Gospel Story Finder

“In through the top loop, bring the yarn through, catch the yarn a second time, and pull it under two.”
Mariana chanted softly as she wove the yarn around her crochet hook. The rhyme helped her remember the steps. She glanced around. Some of the moms and daughters had finished already! She tried to make her fingers work faster. She wanted to make sure she got done in time to see the beginning of the general women’s session of conference. But the crochet hook was slippery, and the gray yarn kept getting tangled.
Mom had taught Mariana how to crochet so they could help with the stake Relief Society project. Their stake had a goal to crochet 500 squares. The squares would then be joined together to make quilts. They’d be given to hospital patients, people without homes, and anybody else who might need a warm blanket. Mariana was excited to help. But what if she didn’t finish her square in time?
Mariana kept crocheting. In through the top loop, bring the yarn through, catch the yarn a second time, and pull it under two.
“Looks like you’re almost done,” Mom said a few minutes later. Mariana counted each row of stitching. Mom was right! Her square was the right size! Mariana finished the row she was on and proudly held up her work.
“Way to go!” Mom said. She showed Mariana how to tie off the last bit to avoid loose threads. Then Mariana was done!
Mariana skipped to the front of the room. A table was stacked high with finished squares. She stopped and stared at the colorful mountain of bright, fluffy squares. They were every color of yarn, and they all looked straight and even. They looked like they had been made by experts!
Mariana looked down at the plain gray square in her hands. She had messed up a few times. It was crooked on one side, and not nearly as pretty as the squares on the table. She thought about shoving her square in her pocket. With all those pretty, colorful squares, no one would miss her lumpy gray one, right?
“Is that another square for us, Mariana?” Sister Garcia smiled and held out her hand. Mariana gulped. But she nodded and held out her gray square.
Sister Garcia cleared her throat. “Sisters? May I have your attention, please? We’ve just received our one-thousandth square!”
People gasped. Then they started clapping and cheering. Mariana’s jaw dropped as she stared around the room. A thousand squares? That was double their goal! Mariana grinned. She knew they weren’t just cheering for her one gray square. They were cheering for all the hard work they had all done together.
Mariana watched Sister Garcia place the slightly crooked gray square on top of the pile. Mariana felt proud of her square. It was a part of something special! Her square was going to help someone. She hoped that whoever it helped keep warm would feel all the love that went into making it.

Last December, two small boys extended a very special dinner invitation to Alec Ferguson, Jimmy Rasband, and Brandon Clayton, priests in the Provo Edgemont Stake. The young boys, who came from a high-risk home, invited their teenage friends as guests of honor.
“Apparently they were in a situation where they didn’t have a dad in the family. And so they kind of looked up to us three guys as father figures,” Brandon recalls with a smile. It’s one of his favorite memories of his high school years. He loves spending time with the children who have come to know and love him, Alec, and Jimmy as “the puppet boys.”
For the past three years, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have been volunteering their time once a month as puppeteers at Kids on the Move, a care program for children at a local hospital. Recently, the boys added a weekly show at the Family Support and Treatment Center in their hometown of Orem, Utah. In both venues, the boys perform for children in high-risk situations. And although the work can be draining, it’s also the highlight of their week.
“It’s so fun! It’s like being a kid again,” says Brandon.
In the last year alone, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have performed more than 100 hours of service with their puppet shows. In doing so, they have completed the service requirements for their Duty to God awards. Each of the boys has also qualified for the Presidential Service award, which is awarded to individuals who have demonstrated outstanding volunteer service and civic participation. But for these boys, it’s not about the awards—it’s about the kids.
“It’s cool to say we did 100 hours of service in a year,” says Brandon, “but I think the best thing that’s come out of this for me is just that great feeling that you get knowing that you’ve helped someone or that you’ve brought a smile to a child’s face—a child that probably doesn’t get that happiness too often in life.”
Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon are famous among the children at both facilities. The children frequently ask when the puppet boys are coming. When the three teenagers walk through the door, they are greeted by countless hugs and shouts of delight. The puppet shows that they perform last only about 20 minutes, but the boys often stay for several hours to play with their young friends. Each of the boys has made a connection in his own way with the children they serve.
“Brandon will really get into playing with the kids, and they love him for it. Sometimes 15 kids just come to him at the same time. He’s really lovable when it comes to the kids,” says Alec.
Brandon says, “Jimmy is always there for the kids that maybe don’t look like they have someone giving them one-on-one attention. Jimmy goes right over there and makes friends. He’s always there for them when they need him.”
In addition to doing the puppet show, the boys draw pictures with the children. Alec’s artistic talents make him a favorite. “They’re fascinated by Alec’s drawing ability,” says Brandon. “I’ve seen it where literally 18 kids have come up and asked him to draw a picture for each of them. And he does it just for the kids.”
Jimmy says his friends’ enthusiasm and willingness to serve are the reasons for their special relationship with the children. “They go and actively participate and play with all the kids. I think with little kids it’s often that you just have to be there.”
Francesca Lawson, Alec’s mother, often goes with the boys when they perform their shows. She describes the response of the children’s mothers. “There was one mother who said, ‘My children don’t have many positive role models in their lives. My boys really look forward every month to coming and being with these guys, because they’re positive male role models.’ I was touched by that. I don’t think these boys totally understand what a difference they’ve made.”
All three boys feel that the experience has blessed them with greater understanding.
“It’s not like it takes special people to be able to give service,” says Alec. “It’s not difficult, and it’s not necessarily very time-consuming. A hundred hours out of a year is not a lot at all. I don’t think enough people give service.”
Jimmy says he learned the importance of taking time to get to know individual children, because “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
Brandon says he has gained a closeness to the Savior and a greater understanding of charity. “It’s helped me to be more Christlike. And in a lot of ways, I feel closer to the Lord, especially when I’m serving. It makes me feel like I’m doing good in life—like I’m doing okay.”
If these three friends should ever wonder whether they’ve done any good, they need only remember the words of one small boy who recently announced that when he grows up, he wants to be a volunteer—just like the puppet boys.

Like many new converts, I struggled to live the Word of Wisdom and the law of tithing. Tithing was for me the most difficult. How could I possibly take something away from the little that was just barely enough? The Lord helped me understand how I could do just that by teaching me a wonderful lesson.
As I began to pay tithing, I realized I would have to put my finances in order. I immediately began to budget my money better. I made a list of all my monthly expenses, starting with tithing. I compared the list to my monthly income. To my astonishment, there was enough to live on and even a small amount for savings. I was also surprised to see how much money I had previously spent on alcohol and coffee. The Lord blessed me financially and spiritually as I worked to live His law.

I am reminded of a story about a missionary call which you may find of interest and which shows how the inspiration of the Lord directs his work. I could give you a dozen. But on one occasion, after the letters of call had been sent to a group of missionaries, the executive secretary of the Missionary Department received a telephone call from the mother of a boy who had received an assignment to a mission in the eastern part of the United States. The mother said that she and the father of the boy were extremely disappointed because the boy’s father and grandfather had served missions in Germany, and they had expressed their desires that the boy also be called to a German mission.

The secretary asked the mother how the boy felt about it, and she replied that he was at school and that she had opened the letter in his absence. He did not yet know where he was to be called. The secretary expressed his surprise that the mother would open the only letter the boy might ever receive from the President of the Church and suggested that she call him back after the boy had read the letter.

The following day the mother called back most apologetically and said that the boy’s reaction was one of complete satisfaction with the call. He had secretly been praying that he would not be called to a foreign mission.

Yes, the blessings of being unified are found almost everywhere. As a young man still in my twenties, I was called to be a bishop. I was inexpert and inexperienced. I called two older men as counselors, men who knew far more than I knew, men who were obviously more skilled than I. What did they do? They unified themselves to accomplish the work. We served five wonderful years together because they were mature and wanted to bless the kingdom in harmony.

Having virtually no quantitative skills, I was seldom if ever able to help our children with math and scientific subjects. One day our high school daughter Nancy asked me for “a little help” regarding a Supreme Court case, Fletcher v. Peck. I was so eager to help after so many times of not being able to help. At last a chance to unload! Out came what I knew about Fletcher v. Peck. Finally my frustrated daughter said, “Dad, I need only a little help!” I was meeting my own needs rather than giving her “a little help.”

On March 27, 1836, Joseph dedicated the Kirtland Temple. Only two years later he and other faithful followers were forced to flee to Far West, Missouri, because of persecutions.
When the Saints first arrived at Far West, they were accepted by the local citizens. But as their numbers and political influence grew, mobs persecuted the Saints and burned some of their homes. Governor Boggs sent thousands of troops to Far West with instructions to kill all of the Saints if necessary to restore peace. The Saints were forced to give up their guns, and mobs entered Far West and ransacked their homes. The Saints were then told to leave the state before the next spring or be killed.
Meanwhile Joseph and several other Church leaders had been taken prisoner. After spending about six months in various jails without being legally charged with any offense, the guards allowed them to escape. They fled to Quincy, Illinois, where many of the Saints had gone after being driven out of Far West.

Once I was traveling in Turkey with three fellow Americans and a local driver. I had planned the trip in careful detail. The longest day of our trip involved driving through many miles of mountainous country of small villages and amazing vistas. The last part of that long day was to take us on a sixty-mile road to a hotel near the top of a mountain. We should be there in an hour, we thought. We were already tired when we turned onto that road. We found, to our dismay, that it was no highway at all but a very small road that wound its way up and down mountains. That may sound interesting and beautiful, and indeed it was. But the sun was getting low, and we had already traveled far. We were tired. Soon it became apparent that we would be spending much more time on that road than the hour I had anticipated. It took us three hours to cover the sixty miles, with scarcely a village or building along the way.

Soon it turned into a dirt road. And then the sun went down, and it was pitch black outside.

We finally saw a sign to what we thought was our destination. It pointed to an even smaller dirt road that turned steeply up the mountain. We took that road and went on in the darkness, winding our way up almost four thousand feet, ever higher into what for us was the total unknown.

The men with me were not pleased with my planning for the trip. I felt the emotions that the captain of a ship feels when a mutiny is about to take place.

Yet we went forward. I wish I could say that we went forward because of faith, but that wasn't the case. It was out of fear and desperation, because we didn't have other good options. We were already three hours removed from the nearest town behind us, and we could only take our chances with what lay ahead. We drove up and up and up, well beyond the last trees, with no signs of any kind of life around us.

Not far from the top of the mountain, the road ended, permanently. There was no road, no parking lot, no hotel, nothing.

Two of us volunteered to walk up the rest of the mountain in the dark, in a vain hope that we would find our hotel on the other side of the peak. As we walked, we saw a light in the distance. Drawing near, we could see that we had arrived at a mountain-top archaeological site, and there was a small shack immediately below it.

You can imagine the surprise of an old man when he saw two total strangers come to his door in the middle of the night in such a remote place. His name was Osman, and he was the caretaker there. He lived alone on the mountain in the little wooden shack. It was about ten by fifteen feet in dimension and had a small coal-burning stove in the middle of the single room. With that stove, Osman kept warm during the cold nights at high elevation, and on it he cooked his meals. He slept on a bench along one of the walls.

With the help of my map, I showed Osman where we had come from and where we thought we were going for our stay in a hotel. With words and hand gestures, he communicated what had already become painfully obvious to us: "You can't get there from here." To arrive at our hotel, we would have to drive the four thousand feet back down the mountain, then along a remote dirt road for about twenty miles, and back up to the top of the mountain on its other side.

It didn't look good for us.

But Osman had a giving heart. To our surprise, he invited us to spend the night in his cabin. We were deeply touched by the invitation. It was a blessing, to say the least. Our driver was exhausted, we were all short-tempered and traumatized, and we didn't know if we could even find the roads in the dark without driving off a cliff. So we welcomed Osman's generous offer.

As we returned from the car with our fellow travelers, Osman was fixing us a late dinner in a pan on his stove. He threw in whatever he could find in the cabin to feed his five guests. I was touched, again, by the generosity of one who would house and feed total strangers under such odd circumstances.

Between the six of us, we used up every available inch of bench and floor space in the little hut. I got to have a bench to myself. It was hard and only about five feet long and a foot and a half wide. The room was burning hot when we went to bed and freezing cold in the morning, but it was shelter, and it was a place to spend the night in safety and rest.

Our night on the mountain turned out to be one of the most memorable experiences of my life, and one that reminded me of what a blessing it is that there are people in the world who have giving hearts. At the time, my primary reaction was profound relief to have a place to spend the night after such a traumatic drive. But over time, my reaction has gravitated more and more to thankfulness: for Osman and his generosity and for the Lord who led us to him. You see, we were hungry, and he gave us meat; we were thirsty, and he gave us drink; we were strangers, and he took us in. Indeed, that night was probably the only night of my life when I really had no place to stay. I was taken in by a stranger, fed, and housed, and sent on my way in peace the next morning.

A few years later, I had occasion to return to the same location. This time, we took the right road, and we drove it in daylight. I went to the little hut, prepared to greet Osman and remind him of the experience. I was saddened to learn that in the interim, he had passed away. I wish I had thanked him more when I was there the first time. This to me is a reminder that with our giving hearts, we also need to have thankful hearts.

Jasmine Paris, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for 23 years, lives on the windward side of the island of St. Vincent in the Grenadines, commonly known as the countryside. The area is known for its farming industry, where most of her neighbors lost their entire crops. Because of its location, Jasmine’s home was spared, but at the beginning of the hurricane, the electricity pole above her house caught fire, and the electricity went out, resulting in food spoilage. However, the most significant impact of losing electricity during the storm was the loss of communication with her family.
Sister Paris has a daughter who lived on another island of the Grenadines that was the most severely impacted by the hurricane. For three days, she had no idea if her daughter was alive or not. She panicked, cried, mourned and prayed. She said, “I would never want to relive that moment!”
When Jasmine was finally able to communicate with her daughter, she realized there was good reason to worry about her. As the hurricane approached the island, the daughter and others gathered in a building to be sheltered from the fierce winds and rain. As the building started to flood, they ran to another shelter. As they settled, the storm shattered the windows, cutting the individuals with the flying glass. As they continued to find refuge elsewhere, they found another room only to have the roof fly off. The only building left was a generator room, 4 ft x 4 ft in size, where 19 individuals, along with the generators and machines, packed themselves on top of one another for about five hours as they waited for the storm to pass. They were all wet from the rain and cut from the shattered windows, and everyone thought they would not make it out alive.
As Jasmine reflects on this experience, she shares, “As I think of how I felt about my daughter, I think about my Savior, Jesus Christ, and how much He loves us. If not for my Savior, I don’t know how I would have coped.”
As the storm raged outside, Jasmin prayed. She felt a deep peace in her heart, knowing that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone. “I am thankful to Heavenly Father … for sparing our lives. Don’t lose hope! It will take some time for some to heal. It will take some time for others to feel at home again. It will never be the same for those who lost loved ones. But don’t give up! Put your trust in Heavenly Father. He will carry you through!”

One night I watched a scary movie and then went to bed. After I was asleep, I started having bad dreams. I got scared and woke up. It was the middle of the night. My bedroom was very dark. I got out of bed and knelt and prayed. It made me feel better, and I was able to go to sleep with no bad dreams. I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers and that He loves me.
Matthew Voelkel, age 8Lakeview, Oregon

Sometimes it’s easy to look past the poverty and problems in your own backyard. That’s what youth from the Roanoke Virginia Stake wanted to avoid when they decided to help out some people right nearby, at the Roanoke Area Rescue Mission, a faith-based homeless shelter, which also runs a separate facility for needy women and their children.
Young men and women from the stake joined in with young adults and a few missionaries to participate in “Clean Sweep Day.” The volunteers did everything from picking up trash off the streets of the neighborhoods surrounding the rescue mission, to serving food, washing dishes, setting tables, refilling water glasses, and emptying the garbage.
Before the youth went to the rescue mission for the service project, they collected sugar and napkins in their various wards and branches for several months. They donated these items to the rescue mission, which serves around 900 people every day.
For these youth, it was a very real example of what King Benjamin taught in the Book of Mormon: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

One day after the accident I was having a really crummy day, and I didn’t want to get out of bed and go to physical therapy. But I went, and I saw a man there who was paralyzed and had been burned. He was smiling and talking to all the therapists, and I thought, “If he can do it, I can too.”
After that experience, I was able to focus more on gratitude. I realized how lucky I was, and I was able to accept my situation a little more. I realized I have to choose to wake up and focus on the good things, like my amazing family and the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Stephanie Post isn’t about to take any credit. She’s just been a friend. It’s no big thing, she assures. Anybody would do it.
Serena Oddens doesn’t exactly see things the same way. Her thoughts on Stephanie? It is a big thing and, no, not just anybody would do it.
“Stephanie really supported me through some rough times, and she’s been a great example to me,” says Serena.
It’s a Saturday in Den Haag, Netherlands. Youth from stakes in the Netherlands and Belgium have gathered together for a day-long activity, and Stephanie and Serena are happy. Although they’re in the same stake, they don’t get to see each other that often. As they sit on the lawn, the talk turns to the beginning of their friendship a few years earlier.
Serena thinks to when her life wasn’t where she knew it should be. “At my school, nobody was studying, and it seemed everybody was smoking and drinking and using drugs. I didn’t stop going to church, but I was hanging around with the wrong friends and not doing everything I should have been doing,” she says. “I see what’s become of many of my former friends, and I think had I stayed at that school nothing good would have become of me.”
Enter Stephanie. At the same time Serena’s mom asked her to transfer schools and leave her friends, Serena met Stephanie, 18, a member of the Almere Branch in the Den Haag Stake. “Stephie’s really supported me while telling me good stuff about the Church. She taught me things about the gospel that I didn’t even know,” Serena says. “Stephie always bears her testimony and tells me of the things she’s been through. It’s great for me.”
“But it’s not just one way,” Stephanie says of their friendship. “It’s not that I only helped Serena, because she’s helped me too. She’s been a really good friend.”
Stephanie was born in Australia, but when she was 10, her family moved to the Netherlands. “My mom just knew we had to come to Holland for certain reasons and to help build up the Church. My mother is wonderful. She’s a strong member, and she’s a good example for me because she’s always given me a path to follow.”
Now Stephanie is making a path of her own, and Serena has joined her. Right at the time when things seemed to be falling apart for Serena, Stephanie appeared on the scene. Although distance keeps them apart—Almere is a one-hour car ride from Serena’s home in Alkmaar—they remain close. Thank goodness for phones.
“There are no other members of the Church at my school, and I often feel like I am the only one who is doing good and right things,” says 17-year-old Serena. “I sometimes feel like I am standing alone. Stephie was there along with all my friends from church who were supporting me. But the thing about Stephie is that she knows everything about me and I know everything about her.
“When I’m feeling down or upset,” she continues, “it’s like my school friends don’t understand me or what I’m feeling or what I’m going through. When I talk to her about it, we can get things off our chests and she understands.”
Stephanie knows teenagers in Holland aren’t much different from those all over the world. Once they hit their teenage years, they start experimenting and changing. She’s just glad she was there to help Serena.
“I think it’s really sad to see the youth we have hung out with in our stake go fully inactive or have other troubles that take them from the Church,” Stephanie says. “But it’s really nice to hear that someone who has been inactive for a while is active again or going on a mission. That’s what’s been so great about Serena.”
It’s moments like this when Stephanie feels grateful she’s stayed active her whole life. Stephanie remembers turning down classmates’ invitations to parties, or the times they called her a “goody-goody.” But along the way, Stephanie’s testimony has grown.
“I’ve known since I was little that the Church is true. When you know something so strongly I guess you can’t go around it,” Stephanie says. “I’ve had my trials and I’ve had my times when I ask myself what I am doing and why I am still going to church.
“But,” Stephanie continues, “I think Serena and I have come to an age now where we don’t care as much about what people think. We are members of the Church and we are different. Some of my friends call me a goody-goody like it’s a bad thing. Well, I am a goody-goody, and it’s not a bad thing at all.”
Serena agrees. “Stephanie helped me to understand that I don’t need to be ashamed of my standards. When I think back to my inactive stage, it isn’t that I’m jealous of Stephanie because she didn’t go inactive. But if I could turn back the hands of time, I would do things differently.”
As Serena stops talking, Morwenna Kleijweg sits down. Stephanie is finishing a thought. “I think it’s great to be an example to those who maybe aren’t that strong. I’m not sure I always make a difference, but I hope I do.”
“You do,” says Morwenna, a Laurel in the Leiden Ward. She then proceeds to tell how she met Stephanie for the first time at girls’ camp. “When I met Stephie, I was going through a really rough time for myself. She told me things about herself, and I recognized myself in her,” Morwenna says. “When I went home from camp, I realized it was a great experience for me to find someone I could be close to who could be an example.”

I have always been ambitious about education and leap at every opportunity. One year in high school, I took courses at the local community college through a program funded by my school. I really like computer science, and I was excited to take a computer programming class so I could learn more.
When I got my schedule from the college, I realized that my programming class was at the same time as my Young Women activity every week. I tried to ignore it at first and tell myself that education was encouraged by the Church and that I was doing the right thing. As the time for classes to start drew nearer, I felt more and more uncomfortable about taking the class. When the time came that I had to tell my Young Women leader that I wouldn’t be making it to any of the activities, she sounded devastated. She told me that I would be sorely missed, and she would do anything to help me.
After talking to her, I felt bad that I thought the class was more important. When I got home, I went to my room and looked at the goal board I had made for Personal Progress. I had written on it, “If you want something, you’ve got to prove it.” I read my scriptures with that in mind and came across Mosiah 2:21. I realized I had to prove that I was going to serve God and not myself by letting my desires get in the way. I cancelled the class the next day. I had a wonderful year of Young Women activities, and I was able to set a higher priority for the Church in my life. I know it was the right thing to drop that class, and I am really glad that I did.

In the summer of 1925 Amelia joined Muriel at Harvard for summer school. In 1927, she was accepted as the supervisor of girls’ work at Boston’s Denison House. A year later she was a full-time social worker, helping young girls from Italian, Chinese, Armenian, Syrian, and Russian-Jewish homes.
One spring day in 1928 Amelia received a long-distance telephone call. When she hung up, she whirled around and let out a happy cry.
“What is it, Amelia? Is something wrong?” one of the teachers asked in alarm.
“No, everything’s right. It was Mrs. Fredrick Guest. She’s flier from New York,” Amelia explained, “and she wants me to come to meet her for an interview about me becoming the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. Just think, me!” Amelia raced upstairs to pack.
The interview was a success. Reports of Captain Charles Lindbergh’s first solo flight across the Atlantic from Long Island to Paris made the year before were studied carefully. Weather conditions were closely observed. The plane, a trimotored Fokker monoplane, was tuned to perfection and in June of 1928 Amelia boarded the airplane Friendship for the journey. The pilot’s name was Bill Stultz and Lou Gordon was the mechanic.
Twenty hours and forty minutes later the Friendship landed in Wales, England, after an exciting flight that had been hampered by storms, fogs, and radio failures.
When Amelia returned to America the following month, she discovered that she was famous. A book company wanted her to retell her experiences, audiences wanted to hear her speak, and a large monthly magazine wanted Amelia to be its aviation editor. Amelia accepted some of the offers and succeeded in persuading thousands of people that air travel could be safe and fun.
People everywhere enjoyed listening to her tell about her daring experiences. Her slender body, topped by a mop of closely cropped hair became familiar to millions.
In 1931 Amelia married George Palmer Putnam, a publisher who had interviewed her before her flight across the Atlantic. And in April of 1932 Amelia was eager to try another major flight. She had flown over one thousand hours in the preceding two years, but she wanted a new challenge. She decided to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone, in spite of the warnings of her friends and family.
On May 20, 1932, she climbed into her Lockheed Vega and took off from Harbor Grace, Newfoundland. The flight was torture. Heavy rain and fog enveloped the plane. Then ice began to form on the wings. Raw gasoline, leaking from a broken gauge, flooded the floor and made sickening fumes. Amelia began to fear that fire might break out at any time. Suddenly, the plane began to dive. The ice had weighted the wings too heavily. Amelia tried everything she’d learned from her past flying experience, and, finally, one hundred feet above the Atlantic, she pulled the plane up.
Hour after hour the plane droned on. Then a patch of green appeared. Ireland! Amelia had made the flight in fourteen hours and fifty-six minutes, becoming the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic.
Before returning to America, she was entertained by European royalty. King George V and Queen Mary of England, Belgium’s King Albert, and dignitaries from several other nations decorated her.
America welcomed her home with more honors. She received the Distinguished Flying Cross from Congress and the National Geographic’s premier gold medal. Cheering crowds greeted her everywhere she went.
Now Amelia was more determined than ever to convince everyone that flying was safe. In 1935, she flew her new Lockheed Vega from Honolulu to Oakland, California, a distance of twenty-four hundred miles. She flew nonstop from Los Angeles to Newark, New Jersey, cutting two hours off the previous record for that flight.
In the fall of 1935 Amelia took a position with Purdue University as counselor in careers for women. The young people loved her and she became the idol of the campus.
Purdue honored Amelia with a variety of special gifts, including a Lockheed Electra, a plane that would seat ten passengers.
“I’m so overwhelmed with all this,” Amelia exclaimed. “It doesn’t seem possible! I’ll have to repay you for all of these gifts.”
Amelia soon decided that the logical way to repay everyone was to make a truly spectacular flight. She began making plans to fly completely around the globe, following an equatorial route. By March of 1937 all was ready. Amelia took off with Captain Manning as navigator. But trouble with the landing gear sent the Lockheed Electra back to California for repairs after the second stop. When the plane was repaired, Amelia and a different navigator, Fred Noonan, flew across the continent to Miami, Florida. Meeting with reporters, she said, “I have a feeling that there is just about one more good flight left in my system, and I hope this is it. After it is over, I plan to give up major long-distance flights.”
At about six o’clock on the morning of June 1, 1937, Amelia climbed into the Electra at Miami Airport. The plane zoomed across South America, over Africa, and on over Asia. Amelia and Noonan were eagerly welcomed everywhere they landed.
Setting down at Lae, New Guinea, Amelia and Noonan prepared for their final long flight. Their route was to take them to Howland Island, twenty-five hundred miles away in the Pacific, back to Honolulu, and then on to California. America was planning a gala homecoming.
The first few hours after takeoff from Lae were ideal. Then trouble began. It seemed as though nature threw all her obstacles at the two fliers—rains, fogs, and squalls pelted the aircraft.
Then, when the Lockheed should have been close to Howland Island, the Coast Guard picked up Amelia’s frantic message. “Cannot hear you. … Please take a bearing on us and answer. …” The small aircraft was having radio trouble and could not hear the Coast Guard. A final message came. “Circling … cannot see island. … Gas is running low … running north and south. …”
Then silence.
A nation mourned the loss of a brave lady and her copilot whose watery grave and its location still remain a mystery. But Amelia would have chuckled at the numerous earthbound monuments built in her honor since her disappearance. For her true monument is the sky.

Then, several years later, after I had moved from home, I faced a serious crisis that left me with deep emotional and spiritual pain. Without the necessary faith in Christ to guide me, I felt lost and alone. I had stopped praying sometime earlier and had just recently decided that I would no longer go to church.
Just at that point in my life, my home teachers, Dan and Terry, came by. I was a little embarrassed because I hadn’t been to church that day and had no good excuse for my absence. The Spirit told them that something was seriously wrong, so they persisted in presenting a lesson that seemed to be especially for me. They visited with me for a while, and when it was time for them to go, they offered a powerful prayer. The Spirit lingered after them for a short time, and I felt more hopeful than I had in a long time.
I wanted that Spirit to remain. I gathered up the remnants of my faith and offered a prayer. Because I hadn’t been praying for a while, I had no real hope or expectation of an answer. But as I knelt and prayed, a black cloud lifted, and I felt an overpowering warmth come into my heart. Complete love and understanding filled the room. I was surprised at the depth and strength of the Savior’s love—how well he knew me!
There was no room for misunderstanding or doubt as he lovingly empathized with my challenges. All of a sudden, words came into my mind, telling me where I could improve. And the Savior promised me all the help I would need. I learned that there is indeed a loving Heavenly Father and a Savior, Jesus Christ, and that they know each of us as individuals. I also learned that they will give us the help we need as we extend our faith in them. And I knew that, no matter what, we must always pray.
Although I still had problems to overcome, I knew the Savior was there, ready to help. I have never felt completely alone with my problems since. I can now say, along with the hymn, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” And I am grateful.

Abby tap-tap-tapped her toes on the floor. She was so excited that her stomach felt fluttery inside. She was at a baptism. And not just any baptism—her baptism! Abby, her family, and her friends had all sung a Primary song together, prayed, and listened to Grandma’s talk. Now, all that was left was Grandpa’s talk before she was baptized.
Grandpa walked to the front of the room and winked at her. He set a big bag on the floor. “Abby, we are very proud of your choice to be baptized today,” he said. “Baptism is a day full of gifts. You are giving the gift of an example to your siblings.” He smiled at Abby’s four younger siblings.
“You’re also giving God promises,” Grandpa said. “And He is giving you promises. But there is one other big gift that you get today.”
Grandpa stooped and reached into the bag. He pulled out a soft white blanket and handed it to her. “This is a gift from me and Grandma. But it ’s also a reminder of the gift of the Holy Ghost that you’ll receive today. When you use this blanket, I want you to think about how the Holy Ghost feels. The Holy Ghost can comfort you like a soft blanket. It can also guide you and tell you what is right.”
Abby pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She smiled at Grandpa. As he finished his talk, she noticed how the blanket felt. It was warm. It was comforting. It helped her feel safe.
Finally, it was time for Abby to be baptized. She walked into the warm font water and took Papa’s hand. She peeked at her brothers and sisters and smiled at them before she closed her eyes.
Papa’s voice was loud but calm as he said the baptism prayer in French. “Je te baptise au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit. Amen.”
The warm water rushed over Abby, and then, just as quickly, she was pulled back up. That was it. She’d been baptized!
Abby hugged Papa tightly and climbed out of the font. She changed out of her jumpsuit and pulled on her dress. When she stepped out, Maman (Mom) and her friends Isobel and Florence were waiting for her. They helped tie the bow on the back of her dress and comb her wet hair.
“We’re so proud of you,” Maman said.
Florence smiled at Abby in the mirror. “I always love watching baptisms.”
“Here, you left this on your chair.” Isobel handed Abby her new white blanket.
Abby held the blanket close as Maman and her friends talked and laughed. The blanket was warm and comforting, just like Grandpa had said. But she didn’t just feel warm on the outside. Inside, Abby also felt good and safe. She knew in her heart that she had made the right decision and that Heavenly Father was happy.
This warm, happy feeling was a lot like her blanket. It had to be the Holy Ghost!
Abby smiled at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t wait to be confirmed and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost so that she could always feel this way. It was going to be the best gift ever.
This story took place in France.

Let me refer to and sort of paraphrase “The Parable of the Defective Battery,” written by Elder James E. Talmage. (See Albert L. Zobell, Jr., The Parable of James E. Talmage, Deseret Book Company, 1973, pp. 7–12.) He said that in order to carry out a certain laboratory experiment he needed a powerful primary electric current. He asked his assistant to prepare a battery consisting of a dozen cells of simple type. His assistant followed the usual procedure. He prepared twelve jars containing acid solution, in which were immersed a pair of plates, one of carbon and one of zinc. The cells were then connected “in series.” This should have resulted in the series giving out strength equal to the total force. It was discovered, however, that he had not given sufficient attention to details—those seeming trifles that make or mar perfection.

Elder Talmage said he was disappointed when he tried to use the battery because it was not functioning as it should. As he inspected it he found that the cells were not all working alike; some of them were intensely active, and the liquid seemed to be like boiling water because of the escaping gases. Its current was very weak. The energy from it was practically used up in overcoming its own internal resistance, and it had no power.

He took the battery apart and made an individual examination of each cell. The first eight cells proved to be in good condition. The ninth, however, was seriously at fault. This cell was set aside and the others tested and found to be good. It was plain to see that number nine cell was the cause of the trouble. It was the one, too, that had been fuming and fussing more than the others. Leaving it out, he hooked up the other eleven and found them to form a good, strong current, ample to operate an electric receiver or to fire a blast on the opposite side of the globe.

Later he began to inspect the rejected unit and found that it had short-circuited itself through its foaming and fuming. The acid had destroyed the insulation in some parts, and the current was wholly used up in destructive corrosion within the jar. It had violated the law of right action. It had corrupted itself in its defective state. It was not only worthless as a working unit, but an unproductive member in a community of cells. It was worse than worthless in that it caused an effective resistance in the operation of the other clean and serviceable units.

He did not destroy the unit, however. He thought there was a possibility of restoring it to some usefulness. He searched its innermost parts and with knife and file removed the corroded crustment. He baptized it in a cleansing bath and set it up again and tried it out. Gradually it developed energy until it came to work almost as well as the other cells. However, he continued to watch the cell with special care, not trusting it as fully as he had before it had defiled itself.

Elder Talmage said this was an actual experience, but he called it a parable and said how much we are like the voltaic cell. There are men who are loud and demonstrative, even offensive in their abnormal activity. Yet what do they accomplish in effective labor? Their energy is wholly consumed in overcoming the internal resistance of their defective selves.

There are others who do but sleep and dream. They are slothful, dormant, and, as judged by the standard of utility, dead. There are men who labor so quietly as scarcely to reveal the fact that they are hard at work. Through their earnest devotion they greatly influence the lives of those with whom they associate. The unclean cell, however, was much like the sinner. Unfitness was the direct effect of internal disorder, self-corruption. Such a defection in men we call sin, which is essentially the breaking of the law. They, in association with others who are clean, able, and willing, are an obstruction to the current, and the efficiency of the whole is lessened, if not entirely neutralized, by a single defective unit.

My second example is also simple, but it too will never be forgotten. Following the closing prayer at a session of general conference in October 2017, the General Authorities and officers were leaving the stand when one of the Seventy tapped me on my shoulder and said, “Brother Brough, your shoe is untied.” He then knelt down and tied my shoe. He knelt down and tied my shoe!

I did not know what to do. I thought of pulling my foot away and saying, “No, I will do that.” At first, I was embarrassed that a member of the Seventy was kneeling and tying my shoe. Then I found myself feeling such love from this servant of Heavenly Father and also from Heavenly Father Himself. This was one of the kindest acts I have experienced in my whole life. With tears in my eyes, I thought, “What a great example! I might not be able to do much, but I, too, can always tie someone’s shoe.”

While I was a little boy during the Second World War, my country had been invaded; danger was all around us. My mother taught me a great lesson of trust and unity that I have never forgotten. She alerted me to the perils of war and simply said: “Trust my word and follow me; listen to my voice. If you do so, I will protect you the best I know how.” I simply listened to my mother because I loved her and trusted her.
A little later, school started, and this, for me, was a new bridge to cross. As a preparation for this new experience in my life, leaving the home, my mother told me to listen to my teacher and to be obedient. Again, I trusted my mother’s advice. I decided to be obedient to my teacher and a new code of rules. School therefore became a bridge of knowledge instead of a wall of ignorance.
That lesson of trust and unity was vital to become one with my parents, family members, and teachers. It allowed me later to become one with my Savior by being baptized into His Church. It reminded me as a husband, father, and grandfather to continue to build trust and unity among our family members by keeping the temple covenants. As President Hinckley has stated: “The temple is concerned with things of immortality. It is a bridge between this life and the next” (Stand a Little Taller [2001], 6).
In our day, it is so easy to isolate ourselves by erecting temporal, spiritual, and even family or religious walls. Let us instead build more bridges of faith, of reconciliation, and live by the peace that is given “not as the world giveth” (John 14:27), but by Jesus Christ, the Son of God. He is the bridge of faith unto eternity.
I testify that Jesus is the Christ; I put my trust in Him and in His gospel of salvation to be reunited someday. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.