Gospel Story Finder

Not long ago my newly married baby sister, Deborah, and her husband moved from Provo and began their small business in Idaho. They were living in a new mobile home with a new infant daughter. They were as happy as an eager young family of three could be. After a brief time near his parent’s home, my young brother-in-law moved his wife and daughter and their new mobile home to what were literally greener pastures. He was a keeper of bees, and the clover looked tastier on the other side of the fence. The little family relocated some miles away, where the land was to flow, if not with milk, then at least with honey. They spent a long day and much of a night moving their good-sized mobile home onto their new property.

They were eager with anticipation and bursting with pride to be on their own. All that they owned was safely inside that trailer, stacked floor to ceiling with wedding gifts and baby blankets and years of childhood treasures. Early the next morning they arose to savor this new Canaan. They were certain they had crossed over Jordan.

With a bit of breakfast, my young brother-in-law went out into the fields to map out locations for hives and make plans for production. My sister, happy and full of hope, played with her daughter and then started to wash out some things soiled from the move.

First there was a little smoke, then a lot of smoke, and then instantly a flash. During the move, the gas jets to the water heater had been disturbed, and fire now had the trailer engulfed in flames. This little home, for which they had scrimped and saved and borrowed and prayed, was now a tinder box. Deborah grabbed her 10-month-old daughter and stumbled to a safe distance. A neighbor saw the blaze and called the small volunteer fire department. But it was too little, too late, and too lonely. Everything was gone that these two faithful and genuinely good young people had based their dreams upon: baby toys, photographs, remembrance records, quilts from a loving grandmother, mission mementos, beds, books, clothing, and tools. Everything was gone. And there stood this 24-year-old girl, my sister, holding her child and sobbing.

Her husband was busy at work with no way of knowing of this tragedy. Deborah was 400 miles from any member of her family and did not know one living soul in this new rural community where just a dozen hours earlier they had arrived with such hopes and dreams. Their future, for this little family of three, was disintegrating before her very eyes. First smoke, then flame, and now ashes.

So much, we might say, modest as they are, for the youthful dreams of the newly married—for those who are full of faith, constant in prayer, and obedient to every principle. This new wife and mother clutched her baby and wept out of loneliness, I suppose, as much as out of fear.

What would they do now? she thought. How would they pay the loan on a new trailer that was now gone? Where would they sleep? How would they eat? Who could help?

She stood there, overwhelmed at the lightning stroke of misfortune that had consumed their dreams in an instant. At that very moment, a young man stood at her side unnoticed. Neighbors were arriving, and the valiant efforts of firefighters held everyone’s attention—everyone’s but this young man’s. He seemed oblivious to the whole matter. He appeared to be 25 or so, not much older than she or her own husband.

As the others scurried by with buckets and pails and hoses and shovels, he gently reached out and took her arm. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Barry Larsen, and I understand you’ve just moved into our ward. I’m your bishop, and I want you to know that everything is going to be just fine.”

Well, things have been better than fine. After they had spent two or three nights in the home of the Relief Society president, a home was located for rent. A wise young husband had purchased insurance very carefully, and a bank responded with a generous offer for them to build a new home rather than buy another mobile version. Old dreams were forgotten in the rush of new ones, and now, two years later, they are full of hope and happiness, and their land is indeed flowing with honey.

A note from a sister in her ward comforted Raihau Gariki of Tahiti, who was called as a Relief Society teacher just one month after turning 18. She was nervous to teach “mothers and grandmothers, women who already knew so much, had faced many trials, and experienced a lot of things.” After her first lesson, she received “a note full of love” from a woman in the class. This note bolstered her confidence—she pasted it in her journal to help her through hard times.

I remember on one occasion when I was a young boy, my dad sitting us down as a family and saying, “Kids, I got a job at Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. It’s a Church school, so I’m gonna need your help to stop swearing!”

Now, I don’t remember my dad cussing a lot, but he was a cowboy, and occasionally, when he was working with his horses or mules, they’d get the best of him, and he’d let a few choice words fly. Even though it was not a big issue to us, it was still important to him that he work on refining himself in that way. And he doesn’t have mules anymore, so that has helped.

I began to look for people who had cultivated faith and made it a power in their lives, and I discovered many examples. In Cochabamba I heard a woman bear her testimony of tithing. The preceding month, after paying tithing and major expenses, she had only a hundred pesos (equivalent to $1 [U.S.]) for food for the month. She didn’t know how she would survive, but she had faith that the Lord would provide.
On the way to the market to see what she could buy, she unexpectedly met her niece, who asked her to accompany her to buy cloth. The woman went, not mentioning her embarrassing situation.
As she was waiting for her niece to make her purchase, a man walking by called to her, “Señora, your money!”
Puzzled, she turned to see the man pointing to her purse. As she looked down, she saw one thousand pesos on top of her purse! She had not seen or heard anyone walk near her. The money seemed to have come from nowhere.
That day, her niece invited her to eat lunch with her, and she gratefully accepted. One of her sisters offered her an extra bag of vegetables and potatoes, and another sister also shared generously with her. She had plenty during the month.

Historic Runnymede, set in the heart of England, provided the setting for a service project for the youth of the Staines England Stake.
Thirty-five youth and their adult leaders met to clear the overgrown woodland, which was obscuring the view of Runnymede, of historic significance as the spot were King John signed the Magna Charta in 1215. The beauty spot had been referred to by the National Trust of Great Britain, and the youth of the stake were helping to clear some of the undergrowth near the footpaths.
Accompanied by the buzz of chain saws and grunts, groans, and laughter, the participants soon cleared the pathway and collected dozens of sacks of debris from the wood, including old bicycle frames, rolls of wire, and even a burnt-out car. Their hard work paid off in significantly improving the picturesque area. Later a personalized copy of the Book of Mormon was presented to the National Trust warden who accompanied the youth on their service project.

My name is Brooklyn. There is a boy in my grade 3 class who has been quite mean to me throughout the whole year. When I asked my mom why he’s mean to me, she told me that sometimes people try to make you feel bad when they’re sad about their own lives.
Yesterday I came home from school a little bit sad because he was unkind to me again. Mommy said he was probably unhappy. I decided that instead of letting him make me feel sad, I was going to try to cheer him up. So I wrote him a card. It said that I noticed that sometimes he was sad, and I hoped my card would make him feel happier. I put a candy on the card and gave it to him. When he read it, he smiled. Then he said, “Thank you, Brooklyn.” He has been nice to me ever since.
My mom says that I showed Christlike love and saw him through the Savior’s eyes. If someone’s not kind to you, try being kind to them. It might take a month or a year, but you might finally get a smile back!

“I remember the excitement of being chosen as a crossing guard in sixth grade and how cold it was walking in the snow all the way to the school on the hill when I was in seventh grade. My biggest challenge was applying myself in school. I was more interested in sports and other things. Then, in junior high school, I was stimulated to learn so that I gained a balance in my life. I was able to pull up my grades and earn a scholarship.
“Serving a mission in Brazil was a great turning point in my life,” declared Elder Sorensen. “When I was twenty and had just completed two years of college at the University of Chicago on an academic/athletic scholarship, I had doubts about my going on a mission. When I returned home that summer, Mom said to me, ‘Well, now you can prepare for your mission.’
“Elder Sorensen told his mother that he had changed his mind and didn’t think that he would serve a mission. “I’ll never forget the hurt look on Mom’s face,” he recalled, “after I told her my decision. She didn’t scold me, but afterward she privately cried and prayed.
“I didn’t go back to school in Chicago that fall. With the help of Mom and Dad and a wise and understanding bishop, I accepted a mission call to Brazil and left for South America in 1940.
“It wasn’t very long after I arrived in the mission field and began studying the scriptures regularly that my testimony really began to grow. Since then it has never wavered but has grown stronger. I’m grateful to the Lord and my parents for guiding me at that very important crossroad.
“Children, listen to your parents. They love you more than anyone else does, except your Father in Heaven, who has an even greater capacity to love. If you follow their good teachings and example, you will always be happy that you did. And remember to follow the counsel and guidance of Church leaders, particularly your bishop.”

A year earlier a Missouri sheriff by the name of Reynolds had come into the state of Illinois, secured a writ of extradition, and, with a Constable Wilson, from Carthage, had found that the Prophet was visiting his wife’s relatives some twenty miles out of Nauvoo. They went to that place. They pretended they were missionaries and called him out of the house. They seized him, abused him, beat him with their pistol butts until he was black and blue. They refused to let his wife see him. They put him on a horse and rushed him toward the Missouri border to get him out of the state of Illinois. Some of his friends intercepted them by the way and got a writ from a local judge accusing them of abusing their prisoner. Further, the Nauvoo Legion was raised in Nauvoo and came out to the rescue. We have a strange procession: the Prophet a prisoner of the sheriff, the sheriff a prisoner of a local sheriff. They go into Nauvoo, where the Prophet is tried and released.

Then comes an unusual act. He invited Sheriffs Reynolds and Wilson to his home. He had his wife, Emma, and himself serve them with the finest that could be provided. He treated them with every kindness and courtesy, until one who was there on that occasion said, “His treatment of these men, who had been so brutal to him, would have melted the heart of an archcriminal.”

As the Ellsworth Company started its third month of travel, food supplies began to dwindle. During this part of the journey, the pioneers were blessed to come across many buffalo on the Plains. The pioneers replenished their food supplies by shooting a few buffalo, cooking and eating the fresh meat, and then drying some meat for the days ahead. Buffalo chips were used, in the absence of wood, to build fires for warmth and for cooking. The pioneers spent many hours repairing the handcarts that often carried up to 500 pounds of goods over hard roads, through numerous streams and rivers, and up sandy bluffs from Florence, Nebraska, to the Salt Lake Valley. Meanwhile, the Saints already in the valley were organizing to help the approaching companies. Food was sent in wagons to Deer Creek to help the pioneers on the last leg of their journey.
1
Crossed Prairie Creek twice—second time brethren had to carry handcarts across (16 miles)
2
Forded two creeks; saw many buffalo; camped at Wood River (18 miles)
3
Sunday—rested and mended handcarts; ate shellfish from river (no miles)
4
Roads good; camped near Platte River (18 miles)
5
Roads pretty good; wood plentiful; water merely sufficient (16 miles)
6
Saw thousands of buffalo—killed four, which furnished camp with good supply of meat (12 miles)
7
No water found all day; at night dug for water, which was sufficient but very thick (25 miles)
8
Traveled without finding water; Brother Sanders somehow left behind; men unsuccessfully searched for him (13 miles)
9
Found Brother Sanders five miles ahead of camp; brought him to camp on a mule (13 miles)
10
Sunday—many ill; camped in excellent place near cold spring (14 miles)
11
Four men sent to shoot two buffalo; one milk cow died (17 miles)
12
Dried buffalo meat and repaired handcarts (no miles)
13
Roads difficult to travel, owing to rainfall last night (12 miles)
14
Travel hard; one handcart broke down (18 miles)
15
Forded five creeks; camped by Rattlesnake Creek, 352 miles from Florence (14 miles)
16
Camped on east bank of Wolf Creek; buffalo chips not plentiful; good grazing for cattle (17 miles)
17
Sunday—Brother Peter Stalley died; camped opposite Ash Hollow (12 miles)
18
Forded Hustle Creek; camped on banks of Platte River (19 miles)
19
Plenty of buffalo chips to burn; camped opposite Ancient Bluff Ruins (20 miles)
20
Started out at 7:30 A.M.; crossed sandy bluffs; camped by Platte River (20 miles)
21
Tolerably good road; camped two miles past Chimney Rock (16 miles)
22
Delayed in travels for three hours by thunderstorm; camped on Platte River half a mile from Spring Creek (21 miles)
23
Captain Ellsworth shot a buffalo, which was very thankfully received (16 miles)
24
Sunday—at evening meeting, Brother Ellsworth admonished those who had robbed handcarts or wagons to repent (no miles)
25
Saw many Indians; plenty of wood—quite a treat after burning buffalo chips (19 miles)
26
Forded North Fork of Platte River; camped three miles from Fort Laramie (17 miles)
27
Bacon and meal porridge for supper—best supper for many weeks (21 miles)
28
Camped near Horseshoe Creek, 4:30 P.M.; washed clothes and mended handcarts (15 miles)
29
Forded Platte River and camped where wood was plentiful and feed fair (25 miles)
30
Met two Californians, who said wagons from Salt Lake were waiting to meets Ellsworth Company at Deer Creek (19 miles)
31
Sunday—Brother Stoddard died of consumption; at Deer Creek met wagons with provisions for last part of journey (24 miles)

Moroni gave Joseph possession of the plates, breastplate, and interpreters on September 22, 1827. When Joseph Smith first put on the spectacles, “his entire past history [was] revealed to him,” David Whitmer recounted. This experience, Whitmer believed, helped Joseph recognize the greater supernatural power God had now given him. Joseph Knight Sr., who was at the Smith home in Palmyra when Joseph returned from the Hill Cumorah, remembered conversing with Joseph about the sacred relics the morning after he gained possession of them. “It is ten times Better than I expected,” he remembered Joseph saying. He recalled further the Prophet’s particular fascination with the spectacles. “He seamed to think more of the glasses or the urim and thummim then [than] he Did of the Plates,” wrote Knight, “for, says he, ‘I can see any thing; they are Marvelus.’” Indeed they were, for as the Prophet’s mother, Lucy Mack Smith, recalled, by means of the instrument “the angel showed him many things which he saw in vision.” One major purpose of the spectacles (and also the seer stone) was to help protect the plates and Joseph’s life. Lucy said her son “always kept the Urim and Thummim about his person” so “he could also ascertain, at any time, the approach of danger, either to himself or the Record.”

Skull Valley, Utah—that was where I spent two summers as a youth. I lived on Long Island, New York, but my father, who had grown up on a farm in Idaho, told me, “You’re never going to learn how to work until you work on a ranch.” My uncle had a ranch in Skull Valley, and so I, a city boy, was sent to live and work there.
The first few days I spent on the ranch left me exhausted. My entire body ached, and I wondered how I could get through each day. I was discouraged and wanted to go home, but I didn’t tell this to my relatives.
One day I was moving bales of hay with my cousin, and I was having a hard time because I was so tired. My cousin gave me a little push and said, “You aren’t lazy—you just don’t know how to work.” I decided then that I’d learn how to work—and I did. And as I worked on the ranch that summer, I came to enjoy it and my body thrived on it.

One family meets around a specially prepared table every Sunday morning for Sunday devotional. “Either my husband or I introduce a theme for that Sunday,” the mother reports. “For instance, once our theme was the Word of Wisdom. The table display included a bowl of fresh fruit, a bottle of home-canned tomatoes, and some dried wheat. For other themes we sing songs, read stories and scriptures, and point out examples of the theme throughout the day.

“When we meet again by the table in the evening, the children report on what they have learned about the theme. And they’re so excited about Sundays that they keep our Sunday theme suggestion box full of ideas for themes!”

With every calling she has, she actively looks for ways to serve the sisters in her ward and enjoys teaching the Young Women how to serve while developing their leadership skills. In February, the Young Women gathered toiletries to deliver to the widows in the ward for Valentines Day, along with homemade cupcakes the advisors baked. One widow said she felt blessed to have been remembered. A housebound widow appreciated being spoilt by the Young Women and enjoyed their visit—sadly she passed away two weeks later—but not before she had felt the love of the Lord, once again, through His servants.

A stake president was scheduled to meet with a young man to interview him and help him complete his mission application. The young man was a bright student and had saved money for his mission. He attended church regularly and was worthy of a temple recommend. Still, the stake president had one concern: The young man was drinking 12 energy drinks a day! In their meeting, the stake president suggested that he break the energy-drink habit before they submitted the application to the Missionary Department.
“No problem, President,” said the young man. “It’s not a habit. I can quit anytime.” They scheduled another interview a week later and the young man left. The following day he found out just how much of a habit his non-habit had become. His body was craving the drinks, and it was difficult to say no to himself. By midweek he called the stake president for a blessing. “I guess I really was more addicted than I thought,” he said. “This is really hard.”
The blessing was given, and the stake president continued to meet with the young man and monitor his progress. The process actually took months, but finally this young man felt ready to submit his application. His advice to others: “Don’t be fooled. Just because something isn’t specifically mentioned in the Word of Wisdom doesn’t mean there aren’t negative consequences.”
When the stake president asked the young man to break his dependence on energy drinks before beginning his mission, the young man found it difficult. After several months of hard work, that missionary entered the MTC and wrote the following in a letter to his stake president: “I want to thank you for all your help preparing me to serve. This place is incredible. The Spirit is so strong in all the classes and devotionals. You can even feel it when you are walking down the halls. This feeling is better than any energy drink!”

Mary Ann smoothed the pink dotted swiss fabric. “Just think, now that I’m almost twelve, I’ll have my first all-new dress for Easter!”
Mama smiled as she drew the black drip pan from the oven of the coal stove and tipped four steaming loaves of bread onto the table.
“It will be the prettiest dress I’ve ever made, Mary Ann. You’ve been so patient, never complaining,” Mama said.
Mama wrapped the hot loaves in a big white dish towel. “Do you think you can take these over to the Fitches without mashing them, dear?”
“I feel sort of funny taking things to Martha’s house. I don’t know how to talk to her.”
Mama sighed. “Martha needs a friend. I’ve noticed that none of the girls associate with her.”
“Do I have to take the whole batch? Don’t we even get to keep one loaf of hot bread for supper?”
“Now, honey, Sister Fitch is very sick. And Martha hasn’t learned how to make bread yet. I must have her over soon to teach her,” Mother continued half to herself. “She’ll have to feed that family. …”
“You mean her mother won’t ever get well?” Mary Ann cut in.
“I’m afraid not, and I’m sure Martha realizes this. That’s probably why it’s hard for her to talk. Now hurry with the bread so you’ll be back before dark.”
Mary Ann kicked pebbles all the way down the lane. The warmth of the bread felt good and its aroma made her hungry. This is all I do, she thought, carry good things from our kitchen to somebody else’s and then we have to skimp. I don’t think Mama could do her Relief Society president’s job without our help, she consoled herself.
The trill of a meadowlark perched on a fence post interrupted Mary Ann’s thoughts. And the trees along the ditch bank were breaking into a fresh spring green. They reminded her that Easter was next Sunday and that she would be wearing something new to church. Then she thought of Martha and an unhappy feeling crept over her.
As Martha opened the door, Mary Ann could tell that she had been crying.
“Mama thought you’d like a batch of fresh bread,” Mary Ann said, setting the bread on the kitchen table.
Martha leaned over and sniffed to get the full aroma. “Your mother always knows when we need something,” she said gratefully.
“Mama says you must come over and let her teach you how to make bread,” Mary Ann said brightly, trying to be friendly. Then another thought struck her, as she added, “You do have something else to eat, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, Mama told me how to make soup out of potatoes and onions from our pit.” She rubbed her hands nervously down the front of her dress. “I can’t cook very well, but I’m learning.”
A sound came from the bedroom and Martha turned to go. “Mama’s calling. Tell your mother thanks for the bread.”
Mary Ann slipped out of the door and hurried home.
Next day Mama cut out the pink Easter dress, and Mary Ann could hardly contain her excitement.
After supper when her sisters were all around the big kitchen table doing their homework in the warmth of the stove, Mary Ann watched her mother fit the last pieces of her dress together. “Now,” she said, “let’s go try it on.”
Mary Ann put down her book and slipped into the bedroom where she wiggled into a cloud of pink and white softness.
Just then, there was a knock at the kitchen door. “Mama!” her sister Liza called, “It’s Brother Fitch. He wants to see you.”
Mama hurried away while Mary Ann peered into the dresser mirror. She draped the fragile white lace around the high neck and drew the pink satin ribbon around her waist. The dress was beautiful!
When Mama returned, she was untying her apron with one hand and smoothing her hair with the other. “Take the dress off, honey. Sister Fitch has taken a turn for the worse. I’ll go with Brother Fitch and I may not be back tonight.” Mama put on her warm shawl and was gone.
Next morning Liza got breakfast ready, and Papa came in from his chores to help get the girls off to school. Mama had been up all night with Sister Fitch, and when Martha wasn’t at school, Mary Ann was really worried.
After school the five girls burst into the kitchen to find Mama treadling away on the sewing machine, the pink dress nearly completed. The aroma of chickens stewing filled the room. “Ummm!” they chorused. “Chicken and noodles for dinner.”
“Try on your dress, Mary Ann, and let’s see if it fits,” Mama said. “I’m anxious to finish it.” Then she paused and said more quietly, “Sister Fitch died early this morning, and I must make a white burial dress for her.”
“Oh, no!” Mary Ann cried. “That’s why Martha wasn’t at school today.”
“We’ll all have to pitch in and help now,” Mama said. “Liza, would you please stir up some noodles and roll them out for the stewed chicken and Mary Ann can take a pot of soup over to the Fitches for their supper. Tonight, Mary Ann, you can sew the lace on your dress while I cut out a dress for Sister Fitch. Her funeral will be Friday.” The girls could tell by looking at Mama’s eyes that she had already done her weeping alone.
That evening Mary Ann stitched the lace carefully around the high neck and the long full sleeves of her Easter dress. The white fabric was laid out on the big table. Only the click of scissors broke the stillness. Everyone was in bed except Mary Ann and Mother.
“The funeral is the day after tomorrow, Mary Ann, and I’m sure that gray dress is the best one Martha has. I wish I had material and time to make her a new one.”
Mary Ann hugged her new dress to her cheek a moment. She had been thinking of Martha even before Mama mentioned her. Finally she spoke. “Mama, I’d like to do something special for Martha. Would it be all right if I gave her my new pink dress? We could add some lace to my white one and it would be really pretty.”
Love shone in Mama’s eyes as she replied, “That would be very nice, dear, and I’m proud that you suggested it.”
In spite of her decision, Mary Ann swallowed a lump in her throat as she silently finished sewing the lace on the pink Easter dress.
On Friday when Martha followed the coffin into the small church with her father and brothers, Mary Ann caught her breath. “Isn’t she beautiful, Mama?” she whispered.
The delicate pink seemed to bring color to Martha’s pale face in spite of her sadness, and her dark hair fell in soft curls on her neck. Martha saw Mary Ann’s look of admiration and a shy half-smile lighted her sad face. Mary Ann nodded, then turned to her mother and whispered, “I hope she never knows who the dress was made for, and I won’t mind not having a new dress—I think I’ve found a new friend.”

A few years ago, my son was getting ready to leave on his mission. He went through the Payson temple in August 2020—a time you will all recognize as being in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. At that time there was so much we didn’t know. We didn’t know how long the pandemic would last, we didn’t know when we would be able to resume normal lives, and we didn’t know who might be next to get sick. It was a time of uncertainty and distress for so many of us.

Because our visit was during the pandemic, we were only allowed a limited number of family members in the temple. It was a unique experience as we put on our masks and went inside. I didn’t see anyone else in the temple aside from the temple workers. It was as if we had the whole temple to ourselves. It was also the first time that all our children were able to be in the temple together with us. Words cannot describe the peace and comfort I felt to be surrounded by my family in the house of the Lord during a time of turbulence and uncertainty. The temple can be a place of peace in our most difficult times.

“I hope Matt doesn’t forget me,” Melody thought as she sat in the backseat of the van on the way home from the airport. Her brother would be gone for two whole years on his mission to Indiana. Matt had looked so grown up in his dark suit, white shirt, and tie. After he had hugged everybody good-bye, he walked away to board the airplane without even looking back. That’s how excited he was to start spreading the gospel.
Melody took out her notebook and pen, and wrote, Matt will be gone two years. There are twelve months in one year. 2 x 12 = 24. Matt would be gone for 24 months! That seemed much longer than two years.
Melody drew a picture of Matt in his missionary suit. Even though she was going to miss him, she wanted to help him be a good missionary. She began brainstorming in her notebook.
What I can do for Missionary Matt:
something that will help Matt be a good missionary
just from me
every month
small and sturdy so it’s easy to mail
Melody put a necktie on her drawing of Matt. What about ties? A tie was flat and small. But Matt had several ties already. A tie every month wouldn’t be so helpful.
Cookies? Matt loved the chocolate-chip cookies without nuts that she made especially for him. But she didn’t think her cookies would make it all the way to Indiana in one piece.
Jelly beans? Socks? Postage stamps? Those were things you ate up, wore out, or used up. Melody giggled. Some of her ideas were silly, but she was getting closer.
Something flat just for Matt.
“That rhymes!” Melody said.
Something small, though he’s tall.
Something sweet, but not a treat.
Suddenly Melody knew. She would write a poem for Matt every month. Turning to a clean piece of paper, she began her first poem.
My brother is gone to Indiana,
Matthew is his name.
He’s gone to serve the Lord
And others just the same.
When Melody got home, she copied the poem neatly onto a sheet of stationery. At the top she wrote,
Matt, this is your first Missionary Poem of the Month!
Each month Melody wrote a new poem. She wrote about the light of the gospel and fasting and the temple being built nearby. She wrote about making her chores fun to do, about the Book of Mormon, and about the seasons passing.
Sometimes when Melody sat down to write the next Poem of the Month, her mind was blank as the paper in front of her. But Melody thought and thought until an idea popped into her head. She decorated her poems with drawings, rubber stamps, and bright paper cutouts.
Matt wrote letters home almost every week. Sometimes he thanked Melody for her poems, but sometimes he didn’t mention them.
“He’s busy finding and teaching people the gospel, Melody,” her mother said.
Melody kept writing her poems. Four. Eight. Twelve. And then she lost count. She wrote about Christmas and New Year’s, and about trying her best in school. She wrote a funny poem called “Elder Ants” about how busy ants are like missionaries all over the world spreading the gospel. When Melody turned 12, she wrote a poem about doing baptisms for the dead in the new temple.
At last it was time for Matt to come home. Melody began her last poem like this:
It’s now been 24 long, hard months
For our family and for you.
But it’s been a great two years,
The big two years that flew!
It seemed there was hardly time to get it in the mail before Matt was home. At the airport, Matt gave Melody a big hug. He looked taller than she remembered and spoke with a quieter voice, but he was still the same smiling brother.
At home Melody watched Matt unpack. There were worn-out white shirts, socks with holes in them, and a tangle of ties. There were journals Matt had filled with stories and testimonies. There were family letters and photos of people he taught.
“Now, where are those … ?” Matt rummaged in his suitcase. “Ah, here they are.”
“What is it?” Melody asked.
“Guess. Here’s a clue. They came every month. I loved them a bunch!”
“Is that supposed to rhyme?” Melody asked, laughing. “You need some help!”
“Well, I’m not as good at poetry as you are!” Matt said.
“You mean you saved my Poems of the Month?” Melody asked.
Matt handed her a large, puffy envelope. “Your poems really helped me whenever I got discouraged,” he said. “You shared your testimony in those poems and made me laugh when I was sad. Melody, as long as your poems kept coming, I knew everything was fine at home.”
“And I knew you were one month closer to coming home!” Melody said.
They dumped the poems out on the bed and read every one. Twenty-four poems that helped the two years fly by.

But the second semester this year, a young man, a returned missionary, who serves as an assistant to the president and I won't say which mission, and [with] tears in his eyes, he said, "Brother Kikuchi, I have a problem. Since I returned from my mission my spirituality is really not what it ought to be. Would you help me so that I can get back to the spirit of the mission?"
I said, "Before I answer that question, could I ask something? What time [do] you usually sleep? What time [do] you get up? And what [are the] activities in the morning as you get up?" And so on and so on. And so I ask, "What time [are] you planning to go to bed?"
"That's about one o'clock and sometimes two."
"Are you studying?"
"Not necessarily."
"Then what time you get up?"
"Well, I have to take a bus to the school and I need to get up at least thirty minutes [before]."
"Can you freshen up within that few minutes and then catch the bus? Do you have a breakfast?"
"Well, most of the time I don't."
"Well, is there anything of the special things you do to communicate with Heavenly Father?"
"Well, I read the scriptures occasionally but not steady."
"Do you have a chance to visit with Heavenly Father often and in a steady way?"
He said, no.
"Well, you are a little far from Heavenly Father now. May I suggest the prescriptions for you if you are willing to listen to me?" He said, "I would do anything I need to [get the] spirit back again."
Then, I said, "When I became a General Authority and I was called, and one of the presidency of the Seventy trained me. [He told me] when he was called, he asked President David O. McKay, 'President McKay what should I do to deepen my spirituality?'" And [President McKay answered] pointing at five fingers and I hope you remember:
"I arise early. I wash my body and I put my new linen and those of us [who have] been through the temple the holy garment. Then, I subdue my spirit-number four-before God; I am kneeling before Heavenly Father. Number five," he said, "I wait for the inspiration of the Holy Father in Heaven. When I do that I come home, come back, and I am immersed into the scriptures daily."
Well, this man that trained me-he really, really taught [me well]-and he was convinced [by President McKay] that he really should do [these things]. And [in turn] he really convinced me and I believe that the best methods-[this] simple prescription-[are the best] methods I have heard. So my brothers and sisters-I did [them].
Then a few days later and almost a week later [the young man's] countenance was different and his demeanor [was] changed and this time it's different tears. He expressed profound, profound love for Heavenly Father and closeness to his Savior.

The clock was running out in my New York high school wrestling match, and the score was 13 to 2. I was behind, and even though I had tried everything, I was no match for my opponent, Elmer. Yet I thought to myself, I can’t afford to lose. Everything depends on my match. If I lose, we can’t possibly get enough points in the rest of the matches to win. And there will go our undefeated season.
This was supposed to be our high school’s 99th consecutive wrestling team match win, and the 100th team match was scheduled later that day. It took many years of undefeated seasons to have a school record like that. Reporters from local newspapers and several radio stations would be at the 100th match because we were about to make Long Island wrestling history. No one ever expected us to lose.
Unfortunately, for publicity’s sake, the coaches had decided to save all the first-string wrestlers for the upcoming 100th match and let the second string wrestle the 99th. We watched in horror as many of our teammates lost their individual matches. It became painfully obvious to all of us that everything was going to depend on my bout. To make matters worse, I was not only the last-minute substitute for our sick, 165-pound wrestler, but my opponent outweighed me by 13 pounds.
Throughout each period, I worked extremely hard to leverage speed and skill to put Elmer on his back. Instead I fought most of the time to keep my own back off the mat. I simply could not compete with Elmer’s size and strength.
In the final moments of the match, Elmer was on his knees with his chest pressed against my back. He must have figured he could contain me there while he caught his breath and ran out the clock. Meanwhile, my coach sat despairing with his head in his hands. The roar of the crowd was deafening as they cheered Elmer’s imminent win and Brentwood’s upset.
By chance, my eyes caught sight of the clock. There were only 20 seconds to go. I wondered, What do I do now?
Just then, Elmer’s head dropped to obscure my view. He was exhausted. Instantly, both of my hands grabbed Elmer’s head. I tucked it into my chest and arched my back. Over he went like a sack of potatoes. “Pin!” shouted the referee as his hand slammed the mat and the buzzer sounded. I’d pinned Elmer before his feet ever hit the mat. Victory was mine. With only seconds left, I had glued Elmer, and our high school won its 99th in a row and went on to win the 100th team match.

In 1979, while serving as Sunday School general president, I was invited to attend a Regional Representatives seminar during which President Kimball gave an inspiring address about opening the doors of nations then closed to the Church, such as China. He challenged all present to study the Mandarin language so we could offer our professional skills to help the people of China.
To me, President Kimball’s challenge seemed like a prophetic mandate. So that very night I asked my late wife, Dantzel, if she would be willing to study Mandarin with me. She agreed, and we found a tutor to help us. Of course we didn’t learn to speak Mandarin very well, but we learned enough so that when I was invited the very next year (through a series of highly unexpected events) to go to China as a visiting professor to teach open-heart surgery, I was in a better position to accept the invitation.
Fast-forward five years to 1985, the year after I had been called to the Quorum of the Twelve. One day I received an urgent request to go to China to perform open-heart surgery on that nation’s famous opera star, regarded throughout China as a national hero. I explained that my full-time ecclesiastical responsibility prevented my coming, but the doctors in China pleaded with me to come at once to perform the life-saving operation.
I discussed the matter with my quorum president and the First Presidency. They felt impressed that, as a favor to the people of China, I should make the trip and perform the operation.
That I did. Gratefully, the operation was a success! Incidentally, that was the last open-heart operation I ever performed. It was in Jinan, China, on March 4, 1985.
Now fast-forward again, this time to October 2015. Wendy and I were invited to return to Shandong University School of Medicine in Jinan. We were amazed when I was warmly welcomed as “an old friend” of China and was reunited with surgeons I had taught 35 years earlier. A highlight of our visit was meeting with the son and grandson of that famous opera star. All of these amazing experiences were enabled for one reason: I heeded the counsel of a prophet to study Mandarin!