Gospel Story Finder

Recently, while driving in a city unknown to us, I inadvertently took a wrong turn, which led my wife and me onto an express highway for endless miles without being able to turn around again. We had received a kind invitation to a friend’s home and worried that we would now arrive much later than we were expected to.
While on this highway and desperately looking for a way out again, I blamed myself for not paying better attention to the navigation system. This experience caused me to think about how in our lives we sometimes make wrong decisions and how we must live with the consequences humbly and patiently until we are able to change our course again.

In July 2001, I was able to go to the National Boy Scout Jamboree in Virginia. I am an 11-year-old Scout. I wasn’t old enough to participate as a Boy Scout, but I attended with my family, who performs a Polynesian show. I have two older brothers, two older sisters, and a younger brother. We have performed in Utah, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Virginia, Japan, and Florida. We have performed at theme parks, hospitals, schools, libraries, rest homes, orphanages, and Scouting functions.
My younger brother, James (wearing yellow in the photo), and I (wearing green) do a Navajo Indian Hoop Dance. We also do the hula, play the piano, and sing. I also play the ukulele and perform yo-yo tricks.
I enjoyed sharing my talents at the Jamboree. It made people happy. It also helped me to make friends with people from all over the world, and it helped me have a special time with my family. By sharing my talents, I know I will become a better person and build my talents. Matthew 5:16 says, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” I am grateful for the chance I had to share my talents at the Boy Scout Jamboree.

After I graduated from high school, I went to BYU. In my freshman English class I was assigned to write an essay about a time when I overcame a conflict. I chose to write about my relationship with Bruce. It was a very difficult paper to write, but after I did, I felt better.

A few months later I was asked to give a talk in my ward on repentance. I decided to share the story I had written. My mother and Bruce weren’t going to be able to make it. I was actually quite relieved to find out they weren’t going to be there. Then just before I was supposed to give my talk, my mother and Bruce slipped into the back of the chapel. My heart started to beat wildly. I felt like I was going to cry. I had to pull it together. What was I going to do?

After a few minutes into my talk, I began to read my story, and as I did, tears came streaming down my face. I paused, took a deep breath, and continued to cry throughout the rest of my talk. When I finished, I looked over at my mom and Bruce. They were both teary-eyed and sniffling. After church Bruce came up to me and told me he was so sorry. He said he hadn’t realized what I had been going through. He told me that he was sorry, whereas I was the one who had done all of the terrible things. I quickly told him that I was sorry and that I hoped he could forgive me. The beautiful part was that he had already forgiven me. I didn’t even have to ask.

Some time ago Sister Edgley and I were being chauffeured through a city in South America. Our driver was a stake president who was a convert to the Church. This stake president was a very successful international attorney. As we were passing the slums of the city—houses of cardboard and tin with no water, sewer, or plumbing of any kind—my wife asked the stake president where he grew up.
He pointed to the slums and said, “A place just like this.”
My wife then asked, “How in the world did you ever climb out of this kind of poverty to become the successful person you now are?”
The stake president simply responded, “It was the gospel. The missionaries came and taught us who we really were and what we could become. My brother broke out, got an MBA from BYU, and now is the president of a large corporation in South America. My only other sibling is a sister, and she is a successful attorney.”
This story is repeated over and over—hundreds, even thousands of times. In fact, the restored Church was born out of poverty and what some would see as absolute hopelessness. But the Saints came to believe in themselves, who they were, and what they could become.

Bob and I sat in our police car, waiting for a sign of movement down the street. We had begun our stakeout two hours earlier after spotting the car mentioned in a police radio alert.
“Stickup in progress,” the alert had said. “Two males, both armed. They were just seen in an orange car. Witnesses say the men are brutal and willing to shoot.”
A rash of recent armed robberies had occurred in the area, yet despite our best efforts, the robbers had repeatedly escaped. These thoughts fled my mind as soon as I saw two figures come out of a home on the darkened street and hop into the orange car. They were now heading our way.
“Requesting a backup unit,” I said. “Suspects rolling northbound from our location.”
Our backup, two plainclothes detectives in an unmarked car, pulled ahead of the car while Bob and I followed. After our three vehicles had entered a bridge, our backup suddenly stopped crossways on the bridge in front of the orange car and we parked behind it, boxing in our suspects. Almost immediately, the car stopped and both figures ducked out of sight.
“Step out of the car with your hands on your head!” I ordered after getting out of my car. No one responded.
Braced and ready to fire, I again commanded, “Step out of the car with your hands on your head. Do it now!”
Suddenly the driver rose up and turned toward me. I could see a nickel-plated object flash in his hands.
My police training and common sense dictated that I pull the trigger to save my life. But above the tension of the moment, I heard a voice. It was calm but authoritative and powerful: “Don’t shoot!”
I expected to be shot any moment, but I waited for someone in the car to open fire first. Instead, the driver raised his hands, lifted over his head what looked like a gun, and dropped his hands into his lap.
“Freeze!” I said as I rushed to the car. “Don’t move!”
The moment felt like a TV show—until I realized that the hardened criminals in the car were actually two frightened young girls. What I had thought was a gun was only a seat-belt buckle.
The girls, we soon learned, had loaned the car to their boyfriends. They had no idea what kind of men they were.
“I thought you were dead, Cal!” Bob told me later. “I almost opened fire. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
The two detectives in the unmarked car said the same thing, though no one but me heard the voice. I know that only the power of heaven could have saved those two girls from death and four police officers from making a tragic mistake. This experience gave me a sure knowledge that our Heavenly Father can and will intervene for our benefit.

More than 12 years ago while living in the Detroit area and employed in the auto industry I was asked to take a business trip to Las Vegas. Our firm developed fuel pumps and had contracted with a taxi company to test prototypes - a great way to accumulate high miles in a short amount of time. The pumps had been installed in several taxis and needed to be removed and brought back for analysis. I was to be accompanied by two other employees of our company whom I had never met. We would spend 3 days working from about midnight until 6 or 7 am -- the hours when the taxis were least likely to be on the road. As I prepared for this trip a coworker commented to me about the vulgar nature of the two I would be traveling with. The Holy Ghost made a deep impression on me that I should beware -- that satan would use this opportunity to tempt me. The feeling was so poignant that I considered refusing to take the trip. As the trip grew nearer I decided to talk to my bishop about it. He expressed confidence in me and advised me to take the trip but to follow promptings about precautions I should take. I told the Lord in prayer that I wanted to return with honor to my family and asked him to inspire and help me.

As the trip began it was clear that the individuals I was with were truly vulgar and immoral. Since we only had one rental car to share between us I decided not to accompany them to restaurants because I was certain they would go places that were inappropriate. Instead, I said "no thank you" to their invitations and stayed in the hotel and ordered room service. The maintenance bays at the cab company where we worked were littered with pornographic leaflets. I had previously committed to myself that I would not even glance at them. Since we were limited to working from midnight to 7 am we had a lot of free time. I even felt that I should not turn on the television in the hotel even though it appeared that the trip would result in 3 days of boredom. Instead I retreated to the haven of The Book of Mormon for hours each day. At the end of the trip my soul was soaring like an eagle and I returned to my family with honor.

Samnang Sea from Cambodia went to BYU–Hawaii from 2002-2006 and graduated in Mathematics. He had planned to go to BYU Provo for his master’s degree, but during his last year, he met his wife who then just starting as a freshman. They were married in Hawaii in 2006.

He went on to pursue both a master’s and Ph.D. degree and had a well-paid teaching job in a school which sponsored his work visa and later obtained permanent residency in the United States. Life was very comfortable, but because of the promptings of the Holy Ghost, he returned home in 2013 with his wife and three sons. That’s when he met his in-laws for the first time. He was offered a wonderful teaching position in Siem Reap but declined it as he felt that the Lord had a different direction for him. He is now a Bishop and works for the Church as the Service Center Manager for the Cambodia office. Their sons are now 11, 8 and 6 years old. Their youngest, a girl, now 2 years old, was born in Phnom Penh.

Patti Zenger, a member of the Beacon Hill Ward, Beaverton Oregon West Stake, will never forget September 26, 1998.
Patti, partially blind from diabetes, had no idea that Laura Schulthies had organized their ward to “Walk for Patti Z.” in the Vancouver, Washington, 10K fund-raiser.
When Patti got to the church, everyone was wearing red, her favorite color, and had “Patti, We All Love You” signs pinned on them.
“It was so exciting to watch Patti realize how many ward members supported her. Ours was the largest group there,” Laura recalls.

Let me share with you one example.
When I was nineteen years old, I was called to serve in the Korea Pusan Mission. While at the MTC, I struggled with discouragement. I was away from home trying to learn a challenging language and I felt that I wasn’t doing very well at it. As I was wrestling with these feelings of inadequacy, I read in the Doctrine and Covenants these words:
“Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you; and ye shall bear record of me, even Jesus Christ, that I am the Son of the living God, that I was, that I am, and that I am to come.” [4]
When I read those words, it was as if the Lord was speaking directly to me. I felt the Lord’s love and support. It was just what I needed. Through experiences like this, I know that He is devoted to us!

Many years ago during the summer of 1930, when I was 13 years of age, I was with a group of Boy Scouts hiking from Camp Logan to Camp Kiesel on the South Fork of the Ogden River. We had hiked over the Randolph Divide and made our camp at the base of Monte Cristo, where the chief Scout executive of the Ogden Council, S. Dilworth Young, joined us. He was a strong, vigorous man and stood tall and straight. I was soon to learn that he stood tall in many ways and that he exemplified the Scout Oath and the Scout Law.
It was on the afternoon of a beautiful summer day in August, and we had arrived at Monte Cristo a little early. We were busy at our camps making our fires and getting ready for the evening meal. S. Dilworth Young visited each group of boys at their campfires. When he came to our group, he asked us various questions to see how we were faring. One of his questions was most pointed and direct. He asked, “Did you put your fire out at your last campsite?” He then proceeded to tell us how that fire should have been put out. He directed his question to each of the boys in our patrol.
Most of the boys had apparently followed the directions for putting out their fires pretty well, but in my heart I knew that I had not put out my fire as he had specified. I was hoping that he would skip me in the questioning process, but he didn’t. He asked me the question, and I responded, “No sir, I did not put out the fire the way you described.” He then said, “Get your things packed. You and I are going back. We are going to put out that fire.” I said, “Well, it won’t be burning. It was almost out when we left.” He responded, “Well, we are going to make sure, anyway. As Boy Scouts, we are trusted not only to take care of our personal lives, but also to take care of our responsibilities to this beautiful earth and the land in which we live.”
I have never forgotten those words. Right then and there, I knew that S. Dilworth Young was a leader of boys and men. I also knew that he loved nature and that his highest goal in life was to be trusted.
He put on his pack and helped me with mine, and then we both took off back down the trail to our last campsite, which we had left early that morning. We arrived there late at night. He seemed to know right where it was. We came to the place where all of us had camped, and there were various campfire spots with logs that were still smoldering. He had a small bucket that he had brought with him. We found the stream nearby and carried water to the smoldering logs. Then, after each spark had been put out, we covered the logs and the campfire sites with damp earth.
By that time, it was too late to go back to Monte Cristo, so we slept in our sleeping bags there that night, and then we ate breakfast and proceeded back to Monte Cristo the next morning. About halfway back, I was so tired and my muscles ached so badly that it seemed I could go no farther. He took my pack, put it on his back with his own, and helped me the rest of the way into camp. Sometimes I was on his back also as we crossed a rough part of the terrain, or a stream, or some deep brush.
That day I really learned the beauty and the value of the Scout Oath and the Scout Law. Here was a leader who stood tall in my youthful eyes and taught me by example how I should be. He indeed taught me that a leader cannot delegate the power of example.
He also taught me how to trust. A little later in this trip as we approached Camp Kiesel, we came to a fork in the rivers. As I recall, one of the forks was called Bear Wallow Canyon and the other fork was called Wheatgrass. We rested there for a short period. Then S. Dilworth Young announced that there would be a contest to see which pair of Scouts would be the first to arrive at Camp Kiesel. He knew that it would be quite safe. The Scouts would just need to follow the canyons down and they would come into the South Fork of the Ogden River where Camp Kiesel lay.
The boys all chose partners, and I happened to be the only boy left who didn’t have a partner. None of the boys wanted to go with me, it seemed, because they thought that I would hold them back. S. Dilworth Young, seeing me standing there alone, called me over and asked why I didn’t have a partner. I said, “Well, none of the boys wanted me, but I will go alone, and I will beat all of them anyway.” His eyes twinkled, and he whispered some instructions in my ear. He said, “You stay right on top of this ridge, and you follow it all of the way down, never going down into the canyon, and you will get there way ahead of the other boys. The other boys will all head for the canyon and for the stream, and it winds around and around. By staying on the ridge, you will be going the shortest route, and you will get there an hour before any of the boys.”
I looked at him, and I knew that I could trust him. I knew that I wouldn’t get lost if I did what he told me to do. So I stayed on that ridge. Some places it was quite steep, but it was safe. Several hours later, from the last promontory, I could see the roofs of the cabins, the mess hall, and the American flag waving in the trees of Camp Kiesel. I was the first Scout to arrive. I had put my trust in that wonderful leader, and I had arrived safely. Later that night at the campfire, I was given a special award for being honest and for being the first boy to arrive in camp.
I was to come in contact with this great man at other times in my life. On every occasion he inspired me to be trustworthy and honest. I have found that two of the greatest things we can do are, first, to be trusted, and second, to trust.
The Scout Oath stands in my mind as one of the great oaths and covenants that we can make:
“On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country, to obey the Scout Law, to help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.”

Three Christmas trees stand out in the memory of Elder Gary B. Sabin.
The first was a beautiful Christmas tree of his youth. When Gary scaled the tree trying to reach a candy cane, the entire tree crashed to the ground.
The second was an evergreen branch he found as a missionary while serving in Belgium and the Netherlands from 1973 to 1975. Elder Sabin and his companion took the branch home to their apartment and propped it up around the Christmas cards they had received from home.
The third was a tree made of Christmas lights strung on the IV stand next to his daughter’s hospital bed. One of three Sabin children to suffer from cystic fibrosis, his daughter had received a double-lung transplant one year after the death of her brother from the same disease.
“We have learned a lot more from our children than they have learned from us,” says Elder Sabin.
As a General Authority he will remember the Christmas trees and the lessons he learned from them. Each tree highlights portions of his journey—from a young boy wanting a candy cane to a missionary teaching the plan of salvation to a father who relied on the plan and the Savior’s love to sustain his family through mortal trials.

There are many touching stories of artists, musicians, actors, and writers who sacrificed much to devote their artistic talents to the building of the kingdom. Among my favorites is the story of the Paris Art Mission. In 1890, John Hafen, Lorus Pratt, and John B. Fairbanks, who was my great-grandfather, made a proposal to the First Presidency that they be called as art missionaries to Paris, where they could study painting in the great Parisian art schools. They could then return and paint the murals on the walls of the Salt Lake Temple, which was under construction at the time. After presenting their proposal, the three artists hiked to the top of Ensign Peak, overlooking the Salt Lake Valley, and offered a prayer to the Lord that their proposal would be accepted. The First Presidency called them to serve in Paris as “missionaries with a special purpose” (Linda Jones Gibbs, Harvesting the Light: The Paris Art Mission and Beginnings of Utah Impressionism (Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1987), 18). On the 23rd of June in 1890 they left Utah. Their sadness in leaving their young families for a long period of time, mixed with their enthusiasm for their missions, is well expressed in the following passage from my great-grandfather’s personal history:

I bade farewell to my wife, my family, and my home, and set out for a foreign land. Four of my darling little ones accompanied me to the depot, where I kissed their little faces, knowing I would not see them again for two years. On the Denver and Rio Grande train, I found Lorus Pratt, one of my fellow students. At Springville, a large crowd had assembled. In the midst of the crowd we saw John Hafen. . . . His eyes were red as he slowly made his way to the train. “All aboard” came the cry of the conductor and we were soon speeding eastward. After a few moments of silent reflection, we began to talk of our plans for the future. In that we found consellation [sic]. [Condensation by Florence Fairbanks Cope of a history by Florence Gifford Fairbanks, artist files, Museum of Church History and Art, Salt Lake City, Utah; quoted in Gibbs, Harvesting the Light, 18–19]

Once in Paris, the artists began their studies at the Julian Academy, the world’s most prestigious art school in the 19th century. For several months their studies consisted of drawing from casts and live models. Eventually they broke from the strict academy environment and spent most of their time in the French countryside painting landscapes in the impressionist style. Impressionism became their chosen style for the remainder of their careers and established a movement known as Utah Impressionism, which is now recognized as an important chapter in the history of American art.

Upon their return, the artists fulfilled the purpose of their mission by painting the beautiful murals on the interior walls of the Salt Lake Temple. Those murals have helped to convey the truths taught in the temple to many thousands of Church members.

Have you had an experience like this? I remember as a student at BYU, one night, when the spring runoff was high and the city was concerned about flooding, I got a call late in the evening asking if I would volunteer to help sandbag Main Street. I was already exhausted from a long day of studying and did not feel like going. But knowing it was the right thing to do, I said to myself, “If everyone was just like me, what kind of world would this world be?” I decided to go and was afterwards rewarded with that good feeling.

Shortly after Sister Cook and I arrived in Mongolia, we were asked to accompany two young elders to a city called Muren. At the conclusion of our trip, our return was delayed by bad weather. Each day we went to the airport to see if our plane was going to arrive so we could fly out. We waited with other passengers until we received word whether we would depart that day or would be forced to return to the city for the evening.

Trying to take the same flight out was a group of foreign tourists. They told us they had been by horseback to some of the most remote, little-explored areas of Mongolia.

While we were waiting at the airport, one of these tourists approached one of our elders and said: “I know who you are! What are you doing here? These people don’t need you. They are an unspoiled people with a rich heritage. Why don’t you just go home and leave them alone?”

The elder came to me and was very upset, and we talked about the several responses he could have given. It wasn’t until about two weeks later, however, that I read a statement by President Benson that explained what would have been the perfect response. President Benson said:

“Some may ask why we as a people and church quietly and consistently seek to change individuals while there are such large problems about us. … But decaying cities are simply a delayed reflection of decaying individuals. … The commandments of God give emphasis to improvement of the individual as the only real way to bring about the real improvement [of] society” (A Plea for America [1975], 18).

“The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of the people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. … Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature” (“Born of God,” Ensign, Nov. 1985, 6).

Patricia: My best friend, Francini, and I are some of the only members of the Church in our school in Brazil, and we often find that the small things we do make a big difference.
One such small thing occurred in a Saturday math class Francini and I had together. On this particular day, Francini was absent. During class, the tests we had taken a few days before were passed back. I wasn’t paying much attention when the teacher placed Francini’s test on my desk and asked me to give it to her.
Since Francini and I had already discussed how we thought we had done, I was surprised that her grade was higher than we had expected. I looked at her test and saw that the teacher had failed to mark one incorrect answer as wrong. Without even considering, I told the teacher that Francini’s grade was too high.
What I didn’t realize was that the whole class was watching. As soon as I spoke, the class began to criticize me, saying that I was wrong to do that to a friend and that I only wanted my grade to be higher than hers.
I was confused and upset by the response. I was sure I had done what Francini would have done. But someone said it was impossible for anyone to be honest to the point of lowering his or her own grade. Everyone saw me as a traitor to my friend. I tried to tell them that Francini would have been honest about her grade and that truly honest people still exist in the world.
After much debate, the teacher and class decided that they would test us. The teacher said he would keep Francini’s grade wrong and that we would wait and see her reaction on Monday.
I didn’t like the idea. I felt that testing Francini was not fair. But the teacher had made his decision, and I couldn’t change it.
That weekend I was anxious about what would happen, even though I had confidence that Francini would do what was right. I fervently prayed that she would notice the error on her test.
In math class on Monday, the whole class was alert as they watched Francini pick up her test.
Francini: Shortly after class started on Monday, the teacher handed me back my math test. I was about to put it away without really looking at it, but then I noticed that my grade was higher than I had expected. I raised my hand and went to the teacher’s desk. I asked if he had graded the test correctly, and he answered that he had. I then pointed to my test and said, “But I made a mistake.” At that moment Patricia also came up to the teacher’s desk and told him that he had also left a wrong answer unmarked on her test and with all the confusion on Saturday, she had not noticed it.
The classroom immediately erupted. Some people began to murmur about Patricia telling me, but others gave embarrassed smiles. I was confused by all the different reactions to these events.
Later, Patricia explained what had happened on Saturday. I was surprised to know that I had been through a test unrelated to math and that my classmates had responded to my friend in that way. However, I was happy that I had been honest and that Patricia’s prayers had helped me be prompted to notice the mistake on my test. I am also grateful that my friend believed in me.
Patricia and Francini: Both of us learned a great lesson from this experience. Our testimonies have grown about the important role Latter-day Saints have in being witnesses of Jesus Christ and examples of His principles. We are grateful to the Lord for His gospel, which gives us the opportunity to make a difference.

I would like to share a conversion story from my family history about another of my heroes. Her name is Agnes Hoggan, and she and her husband joined the Church in Scotland in 1861. Suffering great persecution in their homeland, they immigrated to America with their children. Several years later, Agnes became a widow with eight children to support and worked hard to keep them fed and clothed. Her 12-year-old daughter, Isabelle, was lucky enough to find employment as a servant to a wealthy, non-LDS family.

Isabelle lived in their large home and helped look after their younger children. In exchange for her services, a small wage was paid each week to her mother. Isabelle was soon accepted as a member of the family and began to enjoy many of the same privileges, such as taking dance lessons, wearing beautiful clothing, and attending the theater. This arrangement continued for four years, until the family for whom Isabelle worked was transferred to another state. They had grown so fond of Isabelle that they approached her mother, Agnes, and asked for permission to legally adopt her. They promised they would provide her with a good education, see that she married well, and make her an heir to their estate with their own children. They would also continue to make payments to Agnes.

This struggling widow and mother had a hard decision to make, but she did not hesitate for a moment. Listen to the words of her granddaughter, written many years later: “If her love had not compelled [her] to say no, she had an even better reason—she had come all the way from Scotland and had gone through tribulations and trials for the Gospel, and she did not intend, if humanly possible, to let a child of hers lose what she had come so far to gain.”2 The wealthy family used every possible argument, and Isabelle herself cried and begged to be allowed to go, but Agnes remained firm. As you can imagine, 16-year-old Isabelle felt as if her life was ruined.

Isabelle Hoggan is my great-grandmother, and I am most grateful for the testimony and conviction that burned so brightly in her mother’s heart, which did not allow her to trade her daughter’s membership in the Church for worldly promises. Today, hundreds of her descendants who enjoy the blessings of membership in the Church are the beneficiaries of Agnes’s deep-seated faith and conversion to the gospel.

I used to be the type of girl that wore 10 different rings on each hand, 15 or more gold and silver necklaces around my neck, and twice as many bracelets around my wrists and ankles.
My makeup was just as heavily caked on as my jewelry, and my layers of black and white clothing piled up as well.
I was not only weighed down on the outside, but on the inside as well. I was constantly depressed, and I felt down on myself for no reason.
I had been reading the Book of Mormon for some time, but as I kept piling on the jewelry, makeup, and clothing a passage from Isaiah in 2 Nephi kept running through my mind:
“In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments, and cauls, and round tires like the moon;
“The chains and the bracelets, and the mufflers;
“The bonnets, and the ornaments of the legs, and the headbands, and the tablets, and the ear-rings;
“The rings, and nose jewels;
“The changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping-pins” (2 Ne. 13:18–22).
It goes on to say that even the daughters of Zion will be bald, and smell, and wear sackcloth instead of fine clothing.
I decided that if it might all be taken away eventually, why not try to go without it now? So little bit by little bit, more and more jewelry came off each day. I turned to more natural-looking makeup and simplified my clothing.
As the weight from my accessories on the outside came off, so did the weight on the inside. My spirit seemed to be coming uncovered and letting my personality and love show through. I had not felt so happy inside since before I can remember. My friends even commented that I was a lot more fun to be with lately.
I found myself to be much more compatible. I could hardly believe the feeling of happiness and love that seemed to encircle me.
I am so thankful for those few verses. They helped me get rid of the burdening “weight” that was inside of me and let my spirits soar higher than they ever had before.

“A Good Sense of Humor” by Chris Crowe in the May 1986 New Era was a good and much-needed topic. While reading it, I recalled times when I was the brunt of jokes and ridicule. But I also remembered times when my careless words really hurt.
One such time I had the opportunity to repent but never did. Now I have even forgotten the name of the person I hurt. Could you help me reach out to her?
The incident occurred in 1966 at a bus stop in Salt Lake City following a state FFA Convention. The Dixie and Hurricane chapters traveled together and cheered for the Hurricane Harvest Queen. She didn’t even place. As she boarded the bus, the losing queen had a formal gown in one hand and a suitcase in the other. She held a spray bottle of hair spray in her mouth. A few of us rowdy boys made fun of her situation. “No wonder she lost the contest!” I jeered. We had wanted her to win and were just having fun.
She cried most of the way home. Though there was an empty seat beside her, I was too fearful to go apologize for my mistake.
The years have flown. Many a time I would have relived that night, would have apologized, would have held my tongue. But that cannot be. I did learn from it, and I don’t point jokes at others anymore.
Jay BeachamIvins, Utah

Several years ago I was transferred to Garden Grove, California, by a large grocery firm. During the time my family was in California, we faithfully held our family home evenings. One family home evening lesson suggested that each person in the family take a piece of paper, think of one of the members of the family, write his or her name down, and then write something nice about that member of the family. Each person wrote something nice about every other person, and then we read all of the nice things before the family group.
When I came to my wife’s list, I read several things about her from other members of the family, and then I read what our son Scott had written: “Mom is a miracle maker.” I suppose in that one short sentence Scott described Merlene Featherstone.

As part of the UK‘s coronation celebrations, Monday 8th March was designated the Big Help Out Day. On this bank holiday, individuals, groups and communities were encouraged to give volunteer help. Members of the Belfast Stake assisted in the Windsor Community Garden rebuild in Belfast. This was organised by the Northern Ireland Inter-faith forum.
The Windsor Community Garden is a volunteer initiative created by a group of Baha‘i youth around 10 years ago. The previously small disused site on Lower Windsor Avenue has since flourished as local residents have cared for it and developed it.
Victor, who arrived as a refugee from Ukraine alongside his spouse, became the main caretaker of the garden a year ago. He highlighted that much of the wood for the raised beds was rotting away, and was in need of being replaced. So it was planned to rebuild the garden on the 8th as part of the Big Help Out.
It was a large project, and involved moving about 10 tonnes of soil. In recent years the Windsor area of Belfast has become increasingly diverse so the volunteers came from many different faith and belief backgrounds, and from many different nationalities.