Gospel Story Finder

Years ago President McKay, as a young member of the Sunday School general board, was going over to the islands. The evening before arriving he stood on the deck of the ship and marveled at the beauty of God’s handiwork. The clouds overhead were tinged in pink, and the islands in the distance were like velvety diamonds. He said, “Is there anything more beautiful than this?” As he thought about it, he said, “Yes, there is something more beautiful than this. The character of men and women who know who Christ is is more beautiful than this. The innocence that you see in children’s eyes is more beautiful than this.” That night, after he retired, he saw in the dreams of the night what he referred to as the eternal city. He said he saw people dressed in long, white, flowing robes, moving along through a gate into that heavenly city. Off to one side he saw the Master, even Christ. He was some distance away, but he couldn’t see the Savior’s features clearly and wondered who these people were who were moving in through the gate. As though his mind were being read by the Lord, the Lord raised his hand and drew his attention to the writing of the gate: “These are they who have overcome the world—who have truly been born again.”

Subject: Dan
Age: 16 years
Event: Football practice
“Report to my office when you’re dressed,” the coach growled to Dan in the locker room after the practice.
A short time later, Dan sheepishly stood in front of the coach’s desk.
“I’m dropping you from the team,” the coach rasped.
“Why? I take good care of my uniform. I keep all the training rules. Why drop me?”
“Because you can’t play football!” the coach said harshly.

Mary Elizabeth sat in the July shade of the ferryboat landing’s rough wooden overhang, her head resting peacefully against Isadora, the ox her father used to draw his ferry back and forth across the Fox River. The huge animal was harnessed to one end of a horizontal pole; the pole’s other end was fitted into a revolving stone wheel about which the ferry cable was wound. It was Mary Elizabeth’s responsibility to lead the old ox around its well-trodden path when the ferry was in use.
Mary Elizabeth let her fingers move up the length of Isadora’s great horns. They felt strong and smooth and warm like the now-rubbed-worn railing her father had built long ago onto the sides of the landing to keep her from falling off. As long as she could remember, she had liked to sit on the edge of the jetty and dangle her feet in the water that ran cool and deep through the hot, towering redrock gorges. She’d tilt her head and listen for the lonely screech of a circling hawk, for the wind whining through the sandstone pinnacles above the cottonwoods across the water, and for the faint, scolding squeals of a prairie dog in one of the invisible washes beyond the skyline.
This afternoon Mary Elizabeth’s attention was fixed on the red cliffs across the easy roll of water. She tried to imagine what red was really like. It must be warm, she thought, because Mother often says that the evening sun looks as red as the earth here in southern Utah where we live.
Mary Elizabeth wondered a lot about things—more than most, perhaps, because she had been born blind. Though she lived in a perpetual nighttime, in her nine years she had come to know better than many people the earth beneath her feet and the secrets of life that flourished upon it in reverent profusion. She had developed her other senses to detect the finer sounds and smells, and her hands were always reaching out … touching … feeling life as she found it.
She knew well the melodies of God made in the windy wood just down from Red Owl Ridge and the hymns of the leaves that whispered to her ears. She detected the delicate scent of a wildflower on a windless day and the wee rustling in the greasewood when a jackrabbit scampered by.
It was the little things that she enjoyed most: the wet tickle of Isadora’s nose, the friendly sound of lapping water against the mossy landing timbers, the softness of the newborn fawn that Father had found, and the gentle music of the white-throated swift.
Most of all, Mary Elizabeth enjoyed being with Father. His strong arms could split wood with one stroke of his big broadax, or they could gently sweep her up onto his big, powerful shoulders. He would carry her to where the dirt was soft between her toes, and as they sat amid the fluttering sounds of aspens, his soft, easy voice would spin a tale. Or he would talk about something that Bishop Andrews had said on Sunday or about how good it was to see Brother Nielson’s boy baptized in the Fox River or about how Mother’s smile could light up the whole world.
Mary Elizabeth had felt that wondrous smile with her fingertips more than once. It was as soft as lace and every bit as smooth and warm and constant as the earth beneath her feet.
The young girl had accepted her blindness as a part of life, a part of God’s plan for her. Her mother had said that a body should not brood over something that couldn’t be changed, and Mary Elizabeth believed her.
Now as a wagon neared, the blind girl sensed a kind of penetrating sorrow. It seeped through her contentment and challenged her peace of mind.
Mary Elizabeth heard her father welcome the wagon’s occupants, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. Then he said hello to their son, Joshua. Once, when Mary Elizabeth had asked her mother why the Styleses used the ferry so often, she had been told that they took their boy to a doctor for treatment at a settlement upriver.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Mother had been quiet for a moment, then explained that Joshua had a disease called leukemia and that he was dying.
Suddenly Mary Elizabeth began to comprehend the strange silences that always seemed to accompany the Styleses’ visits and their mumbled, listless hellos when Father greeted them by the landing.
Because it was late in the day, Father invited Mr. and Mrs. Styles and Joshua to lodge with them that night. They must have nodded agreement, because Mary Elizabeth heard Joshua’s father instruct him to go into the house and lie down. Mary Elizabeth listened to the boy’s feet plod heavily across the long yard toward the house.
Mary Elizabeth tugged on her mother’s arm. “Can’t he stay outdoors a little while, Mother?” she asked quietly. “I could show him Isadora and—” She stopped upon hearing the warning sound of her mother’s shoe poking at the hard ground.
“Joshua’s parents … well, they don’t allow him to do much of anything, from what I hear, honey, … except to rest. He only has a couple of years left, and time is precious.”
Mary Elizabeth lay awake that night, feeling for the first time a different kind of pain. She spoke her thoughts to her hug-frayed rag doll. “Time is precious, Charity! A person shouldn’t waste it moping. There’s too much to be happy about.” She rolled over and listened to a chorus of piping frogs among the reeds. That’s funny, she thought. Somehow they don’t sound as happy as they usually do.
Even the owl’s wonderfully bewitching hoots didn’t seem very enchanting that night. There was something out of harmony with the proper order of things, at least in Mary Elizabeth’s way of thinking, and she wondered how she could set things right.
The next morning when Mr. Styles opened the door to the spare room given to Joshua the night before, the boy was gone. Mary Elizabeth was also absent from her room.
“Where do you suppose they’ve gone?” Mary Elizabeth’s father questioned. He stepped to the window. Through the glare of the morning sun on the soft river mist, he could see the children. Mary Elizabeth was walking Isadora, and Joshua was riding atop the ox’s great, swaying back.
Mr. and Mrs. Styles joined Mary Elizabeth’s father at the window and were taken aback. “Joshua’s riding an ox!” Mrs. Styles gasped.
“Isadora’s as gentle as a baby, folks,” Mary Elizabeth’s father reassured them.
Mr. Styles blanched. “But our boy is dying!”
Father put a kind hand on the man’s shoulder and spoke with gentle understanding. “We all are, Mr. Styles. It’s just a matter of when. In the meantime, don’t you think a little sun might help thin out the shadows?”
Joshua’s mother sighed. “You don’t understand,” she said, “the more Joshua tromps around, the weaker he gets, and the weaker he gets—”
“What my wife means,” Mr. Styles interjected, “is that we don’t want to lose our boy a day sooner than we have to.” He crossed the room and started to open the door.
Mary Elizabeth’s father counseled compassionately, “Did you ever stop to consider the possibility that you’re already losing him, Mr. Styles?”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Styles asked defensively.
“I’m just suggesting that maybe you could go to him more, not after him.”
Mr. Styles just stared, and Mary Elizabeth’s father smiled and continued. “Joshua needs you and Mrs. Styles. But I just can’t help but think that the way you two go around so stretchy-faced all the time has your boy feeling like he’s already dead and buried.”
Mr. and Mrs. Styles regarded each other silently, then went outside.
Joshua slid off the ox into the tall grass, laughing with simple glee.
“Take off your shoes, Joshua,” Mary Elizabeth said, encouraged at the sound of his joy. “The grass feels good between your toes, especially when it’s early wet.”
Joshua sat down, pulled off his boots, and worked his feet into the green dampness that tickled his toes.
Mr. and Mrs. Styles, unnoticed by Joshua and Mary Elizabeth, stopped a short way from the children, surprised at their son’s exhilaration. “He’s laughing!” Mrs. Styles exclaimed in a stunned whisper. “And so is your daughter,” she added to Mary Elizabeth’s parents, who had joined them. “I mean,” she went on, “you’d never know that she was blind by the way that she’s enjoying herself!”
Mary Elizabeth’s mother smiled. “She has a way about her, all right—a way of living, I guess you could say, a bright way of looking at things.”
Mr. Styles shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time that I saw Joshua so happy.”
Mrs. Styles took her husband’s arm and blinked back her own tears. “When was the last time that we let him be happy—or ourselves?
“It has come to me,” Mrs. Styles added a moment later, “that you’re right,” she said to Father, “that maybe it isn’t always how much time we have that matters most, but rather what we do with that time.”
Mary Elizabeth listened to Joshua’s uninhibited laughter. Things were in harmony again. The owl in the lightning-split poplar tree would sound wonderfully enchanting again. And life would be, and was, sweet and fine. Each moment of it.

Last spring, I was asked to model for the prom fashion show on a local television station in Los Angeles. I was so excited to be one of the five girls chosen to be on TV. After weeks of rehearsal and preparation, we finally had the dress fitting. I quickly learned that the director of the show had already picked out all of the dresses to be modeled. I had been chosen to wear the most revealing dresses.
When I saw the dresses I was expected to wear, a line from the Young Women theme came to me: “We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places’ (Mosiah 18:9).”
I felt extremely uncomfortable with the dresses that had been chosen for me, and I knew that I would not be standing “as a witness of God” if I wore them. I requested a dress change but was told that the director wanted me to wear those specific dresses and not any others. My only other option was to exclude myself from the show.
The decision was difficult to make, but I knew I was doing the right thing when I chose not to be part of the show. I wanted to keep the commandments under all circumstances, not just when I had nothing to lose.
[illustration] Photograph © PhotoSpin

Even though the pioneers came to the Salt Lake Valley in 1847, it wasn’t until nearly 50 years later that Utah became a state. Recently, youth in wards and stakes all over Utah gave their state the anniversary gift of their time and hard work.
The youth in the Pleasant View Utah Stake were no exception. They spent a hot summer Saturday cleaning up the 21st Street Pond in Ogden. After a big breakfast, the youth went to work building a railroad-tie barrier, painting a storage building, cleaning the grounds, landscaping and painting an office, constructing and installing park benches, pouring concrete pads, painting and installing picnic tables, removing an old fence, constructing two wheelchair ramps, and doing general cleanup around the pond.
It took most of the day, but the youth say they felt good giving something back to the place they call home. After all, how often do you turn 100?

A little story about President Spencer W. Kimball illustrates the point. President Kimball was being wheeled into an operating room for one of his many operations, and one of the orderlies took the name of the Lord Jesus Christ in vain. Even though President Kimball was under sedation, he rose up and told the orderly not to take the name of his Savior in vain, for he was his friend and the Savior of the world.

One of our daughters and her family recently suffered a tragedy. Their house burned down, leaving little in the place of all their worldly possessions. The blessing was that even though five of their six children were at home, their two teenage sons remembered the training they had been given, picked up the little ones, and ran from the house. All were safe. And they felt great comfort from their ward and neighborhood, who rallied around with food, clothing, and offers of help. Such a blessing it is to belong to “the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). No one simply turned away or sailed calmly on.

For this family, as for others who experience trials and grief, love and help were extended, along with priesthood blessings and the assurance from the Father of us all that “blessed are they who are faithful and endure, whether in life or in death, for they shall inherit eternal life” (D&C 50:5). They have the same promise given to Joseph that “thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a … moment” (D&C 121:7).

One day I watched an interview with Brother Tad R. Callister, who was then the Sunday School General President. As I took notes, I had an impression on how to heal my relationship with my son, John. I was impressed that we should read the entire Book of Mormon together prior to his baptism six months later.
This impression was so clear that I even knew which room we should read in and at what time we should read. I also felt a distinct impression that we should finish our reading on the grounds of the Meridian Idaho Temple.
As we took time to read one-on-one each night, our relationship sweetened. We had more patience for each other, we better understood each other’s perspectives, and we regularly felt the presence of the Holy Ghost.
The night before we finished the book, we read Moroni’s promise that if we ask God with a sincere heart, with real intent and faith in Christ, if the Book of Mormon is true, we will know the truth of it by the power of the Holy Ghost (see Moroni 10:4–5). We felt the confirmation that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the kingdom of God upon the earth.
The next day we sat on a bench on the temple grounds. We looked up at the statue of angel Moroni and read again his final testimony. Since that day, John has mentioned on multiple occasions the time we read the Book of Mormon together at the temple. Now every time I attend the temple, I see the bench and reflect on the special moment John and I had when we completed our inspired goal.

A recent convert from Canberra, Australia, says the following: “I was born into a religious family where religion was taken seriously. I had a strict Christian upbringing. However, I drifted away from the church at about twenty years of age when I left home to attend teachers college.
“From that time on I felt an emptiness of purpose in some way, and each year or so would find me searching out and studying a new spiritual creed. I studied yoga and practiced meditation, read about Hinduism, Buddhism, Zen Buddhism, and most of the Protestant religions and Judaism. Somehow none of these held out anything I was seeking. Then I stopped searching, and when the elders came calling, I had mixed feelings about letting them in. I did not want yet another fruitless search, but I thought it only reasonable to hear the message and then decide. For a few lessons I was not convinced that there was anything different in the lessons from what I had already heard elsewhere. Then slowly, through the patience of the elders, I began to get the feeling that all they were saying was really true. They urged me to pray frequently, which I did; but still I was not sure. They explained how the Holy Ghost could come into one’s heart, and one could perhaps feel a warm glow inside. This was rather hard for me to imagine, but I believed them.
“One night the elders challenged me to take baptism the very next Saturday. I was surprised and felt I wasn’t ready, but I did agree to be baptized a week later, giving myself more time for questions and prayer. Then Elder Hurd asked Elder Nelson if he would bear his testimony to me. He did it so fervently that about halfway through I felt a warm spot in my heart which seemed to be coming from Elder Nelson; and as he spoke, it increased in size and intensity like a small cloud inside of me.
“When he had finished, both elders assured me that they had felt the presence of the Holy Ghost, but I didn’t tell them of my experience until a few days later. I felt too overcome to speak of it. Before they left they asked me to read Third Nephi, chapters 11 to 26, in the Book of Mormon before going to bed that night. As soon as they went out the door, I read avidly, and as I did, the warm glow returned to me and I needed no more convincing.”

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, the cows were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, [and] my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

I had the honor of spending time with two of the older sisters of the Curaçao Branch, and these are their stories:
Sister Eligia Schoop
Sister Eligia Schoop, 83, is one of the pioneers of the Church on the island. She has been a member for 34 years, and she tells us that thanks to the gospel, she was able to develop many skills to help those in need.
She is a sister who, despite her advanced age, her health problems, and how far she lives from the chapel, makes her best effort to attend every Sunday with her husband, Romulo Schoop, 83, and renew their covenants.
Since 1972, she has been an active member of the Scouts. With 50 years of being a Scout, she has had the opportunity to help and guide many children who are experiencing problems at home or at school. She is the oldest Scout from the islands of Curaçao, Aruba, Bonaire, Saba, and St. Eustatius.
One of the experiences that she remembers with great affection is that of her grandson: “In the Scouts I had the opportunity to help my grandson who was teased a lot at school because of his weight. I was always trying to talk to him and get him to open up to me.
“With so many negative comments and the mistreatment that he received from his classmates, he didn’t want to be part of the Scouts anymore. I was always looking out for him, and I advised him that despite everything bad that people can say to you or how bad people can try to make you feel, it is you who has to know who you are and what you are worth. The boy continued in the Scouts and still remembers with great love how his grandmother supported him in one of the most difficult moments of his childhood.”
She tells us that, at her advanced age, she seeks to contribute to the Church and one of those ways is by inviting the missionaries to eat whenever possible.
Eligia tells us: “Whatever I cook, they love it. I love to see young people willing to put their lives aside to bring to light souls that need the gospel, it is admirable”.
This 74-year-old sister is joy personified. Having been a member for 30 years, she remembers Decembers in a very special way. She recounts: “On Christmas Eve, we make a dinner within our means. I take care of the soup, my daughter, Arlene, makes the salad, and so on. We invite the neighbors, who also bring food. We set up tables and chairs in my daughter’s garden and sit together for dinner. It is very comforting to share how little or how much you have with others.
She recalls: “My husband was in a car accident, he lost a leg, his spinal cord was damaged, and he was unable to walk again. From his wheelchair, he prepared the ham for Christmas dinner and put it in the oven. He was a very independent man and loved helping others. He was president of the Curaçao Branch for eight years, and many fondly remember his service in the church. Despite his own difficulties, he tried to focus on how to help others with their personal challenges. He passed away in 2006.”
This sister is well known in the Curaçao branch for her delicious soups. There is not an activity that Sister Eugenia attends that she does not bring soup. It is her way of contributing, and she feels very happy to see others enjoy what she makes.
These two beautiful sisters have strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through Him, they have been able to overcome trials, feel comfort, and comfort others in their pain. They are examples that, no matter how young or old you are, if you want to help, however small that help is, it makes a difference and means a lot to the Lord.

Red Moon was searching for duck eggs among the marsh reeds when she found the leather pouch. She would have known it was a white man’s bag even if she had not already seen the hoof marks of a shod horse—a hard-running horse, too, from the depth of the tracks. But they were three days old so she was not afraid.
The bag was as stiff as wood, not soft and pliable like Indian leather. Red Moon found a dry knoll, carefully laid the eggs on soft grass, and sat down to examine her find. She traced the letters USC with her finger, thinking it was only a strange design.
The United States Cavalry messenger’s pouch was closed with a heavy metal buckle and strap. The Indian girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement as her nimble fingers struggled with the stiff leather. She hoped the bag would contain colorful glass beads or perhaps some red or blue lengths of ribbon.
Red Moon sighed with disappointment when only letters and dispatches slid out. She turned the pouch upside down and shook it, but there was nothing more.
Oh, well. It will make a nice carrier for my eggs, she decided with a sigh. She packed the large eggs between layers of grass, slung the strap over her shoulder, and started home.
Red Moon did not know it, but among the scattered papers she left behind was one very important message concerning her tribe. It was a dispatch from Washington, ordering that the peaceful Indians be permitted to remain on their land.
The girl was puzzled and uneasy when she again found the tracks of the white man’s horse. Is he sick or perhaps crazed from the sun? she wondered. She had already crossed his trail several times. He had backtracked and ridden in circles. Not even a white man could be that lost! she thought.
“The pouch! He must have crossed back and forth searching for it,” Red Moon murmured. “But he could easily make another bag.” It must be the paper packets with the strange squiggly marks that he’s so anxious to find, she thought.
It was a long way back to the marsh, but the girl retraced her steps. She gathered up the loose papers and tucked them into her blouse. It wasn’t likely that she would ever meet the man or be able to return them, but she had saved them from being blown into the water and destroyed.
Her heart grew heavy as she approached her village. The tribe would be leaving this beautiful site soon, and not for just a hunting season. This time they would never return! Soldiers had come. They said her people must go farther north than they had ever been and remain there. It was a desolate place where snows were deep and summers short.
Red Moon disliked cold weather. She could not understand why her people were being forced to leave their land. Her tribe had never preyed on wagon trains nor fought with the white soldiers. It was Black Buffalo and his braves from a neighboring tribe who were so troublesome. But the soldiers could not seem to distinguish one red man from another. The powerful white chief had decreed that all the tribes would be moved. It was tragic and unfair for all to be punished when so few were guilty.
An air of gloom and sorrow hung like a cloud over the little settlement of tepees along a sparkling brook. The Indian girl sighed and went directly to her family’s wigwam. No one was there so she put the eggs in a basket. Then she tucked the papers in the pouch, put it under her sleeping robe, and forgot about them.
A week later soldiers rode into the village. The officer in charge told Chief Wetaug to prepare to move his people. The chief’s appeal to stay here had not been answered. The tall white man inquired about a leather bag that had been lost by one of his messengers.
“The pouch! The one I found!” Red Moon gasped from her hiding place behind the chief’s lodge. He can’t have it! she decided. Why should I return it? The white soldiers are cruel. They’re driving us from our land, so I owe them no favors.
But her conscience bothered her as the white officer’s words were translated. The pouch did not belong to her. Keeping it would be the same as stealing it. And besides, some of the papers were letters to lonely soldiers who had not seen their families for one or two years.
Red Moon’s heart hammered with dread as she walked forward with the leather pouch and laid it on the buffalo robe of the surprised chief. Then she turned and ran away into the trees, afraid of the soldiers’ long guns and clanking swords.
It was the throbbing drums and dancing that drew Red Moon back to her rejoicing village. The officer had gone through the bag and discovered the dispatch that would allow them to remain free on their land. Only Black Buffalo’s tribe would be moved.
Red Moon shuddered as she thought how close, out of spite, she had come to keeping the pouch. If she had not returned it, her people would have been relocated in the north by the time another message of reprieve could be sent.
Red Moon would remember the lost pouch all her life!

MonicaOne of Christ’s most profound teachings is that we should “love one another, as I have loved you”. [2] But how can we truly love one another if we don’t understand each other? Whether you’re just starting to date, or you’ve been married for years, the ability to talk openly, listen carefully, and understand each other’s needs is essential.

Keoni and I first met in November of 2001. I had gone to school with his cousin Amy, and we were part of the same friend group. Keoni had spent time with Amy and our mutual friends before leaving on his mission, but somehow, we never met during that time.

One afternoon, I was sitting with Amy and several of our friends. During the conversation, Amy casually mentioned that her cousin Keoni had returned from his mission. She then suggested that I should go out with him. I was surprised—because I had no idea who Keoni was! Amy and the others were shocked that I didn’t know him, but they quickly filled me in. From what they said, he sounded like someone I’d want to meet.

Amy suggested we meet up, so we went to a devotional together, and after that, we hung out in groups two more times. I clearly remember one night, after he dropped me off at home, being really struck by the way he spoke about his mission. It wasn’t just a recounting of experiences—he spoke with real love and longing, which left a lasting impression on me.

So, although Keoni had my phone number, things just kind of fizzled out. Looking back, I’m not sure what happened exactly, but we were both busy, and maybe the timing wasn’t right for anything to develop.

Or maybe Keoni has a better explanation?

KeoniUmmm…yeah…I'm just going to go with timing…I'm going to go with timing.

MonicaSeveral months later, I had gotten back into distance running and was preparing for the Top of Utah Marathon. My friend Tiffany and I had decided to run a 10K race in Provo as part of our training. However, Tiffany had gotten engaged and decided not to continue training for the full marathon, so I was left without a training partner.

KeoniSo, for reasons I can only ascribe to divine intervention, I woke up very early on the fourth of July of 2002. I immediately had a strong prompting that I should run the 10K race in Provo that morning, even though I hadn’t registered for it. So I walked, I went over to the race, I showed up early, I registered at the race, and I walked to the starting line. Almost immediately, as I approached the starting line, I saw Monica and her friend Tiffany. I walked up behind and said, “Monica and Tiffany!” We chatted briefly about running, and I found out that Monica had signed up for the same Top of Utah Marathon that I had signed up for and that she was training, just like me, and that just like me, her training partner had bailed out on her.

So, after the race, I saw some of Monica’s other friends waiting for her to finish and made sure I had the right phone number for her. I was excited that we had reconnected and was looking forward to seeing her again. The next day, I called Monica and asked her out on a date.

MonicaAnd…I told him no.

I didn’t want to say no. In fact, right after I told him, I talked to my mom about how difficult it was to turn him down. The truth was, I had been dating someone else, and while that relationship was clearly coming to an end, it hadn’t officially ended yet. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to go on a date with Keoni until I had fully resolved things with the other guy. So, I ended things and, soon after, decided to call Keoni and ask if he wanted to go running with me.

I figured that by suggesting we run together, Keoni would get the hint that I was no longer seeing anyone and that I was interested in him.

KeoniAnd, she couldn’t have been more wrong. I was still a bit embarrassed that she had told me "no". I thought she was interested! And I wasn’t about to risk looking or feeling stupid again.

MonicaHe didn’t pick up on any clues or signals that I was now available and interested. Running together, in his mind, was just running. He kept our time together focused only on that.

We hadn’t even been on a date yet, and we were already facing challenges with communication!

It took a few weeks for me to finally work into the conversation that I no longer had a boyfriend, hoping that he would understand that he could now ask me out.

Shortly after that conversation, I went on a family vacation. Upon returning, I was excited to call Keoni to see if he wanted to go running the next day. He said yes, and in that same phone call, he asked me out on a date for that weekend!

Looking back, it’s clear that we both had some miscommunication. I thought I was dropping hints, but Keoni wasn’t picking up on them. This experience taught us a valuable lesson.

Say what you mean; don’t assume the other person is filling in the gaps with correct information. They are filling in the gaps, but most likely with the wrong information.

True story: Two 14-year-old friends, Scott and Mark, left Scott’s house. They hopped on their bikes and started rolling down the driveway. Scott’s little sister opened the front door and called to her brother, “I love you.” Scott stopped and called back, “I love you too. See you later.”
With practice, it had become easy for Scott to tell his family he loved them. Other teens find it hard to express their love. Fortunately for them, there are plenty of ways to say “I love you” without even speaking a word.

Sisters have key roles in the Church, in family life, and as individuals that are essential in Heavenly Father’s plan. Many of these responsibilities do not provide economic compensation but do provide satisfaction and are eternally significant. Recently a delightful and very capable woman on a newspaper editorial board asked for a description of the role of women in the Church. It was explained that all of the leaders in our congregations are unpaid. She interrupted to say her interest had diminished significantly. She said, “I don’t believe women need any more unpaid jobs.”

We pointed out that the most important organization on earth is the family, where “fathers and mothers are … equal partners.” Neither one is financially compensated, but the blessings are beyond description. We of course told her about the Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary organizations that are guided by women presidents. We noted that from our earliest history both men and women pray, perform the music, give the sermons, and sing in the choir, even in sacrament meeting, our most sacred meeting.

The recent highly acclaimed book American Grace reported on women in many faiths. It noted that Latter-day Saint women are unique in being overwhelmingly satisfied with their role in Church leadership. Furthermore, Latter-day Saints as a whole, men and women, have the strongest attachment to their faith of any of the religions studied.

Our women are not incredible because they have managed to avoid the difficulties of life—quite the opposite. They are incredible because of the way they face the trials of life. Despite the challenges and tests life has to offer—from marriage or lack of marriage, children’s choices, poor health, lack of opportunities, and many other problems—they remain remarkably strong and immovable and true to the faith. Our sisters throughout the Church consistently “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.”

One Relief Society president who acknowledged this extraordinary service said, “Even when the sisters serve, they are thinking, ‘If only I could have done more!’” Though they are not perfect and all face individual struggles, their faith in a loving Father in Heaven and the assurance of the atoning sacrifice of the Savior permeates their lives.

During the last three years, the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve have sought guidance, inspiration, and revelation as we have counseled with priesthood and auxiliary leaders and worked on the new Church handbooks. In this process I have experienced feelings of overwhelming appreciation for the essential role that sisters, both married and single, have historically played and now play both in the family and in the Church.

All members of the Church of Jesus Christ are “to labor in his vineyard for the salvation of the souls of men.” “[The] work of salvation includes member missionary work, convert retention, activation of less-active members, temple and family history work, … teaching the gospel,” and caring for the poor and needy. This is administered primarily through the ward council.

Specifically, it is intended in the new handbooks that bishops, sensitive to existing demands, will delegate more responsibilities. Members need to recognize that the bishop has been instructed to delegate. Members need to sustain and support him as he follows this counsel. This will allow the bishop to spend more time with the youth, young single adults, and his own family. He will delegate other important responsibilities to priesthood leaders, presidents of auxiliaries, and individual men and women. In the Church the role of women in the home is highly respected. When the mother receives a Church calling that requires significant time, the father will often be given a less-demanding calling in order to maintain balance in the lives of the family.

Several years ago I attended a stake conference in Tonga. Sunday morning the three front rows of the chapel were filled with men between 26 and 35 years of age. I assumed they were a men’s choir. But when the business of the conference was conducted, each of these men, 63 in total, stood up as their names were read and were sustained for ordination to the Melchizedek Priesthood. I was both pleased and stunned.
After the session I asked President Mateaki, the stake president, how this miracle had been accomplished. He told me that in a stake council meeting reactivation was being discussed. His stake Relief Society president, Sister Leinata Va‘enuku, asked if it would be appropriate for her to say something. As she spoke, the Spirit confirmed to the president that what she was suggesting was true. She explained that there were large numbers of wonderful young men in their late 20s and 30s in their stake who had not served missions. She said many of them knew they had disappointed bishops and priesthood leaders who had strongly encouraged them to serve a mission, and they now felt like second-class members of the Church. She pointed out that these young men were beyond missionary age. She expressed her love and concern for them. She explained that all of the saving ordinances were still available to them and the focus should be on priesthood ordinations and the ordinances of the temple. She noted that while some of these young men were still single, the majority of them had married wonderful women—some active, some inactive, and some not members.
After thorough discussion in the stake council, it was decided that the men of the priesthood and the women of the Relief Society would reach out to rescue these men and their wives, while the bishops spent more of their time with the young men and young women in the wards. Those involved in the rescue focused primarily on preparing them for the priesthood, eternal marriage, and the saving ordinances of the temple. During the next two years, almost all of the 63 men who had been sustained to the Melchizedek Priesthood at the conference I attended were endowed in the temple and had their spouses sealed to them. This account is but one example of how critical our sisters are in the work of salvation in our wards and stakes and how they facilitate revelation, especially in family and Church councils.

We recognize that there are enormous forces arrayed against women and families. Recent studies find there is deterioration in devotion to marriage, with a decrease in the number of adults being married. For some, marriage and family are becoming “a menu choice rather than the central organizing principle of our society.” Women are confronted with many options and need to prayerfully consider the choices they make and how those choices affect the family.

When I was in New Zealand last year, I read in an Auckland newspaper of women, not of our faith, struggling with these issues. One mother said she realized that in her case, her choice about whether to work or stay home was about a new carpet and a second car that she didn’t really need. Another woman, however, felt “the biggest enemy of a happy family life was not paid work—it was television.” She said that families are TV rich and family-time poor.

These are very emotional, personal decisions, but there are two principles that we should always keep in mind. First, no woman should ever feel the need to apologize or feel that her contribution is less significant because she is devoting her primary efforts to raising and nurturing children. Nothing could be more significant in our Father in Heaven’s plan. Second, we should all be careful not to be judgmental or assume that sisters are less valiant if the decision is made to work outside the home. We rarely understand or fully appreciate people’s circumstances. Husbands and wives should prayerfully counsel together, understanding they are accountable to God for their decisions.

You devoted sisters who are single parents for whatever reason, our hearts reach out to you with appreciation. Prophets have made it clear “that many hands stand ready to help you. The Lord is not unmindful of you. Neither is His Church.” I would hope that Latter-day Saints would be at the forefront in creating an environment in the workplace that is more receptive and accommodating to both women and men in their responsibilities as parents.

You valiant and faithful single sisters, please know that we love and appreciate you, and we assure you that no eternal blessing will be withheld from you.

The remarkable pioneer woman Emily H. Woodmansee penned the text of the hymn “As Sisters in Zion.” She correctly asserts that the “errand of angels is given to women.” This has been described as “nothing less than to do the direct and immediate bidding of our Father in Heaven, and ‘this is a gift that … sisters … claim.’”

Dear sisters, we love and admire you. We appreciate your service in the Lord’s kingdom. You are incredible! I express particular appreciation for the women in my life. I testify of the reality of the Atonement, the divinity of the Savior, and the Restoration of His Church, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I’m a deacon. My parents have taught me that I should be an example for my friends because I hold the priesthood and because I represent Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It really helps me to choose the right and look for chances to serve others. I know that if I do good things, my friends will see what I do and maybe want to do good things too.
After Sunday School a while ago, I was in the hall when I saw a teacher who needed help with some chairs. She was going to set them up outside the building for an activity. She didn’t ask me to help her, but I saw that she needed help. There were a lot of chairs, and she was all alone. So I took most of the chairs outside and set them up for her.
Afterward, the teacher said, “Thank you for helping.” It wasn’t a big deal for me since it didn’t take very long, but she was really grateful, which made me feel good. Later, the teacher told my mom about what I had done. My mom said I did a good thing and that I should keep looking for opportunities to serve others, because it’s something that Christ would do.
I was happy and grateful that I had served. It made me feel good, and it made me want to serve more often.
Emiliano H., Texas, USA

Nathan Yeung, a priest in the Victoria First (English) Branch, Hong Kong International District, spends about an hour a day at early-morning seminary, seven hours at school, another hour traveling to and from school, two to three hours per day doing homework, and another two to three hours a day practicing the piano, studying martial arts, playing on his school basketball team, or singing with a school choir. If he eats breakfast on the run and spends only an hour at dinner, that leaves about eight hours a day for everything else, including sleeping.
But this story isn’t about Nathan and everything he’s doing, because most of the youth in his branch are just as busy doing just as many interesting things.
Lesa Lai, a Laurel, keeps a similar schedule except school lasts a half hour longer, travel is one hour each way, and it’s volleyball, soccer, or track—depending on the season. For Shan Singh, a priest, it’s rugby and serving as vice president of the student council.
It’s the same story for Alice Andersen, Celestine Yeung, Musashi and Chihiro Howe, Chelsea and Casey Messick, and the other young men and young women in the district.
These youth are typical of many Latter-day Saint teenagers around the world who seem to balance on the circus high-wire while juggling Church activity, family time, school, jobs, and extracurricular activities. How do they pull off such a difficult act without falling into the trap of missing what is most important?
That’s the million-dollar question. “It’s all about priorities,” says Chelsea, a Laurel. “If you make time for the most important things, everything else falls into place.”
Chelsea, Nathan, and their friends in the Hong Kong International District are learning that it’s easier to find balance when your feet are firmly planted on a solid gospel foundation. They have recognized the importance of making personal time for the gospel. “That is the most important part of my day,” says Nathan. “If I don’t read and pray and go to seminary, my day is bad.”
“Most of our friends at school aren’t members,” says Lesa. “So it’s up to us to make personal time for church. I try to read my scriptures every day and listen to Church music.”
Sometimes prioritizing means giving up something good to make time for something more important. “I had to give up my job because I was too busy,” says Chelsea. The others have all run into similar situations.
Along with the gospel, a top priority for these young men and women is family. “Family is important,” says Casey, a teacher. “I know I can always turn to them for help. I can trust them. I know I can be with them forever.”
But sometimes finding time together is tough. “It’s not just my schedule,” Lesa notes. “We don’t get much time together because my siblings are gone a lot too, and my dad travels a lot.”
So with their families, these youth have had to find ways to make time for each other. “I used to go out a lot with friends on weekends, but now I try to save that time for my family. I see my friends on school days,” says Celestine, a Mia Maid. “And when my dad is home, we all try to accommodate his schedule.”
Each of the youth agrees that weekends are most often free for family time if carefully planned. “Especially Sunday,” Chelsea says. “Sunday is for family.”
“I try to make sure I have time for them whenever they’re planning something,” says Nathan. In addition, his family always tries to have dinner together. “And family home evening is important.”
“Family home evening helps keep us together,” Musashi, a teacher, agrees. “And we try to plan family activities on Saturday. It’s important to make time for family, because the goal is to be with them forever.”
Balance is only one of the blessings that come from setting spiritual growth as a top priority.
“Making time for the gospel is good for the spiritual part of your life,” says Musashi. “It helps your testimony grow.”
It’s also important because it helps you set a good example, according to Shan. “Other people can tell when you’re living the way you should,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll get questions from my friends because of the way we live.”
“If I don’t read and pray and go to seminary, I’m not prepared when missionary opportunities come,” says Nathan.
For Chelsea, it’s about remembering the real reason we’re here. “Doing things like praying and reading scriptures is a reminder that Jesus Christ should be the center of your life. Remembering that affects everything you do,” she says. “Otherwise, it’s easy to get so busy you forget why we came.”
When we remember to focus on the Savior, we realize that life isn’t about walking the high-wire while juggling different activities, but it’s about standing on solid ground. As Helaman said, “Remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; … which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Hel. 5:12).
“When things of the world crowd in, all too often the wrong things take highest priority. Then it is easy to forget the fundamental purpose of life. Satan has a powerful tool to use against good people. It is distraction. He would have good people fill life with ‘good things’ so there is no room for the essential ones. Have you unconsciously been caught in that trap?”Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “First Things First,” Liahona, July 2001, 7; Ensign, May 2001, 7.

Once upon a time in the long, long ago, there lived a wee woman in a wee house. The house was old and the wee woman was old, but her garden was as young and lovely as the springtime.
The little old woman had one flower in particular that she loved more than all the others. In those long-ago days it was called ladies’ cushion. All summer long it colored her garden with thousands of rosy blooms.
One day the wee woman’s wealthy grandson came to visit her in the wee house. Grandmother has many flowers, he thought, but no damask roses. I will have my gardener dig up all these homely and worthless flowers scattered about the garden and plant damask roses in their place.
The gardener followed his master’s instructions. He dug up the old woman’s flowers and loaded them onto a cart. Then he took the wilted flowers over a great gray mountain and down to the barren seacoast, where he dumped them.
“Huh!” sniffed most of the flowers. “This water is too salty for us. We shall surely die.” And many did.
But the ladies’ cushion said, “Let’s see. Here is green seaweed that has grown in the salt water. If it thrives, perhaps we can also.” They drank deeply of the salt water. And they began to grow. Soon they were healthier and lovelier than ever.
One day the rich grandson’s children came to play on the beach. There, blooming on the yellow sand, were masses of small pink flowers.
“Look!” the children shouted. “Great-Grandmother’s ladies’ cushions are growing where no flowers bloomed before. How wonderful!”
The little flowers had covered the beach and the nearby cliffs. They looked lovelier than ever on the yellow sand beside the blue and green ocean. So the flowers came to be called sea pinks.
Above the seacoast was a great gray mountain. Nothing grew on its barren sides but a few thorn bushes. The sea pinks said, “If we could find food on those old gray rocks, perhaps we could brighten such a dreary landscape.”
When autumn came and their rosy petals had fallen, the sea pinks sent forth many small parachutes, each bearing a tiny seed. The south wind blew the seeds up onto the mountainside.
All winter long the seeds lay under the snow. When spring came, they sprouted and sent their tiny rootlets down into the crevices between the gray stones. There they absorbed nourishment from the rain-washed rocks and thrived. In time the mountainside was covered with lovely blooms.
Many hearts were gladdened when they saw the mountain covered with rosy blooms. The flowers were now called mountain pinks. And because each tiny flowerlet carried in its heart a drop of honey, many beautiful butterflies, hummingbirds, moths, and bees came to live there.
On summer nights, fireflies lighted the old mountain as though thousands of stars had come to earth. The mountain seemed touched by magic so that all who came there were happy. Those who grieved came to the mountain and were comforted. Those who were greedy came to the mountain and went away satisfied with what they had. When children came to the mountain, they laughed and sang and danced for joy. They called it Happy Mountain.
And the old gray mountain was glad, for it had been lonely.
The mountain pinks spread over the sunny side of the mountain onto the shaded side. There a banker came to see them. “Mountain pinks is not a proper name for this flower,” he declared, “because it uses everything it has so carefully. See, even when all its flowers are gone, the hearts are saved in tiny parachutes to carry the seeds away. Because it is so frugal, let us call it the thrift flower.”
One autumn day some of the tiny seed-bearing parachutes landed softly in the wee woman’s garden. There they waited secretly through the time of falling leaves and the cold deep snows of winter.
In the springtime the seeds burst their withered gray shells and began to grow among the beautiful damask roses. “What are you small, useless things doing in our garden?” asked one proud rose.
“We are not as lovely as you nor do we grow as tall, but we are not useless,” said the little thrifts to the stately rose. “We have covered a sandy shore and on old gray mountain with beauty. Hungry butterflies, moths, birds, and bees gather our nectar. We have taken the salt and the bitter soil and turned it into good earth. And the hearts of many people have been gladdened at the sight of us.”
One soft spring day the wee old woman walked out into her garden. There she found the thrift flowers blooming in the shadow of the great roses. Seeing them there made her feel as young and lovely as springtime again.

When Loniana Fifita wants to make changes in the world, she begins with recognising her passion, and being mindful of those around her, then starts using her skills and talents wisely.
Along the way, she seeks to align her plans with what God wants her to do, accomplishing what He has given her the talents and opportunities to do. And above all, she does it with love.
The United Nations Youth Day on 12 August had the theme, “Youth Engagement for Global Action”—seeking to highlight the ways in which the engagement of young people at all levels is enriching institutions and processes, and thereby enhancing youth opportunities for influence.
Loni’s talents and love have changed the world for many Tongan children who now have access to a public library—the first in the country.
Loniana Fifita is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Auckland, New Zealand. She was born in Ha’apai Tonga and moved to Auckland with her family when she was nine years old.
Loni has been engaged as a youth advocate since she was 15 years of age. She served as a youth representative on the Maungakiekie-T?maki local board, one of the 21 local boards of the Auckland Council.
While attending University of Auckland, Loni also served on the Auckland Council Youth Advisory panel, working alongside Auckland mayor at the time, Len Brown.
With her focus and passion on youth, she explained, “I wanted to make my area [Maungakiekie—T?maki] liveable . . . because that's the whole purpose of council.”
Loni started looking at projects and preventions for many issues facing Pacific youth. She kept asking herself, “What can I do?”
Because of the rising number of social issues in the community, she joined a passionate group of community change makers in creating initiatives to help solve social issues concerning youth. One of the key initiatives was “Phenomenal Young Women” which focused on building young women’s well-being in all aspects of life.
Phenomenal Young Women creates “safe spaces for young women in T?maki to connect, grow well-being, feel confident to try new things, and have fun.”
These experiences, Loni’s connections within the local and city councils, and her ability to connect with people, prepared her to be the librarian at the local board’s library in T?maki. But when approached about taking that post, she hesitated.
Loni has always wanted to work as a humanitarian. She never thought she would be a librarian, and she didn’t go to the library when she was young.
“I felt like Heavenly Father just handed me opportunities, but I was trying to ignore it, because it was not part of me,” she said.
“You know how you have your own plan, and He gives you His plan?”
After praying and fasting about it, she decided to take the position.
“My dream was to be a humanitarian, and this was the door to it,” Loni reflected. “Working in the library, I always wanted to give back . . . but I didn’t see the [opportunity] until Cyclone Gita hit [Tonga].”
It was in the aftermath of Cyclone Gita, that Loni’s engagement on the national level began. Being a librarian and also Tongan, and well-known for her work in the T?maki community, she was asked to help establish the first public library in her beloved island nation of Tonga and serve as the first librarian.
With schools and educational resources destroyed, Loni worked tirelessly with founders, Kahoa and Brendon Corbett, as donations of thousands of books from over 50 Auckland Council libraries, as well as computers, and even bicycles, were brought to the renovated community fale (centre).
The library opened in October 2019, in the village of Kolovai, with plans for a second library underway in a nearby town.
Loni paid her own fare on her trips to Tonga, lived by herself, and donated her time and talents to establish the library. She started weekend English classes, children’s programs, computer and family history classes, job application skills classes, and even bicycle rentals.
She says, “Tongans now understand that a library is more than a building—it is a safe place for growth and development, connections, and learning for many different reasons.”
For Loni, the definition of humanitarian is: “Love for humanity, doing things for the well-being of the human being without price . . . no matter what it is . . . or where [people] are from, or what their circumstances are. And so, my drive for humanitarian projects is the pure love that service brings.”
“Being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is one of the greatest things,” says Loni. “If I didn’t have it, I wouldn’t understand my Heavenly Father’s plan and my plan, to align [them] together and it will be bigger than what I think it could be.”
UN Youth Day is an opportunity to celebrate and reinforce the achievements of young people. Loniana Fifita’s accomplishments and achievements are great examples of what a young person can achieve with passion, talent, and lots of love.

In February 1958, at age 17, I entered the United States Navy. I was assigned to an aircraft carrier, where I met Raymond Covington from Provo, Utah.
I thought Raymond was a bit strange—no smoking, no drinking, no cursing, no nothing. I asked him what he did for enjoyment. He said he did a lot of things, but mostly what he enjoyed was either starting or ending his day with one or two big milk shakes. So Raymond was given the nickname “Milkshake.”
At night, Raymond would tell me about his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was really quite interested, until he told me that if I joined his church, I could not hold the priesthood. That did not go over well with me. Seeing my agitation, Raymond expressed his feeling that perhaps one day the priesthood would be available to me.
As time went by I began to favor Raymond above all my friends because of the way he lived. After a while I found I had ceased to live the kind of life I had been living, and I wanted to do the right thing. He made me realize I didn’t have to curse or drink alcohol. I could make the choice to live a righteous life.
One day several of the guys were sitting on the deck gambling. One of them looked up at Raymond and said, “Milkshake! Say this curse word and you can have all the money in the pot.” I quickly counted the money and found the total to be two months’ pay. I figured since he and I were buddies, Raymond would give me half. But to my dismay, he would not curse. I pleaded with him, but he didn’t believe in that kind of talk. I knew then that to be a true Latter-day Saint was a sacred responsibility.
Raymond was discharged in June 1961, and I was discharged later that year. I often wondered what had happened to my old friend.
One day many years later, in 1990, while looking out the window of my home in the state of Washington in the United States, I spotted two nicely dressed young men. They were missionaries for the Church, and I invited them in. After talking with them a little while, I found out that Raymond’s hopes had come true: President Spencer W. Kimball had received a revelation in 1978 directing that all worthy males could receive the priesthood. I was elated. After receiving the missionary lessons, I agreed to be baptized.
About this time I told a neighbor, also a member of the Church, about my friendship with Raymond. I had no idea the neighbor would go to Utah and actually find Raymond. Two weeks later my old friend “Milkshake” drove more than 1,000 miles (1,600 kilometers) to speak at my baptism. He said he always knew I would join the Church.
In December 1997, I got a call from Raymond’s daughter, telling me he had passed away. I was saddened by the news, but I smile when I think of the reunion Rocky and his friend Milkshake will someday have on the other side of the veil.