What are you boys doing, Alma?” he said when he walked over to us. Sister Hubbard stayed by the car and watched. I wasn’t crying anymore. I just stared at Brother Hubbard’s big feet. They were bigger than Dad’s. Aaron stopped crying too.

“We’re cutting a Christmas tree for Christmas,” Aaron said. “We’re going to put it in our house, and we don’t even have to buy it. Do you want to help us?”

Brother Hubbard didn’t say anything, and I didn’t dare look at him. “We can’t buy one,” I whispered, “because we don’t have any money, but my Primary teacher told me about a pioneer boy who cut down a tree, and he didn’t have to buy it. We aren’t pioneers like the boy in the story, but we thought it would be all right, since we didn’t have a tree. Yours was the very best tree. I hope you don’t need it.”

Brother Hubbard thought for a minute and then asked, “Does your mother know you’re here, Alma?” He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shook my head.

“I’m the man of the house,” I said, “and I wanted to surprise her.” I looked up at Brother Hubbard and then at Aaron and then back at Brother Hubbard. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I pulled Brother Hubbard by the hand and took him behind the tree so Aaron couldn’t hear us. “I’ve been telling Aaron all about Christmas, but now it doesn’t look like we’ll have too much Christmas. Tommy—he’s my friend at school—says Santa Claus is just your mom and dad. Well, we don’t have a dad now, and Mom is poor, so if there isn’t a Santa Claus, we won’t have any Christmas at all unless we get a tree. That’s why I needed a tree. I really want Aaron to have a Christmas. He can’t remember the other ones, and I want him to have a real good Christmas, even if Santa Claus doesn’t come.”

I don’t know why I started to bawl, but I did, I guess my foot still hurt. Brother Hubbard patted my shoulder and said, “Well, Alma, it doesn’t look like that tree will be doing much good where it is now. Do you want me to help you finish cutting it down?”

I looked up at him, and he was smiling, so I figured everything was OK. I just nodded my head. I was afraid I’d start to cry again.

When Brother Hubbard had finished cutting down the tree, he said, “Alma, don’t worry too much about what your friend Tommy said. I don’t have a dad or a mom anymore, but Santa visits me every Christmas.”

“He does?” I asked.

“Sure. And I bet he’ll come to your house. In fact, I know he will.”

Brother Hubbard dragged the tree home for us, and I pulled Aaron in the wagon. When Mom saw the tree, she was really happy. She even cried.

On Christmas Eve Aaron and Mom and I sat around the Christmas tree and sang. Mom told us about Jesus and all the people who came to see Him when He was born. We were almost ready for bed when someone knocked on our door. I answered it, and there stood Brother Hubbard with a big box in his arms. It was filled with oranges and apples and nuts and fruit cake and a turkey and candy and lots of other good things. Mom invited Brother Hubbard in, and while Aaron and I looked through the box, she and Brother Hubbard whispered in the corner. When they were through, Brother Hubbard put his arms around me and Aaron and asked us if we were ready for Santa Claus. I nodded my head, but I really didn’t believe Santa Claus would come. I was afraid Tommy was right and that Brother Hubbard was just trying to make me feel good.

I guess Brother Hubbard knew what I was thinking, because he patted me on the back and smiled. “He’ll be here, Alma. You wait and see. He hasn’t forgotten you and Aaron.”

Aaron and I had to go to bed then. I was tired and wanted to go to sleep, but Aaron wouldn’t let me. He made me tell him everything I knew about Christmas. I don’t know which one of us fell asleep first, but it didn’t seem like I’d been sleeping very long when I felt Aaron shaking me and heard him whisper, “Alma, he’s here! He’s here! Wake up!”

Finally I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything but a crack of light under our bedroom door. Someone had left the light on in the living room. “Who’s here?” I asked grumpily.

“Santa Claus!”

“Santa Claus? Who said?”

“I can hear him, Alma! I can hear him! He’s out by the Christmas tree!”

“Go back to bed, Aaron,” I said. “I’ll turn the light off. It’s not Santa Claus. Go back to bed.”

I stumbled down the hall to the living room. Aaron was right behind me. I was too tired to stop him. All I wanted to do was turn the light off and get back into bed. Before I could, Aaron yelled, “It is Santa Claus! Alma, it is Santa Claus!”

I turned around and there he was! Aaron ran and kissed him on his white beard. I couldn’t even move; all I could do was stare. Santa’s eyes got big. He was surprised. I could tell. I was afraid he was going to go away and not leave us anything. Mom used to say that if we didn’t go to sleep, Santa wouldn’t come.

“Aaron, come here,” I hissed. “We aren’t supposed to be here.” But Aaron didn’t mind me. Santa was holding him, and Aaron was squeezing his neck and wouldn’t let go.

All of a sudden, Santa started to laugh. He sounded a little like Brother Hubbard, but Brother Hubbard is skinny, not fat. He put Aaron and me on his knees and laughed and hugged us. He looked at me and said, “I heard you didn’t think I was going to come.” I looked at the floor. “Well, I’m here,” he said. “I brought you and Aaron something very special, but you must go back to bed while I work. You’ll see everything in the morning.”

Santa carried us to our beds and tucked us in. He kissed us both on the forehead, and his beard tickled my cheeks and nose. It felt good. I didn’t go to sleep for a long time. I listened to Santa doing things in the living room. When he left, I listened for him on the roof, but I didn’t hear anything.

I wanted to go out and see what he’d brought, but I didn’t dare. I knew I had to go to sleep. As I lay there thinking, I was glad that I was the man of the house and that Brother Hubbard and I could get Aaron a Christmas tree. That was one of my very best Christmases.