Gospel Story Finder

But in today’s world, more will be expected of you than to just stand in holy places. My plea is not just that you stand in holy places but that you make holy the places in which you stand.
As Sister Sharon G. Larsen, a former member of the Young Women general presidency, once explained:
Holy places can be wherever you are—alone, in a crowd, with strangers, with friends. The road to Jericho was treacherous and formidable. Thieves infiltrated the bushes and trees waiting to ambush any traveler. It took a kind and courageous Samaritan to change that road from a haunted place to a holy place.5
As followers of Christ, we are capable of doing more than standing in holy places. We can make any place holy—not just our temples and chapels but also our homes, our workplaces, and our locker rooms. We have the ability, like the good Samaritan, to change the areas in which we stand from haunted places to holy places.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland illustrated how this can happen when he spoke of the experience of Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail. If there were any place likely to be considered unholy or haunted, it would be that small jail, located near the western frontier of America, in the winter of 1838–39. As described by Elder Holland:
The jail . . . was considered escape proof, and it probably was. It had two stories. The . . . main floor was accessible to the outside world only by a single small, heavy door. In the middle of that floor was a trapdoor through which prisoners were then lowered into the lower floor or dungeon. The outside walls . . . were . . . two feet thick, with inside walls of 12-inch . . . logs. These two walls were separated by a 12-inch space filled with loose rock. Combined, these walls made a . . . virtually impenetrable barrier four feet thick.6
Joseph and his companions spent more than four months in that setting.
Elder Holland continued:
The food given to the prisoners was coarse and sometimes contaminated, so filthy that one of them said they “could not eat it until [they] were driven to it by hunger.” On as many as four occasions they had poison administered to them in their food, making them so violently ill that for days they alternated between vomiting and a kind of delirium, not really caring whether they lived or died. In the Prophet Joseph’s letters, he spoke of the jail being a “hell, surrounded with demons . . . where we are compelled to hear nothing but blasphemous oaths, and witness a scene of blasphemy, and drunkenness and hypocrisy, and debaucheries of every description.”7
Elder Holland included further descriptions from Joseph Smith’s letters:
“We have . . . not blankets sufficient to keep us warm; and when we have a fire, we are obliged to have almost a constant smoke.”8
“Our souls have been bowed down”9 and “my nerve trembles from long confinement.”10
“Pen, or tongue, or angels [could not describe] the malice of hell that I have suffered.”11
That is not the kind of place that you or I would describe as holy. And yet it was in that setting that the Prophet received and recorded some of the most sublime revelations of this dispensation, including sections 121, 122, and 123 of the Doctrine and Covenants. The outpouring of the Holy Spirit was so profound in that jail that B. H. Roberts, as Elder Holland noted, rightly referred to it as a “prison-temple.”12

Elder Ashton was the last General Authority called by President David O. McKay. Elder Ashton said he never forgot the moment. He was invited to President McKay’s apartment. “I found him advanced in years and a very weak man in physical strength. As I sat with him in the privacy of his study, his body was frail, his voice was soft, words did not come easily. … He finally said in a still voice of perfect mildness, ‘I want you to help me.’
“After leaving his office, I felt that I had a better understanding about the Savior’s calling of his associates. Whether it be on the shores of Galilee or in the shops or paths of life, I’m certain that his invitation could have been nothing more than, ‘I want you to help me in proclaiming the gospel and being special witnesses to and for me.’”

Some Saints began arriving in the city weeks before April 1893 general conference. Lucy Flake and her husband started their trip from Arizona to Utah on 8 March 1893. “We went by team,” she noted in her journal, “as we hadn’t the money to go on train.” The group “consisted of William, myself, Sister Lanning, Joel and John, Henry and Emma Tanner and two of their children,” she wrote. The journey by wagon was “a cold hard trip, through snow and mud.” At Beaver, Utah, the Flake family finally boarded a train. “William and I took our first train ride together,” Lucy recalled. “We went with a large company of our friends and relatives from Beaver City to Salt Lake. We were joined at every station by others who were going to the Dedication.”

Youth in the Williamsburg Ward, Newport News Virginia Stake, decided that they would make a paper chain to show how much they cared for each other. Originally, each time one of them did a good deed, they were to write their names on a link and add it to the chain. But after giving it some thought, they decided to write the names of others who had done nice things for them instead. The chain is now more than 75 feet long!
“Recognizing little kindnesses helped us appreciate each other more. We know we can depend on each other,” says Laurel Natalie Webster.

Photograph from iStockphoto/Thinkstock
A week after graduating high school, I moved to the other side of the country to live with my older sister’s family for the summer before I started college in the fall.
I made a few friends, most of them older and in college. One Saturday night two of my new friends picked me up to go hear a good band that was playing at a local club.
As we parked, I started feeling a little nervous, but I didn’t want to object and ruin the evening. We entered the club, and the man behind the counter looked at my driver’s license. Without warning he swiped a black permanent marker across the knuckles on both of my hands.
I looked down in surprise. I realized he had marked my hands to show that I was too young to buy alcohol at the bar.
I was immediately uncomfortable. People were drinking and smoking.
I’m sorry to say that I didn’t have the courage to leave right then. After about 30 minutes, one of my friends asked if I was feeling OK. I told him I had a headache from the music and smoke. He offered to take me home, and I gratefully accepted.
I rushed into the bathroom at my sister’s house and scrubbed at those black marks until it hurt. I would be taking the sacrament with these hands the next day, and I desperately wanted them to be clean. However, two faint black lines remained visible on my raw, pink skin.
Before I went to bed, in prayer I asked forgiveness for not having the courage to leave—and more appropriately, for not having the courage to never go inside in the first place. I promised Heavenly Father I would never allow myself to get in that kind of situation again.
The next morning I was able to remove most of the rest of the marker, and my hands were almost completely clean when I took the sacrament. I thought of how sin is like those black marks. It takes effort and can even be painful, but we can repent and have our sins removed through the power of the Atonement and be clean from the black marks in our lives.

Some women face illness and incapacity, even to the point of being bedfast. Even so, there is the privilege to rise above affliction and to be a true example of faith, of love, and of service. Such was the partnership of Virginia and her husband, Eugene Jelesnik. They for many years worked together in bringing the gift of song and the joy of music to thousands of servicemen and women and to audiences from stages worldwide. Then illness and advancing age forced Virginia to remain within four walls—bedfast. But her spirit could not be held hostage by an impaired body. She continued to encourage her husband and to be his inspiration and constant support. All who are the beneficiaries of Eugene’s community concerts and his civic service marvel at his energy, his enthusiasm, and his kindness. In his many responsibilities, Virginia was ever a source of his strength.

I know a man, a dear friend, whose mortal service in the vineyard ended last night at 11:00. He had been treated for cancer for years. During those years of treatment and of terrible pain and difficulty, he accepted a call to hold meetings with and be responsible for members in his ward whose children were gone from their homes; some were widows. His calling was to help them find comfort in sociality and gospel learning.

When he got the final sobering prognosis that he had only a short time to live, his bishop was away for a business trip. Two days later, he sent a message to his bishop through his high priests group leader. He said this about his assignment: “I understand the bishop is out of town, so I’m in action. I’m thinking of a meeting for our group next Monday. Two members can take us for a tour of the Conference Center. We could use some members to drive them and some Scouts to push wheelchairs. Depending upon who signs up, we may have enough oldsters to do it ourselves, but it would be good to know we have backup if needed. It could also be a good family night for the helpers to bring their families as well. Anyway let me know before I post the plan. … Thanks.”

And then he surprised the bishop with a phone call. Without reference to his own condition or his valiant efforts in his assignment, he asked, “Bishop, is there anything I could do for you?” Only the Holy Ghost could have allowed him to feel the bishop’s load when his own load was so crushing. And only the Spirit could have made it possible for him to create a plan to serve his brothers and sisters with the same precision he used in planning Scouting events when he was young.

By the time I turned 12, I was a 5-foot 10-inch social disaster. Towering over my friends was the bane of my adolescence. I didn’t want to stand out—at least not that way—so I compensated by slouching. As a result, Mother was constantly urging me to “stand up straight.” Well, I didn’t want to stand up straight then, but I do now. For we have all been admonished to “stand up” (2 Ne. 8:17) and to stand as a witness (see Mosiah 18:9) so that we may “stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2). I can find absolutely no scriptural injunction to slouch in Zion. Instead, we are repeatedly told to get on our feet, to “arise and stand up” (3 Ne. 20:2).
As a teenager I did not realize that blending in with the crowd would never be my lot. Nor is it yours. For as women of God we must stand tall so that we will stand out from the rest of the world. Only in doing so may we hope to find joy. For finding joy and standing tall, not in feet or inches but as ambassadors for the Lord, are directly connected.
My family has been reminded of this recently in a very poignant way. I have 17 nieces and nephews, who are a pure delight. We have hiked and biked and fasted and prayed together. And recently we have cried together. A few weeks ago we suffered a crushing loss when an accident took the lives of two of my sister’s children—Amanda, who was 11, and Tanner, who was 15. Because we have lived together in love, we have truly wept for the loss of them that died (see D&C 42:45).
Our friends in our hometown wept with us, most of them nonmembers, and we knew their hearts might never be more open to truth than on the day two caskets rested in our little Kansas chapel. So we dedicated the funeral entirely to testifying of Christ and the restored gospel. Afterwards many told us how moved they were by what they heard and by what they felt. Some have even asked to learn more. Now, we don’t know if anyone affected by our children’s deaths will join the Church. But this we do know—that standing up for what we believe and teaching the gospel to friends who had never before been willing to listen helped soothe our pain and bring us joy as a family.
In this world, the only true joy comes from the gospel—the joy that radiates from the Atonement and from ordinances that transcend the veil, and from the Comforter that salves our souls. Recently my 11-year-old niece Aubrey, whose father died five years ago, was asked by a nonmember friend why she wasn’t sad about the deaths of her father and, recently, her cousins. Aubrey’s reply was classic: “Not sad? Trust me, we are sad, but we know that we will be together again, so we don’t worry as much.” As a family we’ve no doubt cried as much, but we don’t worry as we would if we hadn’t felt the transcendent reach and healing power of Jesus Christ. The gospel is “beauty for ashes” (Isa. 61:3); it is “the oil of gladness” (Heb. 1:9); it is such good news!
Though our children are gone for now, we have the glorious reassurance that we haven’t lost them. But what about our Father’s children, our brothers and sisters, who are lost and who face not only physical but spiritual death? The gospel of Jesus Christ is all about people. It’s about leaving the ninety and nine and going into the wilderness after those who are lost. It’s about bearing one another’s burdens, with the ultimate burden anyone can bear being walking through this life without light. Hence the Lord’s latter-day plea:
“The field is white already to harvest; and it is the eleventh hour, and the last time that I shall call laborers into my vineyard. …
“… Wherefore, thrust in your sickles, and reap with all your might” (D&C 33:3, 7).
Ancient prophets foresaw a day “when the knowledge of a Savior [would] spread throughout every nation, kindred, tongue, and people” (Mosiah 3:20). That day has come. And it is our turn to thrust in our sickles and help with the harvest. That we are here now is no accident. For aeons of time our Father watched us and knew He could trust us when so much would be at stake. We have been held in reserve for this very hour. We need to understand not just who we are but who we have always been. For we are women of God, and the work of women of God has always been to help build the kingdom of God.
When in premortality we accepted our Father’s plan, said Elder John A. Widtsoe, “we agreed, right then and there, to be … saviors for the whole human family. … The working out of the plan became … not merely the Father’s work, and the Savior’s work, but also our work” (Utah Genealogical and Historical Magazine, Oct. 1934, 189). Then, when we were baptized here, we renewed our commitment to—and our covenant with—the Lord. No wonder President Gordon B. Hinckley has declared that “if the world is going to be saved, we have to do it. … No other people in the history of the world have … received a … more compelling mandate than we [have] … , and we’d better be getting at it” (“‘Church Is Really Doing Well,’” Church News, 3 July 1999, 3).
Sisters, we have work to do. The Prophet Joseph charged the Relief Society with the work of saving souls (see History of the Church, 5:25), for it is our very nature to nurture and to search after those who are lost. And yet, President Spencer W. Kimball lamented that there was a power in Relief Society that had not “yet been fully exercised to … build the Kingdom of God” (“Relief Society—Its Promise and Potential,” Ensign, Mar. 1976, 4). For all the good it has done in the past, Relief Society has yet to help move this latter-day work forward as it must. Sisters, the time has come to unleash the power of righteous happiness that exists among women of God. The time has come for us to be anxiously engaged in the work of saving souls. The time has come for the sisters of Relief Society to stand with and for the prophet in helping build the kingdom. The time has come for us each to stand tall and to stand together.
Standing tall begins with our own conversion, for when we taste the gospel’s “exceeding joy” (Alma 36:24) we want to share it. The casseroles and quilts we have made to relieve suffering are splendid acts of kindness, but no service—I repeat, no service—compares with that of leading someone to Christ. Do you want to be happy? I mean really happy? Then nurture someone along the path that leads to the temple and to Christ.
The most effective way to share the gospel is to live it. When we live like disciples of Christ should live, when we aren’t just good but happy to be good, others will be drawn to us because we are “distinct and different—in happy ways,” as President Kimball prophesied (“The Role of Righteous Women,” Ensign, Nov. 1979, 104). Happy about the way we’ve chosen to live, happy because we’re not constantly reshaping ourselves in the world’s image, happy because we have “the gift and the power of the Holy Ghost” (1 Ne. 13:37), happy to stand tall so that we will stand out.
Every time we strengthen our own testimony or help someone else strengthen theirs, we build the kingdom of God. Every time we mentor a newly baptized sister or befriend a wandering soul without judging her or invite a nonmember family to home evening or give a Book of Mormon to a colleague or lead a family to the temple or stand up for modesty and motherhood or invite the missionaries into our homes or help someone discover the power of the word, we build the kingdom of God. Imagine how it lifted my sister’s spirits when she read this journal entry Tanner had made just before he died: “Thanks, Mom and Dad, for teaching me about Christ.” What builds the kingdom more than raising up a child to the Lord?
With the exception of those serving full-time missions, we needn’t don name badges or knock on doors to help build the kingdom. For though some would portray us as dowdy and dominated rather than the dynamic, radiant women we are, no woman is more persuasive, no woman has greater influence for good, no woman is a more vibrant instrument in the hands of the Lord than a woman of God who is thrilled to be who she is. I like to think of us as the Lord’s secret weapon. If we did have name tags, I would want mine to read: “Sheri Dew, Woman of God, Busy Building the Kingdom of God.”
Imagine what would happen in this Church if every morning 4.5 million of us got on our knees and asked our Father who He needed us to reach out to that day. And then imagine if we did it! Imagine if we consecrated our energy and our focus en masse to the greatest service of all, that of leading our sisters and brothers to Christ. Imagine what will happen when we mobilize the sisters of Relief Society to stand together to help build the kingdom. We will see the awakening and arising of a sleeping, slouching giant.
Tonight I invite you to stand tall, to thrust in your sickle and join in this work with vigor. I invite you to rededicate your life to building the kingdom. To reach out to someone who has wandered. To take a new member under your wing. To consider serving a mission with your husband. To look and pray for missionary moments. To make a difference in someone’s life spiritually, especially the members of your own family. None of us have to reach everyone. But what if we all reached someone? And then someone else? And so on. President Hinckley has asked us to “become a vast army with enthusiasm for this work” (“Find the Lambs, Feed the Sheep,” Ensign, May 1999, 110). As we do so, we will become one of the mightiest forces for good this world has ever seen. For we, the sisters of Relief Society, are women of God. And the work of women of God and the work of the Relief Society has always been to help build the kingdom of God. I believe that we can do more to help our priesthood leaders than we have ever done before.
In my nephew’s priesthood quorum, just a few hours before he died, Tanner said this: “You know, if I were to die soon, I would want my funeral to be a missionary farewell.” My prayer tonight is that we can be equally clear about our mission as women of God. This isn’t just a really nice church that teaches really nice ideas so that we can live really nice lives. This is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, endowed with His power and charged with carrying His truth to the ends of the earth. I love our Father. And I love His Son. And I have come to know for myself that this is Their work and Their glory and that we are the most blessed of all women to have such a vital part in it. May we lift our “voices as with the sound of a trump” (D&C 42:6). May we find joy as we stand tall and stand together. And may we “cheerfully do all things that lie in our power” (D&C 123:17), and then stand still to see the arm of God revealed as His work goes forward boldly and nobly until “it has … swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done” (History of the Church, 4:540). In the sacred and holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

As a boy, I had many interesting experiences with my father’s father. He didn’t have much schooling but was a very wise and good man. He was a superb carpenter and painter, and I can remember spending time with him painting. I thought I was learning to paint, but actually I was learning lessons that were even more important.
My grandfather often told me about the blessings that come from the payment of tithing. Two of his children, my father and my uncle, served missions during the Great Depression, when many people couldn’t afford to go on missions. It was quite an unusual thing to have two sons on a mission. Grandfather, who didn’t ever have much money, used to bear his testimony that his sons were able to serve missions because they always paid their tithing. He said, “I wouldn’t know how we’d make it at times; then somebody would call me and ask me to build a set of steps for them or paint their house or something like that.” I’ve wondered how many of those sets of steps really needed to be built. I’m sure Grandfather would not have taken a handout.
Grandfather thought that the payment of tithing was not only a duty but an opportunity. Shortly before his death I heard him bear his testimony, in a matter-of-fact but very direct way, that blessings come through the faithful payment of tithing. I’ve always considered it a privilege to pay my tithing, and I’ve seen the blessings that have come into people’s lives through living this principle.

Rebecca Scanlan, a Laurel, and her older sister, Ruth-Ann, have always enjoyed Christmases that are something close to the ideal. The only thing missing from their picture-perfect holidays might have been a light dusting of snow, since they rarely see any at their Woodstock, Georgia, home.
“I remember that at Christmas we’d listen to my dad tell the Christmas story. We’d eat dinner by candlelight and talk about our blessings. At Christmas I remember that I always felt loved,” says Rebecca.
But since Ruth-Ann and Rebecca’s dad, Fred, is on the board of advisers for a volunteer group that works with abused and battered children, they knew all too well that for many kids, Christmas holds no happy memories, no exciting anticipation. They had heard their dad tell stories of children who had never received a gift or a happy greeting at Christmas, children whose only Christmas wish was for harmony at home. It was a wish that hardly ever came true.
So the girls and their family put their heads together to think of ways to give these children the kind of Christmas they had never known. They decided a Christmas party would not only be a lot of fun but also a great Laurel project. The first time the family hosted the party, Ruth-Ann was in charge. The most important aspect of the party would be a spiritual message about the birth of the Savior. The party would also include food, games, and presents.
It was a tall order, but Ruth-Ann felt confident she could do it. Soon she had help from the missionaries, who had permission to tell the Christmas story and re-enact the Nativity with the children. Her dad dusted off his Santa outfit, ward members baked cookies and provided other goodies, and the youth in her ward dressed up as elves and reindeer to run games and other fun activities.
Presents, however, were another matter. With such a large group of children—many of whom had never had a real Christmas present—Ruth-Ann wanted to get nice gifts for everyone. So she contacted community groups, local businesses, neighbors, and friends to tell them what she had in mind.
What happened next surprised everyone. Gifts and money to buy gifts started to pour into the Scanlan home. When all was said and done, each child got exactly what he or she wanted from Santa Claus.
The community and ward had such a great time helping with Ruth-Ann’s project, she decided to do it again the next year. Now, younger sister Rebecca is a Laurel, and she spends the holiday season coordinating elves and reindeer, cookie bakers and present wrappers. It’s an overwhelming job at what is already a very busy time of year.
“I feel like I have been so blessed. I just want to give these children a little taste of what we have in our home,” says Rebecca.

The Church News recently told of Aaron Thatcher, a young man with a love for baseball. Aaron had had many baseball scouts observe his unique talents, but he told them repeatedly that he would not sign a professional contract until after he had fulfilled his obligations to the Lord by serving a two-year mission.
“How could a young man turn down such an offer?” people ask. But he did! His desire to serve the Lord was greater than his desire for instant fame. Aaron explained, “I’m going on this mission not because … my Dad went. I’m going because I have a testimony of the gospel and the prophets have told us that every worthy and healthy young man should serve a full-time mission. I want to with all of my heart” (in Quig Nielsen, “Baseball ‘On Hold’ While He Serves Mission,” Church News, 4 Sept. 1993, p. 5).

“My mother’s mother really made an impression on me. When I was nine, she had a stroke and could no longer speak. I remember her lying on a bed in my aunt’s home. The doctor thought that she should have a stimulant, so he had some coffee prepared to give to her. She had never drunk coffee, and I can still see the fire in her eyes as she let the doctor know that she wasn’t going to drink any then, either! He got the message, and she didn’t get the coffee.

“My other grandmother, my dad’s mother, was a visiting teacher to a family during a flu epidemic after World War I. The whole family was sick with the flu; three of them had already died. My grandmother went into their home and took care of them and even dressed the bodies of the dead members in preparation for their funeral. I have always been impressed with what a faithful visiting teacher she was.

“I myself came down with smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. I was isolated in the granary, which had a stove. Pillows were tied on my hands so that I couldn’t scratch the big pox that covered my body. The Lord blessed me so that today I don’t have any pockmarks. I also had diphtheria, another deadly disease, and the Lord spared my life then too.

“I loved school and had some wonderful teachers. One of them was ElRay L. Christiansen, who later became a General Authority. He would tell us about different pieces of music and make them live for us. I still have a great love for opera and classical music.”

Elder Reeve believes that children must be acquainted with Heavenly Father. If He is the center of their lives and they love Him and talk with Him, then He can take them through any trial or problem. It might not all be pleasant, but they can survive.

“God is real. He lives, and He loves you. He loves every child; He doesn’t have favorites. He is as close to you as you will let Him be by how you live, how you mind your parents, and how you keep His commandments.”

Jason C. Jones climbed out of the hatchway and stepped on the deck of the ship. Full daylight spread across the ocean. He looked up at the enormous square sails spread overhead. Usually the rising sun tinged them gold, but this morning the clouds were heavy. No sunlight came through.
Jason walked around boxes and barrels lashed on deck that belonged to the emigrants. He was looking for his friend William Baxter, first mate of the ship.
William had told Jason shortly after they embarked from Liverpool, England, that he was glad to sail on a ship with Latter-day Saints on board.
“Sailors know,” William had said, winking at Jason, “that ships carrying your people aren’t apt to be lost at sea.”
During the long days of the voyage, William had talked with Jason, explaining many things about the ship. He pointed out how the sails worked and even let Jason raise and lower the small, triangular canvas sheets he called jibs and staysails.
He also told Jason what the captain was doing when he used a sextant. “He’s finding our way across the water,” William explained. “There are no roads on the sea. Our landmarks can’t rightly be called that. We must steer by sun and stars.”
Walking to the rail on this morning, Jason looked down at the water. He clung to the rail, frightened. Never had he seen such high waves. They looked like vast green hills, rolling forward, with deep valleys between. The waves caused the ship to pitch up and down, heavily. It was hard for Jason to stand. He was afraid.
The great square sails fastened crosswise on the ship’s mast billowed outward as the wind blew even harder. People who were beginning to come on deck for air after a night spent between decks felt its force. Jason saw Mrs. Perkins grab for her skirts as they swirled about. Mr. Wilson’s long white beard blew straight out. In spite of his fear, the sight made Jason laugh.
Then he saw his father going toward Captain Brown. Jason followed. He heard the captain shout, “Best get your folks below again, Elder Jones. She’s comin’ on to blow hard!”
Jason’s father, holding his black hat with both hands, began to direct the people back down the hatchway. Jason saw William swinging along the deck.
“Can I help?” he called, running beside the sailor.
He thought about how much William had taught him. Once they had even gone into the wheelhouse where he had let Jason take the wheel, alone. Holding the big wooden spokes, feeling the great square-rigger ship move under his hands, had made Jason feel like a king.
Now that ship was in danger, and so were the people on it! Jason worried about the old folks, the young couples with their children—even a baby born the day before—who had left their homes in England to go to new homes in the Salt Lake Valley.
Jason heard William shout, “Grab a line there, boy! Help reef the sail!”
He ran along the tilting deck. Pulling hard on a rope end, Jason helped the sailors shorten sails. Wild wind whipped his clothes. Pelting rain blew sideways and slashed at his body as he shivered with excitement and cold.
Captain Brown, standing on the forward deck with his legs sprawled wide, pointed upward. Jason heard him bellow, “Aloft, men!”
He could hardly believe that sailors were to be sent along those high ropes and into the rigging in such a storm. Jason saw the huge sails billow, felt the ship under him leap like a runaway horse. Then he knew the sailors must obey their captain; the safety of the ship depended on it.
Captain Brown took Jason’s shoulder and shouted, “Go tell your father we could use a special prayer!”
Jason scrambled down the hatchway into the darkness—no candles could burn in such a storm. Even though he knew there were more than four hundred people gathered below decks, he heard no sound except roaring wind and pounding water.
Then he saw his father. He and several other men were kneeling in a circle. Jason knew they were already saying the prayer for which Captain Brown had asked.
Jason returned to the deck. Tilting his head back, he saw sailors hanging, high above, to wooden booms that were anchored crossways on the tall mast. The sailors struggled to anchor sails to the booms. How could they keep from being blown off the swaying booms while they fastened flapping canvas? Finally the sails were secured. One by one the sailors lowered themselves on the ropes and jumped to the deck.
Suddenly Jason felt his feet slip under him. The ship was sliding sideways. Down, down it went, until Jason was sure it would never again float upright. An enormous wave crashed on deck, smothering him with green water. He gasped, fighting for air, as the ship slowly returned to an even keel.
Wiping water out of his eyes, Jason looked around. Captain Brown stood still. So did the sailors, their faces tight with fear. But the wild waves were beginning to smooth out. The screaming wind died. Gradually the calm sound of the creaking mast and of a baby crying below deck could be heard.
William Baxter spoke with awe. “The storm’s blown out.”
Jason’s father and two other men came on deck. Captain Brown went to them. He held out his hand.
“In my thirty years at sea,” he declared, “I have never seen a terrible storm end so quickly.” Then he added solemnly, “The Lord be praised!”

Mrs. Burton always makes the VIP announcement at school the very last thing on Friday afternoon. “VIP” means very important person, and you have to turn in all your work and be a really good citizen all week long if you want to be the VIP.
I thought I would explode when she said, “Our VIP for next week is Margie Martin.” Me! I was VIP! My face must have turned as red as my hair when she said that. Everyone looked at me, my best friend, Susan, grinned at me, and I felt great.
The VIP of the week gets to be class leader and has lots of responsibilities. On Monday morning I got to school early, just in case Mrs. Burton had any special jobs for me to do. As I went to hang up my jacket and put my lunch box in the back of the classroom, I saw Mrs. Burton talking to a new boy. He didn’t look like much. His hair stood up in back like a rooster’s tail, and he almost didn’t have a chin. He was wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt, and his sneakers were all holey. Besides looking kind of grubby, he looked mad.
I stood by my desk and waited for Mrs. Burton to notice me.
She saw me and said, “Margie, I’m glad you’re here early today. This is Delbert Wiggins. He’s new to our school, and since you are this week’s VIP, he is your responsibility.”
“Hi,” I said.
Delbert Wiggins didn’t say anything. He just looked at the floor.
“First,” said Mrs. Burton, “please take Delbert around the school. Show him where the cafeteria and the rest rooms are. The bell will ring soon, so hurry back. We have a lot to do today.” She started listing assignments on the chalkboard.
“Come on, Delbert,” I said, trying to sound friendly.
We started down the hall, and Delbert muttered, “There’s no way I’m going to be your responsibility!”
“What?” I asked.
He stopped and glared at me. “I said I’m not your responsibility. I’m going outside, so buzz off, hotshot.”
“But I have to show you the cafeteria and—”
“No way. Get lost.” He looked around, and when he saw the exit door at the end of the hallway, he ran for it.
“Wait!” I yelled. “You’re not supposed to run in the halls.”
But he went out that door like a horse bolting. I stood there a minute, then went back to the classroom.
Mrs. Burton was still writing on the chalkboard. She saw me and asked, “Where’s Delbert?”
I felt terrible. I had failed my first job as VIP. “He said he wouldn’t be my responsibility, and he went outside.”
“All right, Margie,” said Mrs. Burton, sitting at her desk and scribbling a note. “Thank you for trying. Please take this message to the office. Wait for an answer, then hurry back. It’s almost time for the bell.”
I got back to class just as the bell rang. And there was Delbert Wiggins in the desk behind mine! Being VIP isn’t so wonderful after all, I thought. I put the note from the office on Mrs. Burton’s desk and sat down without looking at Delbert.
Mrs. Burton introduced him to the class. Then she announced, “Today we will have the classroom spelling bee to determine who will represent the fifth grade in the school spelling bee on Friday. I hope you’ll all do your best. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the fifth grade won? It’s never happened before.”
Susan raised her hand. “Mrs. Burton,” she said, “why don’t we save time and choose Margie? She’s the best speller in the class.”
“The rules say that there has to be a classroom spelling bee, Susan. Everyone, stand, please. If you miss a word, sit down.”
We spelled words for nearly an hour, and finally everyone was sitting down except—Delbert Wiggins! He beat me, I thought. And just because I mixed up the e and the i in foreign. I felt sick. This awful, new boy was going to represent the fifth grade on Friday!
Well, it was a terrible week. Delbert wouldn’t be my responsibility. He wouldn’t let me help him study the spelling list for Friday. Every time I tried to help him, he said, “Buzz off, get lost.” He called me “birdbrain” because my last name is Martin, and he made fun of my red hair.
Finally I got mad. I stamped my foot and yelled at him, “All right—I’ll get lost. But I hope you lose! You don’t deserve to win!” Then I went to the girl’s rest room and hid in a stall and cried.
On Friday the whole school was in the auditorium for the spelling bee. It lasted forever. But for the first time, the fifth grade won! That Delbert Wiggins spelled down everyone, even the eighth-graders!
Our class went wild. Everyone crowded around Delbert as if he was a movie star, and said things like, “You’re really great!” “Terrific job!” “Boy, can you spell!” Everyone but me. I just stood against the wall and watched. I thought, I won’t tell him he’s great. I’m no fan of his.
“Margie,” said a quiet voice beside me. It was Mrs. Burton. “I expect it’s hard for you, but try to be a good sport. Maybe this success will help Delbert to be a nicer person.”
Ha! I thought. But all I said was, “I don’t think it will.”
After a minute I had another thought. I asked, “Am I still responsible for him?”
“Till the new VIP is announced,” said Mrs. Burton.
“OK,” I said. I took a deep breath and squared up my shoulders the way I do when I have to give a speech in class. I went over to where the kids were still bunched around Delbert, and pushed my way through them till I was in front of him. I said, “Congratulations. You did a good job.”
He looked surprised. His face got all pink. He rubbed his hand over his hair. Then he scowled and said, “Thanks.” He looked at the floor and turned away a little bit, then sort of looked sideways at me. And he smiled! “Thanks,” he repeated.
“You’re welcome,” I said. And for the first time since becoming responsible for Delbert Wiggins, I was glad I got to be VIP.

What you have done remarkably well together is to cherish, watch over, and comfort each other. I was a witness of that threefold miracle just one month ago in your service to one sister. As her father, I thank you and I want to extend my thanks to God, who guided one visiting teacher.
Our daughter Elizabeth, who lives in another state and time zone from us, was at home with her three-year-old daughter. Her other child was in her first week of kindergarten. Elizabeth was six months pregnant and looking forward to the birth of her third child, which the doctors said would be another girl. Her husband, Joshua, was away at his work.
When she saw that she was passing blood and that the flow was increasing, she called her husband on the phone. He told her to call for an ambulance and that he would meet her at the hospital, which was 20 minutes from her home. Before she could place the call, she heard a knock at the front door.
At the door she was surprised to see her Relief Society visiting teaching companion. They had no appointment for that morning. Her companion had simply felt she ought to come by to see Elizabeth.
She helped her into the car. They arrived at the hospital minutes before Joshua arrived from his work. The doctors decided in less than 20 minutes to take the baby by surgery to save Elizabeth and her baby. So a tiny girl came into the world, crying loudly, 15 weeks ahead of schedule. She weighed one pound, eleven ounces (765 g). But she was alive, and so was Elizabeth.
The words of Lucy Mack Smith were in part fulfilled that day. A faithful member of the Relief Society, prompted by the Holy Ghost, watched over, cherished, and comforted her sister in God’s kingdom. She and the tens of thousands of others who have given such inspired service over the generations have not only the thanks of those they helped and their loved ones but also of the Lord.
But the miracle of one Relief Society sister arriving to help just in time is multiplied through the power of a unified society of sisters. Here is just a part of the message Elizabeth’s bishop sent to Elizabeth and to Joshua at the hospital hours after the baby was born: “The Relief Society president has everything under control. We are already building a future plan to assist with your girls at home so Elizabeth can travel back and forth to the hospital while the unnamed cute baby remains there. We’ve done it before, long term, and [our] people jump at the chance.”
The bishop went on to say, speaking for himself and the ward: “We’ve even come to the hospital and sat with kids in the playroom when moms didn’t want to leave them somewhere else.”
And then: “We won’t execute our plan without coordination and concurrence from you, of course. Just wanted to let you know not to worry about the things we can [and will] do.”
What they did for my daughter made it possible for her to have a precious moment when she held, for the first time, her tiny daughter.
And then the bishop closed his message to Joshua and Elizabeth with one that sisters send out of their commitment across the earth to serve others for the Master: “Keep the faith.”

“Your turn!” Monica said to Kami.
Kami listened to the beat of the ropes hitting the pavement.
“One, two, one, two, annnnd jump!”
Kami leaped between the ropes, raising one foot and then the other. Double Dutch was one of her favorite things to do during recess.
“Hey, Kami!”
Kami turned around to see her friend, Chelsea, waving her over.
“Hey! I was wondering where you were,” Kami said with a grin. But her smile faded when she saw Chelsea’s face. Her friend looked sad.
“Can you come here really quick?”
“Yeah! What’s wrong?” Kami asked, jogging over.
Chelsea took a deep breath and stared at her shoes. “I just wanted to let you know I can’t come over after school today. My mom said we can’t spend so much time together.”
“What? Why?”
“Um … ’cause you’re Mormon.”
Kami felt her mouth fall open. She didn’t know what to say. Chelsea had been coming over to Kami’s house a lot lately to work on school projects.
“My mom’s worried I might learn some things from you that our family doesn’t agree with,” Chelsea said.
Kami felt like she was frozen in place.
“I guess I’d better go,” Chelsea said and walked away.
Kami sat down and picked at the grass for the rest of recess. When she got home, she told Mom what happened.
“Is there something wrong with being Mormon?” Kami asked.
Mom paused for a minute. “Do you think there’s something wrong with being Mormon?”
Kami thought about it. “No. I mean, we believe in following Jesus and helping others. How can Chelsea’s parents not like that?”
“Well, I think sometimes people don’t understand what we believe,” Mom said. “They don’t know what it means to be a member of the Church.”
What does it mean to be a member of the Church? Kami thought as she drifted off to sleep that night.
The next day was a field trip, and her whole class was excited as they stood in line in front of the bus.
Kami groaned when she heard the seating assignments. She wanted to sit by Monica, and instead she had to sit by her teacher in the front seat! But soon Mrs. Weir started talking to her, and Kami’s bad mood didn’t last long.
“I’ve noticed that many of the children in my classes who are Mormon are good students,” Mrs. Weir said. Kami blinked in surprise. She had expected her teacher to talk about school stuff, not this. “Will you tell me a little about your religion?”
Kami told Mrs. Weir the full name of the Church. She told her about when she was baptized and about going to Primary. Mrs. Weir had a few questions about what Kami could eat and drink and what she believed about God. Kami did her best to answer. She even remembered some lines from the article of faith she was memorizing.
Later that afternoon Kami ran through her front door, excited to tell Mom all about the conversation.
Part of being a member means being kind to everyone. No matter what they believe!
“I’m proud of you, Kami!” Mom said. “And guess what? By being a good example, you’re helping Mrs. Weir learn something really important. Do you know what?”
Kami smiled and nodded. Chelsea’s mom didn’t know it yet, but Kami’s teacher was noticing.
“I’m teaching her what it means to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!”

There are individuals who declare that those who support the Residential Living Standards—expecting that young men and young women not go into each other’s private living spaces (bedrooms and bathrooms as opposed to public areas like living rooms and kitchens)—are residing in the Dark Ages and need to get up to the decade of the nineties. A letter from a former student reflects the folly of attempting to explain away Residential Living Standards. The letter read, “I thought that the rules regarding Residential Living Standards were the most ridiculous rules that ever existed. After all, I reasoned, you should have been able to discern that nothing inappropriate was either intended or going on. After all, we only went into the bedroom to study together, to read the scriptures, and to pray. I am sorry to have to report that I came to know that the rules were not ridiculous. They were to protect us, and they were founded on principles. The reasons are clear to me now, and I want to apologize for my disregard of them. Should my children ever have the privilege of becoming students at BYU, rest assured that they will be instructed by their parents before they leave home that Residential Living Standards matter.”

Let me illustrate the theme of borders with a true tale from one of my study abroad programs as a director. We were in Venice, Italy, having taken a very small ferryboat from our bus terminal to a dock across the Grand Canal. The appointed time to leave was approaching, and all but a handful of my BYU students were aboard. The Italian boat captain revved his engine, signaling departure. His English was poor and my Italian was worse, but somehow we communicated that he wanted the boat to leave and I wanted the boat to stay for the missing students. His next load of passengers was waiting on the other side. To emphasize my negotiating position, I placed one foot on the dock with the other foot on the boat—not too smart. To emphasize his rather superior negotiating position, the captain slowly began pulling away from the dock, with me about to fall into the water.

I will tell you what happened later, but, for now, that experience illustrates how impossible it is to have one foot on the Lord’s side and one on the adversary’s side—and the gap is getting wider and wider. What is at stake for you is more than a refreshing dip in the Grand Canal of Venice and a soggy wallet. What is at stake is your very soul.

Therefore, do not ever let your passport to the Lord’s country and kingdom lapse. If you do, you will find yourself outside its borders, or at least trying to straddle them. Which means I need to finish my story about the Venice boat dock. The distance between my one foot on the dock and my other foot on the boat slowly became wider and wider. It was clear that the boat captain was not going to hold the boat for my students, and I was not going to leave without them. While my dear wife and students on the boat were screaming as my legs continued to spread and my blood pressure went up, I thought to myself that this was like something out of a Marx Brothers or Charlie Chaplin movie (or now it would be a great YouTube video), with everyone watching me plop into the drink. But no, breaking the stalemate came the sounds of my rescue thundering down the alleyway, and the remaining students scrambled over the dock and jumped a few ever-widening feet onto the boat. The boat captain and I are not exactly on each other’s Christmas card lists, but I did get all the students on board and he made it back to pick up more passengers.

I had to call my three kids back home and tell them. I wanted to share the love that Christ showed me.
“I met some missionaries here,” I told them. “They taught me this. They taught me that.” I told them to go investigate the Church.
My kids are all in the Church now, baptized in Sierra Leone. One even wants to go on a mission. That’s the goodness of Christ. Other family members are also coming into the Church, but some are hesitant. I still present Christ to them.
I’m lonely for my children, and they are lonely for me. But I told them, “I’m not in Sierra Leone, but the Church is there. The Church is your new family.” The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is growing there. When I heard we were getting a temple in Sierra Leone, I stood up and jumped. The temple is so peaceful. It will be the most beautiful building in the whole country.

In a world scarred by scourges of tyranny and war, many of its inhabitants earnestly pray for inner peace. For example, not long ago a beautiful young mother named Svetlana developed an intense desire to obtain a Bible. But in her city of Leningrad, a Bible was very rare and expensive. Frequently and fervently she prayed for a Bible. Ultimately, she and her husband were impressed to travel with their small child to Helsinki, Finland, with that hope in mind. There one day while walking in a park, she stumbled across an object buried under the cover of autumn leaves. She picked it up and found it to be a Bible written in the Russian language! Excitedly she recounted the story of this great discovery to another mother who was also in the park with her youngster. The second mother rejoiced with Svetlana and added, “Would you like to have another book about Jesus Christ?” Svetlana, of course, answered in the affirmative. The other mother provided Svetlana with a copy of a Russian-language edition of the Book of Mormon and invited the family to church. She eagerly embraced the teachings of the missionaries and shortly thereafter joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then they returned to their home, where they have helped pioneer the work in the Leningrad Branch of the Church.