Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes we are faced with keeping our covenants when there seems to be no logical reason to do so. I listened to a single sister tell of her experience of “coming to trust the Lord completely.” Her life had not worked out as she had expected. Sound familiar? This period of soul-searching was marked by changing jobs, new financial pressures, tugs from worldly philosophies. Now listen to what she did. She sat down with other sisters in her ward and found that they too were searching to find the peace the gospel brings. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She valiantly carried forward in her calling. She studied and tried to more fully commit her love, appreciation, and conviction to Jesus. She prayed. “I cried to the Lord,” she said, “and told Him I would do whatever He would ask of me.” She did all this despite those difficulties. And do you know what happened? No, her eternal companion did not appear on her doorstep. But peace made its way into her heart, and life got better.

The auditorium is dark. Downstage a spotlight picks out a white telephone. Rrrrrrrrrring! Rrrrrrrrring!

Then a deep, penetrating voice asks, “Waiting for a call?” And as the voice continues, figures begin to gather onstage. “They are. They’re waiting for a call from Heavenly Father. They don’t realize he is always calling and ready to listen. All they have to do is lift the receiver.”

The orchestra begins to play ever so softly and is joined by a male voice singing.

It is the beginning of the play “Awaiting Answers,” written, produced, and directed by high school seminary students. But, of course, that isn’t really the beginning. It started one spring at the annual Davis County Seminary District “S-Day” traditionally held at the Regional Center in Bountiful, Utah.

Shirley Anderson of Kaysville, Utah, was there as a chaperone. “The professional music program was good,” she recalls, “but I had the strongest feeling an S-Day program should be something the kids can take home with them.” So Sister Anderson devoted her speech and drama talent to guiding the seminary students for the coming year in an effort to create a really good, seminary-produced play. Two co-directors were appointed, Carolyn Hawkins and Todd Williams, and a committee of representatives was formed from every seminary in the district.

“I took the ideas from the brainstorming sessions and spent about a month incorporating them into a script,” Kristen Ellis recalls, explaining that the story is about 16-year-old Sharon, played by Melanie Valentine, who falls in love with a high school athlete, Kevin (Ed Simons). He is a member of the Church but inactive. Their friendship causes Sharon to doubt God and constantly fight with her parents about late dates and her changing attitude.

A complexity of personalities thicken the plot. Sharon’s brother, Mark (Alan Newbold) is preparing for a mission and tries to make his sister his first convert. Her friend, Diane (Sandi Schroader), is successful in activating a new nonmember friend (Terry Pond), but has a difficult time influencing Sharon away from her new life-style.

“Everyone can relate to at least one of the characters,” Kristen says, “and each of them is a little bit of me—strong, weak, confident, doubting, but like all teenagers, searching for a place in the world.”

Eric Hansen, who orchestrated all the music and conducted the 23-piece orchestra, remembers a few discouraging moments. “When I was first given the assignment, I thought of how impressed my friends would be,” he said. “But at first, no matter how hard I tried, nothing worked.” He said that when you try to please God first, your talents will be recognized, adding, “I had to humble myself and do it for Him, not for me.”

DeAnne Winkel composed most of the songs. She recalls Sister Anderson meeting her at school and telling her she needed another song by that evening with the only instructions being the range and that it should be “a questioning song.” She knelt by the piano bench and pleaded with the Lord for his help. One-half hour later she was knocking on Sister Anderson’s door with the song recorded on the tape in her hand. They both wept as they listened.

Like the teenagers who did the work, those in the story came out triumphant. With love of God and a growing love for each other, the actors acted, the singers sang, the orchestra played, and the dancers danced; and when they were through and the lights were lowered on the last strains of “Oh, my child, this is Saturday. Blessings are in store, blessings are in store,” there was scarcely a dry eye in the audience or on stage.

When I was laboring as a young missionary in Norway, my mission president called the missionaries together to tell us we had been asked to sing for two sessions at the 1958 dedication of the London England Temple. I was asked to be the accompanist.
When we arrived at the temple, I discovered to my surprise that I would be playing an organ instead of a piano. I had no experience with this organ, so I had to ask if someone could help me set the stops. Heavenly Father heard my desperate pleas, and a sister came to my rescue, setting the organ for quiet prelude and also for accompanying the choir.
Amid my desperation, I had a calm feeling come over me. And as I played the unfamiliar and unpracticed-on organ, I felt the love of the Savior guiding me. After one choir number, President David O. McKay looked at our mission president and said, “Well done.” I was overcome with emotion at how we had been blessed in our performance. It had been flawless.

You probably remember, as I do, the first talk you ever gave in church. It was frightening, wasn’t it? It’s always been a hard thing for me to speak in front of a large group of people. But the Church gives us so many Opportunities to learn. I can remember when our Primary class was giving a special presentation in sacrament meeting on Mother’s Day. Mom had to hold my hand while I stepped up on the platform. I said the first two words. Then, to her surprise, I jumped into her arms and cried, “You say it.” Everyone else laughed, but I didn’t.

Hi, I’m Mei.
I found this picture in an old box. On the back, I saw the name Fumiko.
My mom said it was a picture of my great-great-grandma Fumiko. I wanted to find out more about her.
We looked back in the box and found an old letter Fumiko wrote and more pictures. It was fun to learn about her.
We went to FamilySearch.org and added Fumiko to our family tree. We put in her birthday and the date when she and her husband, Hiroshi, got married.
We also added Fumiko’s pictures. Now if the photos get lost or ruined, my family can always find a copy online.
Fumiko was never baptized when she was alive. But now I’m old enough to go to the temple to be baptized for her.
We printed out a copy of Fumiko’s name and information. Then we went to the temple and I got baptized for her!
When I got home, I wrote about it in my journal. Someday I hope to meet Great-Great-Grandma Fumiko. I want to keep learning about her and about my whole family!

During the high adventures of home life we also need to return to remembrance of past sunshine. I was turning off the lights late one night in preparation for bed when I heard laughter coming from our teenage girls’ bedroom. As I entered, I discovered the source of their merriment. Their mother had allowed them to read her old diary, and they were now on the pages detailing her fifteenth year. They were full of questions for me: “What did you think when you and Mom first met?” “Why did Mom write like that?”
She had written of watching from her upstairs window while I rode past on my horse, and of seeing me at church. She had saved the coin she won from me when a group of us flipped pennies. With my daughters, I recalled meeting and dating the girl who would become my wife. I could see her standing under the big willow trees in front of her house—the blue jeans, the bare feet, the teasing smile. I remembered hollering and jumping when the toad she put down my neck began to squirm.
Emotions jumped out of that too-long-closed treasure. I fell in love with my wife all over again as I described to the girls how she looked with moonlight reflecting off snowflakes in her hair the night a group of us went sledding. It wasn’t frostbite I felt in my fingers as I held her hand to help her up a hill.
On the night we read my wife’s little diary, my daughters and I made a withdrawal and filled our love banks. The girls knew their parents were young once. They knew I loved their mother. And I think that helped them feel secure. I kissed them good night and went upstairs to find their sleeping mother. I gently woke her and told her how pretty she was—and how pretty she is. I told her of my love for her and of my appreciation for our years together.
Laughing, she felt my forehead. “Have you been dreaming?”
“Kind of,” I said. “I’ve been feeling sunshine.”

Following completion of the second project, Bishop Abdul Rollings-Kamara of Peckham Ward, received an email from the volunteers programmes manager of Thames Reach. She informed him that the volunteers had been nominated for a Volunteer Hero Award and had won. This was in recognition of the work they had undertaken. This certainly came as a surprise to everyone. A certificate of achievement was subsequently awarded, along with a gift voucher. These were presented by Bill Tidnam, chief executive officer of Thames Reach, on 24 October 2020.
Through their service, the volunteers have exemplified the Rise and Reach motto to ‘go and do’, by going out and doing good for their community. Although their service was unconditional, they received a wonderful and unexpected award.
Bishop Rollings-Kamara used the voucher to purchase foodstuff which he donated to Pecan Foodbank. Pecan is a charitable organisation that is based in Peckham, Southwark, South London. They work to support the community practically and emotionally by offering a range of interventions, including, careers service, women’s service, family works (which works to support parents into employment) and the foodbank.

I stood on the station platform with tears streaming down my face. I was leaving my Welsh home and heading for a strange country and a new life-style at Brigham Young University. My cases had been loaded onto the train, and all that remained was to say farewell to my father. We held each other tightly for a few seconds. He bent his head and whispered in my ear, “You’ll be just fine. I have faith in you.” He then gave me a gentle push toward the waiting carriage, and I boarded.
As his waving arm and tall figure slowly shrank from sight, an emptiness filled me. I felt desolate and alone. I stared out the window at the familiar green fields, hedgerows, and gray stone cottages fading from view. The hubbub of chatting ladies and the rustle of newspapers were blotted from my senses. I was lost in childhood memories of special times that I had spent with my father …
In the distant recesses of my conscious mind I heard the rhythmic sound of the train, but my thoughts remained far away. I realized, with an increasing sense of wonder, that as I had been growing up, an eternal bond had been cultivating between me and my father. My childhood fears and faith in his omnipotence had developed into a loving, trusting relationship that was reciprocated more and more as I matured and gained knowledge and experience.
This idea seemed hauntingly familiar. Could this be how my relationship with my Heavenly Father was built? Like my mortal childhood, perhaps my premortal life was a time when I developed faith and trust in my Father. I learned all that I could while we were together, then left my heavenly home with the knowledge that Heavenly Father had faith in me and in my potential for good in this new phase of my life.
As I pondered these thoughts, a glowing warmth filled me. It slowly encompassed the hollow ache I felt inside. I knew that however far from my earthly parents I might travel I would one day return and still feel the closeness and trust that we shared. But even more important, I realized that this very same bond exists between me and my heavenly parents. As my faith and trust in Heavenly Father increases, so will his faith and trust in me. He will always be there to help me if I will only call on him, and one day, if my faith remains strong enough, I can return to live with Him and feel that unity eternally …
My reverie was broken by a cough at my side. I looked up startled. The train guardsman stood beside my seat. “Tickets, please, Miss,” he said. I smiled at him and reached for my purse. “You’re a long way from home,” he said as he glanced at the gray slip of paper. I thought of my distant destination and my family getting farther and farther away. Then all at once I felt that burning inner warmth once more, and an echo of my father’s words resounded in my heart, “You’ll be just fine. I have faith in you.” I knew Heavenly Father was with me, too, and with faith in him I could meet any challenge. Comforted, I smiled again and said, “Yes, sir, but I’ll be okay because I’m not alone.”

“We just have to get that colt,” I whispered to Jared as I thought of Woody Peterson’s new colt wobbling around on his long, skinny legs. Since we had seen him that morning, I hadn’t thought of anything else.
Jared scrunched up his nose and closed one eye as we sat in the front yard under our willow tree. Finally he asked, “Jarom, do you think that Dad would buy us Woody’s colt?”
I shook my head sadly. “If we’re going to get a colt, we’ll have to buy it ourselves.”
“But we don’t have any money.”
I sighed and nodded my head. For a long time we lay on our bellies under the willow tree, trying to think of some way to buy Woody’s new colt.
Suddenly I yelled, “I know! Let’s start a store.”
“A store?” Jared asked. “What would we sell?”
I pressed my lips together really hard and squinted so that I could think better. “First we have to save up our candy and treats. And we can make lemonade. … We can sell anything we want to!”
That night when Mom served us chocolate cake, Jared poked me and whispered, “Jarom, remember—we have to save this for the store.”
I froze. I stared down at Mom’s chocolate cake, then thought of Woody’s wobbly colt. I wanted that cake badly, but I wanted Woody’s colt more. So we wrapped our cake in plastic and stuck it in the freezer. And later, when our home teachers brought a plate of cookies, Jared and I put ours in a plastic bag and stored them in the freezer too.
Before we went to bed that night, we checked our drawers. Jared found three sticks of gum, and I found two candy canes that I’d saved from Christmas. From then on, every time we got ready to eat something, we’d stop and ask ourselves if we could sell it in our store.
The next morning Mom gave us oatmeal mush for breakfast. Jared made a face at his. Suddenly he jumped out of his chair, ran over to the kitchen cabinet, and jerked out a plastic bag. Before Mom knew what was happening, Jared had dumped his mush into the bag.
“Jared!” Mom scolded. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m saving my mush for the store.”
“Nobody’s going to buy mush in a bag,” I growled at Jared.
“Maybe there’s somebody who just loves mush,” Jared argued.
“I don’t care who loves mush,” Mom said to Jared. “You’re going to eat yours—right now!”
Two weeks later, after Jared and I had saved everything that we could, we dragged the family picnic table around to the front of the house and set it under our willow tree. Then we spread out our treats on it: four pieces of pie—two cherry and two apple—cake, candy bars, gum, cookies, candy canes, licorice ropes, fudge, brownies, and other stuff. Mom made the lemonade for us, then printed a huge sign—THE JJ WILLOW-TREE STORE.
I grinned at Jared. “With all this stuff, the whole town will come to our store. We’ll be able to buy Woody’s colt today!”
Jared looked at a piece of cake. “Do you think that this stuff is still good?”
“We kept it in the freezer, didn’t we?”
“Don’t you think that we ought to make sure? We don’t want anybody buying bad stuff.”
I grinned. “Well, maybe you’re right.” Without another word, we each gobbled down a piece of cake.
Besides Mom and Dad, who each bought a cup of lemonade, Sister McCauley, from across the street, was our first customer. “Well, my, my,” she twittered, looking down at all the good things that we had there on the table. “I’m just dying for something good to eat. How much is that piece of chocolate cake?”
Well, I knew that Sister McCauley had plenty of money, and we were going to need lots of money to buy Woody’s colt, so I told her, “One dollar.”
She gulped. “It must really be good cake,” she said, looking down the table at the cookies. “How much is one of those cookies?”
“Only a dollar,” I answered. “They’re good too. Most of this stuff’s a dollar,” I explained. “Everything except the pie.”
“How much is the pie?” Sister McCauley asked, her face brightening up.
“Just two dollars. You see, the pie’s the best thing we have.”
She coughed. “I only have a quarter with me.”
“We sold Mom and Dad some lemonade this morning for a quarter,” Jared blurted out.
“I’ll take it.” Sister McCauley slapped her quarter onto the table.
“Don’t you think you’re charging too much?” Jared asked after she left.
“The more we charge,” I explained, “the more money we’ll make. Shoot, by the time we sell all this, we’ll have about a hundred dollars. We’ll be able to buy Woody’s colt for sure.”
“What are you two doing?” our friend Robert asked. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking up and down our table.
“We started a store,” Jared announced. “Do you want to buy something?”
“How much are those brownies?”
“A dollar apiece.”
He frowned, dug his money out of his pocket, and counted it. “I only have seventeen cents,” he finally announced.
“Oh, come on, Jarom,” Jared protested. “Let him buy something for seventeen cents. After all, he’s our friend, and how are we going to keep any friends if we sell things for a dollar?”
“We’re trying to buy a colt, remember?”
“There are things more important than colts,” Jared came back. “I’ll give him something of mine for seventeen cents.”
“Oh, all right,” I gave in. “What do you want, Robert?”
“I’ll take a brownie,” he said. He stuffed the whole thing into his mouth and swallowed it in about three chews. Then he hurried off.
As soon as we lowered our prices, business picked up. Mr. Gibson bought two cups of lemonade when he came home for lunch. James, Randy, and Russell, who live down the street, finished off our cake. Aunt Salina bought our fudge and a cup of lemonade.
A little before noon two boys who had moved in down the street the week before came tromping down the sidewalk with their little sister. They were all sweaty and tired, and they stopped in the shade of our willow tree to rest. They stared wistfully at our goodies. After they’d been there a while, I asked, “What do you want to buy?”
The older boy shook his head and mumbled, “We’re just looking.”
“Well, if you’re not going to buy anything, you’d better not be using our shade,” I grumbled. “The shade’s just for customers.” I looked away so that I wouldn’t see the little girl, who was staring longingly at the pitcher of lemonade. Jared saw her staring, too, and he grabbed a cup, poured it full of lemonade, and pushed it across the table to her.
“But she doesn’t have any money,” I protested.
“I know, but she looks awfully thirsty.”
“How are we going to make money if we give our stuff away?”
Jared shrugged. “What’s wrong with making people happy instead?”
“Well, her brothers look thirsty, too,” I grumbled, grabbing the pitcher and pouring two more cups of lemonade.
By a little after lunch we had sold everything except one squashed brownie, but we had made only four dollars and seven cents. I glared at our empty table and the little pile of money.
“It’s all right, Jarom,” Jared said. “We can have a store another time.”
“I wanted to buy Woody’s colt today,” I muttered.
“But we had fun running the store.”
“I didn’t want to just have fun. I wanted Woody’s colt.”
“A lot of other people had fun because of our store too. That’s as good as a colt any day, isn’t it?”
Just then we heard Trina Wheeler coming down the street; she was rubbing her eyes and sobbing. “What’s the matter, Trina?” Jared asked.
“I was going to Becky’s birthday party,” she sobbed. “I didn’t have a present to give her, so I was taking her two dollar bills that I’d saved. But I lost them. Now I don’t have anything to give her.” She sat under the willow tree and began to cry even louder.
“Where’d you lose the money?”
Trina shrugged. “I have a hole in my pocket. I’ve looked all over, but I can’t find the dollars.”
Jared reached for the squashed brownie. “You can take this if you want. At least it’s something. Becky will understand.”
Trina shook her head and cried.
I fidgeted on the picnic bench, feeling sort of empty inside.
“Shoot! Don’t cry, Trina,” Jared burst out. “We’ll give you two dollars.”
“Two dollars!” I put my arms protectively around our little pile of money. “What about the colt?”
“Well,” Jared said, shrugging. “We don’t have enough for the colt, anyway. In fact, we don’t even have any place to put the colt if we could buy it. Couldn’t we give her two dollars?”
I shook my head furiously, still thinking of Woody’s colt. Then Trina sobbed again, and I wondered what it would be like to have to stay away from a birthday party because I’d lost my present. “Oh, all right—we’ll give her the two dollars.”
Jared handed Trina our only two dollar bills, and her face lighted up with the happiest grin that I’d ever seen. It was so big that it spread right over to my face too. “Oh, thank you!” she squealed, jumping to her feet. “You’re the best friends ever.”
I felt a warm, happy tickle in my stomach. “You might as well take this, too,” I said, pushing another dollar’s worth of change toward her.
“Oh, no,” she said. “You have to save something for your colt.”
I shrugged. “We still have over a dollar left. That’s plenty.”
As Trina headed down the street to Becky’s party, I broke the last brownie in two, and handed the bigger piece to Jared. The happy feeling that we had was lots better than a colt any day.

The Lord tells us in Doctrine and Covenants 100:6 that “it shall be given you in the very hour, yea, in the very moment, what ye shall say.” [D&C 100:6] But I didn’t really believe him. That is, until I met Michelle.
Michelle and I worked together in a restaurant one summer. We were hired the same day, so we became acquainted at new-employee orientation. As time passed and we struggled through each day together—refilling glasses, clearing tables, and spilling on restaurant guests—we became good friends.
One day Michelle startled me by asking, “Marissa, are you a Mormon?”
I nodded my head sheepishly, not wanting to attract too much attention. I was content in being a quiet member missionary. If others were taught by my example that was fine, but I didn’t want to be known as the restaurant preacher.
“I thought so,” she continued. “All of the most sincere, kind people I’ve ever met are Mormon.”
I smiled at the indirect compliment, unsure of how I should respond. Luckily, the lunch-hour rush hit, and we were quickly put back to work.
As I left work that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Michelle had said. It had been a nice thing to say about Church members, but it was more than that—I felt as if she needed to hear the gospel. And this feeling frightened me.
That night the ward missionaries came to our house for dinner, and I told them about Michelle. I thought they would respond by commending me for being such a stalwart example, that they would tell me to keep up the good work. But instead they gave me a Book of Mormon to give to her. As I told the missionaries good-bye that night, I looked down at the book I was holding and wondered what I had gotten myself into.
After the missionaries left, I took the Book of Mormon downstairs to mark some key verses I had been studying in seminary. I then placed the book in my bag with my work clothes and vowed to bring it with me to work every day. I also promised myself that I would pray for the Lord’s help in giving me the opportunity to share the gospel with Michelle.
For the next few days, it seemed as if Michelle and I were scheduled to work different shifts. Instead of serving the same tables and having the same lunch hour as we usually did, I rarely saw her.
But I continued to pray and I kept the Book of Mormon in my bag. After about a week of not seeing each other, we finally had the same lunch hour. It was a little later than most of the other employees stayed, so Michelle and I were alone in the lunch room. We were talking and laughing as we usually did, but then she became quiet.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
Suddenly every off-the-wall question people usually ask about the Church came whizzing through my head.
“Sure,” I said, praying that I would be able to answer her question.
“What’s a Book of Mormon?”
I couldn’t believe what she was asking. It was the exact question I had been praying for.
“It’s another testament of Jesus Christ written by prophets in the Americas,” I said, as my knees rattled against the table.
I then briefly explained Lehi’s journey from Jerusalem, Mormon’s compilation of the records, and finally, Joseph Smith’s experience in the Sacred Grove.
Michelle seemed interested in what I was saying, but she had a confused, pensive look on her face.
“I don’t know if this will make sense,” she began, “but I feel like I’m looking for something in my life right now. It’s like I’m walking around a pool of religions, dipping my foot in to test the waters of each one to see where I belong.”
It seemed as if time stopped; it was all too perfect. My thoughts raced. This can’t be happening, I thought. Things this perfect don’t happen in real life, only in Church videos. I wasn’t sure how I should respond, so I silently pleaded with the Lord to tell me what to say.
“You remind me of Joseph Smith,” I said. “He didn’t know which church to join either. Then he prayed and was told that none of the churches was true. Later on he received instructions from God about how to restore and organize the true Church of Jesus Christ on the earth. He also received the Book of Mormon, which contains the fulness of Christ’s gospel.”
As we walked to the elevator, I took out the Book of Mormon I had brought for her.
“After we talked the other day, I thought I should bring this for you,” I explained. “I marked some verses for you to read. Now you can see for yourself what the Book of Mormon is.”
She happily accepted it, and we said good-bye.
“Great,” I said to myself, relieved that all had gone well and that I had done my duty as a member missionary. “Mission accomplished.”
That night, whenever the phone rang, I expected it to be Michelle calling to say she wanted to join the Church. After all, the Lord had made everything else so easy. As far as I could tell, Michelle was as good as baptized.
But that’s not exactly what happened. In fact, I don’t know if she’ll ever join the Church. She quit her job a few weeks later, and then I went back to BYU.
For the longest time I thought my first attempt at missionary work had been a failure. I even questioned why the Lord would go through so much trouble, answer my prayers, and then let things turn out the way they did. But then I realized that there had already been one person converted during this “useless” attempt at proselyting—me.
It was because of my missionary efforts that I gained a testimony of prayer. I knew that my experience with Michelle in the lunchroom was not a coincidence; the Lord had prompted her to ask me about the Book of Mormon.
I also learned that the Lord does what he says he will do. He told me that he would fill my mouth with words; he told Michelle that she would be given the agency to make her own choices. And in the end, both promises were kept.

As I poured the boiling water into the mush pot and stirred in the cracked wheat, I thought of other Thanksgivings. Last year when Grandma was taking flaky crusted pies out of the oven with a towel, her thumb accidentally touched the hot tin pan and she dropped a currant pie upside down on the kitchen floor. Steaming red juice trickled across the clean linoleum, and I thought it was a disaster until Grandma said, “You youngsters can have that pie.” She wasn’t one to waste anything. I remember my aunts saying that Grandma was so saving that if a mosquito lit in the molasses, she’d lick its legs before turning it loose. Maybe so, but no pie ever tasted so good as the one she dropped.

On Sunday April 2nd, the morning of General Conference, Sister Deneen Kenchington, Deputy Head of Ferndown Upper School and Relief Society President of Christchurch Ward, Poole Stake, received a phone call from a teacher who was with around 60 students on their way to Europe for a skiing trip.
Mr Howard, the teacher, informed Deneen that they were stuck at Dover Port due to a critical incident. They, along with hundreds of others, had been there for about 14 hours. They couldn’t move forward, and they couldn’t move back.
The students on the coach had run out of food and water, and the teachers that were with the students didn’t know what to do. The situation was turning pretty dire.
Deneen’s first thought was that she would go to the supermarket, fill up her car with supplies and drive the six hours or so to Dover. Then the thought came that as much as she wanted to do that, it just was not practical.
Deneen got on her knees and prayed for some guidance. She then phoned President Steve Cottrell of the Poole Stake Presidency and asked for the phone number of the nearest Bishop to the Port of Dover.
Deneen phoned Bishop Rudloff of the Deal Ward, explained the situation, and without missing a beat he said “We can help, I have people I can call to help”. Deneen gave Bishop Rudloff Mr Howard’s phone number, a phone call was made, and the plan was in place.
Bishop Rudloff said that his first thought was very similar to Deneen’s, that he would load up his car and drive to the port, but then he realised that his son Joshua, who was staying with some friends and their family, was much closer to the Port. He phoned Joshua, who along with his friends Angel, Lou Lou and Ciaran Rickard from the Deal Ward, jumped into action and within an hour they were at the Port of Dover with enough supplies for all the students and teachers.
Miraculously, the group were able to get through Port Authority, find the coach, deliver the supplies, pass on their best wishes, then turn around and leave.
The teachers and students offered to pay for the supplies, but this amazing bunch of young adults would hear none of it, and they left the teachers and students totally blown away by the kindness and goodness of strangers.
Word soon spread around the school community about Bishop Rudloff, the young adults, and the church, and how amazing it was that they served without wanting recompense or reward. The Church is now synonymous with service and generosity within the school. Both staff and students alike will not forget how their lives were touched for good.
Bishop Rudloff said that as well as the wonderful opportunity to give service to those in need, what was also wonderful was the trust that a Relief Society President had in others that she had never met. Deneen knew she could call and ask for help and that the help would be given.

Years ago I was on a mission in England. I had been called to labor in the European Mission office in London under President Joseph F. Merrill of the Council of the Twelve, then president of the European Mission. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. President Merrill said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”
I do not hesitate to say that I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked over to the Goodge Street station to get the underground train to Fleet Street. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come more than 8,000 kilometers and that I would wait. During the next hour she made two or three trips to his office; then finally he invited me in. I shall never forget the picture when I entered. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”
I held in my hand the reviews. I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive and even belligerent. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people. Years later he granted another favor of substantial worth to the Church, and each year until the time of his death I received a Christmas card from him.
I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way.

Aaron’s experience at Sinai reminds me of a similar experience I had as the leader of a small group of men in my army platoon at Fort Ord, California.

Our platoon was preparing for a special inspection; after cleaning the barracks, the men went outside to clean their gear. The platoon sergeant called the four squad leaders into the barracks where he noted a few tasks that still needed to be completed. He told me to call some of my men in to do these jobs. So I opened a window and called out to three men in my squad, “Sergeant Carrington wants you to come in and do some more work!”

As I turned around, Sergeant Carrington asked, “What did you tell your men?”

“I told them you wanted them to come in and do some more work.”

“No,” he said, “I told you to call your men in to do the work. You know what to do.” In Sergeant Carrington’s language, “You know what to do” was an order to do one hundred pushups, right then.

I was frustrated and embarrassed at the time; but after a few hours, I began to appreciate what he was teaching me. I was the men’s squad leader, and I had the authority to order them into the barracks to do their jobs. Instead I had used Sergeant Carrington’s name and authority to try and impress the men to do their work.

Tracy forgot about the Golden Rule when her sister Tara became sick and missed a few days of school. Tracy was jealous of the extra attention and care Tara received. She reacted by ignoring Tara. Several hours without her favorite friend’s company, however, made Tracy realize she should be giving Tara the most attention. “I finally put myself in Tara’s shoes,” Tracy said. “I would feel terrible if she treated me the way I was treating her.” Tracy played quiet games with Tara and told her of the day’s events at school.

Frank Siedel (Si) Peterson of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, is a typical young Latter-day Saint.
He studies; goes to institute classes; attends his church meetings; does his home teaching; and goes to Education Days, Know Your Religion lectures, ball games, concerts, and movies. He is six-foot three-inches tall, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, slender, and unassuming. He is even the coach of the ward slow-pitch softball team. How much more typical can you get?
But although Si may be typical, no one would ever accuse him of being average. He is an acknowledged superstar in the difficult field of lifting spirits and touching hearts. His talent is people, and he does not hide his talent.
“Si definitely has an exceptional effect on people,” says Russ Brailey. “He’s also a most reliable home teaching companion. Mind you, I had to get accustomed to having his mother go with us.”
“Right. I know what Russ means,” states Glen Hudson, captain of the men’s slow-pitch softball team. “When Si first became our coach, it seemed strange to always have his mother there.”
Si is no mama’s boy; but somebody, usually his mother, Anita Begieneman, always accompanies him because he has been almost totally paralyzed since March 1, 1975, when he fell from a high bar. He can only see, hear, think, mouth words, and smile.
Prior to his accident, Si had been a fairly typical Latter-day Saint teenager. Almost 17, the oldest of six children, he loved all sports; tolerated school; played the piano; and teased his brothers, his sisters, and his mother. His one big goal was to go on a mission as soon as he turned 19.
In one instant Si went from full healthy activity to total paralysis. He lost all movement. He could not breathe, speak, or eat. He was on a respirator 24 hours a day.
Usually when people are suddenly handicapped they experience denial, anger, resentment, and even bitterness before they finally accept their condition. Si’s medical team was amazed because he did not experience anger, depression, or a sense of hopelessness and panic.
He did get pneumonia, however, and his mother called Si’s former bishop and good friend, Robert S. Patterson, to give Si a blessing. President Patterson said, “Your accident has a definite and important purpose. You are to become an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hand to help bring many people who do not presently believe in God to a knowledge of him. This is to be your mission. You agreed to it before you came to the earth, and if you fulfill it well, you will thank your Heavenly Father for it every day throughout eternity.”
Si’s mother also received a witness of the Lord’s love. Si remembers, “Mom asked me what I would do if I could never again walk, talk, play the piano, or participate in sports. It was something that I had thought about a lot. I said, ‘It’s okay, Mom, I did those things the best I could when I could do them, and now I’ll learn to do something else.’
“She told me that the day after my accident she had gone down to my room, sat on the bed, and cried, ‘Heavenly Father, why? Why did this happen to my son?’ In answer, thoughts flooded into her mind. She realized that it was the Holy Ghost, so she grabbed a pencil and paper off my desk and recorded what came to her: ‘This life is a training ground for godhood. How we meet the trials that come and how we let them affect our lives are very important. We must see them as instruments of growth. All things can be for our good if we but let them. This life is the time to prepare to live again with our Heavenly Father, to grow in spirit and character and strength to meet the challenges and tremendous responsibilities of the celestial kingdom. This time of Si’s life will be exciting and challenging as new experiences come to him. None of the talents he has developed will be lost. They are just temporarily set aside while he develops others.’”
As the months passed, Si learned that he did not have to live a passive life simply because he could not move. There was still much he could give. He even learned that one way of giving was to accept help from others with love and gratitude. And he has received from many, many people.
To mention a few: His mother visits his hospital room each day and spends many hours with him. Other family members also show their love and support. Doctors and nurses at the hospital provide constant care. The Primary children of his stake raised $2,000 to buy a hydraulic lift to raise his wheelchair into his van. The Edmonton Singles Ward produced a musical comedy, and his four talented stepsisters presented a musical program to raise funds for a personal computer.
Brother Bob Layton, the early-morning newsman of CHED radio, produced a two-part documentary on Si. The response was so overwhelming that the station had to repeat it many times. Eventually this soundtrack was combined with a series of slides to form an audiovisual package. Brother Layton has, on request, taken this to firesides, schools, and service clubs many times. The letters that have poured in to Si, many from school children, are evidence that he has truly been an instrument of bringing people to God. One girl wrote, “Your faith and your acceptance of your accident help me to believe too. I love you.”
Some gifts Si has received were not altogether welcome at first. One day in 1977 a young man named Duane Simpson walked into Si’s room, snapped off the TV set, and demanded, “What are you doing with your life, Si? Why are you wasting your time watching TV? There’s nothing wrong with your brain—Why aren’t you using it?”
Si was stunned. His mother was furious. But Duane continued, “Si, I’m here to help you any way I can.” He explained that he had been assigned to Si as a tutor.
Beginning then, Si’s life changed dramatically. “I guess I needed Duane to bawl me out like that. I wasn’t doing anything because I never really thought there was anything I could do. But he helped me to change my attitude.”
Since then Si has worked off all of his grade 11, and is now completing grade 12. His aim is university entrance and a degree in social work.
How does someone in his condition study? He listens to tapes and his tutor. The tutor then reads him the questions, he figures them out in his mind, then answers “orally.” His tutor reads his lips, writes down the answers, and sends them to the Alberta Correspondence School to be graded. It is a slow, tedious way to study, but Si quips, “I’m getting better marks than I ever did before.”
While Si has learned to receive graciously, he has also learned to give unselfishly. He has counseled with many depressed and troubled people who are struggling to face their own handicaps and difficulties, and all have gone away lifted.
His deep empathy for the feelings and problems of others has also helped him reach out and bring people into the Church or back into activity.
One of them, a nurse in the hospital where Si lives, remembers, “I first heard about the Church during my 3 A.M. discussions with Si. He gave definition to many basic feelings I’d had all my life. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to listen to the missionaries, and I did. I was baptized in August 1983.”
David McTavish is another of the many whose lives Si has touched. “Coming back from inactivity, at first I felt uncomfortable with Si. But the example of his acceptance of the Church and his faith, plus my many discussions with him, have helped me to handle the obstacles between me and the Church. He has also given me a freedom not to be afraid of the kind of person I am.”
If you were to stop by Si’s room unannounced, you would probably find him working on his computer or with his earphones on, listening to one of his many tapes: the standard works (he’s listened to them all at least four times each), conference talks, great books from the Library for the Visually Impaired, course tapes, or music ranging from the Tabernacle Choir to classics to popular.
Si’s independence was greatly increased by the TOSC-2 control unit, which the Alberta Rehabilitation Council installed for him in 1978. By touching the control lever with his lower lip, he can turn on or off everything that is hooked into this touch-operated system control unit. He can even call a nurse with it. Now he has a modified personal computer that can be merged with the TOSC-2. This allows him, for the first time in ten years, to write his own messages. “This opens up lots of things that have been closed to me,” he says. “I can use it to work on my education. Then I’ll write a book about my life. Also, after more training, maybe I’ll compose some music.”
Undoubtedly much of Si’s strength comes from the gospel. He has been an elder since November, 1977. And on June 22, 1982, he traveled over 300 miles to the Alberta Temple in Cardston to receive his endowments.
Si calmly accepts his paralysis, but it is not easy to live as he does. Aside from the obvious discomforts and limitations, he also endures the side effects of it all. For example, because he is constantly on the respirator, his blood gasses get out of balance, causing him severe hallucinations. He has had many, many near-fatal moments when his respirator has failed. He has suffered cardiac arrest, pneumonia again and again, kidney stones, stomach ulcers, and strokes. But his faith in his Heavenly Father is unshaken.
So is his sense of humor. There is usually a smile on Si’s face, and he loves a good practical joke. When his mother went to the hospital recently for her daily visit, she was in for a shock. Two orderlies were sitting grim faced near Si’s room, and his door was closed. She opened the door and went in.
Si’s room was darkened, and he was covered with a white sheet. Anita’s heart faltered. She walked over and pulled back the sheet. Si was laughing! Then the orderlies came in, and they were laughing too.
Si had struck again! No one is safe from his jokes, and no one would want to be, because they are as full of fun and laughter as he is himself.
Si is an inspiration to his whole family. His youngest sister, Barbie, reflects, “Sometimes I wish I could make him better, but then I think no, because he’s blessed so many people’s lives.”
Si’s father, Dr. Frank Peterson, concludes, “It’s too bad that he’s immobilized, but everything else about this has been positive. I’m proud of him.”
Si has a firm testimony, and he bears it frequently. His mom reads his lips and then gives voice to his feelings to the accompaniment of the rhythmic hum of his respirator.
“One of the main purposes of this earth life is to be tried, to prove ourselves worthy to return to our Heavenly Father, and so trials that come to us are an important part of our lives. Every one of us will be tried in one way or another. The important thing is how we accept our trials and grow from them. They can be stumbling blocks or stepping stones.
“I am grateful for my membership in the true and living Church, and I am grateful for the priesthood that I hold. I am grateful for my family who loves and supports me, and for the many others who help me so much. I know that my Heavenly Father lives and that he hears and answers my prayers. I am grateful for my Savior, Jesus Christ, and for his sacrifice for me. I know that my accident had a special purpose in my Heavenly Father’s plan for me.
“I feel fortunate that the trial I have been given is so apparent that I receive a lot of encouragement and help from many people. Your trials may be just as difficult as mine, but perhaps not as apparent, and so I pray that you will be able to accept them and have the strength to endure and grow from them.”
This thought is typical of Si Peterson. Trapped inside the prison of his own motionless body, with every possible excuse to turn his thoughts bitterly inward, his mind reaches out to others in prayer and service. Even lying flat on his back, he is a giant. If you’re ever in Edmonton, do yourself a favor and meet him. Si Peterson—a typical young Latter-day Saint and a one-of-a-kind human being.

When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 35, one of the many things I quickly learned was that I needed to be willing to serve others. Whether it was to help someone move, offer lawn care, do repairs, or provide transportation, I tried as much as possible to respond to requests for service from my quorum or from individuals.
I felt that I was serving in a good way. In retrospect, however, I realize that I was serving out of a sense of duty and not out of a sense of love for those who needed help. I didn’t really view my service as trying to become the Lord’s hands.1
After I moved to central Missouri, USA, I had the opportunity to serve an older couple. Their small, old country home needed a lot of repairs, including its leaky roof. The couple, however, suffered from serious health challenges that prevented them from doing physical labor.
On a hot day in July, my good friend Dallas Martin and I were up on the roof putting down new shingles. We were uncomfortable and dripping with sweat. Suddenly, Dallas stopped nailing, stood up, and looked at me.
“Do you realize how blessed we are to be the ones capable of being up here doing this work and not the ones inside who can’t?” he asked.
His question hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was literally a life-changing moment. My whole perspective on service took on new meaning. I realized how blessed I was to be able to do all the things that I could do.
At that moment, I felt that Dallas and I were not simply helping because of a sense of duty but were helping with a sense of gratitude. The Lord had blessed us with the ability to truly be His hands. With that realization, it was easy for me to feel love for those we were helping.
Since that day, whenever I have helped with a service project, or whenever someone has needed assistance that I was capable of providing, I have tried to keep that perspective in mind. I have not always been successful, but that perspective has been a huge blessing in my life. It has truly helped me keep a positive attitude about service.
When I have problems or challenges, I try to think of people who face more serious trials than I do. Then I express my thanks to the Lord for all the blessings He has given me.

Green Bay, Wisconsin, is cold this time of year, but young women in the Green Bay Second Ward work hard to spread the warmth of the gospel. Using the theme of the Young Women Values, the girls designed a tree covered in angels made from paper bags in the Value colors. The tree was featured as part of a local YWCA event. The tree was a great missionary tool in getting out the message of what the Young Women program is all about.

Leaving behind relatives, a culture, and a land they loved must have been a daunting sacrifice, but the hardships were in many ways just beginning. Arriving in Calgary with only a suitcase, a baby buggy, and CAD $32, my parents were in great need.
The Canadian members immediately started serving my family, generously providing help with transportation, shopping, and finding a home to rent. Within a week my parents and my grandma had a home furnished with beds, a table and chairs, a couch, a crib, bedding, dishes, and even some food in the cupboards. My mother wrote in her journal how surprising and thrilling it was to see these unexpected furnishings and how grateful she was for the service given.
Along with deep feelings of gratitude, however, were other emotions. Culture shock was very real and difficult to deal with. The first year of living in Calgary was filled with English classes and frigid walks to work for Dad. They were doing everything possible to establish a sense of home, but still this was a trying time with so much change. The Saints of their new ward in Calgary worked through the language barrier to become a support system to the newly arrived members. Each Sunday my family gained strength as they attended sacrament meeting to renew their covenants, relying on the Spirit to teach them English.
Our family of five was sealed together in the Cardston Alberta Temple in October 1976. My mother had set her sights on this day over 20 years earlier and finally, in a country and language that she would have never imagined as a youth, her prayers were answered. I was then almost eight years old, and I have wonderful memories of my parents’ sparkling eyes and smiles as we children entered the sealing room.
My grandmother was also at the temple that day. I recall her excitement at seeing the temple lights as we had arrived in Cardston. Years later, after retiring from her job in Calgary, she moved to Cardston and gave many hours of service in the temple. She loved to play the organ and help inspire reverence there. Her testimony and love for the Savior was evidenced through her kindness to everyone around her. She is to me an example of a strong Latter-day Saint woman.
I feel overwhelming gratitude to my parents—the pioneers in my family—for their sacrifices of career, extended family, homeland, and possessions. It seems they gave up so much, but the Lord has so abundantly blessed them—and their posterity—for living the principles of the gospel.

One summer my entire family caught a nasty flu virus. Both of my parents and all three of my siblings were confined to their beds, too achy and feverish to even move. I alone escaped the illness. So I took on all the cooking, cleaning, and caring for my miserable family members.
Until, a few days later it got me too.
Somehow word got out that no one in our family was well enough to cook or shop for groceries. Our house was suddenly inundated with food from many of the Relief Society sisters in our ward.
Sister Thompson was particularly zealous in her service. She brought breakfast on Monday, lunch on Tuesday, and dinner on both Wednesday and Thursday. Thursday evening, just after Sister Thompson had left her chicken noodle soup and dinner rolls in the kitchen, I heard another knock at the door. There stood Sister Williams, with a pot of chili and a basket of cornbread.
She asked me if my family had eaten yet as she curiously eyed the food on the table behind me. I told her no, we hadn’t eaten yet, but Sister Thompson had just brought us dinner.
“She has been bringing you food all week, hasn’t she?” Sister Williams asked.
“Yes, she has,” I replied. “We’ve definitely had plenty of food.”
Sister Williams frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, next time you see Sister Thompson, you tell her to take a break and let the rest of us share the blessings too!”
Her conviction brought a smile to my face. I was humbled by the compassionate efforts that had been made to help our family, and since then I have been able to truly appreciate the dual meaning behind that phrase, “share the blessings.”