Gospel Story Finder

Preston Ward had a devotional with a tenor in Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square, Rick Olsen.
In the Zoom question-and-answer type devotional, he shared some of his experiences in six years of singing in the choir.
Growing up, Brother Olsen played the trombone—the only choir he participated in was the missionary training center choir and that was a spiritual experience to him which inspired his participation in the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.
His two daughters, who are also involved with the choir, shared their experiences as well. The three of them and Brother Olsen’s wife also played instruments and sang a few songs for the Preston members.
Brother Olsen’s wife, Sister Olsen said, “It really is a blessing to have a member of the Tabernacle Choir in our home.”
“They come home with good stories and a good feeling, a feeling that comes with performing with the choir and it spreads. Plus, we get to watch them perform in the wonderful performances the Church does.” She added.
One of Brother Olsen’s daughters, Marie, who plays the violin in the Orchestra at Temple Square, said, “The orchestra is a lot less demanding. It’s professional. We don’t attend general conferences which are always busy for the choir. We also don’t require so much practice as the choir does.”
One of the Preston members asked which of the two locations at Temple Square is nicer to sing at, The Olsens agreed the old Tabernacle building is better for its history, and acoustics are better in the Tabernacle but they all said the Conference Center is an “awe-inspiring” place to perform. “The crowd is better in the Conference Center,” “When 21,000 people sing a hymn back at you, it’s quite the experience.” Brother Olsen said.
“Choir directors say they are coming home when they are at the Tabernacle though.” Brother Olsen also added.
Another member asked how many languages the Olsens have sung. The Olsens listed Latin, Spanish, French, German, Jewish, and one said they usually have a returned missionary from the country somehow in the choir when they are learning something new, which is amazing in itself.
Brother Olsen said the most memorable experiences in his opinion are not just how close they are to the Church leadership in their performances, but the most memorable are the people, the friendships made during tours, etc., because Brother Olsen admitted, “we can’t speak too much with one another, but we can sing together.”
COVID-19 has affected the world, but from Brother Olsen’s perspective, the choir is missing one another. He told the Preston members that in the choir Facebook group, “I get the feeling there’s going to be a lot of tears when we get back together and sing again.”
He added that the last time they had sung all together normally was, “We Thank Thee O God, for a Prophet” in German. A recording was done for the April 2020 General Conference. The Olsen’s assured the Preston members that they love to serve with their musical talents and are very blessed to have music be used as a powerful sharing tool and expressed love and anticipation for when the choir can visit the United Kingdom.

Born on June 6, 1954, in St. George, Utah, USA, to Richard and Miriam Schmutz, Elder Schmutz learned early about the power of prayer. As a Cub Scout he sold U.S. $17 worth of tickets to a jamboree but couldn’t find the money when it was time to turn it in. His mother encouraged him to pray, and the Lord revealed to him exactly where the money was. It was a strong confirmation of God’s love for and awareness of him.

As the only Latter-day Saint student at my high school in Anglesey, North Wales, I knew that my peers found my religion a bit strange. But as time went by, most of them seemed to accept me and my religion.
By the time I was in my last couple of years at school, I noticed that some of my peers not only accepted but respected my lifestyle. This became even more evident during my advanced English classes.
Much of the literature we studied fueled discussions about religious and moral issues. One of the last books we read was Paradise Lost. It was my first exposure to John Milton’s work, and I was amazed by his insights. I was twice amazed, however, by the doubts and lack of scriptural knowledge my classmates showed. Often I found that I was the only student willing to venture an opinion in class. I bore testimony of the reality of the premortal existence, of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and of Their divine roles in our lives.
Our teacher, Mr. Brown, was rather a cynic, and he rarely let me have the last word. But I had no way of knowing how my ideas were being taken by the rest of the class, whose silence left me feeling a little lonely in my convictions.
Then one day Mr. Brown walked into our classroom wearing a glower that signaled he was having a bad day. He asked us to turn to Milton and opened the discussion with a question on yet another moral issue. I slowly raised my hand. Mr. Brown looked up, rolled his eyes, then sneered, “And what does our goody-goody Mormon girl have to say this time?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I couldn’t believe it. I felt tears coming as I lowered my head, bit my lip hard, and tried to gain some control over my emotions.
Suddenly all around me I heard chairs being scooted back and angry voices. I looked up. Several of the students were on their feet.
“Hey, you take that back,” yelled Andrew.
“That was unfair,” echoed David.
“You have no right to say that to her,” came another cry.
I started to tremble. I looked up at a couple of my classmates. Andrew leaned over and gave my shoulder a thump. I smiled gratefully, then turned to Mr. Brown. His face was alternating between beet red and sheet white. He raised his hand to try to bring order back to the room and said, “All right! All right! That’s enough!”
Gradually everyone sat down, and Mr. Brown turned to me. “Siân, my comment was out of line. I apologize.” My hands were shaking, but my heart sang with gratitude for my loyal classmates. Quietly I accepted his apology. The lesson continued, but I made no more comments that day.
As we exited the classroom, Mr. Brown pulled me aside and apologized once more. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said, “but I do want you to continue to comment in class. I think we’ve all learned a lot from you. Many of us wish we had the peace of mind you have.” He sounded unhappy, and my heart went out to him.
“If you really want to know what I know,” I suggested, “I’ll bring you a Book of Mormon tomorrow.”
Mr. Brown groaned. “Oh, brother. I guess I asked for that, didn’t I?”
“You most certainly did,” I agreed with a smile.

The spiritual submissiveness which is central to the blessings of the Atonement was well exemplified by Melissa Howes as she led her family in prayer a short while before her father died of cancer. Melissa was only 9 and her father 43. Consider unselfish Melissa Howes’s pleading, in her own words as reported to me by her mother: “Heavenly Father, bless my daddy, and if you need to take him and need him more than [we do], you can have him. We want him, but Thy will be done. And please help us not to be mad at you” (letter from Christie Howes, 25 February 1998).

One of these challenges came when I chose to pay an honest tithe when I was away from home. Every year my dad would take us to tithing settlement. He would help us calculate our tithing, and we would pay it. All during the time I was growing up, I developed this habit of paying tithing. If you had asked me at the time, I would have told you that I had a testimony of tithing.

When I finished high school, I had been admitted to Harvard University, so I worked that summer and earned money to pay for the expenses that weren’t covered by my scholarship. By the end of the first semester, I had foolishly spent all the money that I had earned to get me through the whole year.

At the start of the second semester, I got a job. I couldn’t work very much because I was a full-time student, but I worked a few hours a week and received my first paycheck. Of course, it wasn’t very much, but it was all I had to get by until the next paycheck.

Then the question arose in my mind, “What about tithing?” I had been in the habit of paying my tithing but had always had sufficient money to pay the tithing. Here I was faced with the challenge: do I pay my tithing when I don’t know if I’ve got enough money to get through the next two weeks?

As I thought about it, I remembered the scripture in Malachi 3:10, where the Lord promises, “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”

So I realized that was my answer. I would leave it up to the Lord. I paid my tithing, not sure if I had enough money to carry me until the next paycheck. And a miracle happened. I made it through that two weeks.

It came to me so powerfully that the Lord keeps His word. The Lord came through the way He promised. Just as the scriptures say, if we pay our tithing, He will bless us. That same miracle happened every two weeks throughout the rest of the semester. Before, I had thought I had a testimony of tithing, but now, because of my correct decision, I had a powerful testimony of tithing. The Lord always does what He says, so my testimony continued to grow step-by-step.

One service that needs to be performed repeatedly in Alaska is snow shoveling. “We do drive-by shoveling,” says Mike Killary. “We each grab a shovel and pile into a van.” Then they pick someone in the ward or neighborhood who hasn’t been shoveled out from the latest storm. They quietly sneak out of the van, shovel like crazy, and try to make their getaway before they are discovered. In the meantime, if they throw a little snow at each other, all the better.

As a new missionary, I stayed in the Salt Lake Mission Home prior to going to Ireland. One night, the elders in my room talked of their reasons for serving missions. One elder said he almost didn’t come on his mission because he couldn’t bear to leave his car—the most important thing in his life. Then one day he smelled smoke and rushed to his garage, only to see the car’s engine on fire. The loss prompted him to evaluate his priorities.

As soon as Father and Saul had finished the morning meal, Rebekah began clearing the dishes from the table. If she hurried with her work, she might be the first to arrive at Hannah’s house.
“I’ll help you with the dishes before I leave,” Mother said.
“Leave?” Rebekah asked in surprise. “Are you going to Grandmother’s again?”
“No,” Mother answered. “But I must go to Ezra the potter’s home. His wife has been ill for many days and there is much that needs to be done. Have Rachel help you make the beds. Baby Anna will be ready to go back to sleep at midmorning.”
Rebekah looked at her mother in alarm. “Are you leaving the little ones with me?” she asked.
“Yes, dear, I must leave them,” Mother answered. “A home where there is sickness is no place to take children. You’ll be all right.”
“But I had planned to go to Hannah’s house today when my work was finished,” Rebekah protested.
“When there is need,” Mother said gently, “plans must often be changed. You can go to Hannah’s house another day.”
“Can’t someone else help this once? Why does it always have to be you?”
“Others will help,” Mother said. “There will be need for many to offer assistance before the potter’s wife is well. And so you must care for our own little ones today. Father and Saul will not return at midday, but lunch must be prepared for Rachel and Baby Anna.”
It isn’t fair, Rebekah thought. Why must I always miss the fun and stay home? Hannah and the other girls never have to stay home and work. It just isn’t fair!
After mother left, Rebekah forced herself to take care of the children and the house but she was tired and cross all day. That evening, however, Mother didn’t seem to notice that Rebekah was out of sorts when she said to her daughter, “I’ve just learned that the harvesters have finished in the grainfields west of the city. Grandmother will come to care for the younger ones and tomorrow you and I shall join the gleaners.”
“The gleaners?” Rebekah cried in disbelief. “The wife of Simon the wool merchant has no need to glean in the fields.”
“Perhaps not for her own family,” Mother answered soberly. “But her daughter needs to learn to do such work.”
Then she put a hand on Rebekah’s arm. “My child, a woman never knows when there might be need in her own family. She must learn to do many things—even difficult tasks.
“A woman’s hands are made for service,” Mother continued, “if not service to her own family then to others less fortunate. Always there is need and always there is opportunity.”
Once again Rebekah had to tell her friends that she could not play, and Hannah smirked when Rebekah suggested that they come along too. “My father asks no such help from the women of his household,” she answered haughtily.
A blush of shame rose to Rebekah’s cheeks. Why can’t Mother see how she makes me look to my friends? she thought indignantly.
The sun had not risen when Grandmother came to care for the little ones. Resentment was heavy in Rebekah’s heart as she walked beside Mother, each carrying a basket through the city and to the fields beyond. A few other women had already reached the fields.
Mother showed Rebekah how to find the heads of grain that had been missed by the reapers and how to break them off and place them in the basket. Mother even stooped to gather kernels of grain that had fallen to the ground.
“We must work as quickly as possible,” she explained, “before the birds come to take the grain from us.”
At first, Rebekah had difficulty in snapping the heads off the grain without breaking a large part of the stem. But after a while she became more skillful. Gradually the bottom of her basket began to fill. Her back and arms grew weary, and Rebekah paused to stretch. She glanced around the field and saw that many more people had come now to glean—women and children of all ages.
Rebekah was startled to see some who were there—women so old and crippled that it would seem they could not move across the field. But still they worked. And there were children working, too, children so small that they were little more than toddlers.
Rebekah’s hands flew faster as, in a sudden rush of compassion, she looked at the people working in the fields. Perhaps if I make a good gleaning, Mother will let me put some of my grain into the basket of that old woman or into the small boy’s basket, she thought.
Pausing once more to rest her weary back, Rebekah found herself within a few feet of a girl about her own age who looked up and smiled shyly. “That is the hardest part of gleaning,” she said. “The tired back. But it grows easier after a few days.”
“Then you have gleaned before?” Rebekah asked.
“Many times.” The girl rubbed her back, then stooped down to the work. “The men in these fields are always generous with what they leave for the gleaners. It is truly a blessing.”
Rebekah glanced quickly toward the other girl. A blessing to glean? she wondered.
Surprise must have shown on her face, for the girl said, “Two years ago my father was gored by an ox, and he can’t do hard work anymore. My mother is not strong either. There are three children younger than I, so we each do what we can.”
“This is my first time in the fields,” Rebekah admitted. “My mother said that I must learn. But I am so slow.”
“You will learn,” the girl assured her.
“My mother is over there,” Rebekah said, pointing across the field.
The girl nodded. “Yes, everyone knows her. She comes to the fields each year. And within the city there are many she has helped.”
The two girls worked together until Mother came to say that it was time for the midday meal.
“Eat with us,” Rebekah urged her new friend.
“I—I had not thought to stop just yet and my brother—”
The girl glanced toward the small boy whom Rebekah had noticed earlier.
“Your brother also,” Rebekah put in quickly. She guessed they had no food to bring. “Please share with us.”
The tired look left the small boy’s face at sight of the generous bundle of food. Hungry as she was, Rebekah ate less than she wanted and passed the extra portion to him.
After the girl and her brother returned to the gleaning, Rebekah asked her mother, “If I work hard every day of the gleaning, may I share what I glean with others who have need?”
Tears stood bright in her mother’s eyes, and she put her arms around Rebekah and said, “My child, such pride you give me. So quickly have you learned the way of compassion and love.”
“I should have learned long ago.” Rebekah replied, “when I have had you for an example.”

Every December, the youth of the Holladay 24th Ward, Holladay Utah North Stake, put on an amazing Christmas party. They decorate with beautiful lights, have a delicious dinner, make Christmas goodies, and receive hundreds of gifts.
Sound fun? It is, because none of it is for the teens themselves. They give it all away.
For nine years, the youth have put on a Christmas party at their ward building for elementary school students—about 50 children each year—from local low-income areas. The event includes a variety of themed rooms designed to make the children’s Christmas unforgettable.
In the Bethlehem room, children learn about the birth of the Savior as they dress up and act out the Nativity while reading the story from Luke.
In the Santa Claus room, they get their picture taken while receiving their own fleece blankets made by the youth. The children also choose a box full of home-baked treats to give to their families. Their teenage “buddy” for the evening also reads them their favorite Christmas story.
And then there’s a stop at the North Pole Diner for a scrumptious Christmas dinner.
As wonderful as each of these rooms is, they’re not what make this party so extraordinary. The big event happens in the cultural hall. When the children enter this area, their eyes get really big, and exclamations of “Wow!” fill the air. Some of the little ones even jump up and down with anticipation. For there before them is a “store,” just like the big stores downtown, full of hundreds of donated gifts.
But, like the youth of the ward who choose to give their Christmas party away each year, the children aren’t excited to pick these gifts for themselves. They are overjoyed because this is the first time for most of them to be able to get Christmas gifts for their family. “The best part of Christmas is giving, and this gives the kids the chance to experience the joy of giving themselves,” says Tiffany Thompson, 15.
At the end of the evening, adult volunteers from the ward drive the children home with bags full of gifts, treats, and a ham and other food items their parents can use to make a wonderful Christmas dinner. “It touches your heart to see kids who otherwise would not have anything to give to their families be able to give them so much,” says Valen Campbell, 17, who co-chaired this year’s party.

Some of my warmest memories are of my childhood home. My parents were concerned with the activities of each child. They planned fun evenings at home. We would watch the honey candy boil, then pour it out so it could cool, and then we would all stand around and pull it into strings so we could cut it and enjoy it. This was great fun!
I remember our family around the piano singing and trying to learn harmony. It was at these home nights that I had my first experiences with the children’s stories of the Bible.

Because his father believed that boys should learn to work, he bought a farm. The family lived there in the summer and went there on Saturdays in the spring and fall. They pruned trees in winter and early spring, then picked the fruit in late summer and early fall. Young Gordon learned to work hard. He also learned the beauty of nature that God has given us “and the bad things that happen when nature is abused.”†

Wherever we may be, our Heavenly Father can hear and answer the prayer offered in faith. This is especially true in the mission fields throughout the world. While presiding over the Canadian Mission, under the direction of President David O. McKay (1873–1970), Sister Monson and I had the opportunity of serving with some of the finest young men and women in all this world. The very lives of these young missionaries exemplified faith and prayer.

There sat in my office one day a newly arrived missionary. He was bright, strong, happy, and grateful to be a missionary. He was filled with enthusiasm and a desire to serve. As I spoke with him, I said, “Elder, I imagine that your father and mother wholeheartedly support you in your mission call.” He lowered his head and replied, “Well, not quite. You see, President, my father is not a member of the Church. He doesn’t believe as we believe, so he cannot fully appreciate the importance of my assignment.”

Without hesitating and prompted by a Source not my own, I said to him, “Elder, if you will honestly and diligently serve God in proclaiming His message, your father will join the Church before your mission is concluded.” He clasped my hand in a vise-like grip, the tears welled up in his eyes and began to roll forth down his cheeks, and he declared, “To see my father accept the truth would be the greatest blessing that could come into my life.”

This young man did not sit idly by hoping and wishing that the promise would be fulfilled, but rather he followed the sage advice that has been given of old: “Pray as though everything depended upon God. Work as though everything depended upon you.” Such was the missionary service of this young man.

At every missionary conference I would seek him out before the meetings and ask, “Elder, how’s Dad progressing?”

His reply would invariably be, “No progress, President, but I know the Lord will fulfill the promise given to me through you as my mission president.” The days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, and finally, just two weeks before we ourselves left the mission field to return home, I received a letter from the father of this missionary. That father wrote:

“Dear Brother Monson:

“I wish to thank you so much for taking such good care of my son who recently completed a mission in Canada. He has been an inspiration to us.

“My son was promised when he left on his mission that I would become a member of the Church before his return. This promise was, I believe, made to him by you, unknown to me.

“I am happy to report that I was baptized into the Church one week before he completed his mission and am at present time athletic director of the MIA and have a teaching assignment.

“My son is now attending BYU, and his younger brother was also recently baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.

“May I again thank you for all the kindness and love bestowed upon my son by his brothers in the mission field during the past two years.

“Yours very truly, a grateful father.”

The humble prayer of faith had once again been answered.

I had many chores to do when I was about five or six. One of the most important was to gather the eggs about sundown each day.
We lived on a small farm on the south edge of Thatcher, Arizona. Our home was on the corner with open farm country south and east. Back from the home were the well, the pump, the windmill, a big wooden tank for our supply of water, the tool building, and a little farther back, a very large woodpile.
Then came the pigpens, corrals, haystacks, and the grainery. All these places were ideal for the hens to hide their eggs, so it was no small job for a boy to find the hidden nests of eggs. By experience, I became a good spy. Accordingly, every evening about sundown, I took the rather large bucket and scoured the area, and brought the eggs to the house.
One day, my mother took the three youngest of us for a long walk. We walked up the dusty road to the bishop’s home, Fannie in the baby buggy and Alice holding on to it. I carried the bucket of eggs.
As we walked along, I said, “Ma, why do we take the eggs to the bishop?”
She answered, “Because they are tithing eggs and the bishop receives the tithing for Heavenly Father. You remember every evening when you bring in the eggs, I have you count them out. The first one goes in the small basket and the next nine go in the large basket. Then we take the big basket of eggs down to the store and receive a ‘due bill’ for them. With the ‘due bill’ we buy shoes and food and clothing for the family, and the smaller basket of eggs goes to the bishop.”
I first learned the law of tithing from my beloved mother.

Taking the sacrament gives me a peaceful feeling and thoughts that convince me I can handle anything life throws at me. Last June, I was having a difficult time in my life. One of my best friends moved away, I was struggling with depression, and I had unrealistic thoughts about body image. One Sunday, I was taking the sacrament, and a flood of peace washed over me. I felt truly happy.
Olivia T., 14, Virginia, USA

Fruit punch, dainty cakes, and lacy dresses were soundly defeated by bicycles, apples, and jeans as the Nephi, Utah, Young Women and their mothers voted for a pedal-power retreat.
Taking cue from the stake sports director’s suggestion that the women’s programs needed more activity, the mothers and daughters in the Nephi Stake scheduled a six-mile ride from the stake house to the airport and back. After the trip, most mothers agreed that they were grateful the course was flat and their tires weren’t.
A Nephi City policeman whose daughter and wife were riding with the group was on the scene to direct any traffic jams and, if necessary, revive puffing bikers with resuscitation gear.
The halfway point meant punch and apples and a short time-out for weak thighs and wobbly knees. Nearing the end of the course there were lots of red faces, but they knew they’d be a lot redder if they rode back in an accompanying truck via four wheels instead of two. One daughter had both her mother and grandmother riding with her, and the three generations were willing to take on any challengers.
Back at the stake house, mothers and daughters were served a well-earned lunch followed by a short program. There were even awards for bikers: “Lifesavers” for the most helpful; a “Powerhouse” bar for the speediest pedaler; “Snickers” candy for the biggest giggler; a “Rally” bar for the most impressive last effort; and a package of “Rolaids” for a mother who took a turn with a little too much enthusiasm and landed in a ditch.

When I was 14, I was called to be a family history youth consultant. My family history class during Sunday School inspired me to find my great-grandfather’s parents on my mom’s side.
Every Sunday I did a little more work, going through records and searching for connections to my great-great-grandfather, William Aldred Thomas. But after a year with no results, I felt discouraged. I wanted to give up. But then one afternoon, I felt a distinct prompting to search for Francina Christina Meyer, his wife.
Several records came up that confirmed a connection to my great-great-grandparents. I was so happy—I had finally found my family! My home was full of indescribable joy. More names connected to the Thomas line were found, and my brother and I have been baptized and confirmed for five generations of that line—all because of perseverance and a single, special prompting!
This experience has been a tremendous blessing and testimony to me of the importance of family history work. I know that our family members on the other side will help us find them and that this work truly brings light into our lives.
Savannah B., Alberta, Canada

I’m writing this to “Saying no in Utah” and “All alone” in the September 1988 Feedback. I first want to say that both of you are awesome, and I love you.
You see, I lived in California and Arizona until I was 16, and it was easy to say no, and when I did that I gained people’s respect. But at 16 I moved to Utah, thinking what most people think—that it was going to be Zion. I found out real quick that I was wrong. I still said no to my new friends (who were LDS) and got laughed at. I soon found myself with no friends. I was all alone. But after prayer, lots of prayer, I found four more people who were in the same boat. To the person who wrote “All alone,” there are lots of others in Utah like you, so get on your knees and find them.
I’m serving as a missionary now, and I’ve learned that people have the same idea about missionaries as they do about Utah. But now I can say no and keep my friends. The gospel is true.
Elder Darrin Van ValkenburgCalifornia Santa Rosa Mission

No amount of effort could keep even the most careful teen dry or clean as 110 young people from the Cincinnati Ohio Stake traveled along a slippery and muddy path during their annual youth conference.
Their theme was “Our Pioneer Heritage,” and they dressed their parts well: full-length dresses, bonnets, and bloomers for the girls; lace-up shirts and hats for the boys.
Each participant helped to pull loaded handcarts along the 7.5-mile trek. At one point, they emptied their carts, carried the contents up a steep hill, then returned to the bottom to pull the heavy carts up.
All along the way, they learned from their physical trials, mistaken turns, and growling hunger. As they learned, their trials contributed to a better understanding of the sacrifice offered by the early Saints. They were grateful for the example of faith and perseverance set by the pioneers.

“I know when I joined the Church, I too expected everyone to be perfect. It was quite a shock to realize that they weren’t. I began to hear talk, rumors, and criticizing. Then a nonmember friend who had been coming to Church with me regularly commented on some of the backbiting. She said she didn’t think that Mormons were allowed to act that way. The only thing I could think of as an answer was to explain that we all have faults, but I’m not concerned about the faults of others. It is more important for me to do what I know is right and be a good example. In this way I may encourage others to live the gospel more fully. No feelings were hurt with this explanation, and I did not prejudice her against anyone else in the ward.”
Fiona EssonRichmond, British Columbia, Canada

Matthew Cowley was ordained an Apostle in 1945. As a young man he served a mission in New Zealand, and later he returned as mission president during World War II.
I had a little mother … in New Zealand. I knew her on my first mission when I was [young]. In those days she called me her son. When I went back to preside, she called me her father. …
Now, on one occasion I called in as I always did when I visited that vicinity to see this grand little woman, then in her 80s and blind. She did not live in an organized branch, had no contact with the priesthood except as the missionaries visited there. We had no missionaries in those days. They were away at war.
… She was out in her backyard by her little fire. I reached forth my hand to shake hands with her, and I was going to rub noses [in a Maori greeting] with her. And she said, “Do not shake hands with me, Father.”
I said, “Oh, that is clean dirt on your hands. I am willing to shake hands with you. I am glad to. I want to.”
She said, “Not yet.” Then she got on her hands and knees and crawled over to her little house. At the corner of the house there was a spade. She lifted up that spade and crawled off in another direction, measuring the distance as she went. She finally arrived at a spot and started digging down into the soil with that spade. It finally struck something hard. She took out the soil with her hands and lifted out a fruit jar. She opened that fruit jar and reached down in it, took something out, and handed it to me. And it turned out to be [a lot of] New Zealand money. …
She said, “There is my tithing. Now I can shake hands with the priesthood of God.”
I said, “You do not owe that much tithing.”
She said, “I know it. I do not owe it now, but I am paying some in advance, for I do not know when the priesthood of God will get around this way again.”
And then I leaned over and pressed my nose and forehead against hers, and the tears from my eyes ran down her cheeks.