Gospel Story Finder

As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.

Some time ago, I felt impressed to embark on a road trip to visit family in Salt Lake City, an eight-hour drive from our home in Colorado. With little planning, I loaded up our three young daughters and began the trek. We left later in the day than was wise. My husband stayed behind due to prior commitments. It was an unseasonably warm October day both in Denver, where we lived, and in Salt Lake, so I grossly underestimated the wintry roads ahead as Interstate 80 crosses Wyoming.
We started our journey uneventfully, but temperatures dropped quickly as we gained elevation. I became nervous and full of doubt. Our van had new tires but no four-wheel drive. I hadn’t packed warm clothes or blankets. I was terribly unprepared for something to go wrong. I pulled over to check road conditions and decided to press forward, but a few hours later I was white-knuckle driving in the worst snowstorm of my life.
I laughed and sang with my kids so they wouldn’t sense my unease. I knew this stretch of interstate was no stranger to terrible weather-related accidents. Large snowflakes streaked past the windshield in heavy sheets and blurred my vision. I could hardly make out a landmark anywhere on the road.
I dreaded the occasional 18-wheeler throwing snow and slush across the windshield as it passed. I watched several vehicles slide off the road into ever-deepening snowbanks. I knew I was in trouble. The pressure I felt to keep my girls warm and safe weighed on me as we crept slowly along in the dark.
Suddenly, I felt my phone buzz with a notification.
I had been ignoring my messages to focus on the road but glanced down and saw that my brother, who I thought was home in Texas, had texted me: “We are passing through a bad blizzard in the middle of Wyoming.” I was surprised to learn that my brother and his wife were just a few miles ahead in the storm. They were en route to Idaho in a vehicle much safer than mine and well prepared for cold weather. Our intersection was no coincidence. The storm persisted, but I was not alone.
I called them. Relief washed over me as they talked me through the blizzard. At times, they didn’t have good news. At one point, fatigued from the tedious driving, I asked if the roads ahead had cleared up. “It’s pretty bad around mile marker 280,” my brother responded. “Take your time.”
Soon, I completely lost visibility and resorted to keeping my right front tire along the rumble strip on the side of the road. For many long minutes I continued forward, trusting only the sound of those vibrations to keep us safe on the road. Finally, the skies cleared, and I stopped for the night at a hotel, too exhausted to go on.
I never saw my brother and his wife, but I knew they were there. I didn’t realize how panicked I would have felt without their guidance until my kids were safe and warm in our hotel room. My brother’s knowledge of the specific path ahead gave me the perspective I needed to keep moving forward. Without him, my fear of the next snowy mountain pass might have left me highly reactive, and one anxious tap of the brakes could have sent us off the road.
Here I was, trying to make it to the safety and familiarity of my parents’ home, and my older brother showed up to trudge the path before me. How sad it would have been if I had driven this road never knowing that he was ahead and never accessing the peace available to me. Just as our Savior is there for us, my brother was there even when I couldn’t see him.

I think one of the sweetest lessons taught by the Prophet Joseph, and yet one of the saddest, occurred close to the time of his death. He had seen in vision the Saints leaving Nauvoo and going to the Rocky Mountains. He was anxious that his people be led away from their tormentors and into this promised land which the Lord had shown him. He no doubt longed to be with them. However, he had been issued an arrest warrant on trumped up charges. Despite many appeals to Governor Ford, the charges were not dismissed. Joseph left his home, his wife, his family, and his people and gave himself up to the civil authorities, knowing he would probably never return.

These are the words he spoke as he journeyed to Carthage: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men.”

In Carthage Jail he was incarcerated with his brother Hyrum and others. On June 27, 1844, Joseph, Hyrum, John Taylor, and Willard Richards were together there when an angry mob stormed the jail, ran up the stairway, and began firing through the door of the room they occupied. Hyrum was killed, and John Taylor was wounded. Joseph Smith’s last great act here upon the earth was one of selflessness. He crossed the room, most likely “thinking that it would save the lives of his brethren in the room if he could get out, … and sprang into the window when two balls pierced him from the door, and one entered his right breast from without.” He gave his life; Willard Richards and John Taylor were spared. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.

Years ago we took our then-teenage daughters to the temple for the first time. My oldest daughter had then the privilege of participating in the baptism of her deceased great-grandmother. Days later we held our family home evening and invited the children to bear their testimonies about the experience in the house of the Lord. As our oldest daughter started to express her feelings, tears came down her face when she mentioned her great-grandmother’s name and tried to describe how and what she felt during the ordinance. We all realized that she was recognizing right then that a “swelling motion” moment was taking place. That strong impression has been an anchor for her testimony and conviction of the gospel.

In different callings where I held priesthood keys as a judge in Israel, particularly as a bishop, I witnessed the cleansing, sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost. One experience, the elements of which represent others, truly stands out.

On a Sunday morning a young man in his early twenties came to see me, his bishop. During the week he and his girlfriend had allowed their emotions and passions to exceed the bounds the Lord had established.

I listened prayerfully. We read scriptures together, along with words of the latter-day prophets. I gave him a few reading assignments, placed appropriate restrictions on his Church privileges, set up future appointments, and then knelt with him in prayer.

With each subsequent interview he reported on his reading, especially from the Book of Mormon, and the anguish in his countenance and demeanor was replaced by faith in God and in His Son, by hope and optimism, by firm resolve, and by a change in his heart. Gradually he grew spiritually. Following the appropriate passage of time, and as directed by the Spirit, I lifted the restrictions placed on him and authorized him to partake of the sacrament. As I sat on the stand in sacrament meeting, my eyes were drawn to him when first the bread and then the water reached his row. I witnessed sanctifying light, peace, and forgiveness.

The Savior’s words to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery following their partaking of the sacrament came into my mind: “Behold, your sins are forgiven you; you are clean before me; therefore, lift up your heads and rejoice” (D&C 110:5). Like Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, this young man received a remission of his sins by fire and the Holy Ghost (see 2 Nephi 31:17; D&C 19:31).

For me, I was surprised that these questions came after I had served my mission! I had known the truth with such conviction that I wanted to go preach it to others for a year and a half—and now I was doubting all that I had known and taught. What a waste it would have been if none of it were true. So was it true, all that I had taught? Or had I just wanted it to be true? After seeing friends leave the Church and while facing my own struggle of faith, I wondered if I had deceived myself.
During this time, I didn’t stop going to church or obeying the commandments because I had big questions. Instead, because I had questions, I tried to follow President Russell M. Nelson’s counsel to “increase [my] spiritual capacity to receive revelation.”1
I knew that “nothing opens the heavens quite like the combination of increased purity, exact obedience, earnest seeking, daily feasting on the words of Christ in the Book of Mormon, and regular time committed to temple and family history work.”2 I felt it was crucial to stay close to God. After all, He was the only one who would have answers to my questions.
One day while I was reading Saints: The Story of the Church of Jesus Christ in the Latter Days, I came across a remarkable story about a woman of the early Restoration. Eunice Franklin seemed to have my same questions and worries.
Although at times I have wondered, wandered, and wavered, I’ve learned and relearned for myself that this is Christ’s Church. Although Joseph Smith may have been an imperfect man, I know he was an inspired prophet of God who sacrificed everything and did his complete best. I also know that the Book of Mormon is a true ancient record and holy scripture preserved just for us in our day. Heavenly Father continues to confirm these truths to me every day. And I’m glad He confirmed these truths to Eunice Franklin too.

When I woke up the first morning of summer vacation and remembered where I had to go, I felt nervous. I was going to visit a man named John.
My Primary teacher, Sister Chichenoff, had asked each person in our class to “adopt a grandparent at a nearby nursing home. She told us if we learned to love one another like Jesus taught, we would find real joy. At first I thought her idea was good.
Sister Chichenoff had made it sound like a privilege. “Hey, Nick,” she said. “I assigned you to a special person. This man could really use a friend.”
“You can count on me,” I said. “I’ll be his friend.”
“He doesn’t mix with other people much and he only has one leg. He could use someone who cares about him and will push him around in his wheelchair.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
Sister Chichenoff reached out and took hold of my arm. “This man doesn’t like people,” she said. “He doesn’t like to talk to anyone, and he doesn’t like to go in his wheelchair. In fact, they tell me he is quite a grouch.”
“Why give him to me?” I asked.
“Because John needs someone to talk to,” Sister Chichenoff said. “He is a lonely man, and I told the administrator you were the person John needs.”
I was afraid to meet someone who didn’t want me to be there. I wondered if he’d yell at me. By dinnertime, I was so afraid to meet him that I went in my room and prayed. I knew Heavenly Father wasn’t afraid of John.
Sister Chichenoff met us that evening with her husband. Brother Chichenoff was funny, so I asked him to stick with me. He was also big, and I planned to hide behind him if John yelled at me.
When we walked into John’s room, he did not yell. He didn’t say anything. He sat in his bed and ignored us.
My friends and I liked monster riddles so I decided to try one.
“What do sea monsters eat?” I asked.
John glared.
“Fish and ships.”
Brother Chichenoff broke out laughing but John kept glaring. I changed the subject. “Um—how about a ride through the nursing home?”
To my surprise, John nodded yes. The evening didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would.
The next week I didn’t want to go back, but I wasn’t afraid. When we got to the nursing home, John was already in his wheelchair.
“Been waiting for you,” he said.
“How about a ride?” I asked.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Brother Chichenoff and I still did most of the talking, but John grumbled a few words. When it was time to go home, he motioned for me to come closer.
“What happened to the apples on the monster’s apple tree?” he asked.
“Well, I … um, I don’t know.”
“They all grue-some. You know—g-r-e-w-some.” John chuckled at his joke. Brother Chichenoff and I laughed.
After that, I looked forward to Thursdays. John’s face lit up like a lightbulb when I walked in. And each week he had a riddle for me.
John told us stories of fishing and hunting years ago. He told us how he cut his leg on an old camper door and it got infected, and that’s why he had only one leg.
Several months later, John told me a secret. “Hey, Nick. Guess what’s two weeks from tonight? My birthday. I’ll be 88.”
“Wow! Let’s do something special” I said. “What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to go somewhere and have a big chicken dinner.”
“OK,” I said. “It will be my birthday present to you.”
My parents agreed to drive us to the restaurant, and then take us back to the nursing home after dinner.
The next week when I visited John, he was walking with crutches all by himself. All he talked about was going out next week for his birthday dinner. He was so excited. I was too.
A few days later, the phone rang early in the morning. It was Sister Chichenoff calling to say that John had died during the night.
On John’s birthday, I sat in the nursing home with the Chichenoffs, my parents, and some of the kids from my Primary class. It wasn’t evening and it wasn’t time to visit our adopted grandparents. It was the middle of the afternoon and we were attending John’s funeral. We were the only people there besides a few who worked at the nursing home.
As I sat there and listened to the story of John’s life, it was hard not to cry. The nursing-home workers said his life had changed and gotten better after the children from the “Mormon Church” started coming to visit. I knew my life had changed because of those visits.
I wish John and I had gone out for that chicken dinner, but I’m glad we had the chance to become friends. I discovered the real joy my Primary teacher talked about when people love one another.

Little by little the Lord was showing that he had prepared the way for me. However, I felt that I would need his help a lot more when I talked to my father. My father is a good man, but his hard life had made him tough and materialistic. Such an outlook would prevent him from accepting my decision.
On a Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in our backyard, I decided to tell my father. He listened until I finished and then asked very dryly, “Is this your will?” I nodded. “Very well, now listen! When you took this course you destroyed the love that existed within me for you. I am not going to drive you out of the house but from my heart. Those medical school stickers that I proudly exhibit on the windshield of my car will be removed, and you will have to do much to put them back on. You tore down a great dream of my life, and as far as I am concerned you fell down with it.”
I tried to answer him and express my great love for him, but my words stopped in my throat. I wished that the whole world would fall upon me for bringing such great suffering to my father, whom I loved so much.
Time went by. My father went to stake leaders to try to stop me. In a last and desperate attempt he went to the stake president. When he returned home that night, he had only harsh words for me.
While I prayed to the Lord to give my father understanding, the Spirit dictated to me that I should listen to him without saying a word. The night before he was to talk to the stake president again, he was sitting alone in the backyard. He said the moonlight made the night clear. He took the opportunity to pray to the Lord in the way he knows and said, “Father, I know that you have given me everything, but do you need to collect all at once? You know I cannot bear it.” In that very moment the backyard became filled with shadows that started to move towards him. My father became stricken with fear and ran to his room like a frightened child. He spent the whole night talking to my strong and sweet mother. That long talk with my mother and his interview with the stake president, when both cried, were enough to change his thinking.
And then came the night that I will never forget. I was in the kitchen peeling a pineapple for our dessert when my father came home. He stopped behind me, placed his briefcase on the floor, and said, “May I talk to you?”
I was already getting used to his aggressive talking. I answered yes and continued to peel the pineapple. “Listen, young man, when I talk to someone I like him to look into my eyes.” I stopped, turned to him, and heard him say with a calm and tender voice, “My son, go and do what you have decided to do because the Lord has told me that it is right. You can count on me for help because I love you very much.” We embraced each other, and the Lord bound the heart of the father to the son and of the son to the father. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks.

President Wheelwright and I have 18 adorable grandchildren, with one on the way, and each is a source of great delight to us. Of course they're all unique and talented but there seems to be about one per family that arrives with the "invention" bug, and they've come up with some pretty clever things!
Ben is four years old. Ben introduces himself to strangers by announcing, "My name is Ben and I'm an inventor!" Ben's favorite tools are twist ties, toilet paper rolls, and Elmer's glue. He recently asked his mother if she would please buy an emergency supply of 129 bottles of glue, so he would never run out. One of his bigger creations of late was an airplane that filled much of the garage, using every piece of scrap wood he could find, and more than a little glue.
As you might have realized by now, there's a fairly wide range of usefulness, not to mention safety, among these inventions. Some, though currently in prototype form, might actually prove helpful, like Rachel's Snazzy Page Turner or Steele's RareTip; others, like Ben's airplane, might be more of a liability than an asset, I'm afraid!

At my school, each class provides Christmas presents for a different child who wouldn’t have presents otherwise. The girl my class was assigned to help had asked for very little: just a doll and a book. At first we grudgingly all brought in a cheap book or discounted doll and put it in a box. But then we soon brought in more and more, realizing how good it felt to give. We were so excited each day to bring in things for this little girl that we would laugh with joy. Over the weeks we collected so many presents that they couldn’t fit in the box—the gifts were literally overflowing.
Instead of thinking about what we were getting for Christmas, we thought about the little girl’s face on Christmas morning, and it always made us smile and feel happy. It made us realize how the spirit of Christmas is about giving, not getting. And that made me think of what our Heavenly Father gave us that wonderful night: a Savior. He gave us a light, an example, and someone we can always trust. It made me realize how much Heavenly Father loves us—so much that He gave us a Savior, the Holy Ghost, our families, and our friends. I’m so grateful for that little girl and the lessons she taught me. That Christmas, the best gift for me was the giving.

“And what do Mormons believe about marriage?” my high school Spanish teacher asked me.
All of my classmates turned in their seats, listening for my answer. I gulped as I wondered how our class discussion had wandered from Don Quixote and Dulcinea to dating and marriage.
There wasn’t another member of the Church in the class. What should I say? How much detail should I give? Would everyone make fun of me if I talked about eternal marriage?
“We, uh … ,” I stammered, still uncertain what to say.
Just then, my friend Denise came to my rescue. “Mormons have a beautiful view of marriage,” she said. “They believe that marriages performed in their temples can last forever.”
“That is beautiful,” our teacher replied. Even my classmates seemed satisfied.
With that, class resumed and I was left wondering why I had been sweating over a question that my nonmember friend answered so easily.
As more people hear about the Church, Latter-day Saints will have more opportunities to answer questions about the gospel. In high school, I learned that we don’t have to give long answers, and we don’t have to be afraid. The beautiful, simple doctrines of the gospel speak for themselves.

Here’s a true story about a friend from Europe whom I’ll call Mattias. After his mission and temple marriage, Mattias raised a beautiful family. He became a stake president. Later after I’d come to know him well, I saw a prominent American news story reporting that Mattias was “grappling with a wave of doubt and disillusionment” because he had “encountered information on the Internet that sabotaged” his religious faith. When the reporter asked what had happened, Mattias said that for years as a Church member and leader, he’d been “living in a bubble and we felt so happy.” Then some of his LDS friends came to him for answers to questions they had encountered on the Internet. He said many of the issues were new to him—such as, how did Joseph Smith translate the Book of Mormon and the Book of Abraham, why were blacks excluded from the priesthood until 1978, and did Joseph Smith really practice polygamy. Mattias’s problem was not with what had happened in each instance, once he learned the details. Rather, he was distressed that he hadn’t previously known these things, so he felt betrayed. Because I knew and cared a great deal about Mattias, I wondered how these questions could have surprised him. My experience had been so different from his. Marie told you about our BYU class, “Your Religious Problems,” where we learned that asking gospel questions can be a productive way to learn—if we move through all of the three levels we’ve just discussed. We encountered Mattias’s questions years ago—not because we were digging into secret historical closets, but because we and our friends had what felt like a normal college experience for LDS students.

In the Church classrooms where we’ve sat ever since, these issues were not hidden or discouraged. On the contrary, we have often discussed them, always in an open atmosphere of faith. Remember when Mattias said that before these questions came to his attention, “I was just in a bubble, and we felt so happy?” That sentence is actually a good illustration of level one idealism in the steps of dealing with uncertainty. Holly, so active that she was on auto-pilot, at first lived in the same bubble. Then the shock of bumping into level two realism felt to both Mattias and Holly like an earthquake. This wasn’t really their fault—or perhaps anybody’s fault. Their experience may just tell us that in this day of both the Internet and the international Church, we need to do a better job of introducing our children, young people, new converts, and others to the process of learning and applying the levels of dealing with uncertainty.

By lunchtime, the last group of Richmond Ward youth are putting finishing touches on a wall at Svetlana Iskiyayev’s Village Shoe Shop. They have spent the morning tidying and painting the back room of the shop.
Svetlana and her husband left careers as a doctor and a lawyer when they came to Virginia from Russia several years ago. Now they are building their dreams here. And Helen Capehart, age 16, is happy she can help them. She has invited two nonmember friends to help her today and hopes that they, as well as the Iskiyayevs, will see the light of the gospel through her service.
After all, examples of service are what drew Helen herself to the gospel just a short time ago. She says: “I’m so grateful that the Lord led me to this Church and for the awesome examples my friends here have been to me. My biggest example now is Jesus Christ, and I find so much joy in serving him. I hope I always have this feeling in me.”
Most likely, that feeling will stay with Helen because she has found an important key to sharing the gospel—service.

I grew up in Panguitch, Utah, a small town of 1,500 people. I was a big fish in a little pond. When I graduated from high school, I received a scholarship to attend Brigham Young University. When I got there, I quickly discovered that I was a little fish in a huge pond, and I became discouraged. I thought, “I want to get out of here.” I started to go home on weekends. I attended church at home—not on campus. I didn’t keep my grades at a level at which I ought to have kept them. I didn’t get acquainted with people. By the end of the year, I said, “I’m not going to return. This is not for me.”

I went home that summer. About mid-August I discovered that I wanted to return to school. So I did. This time I immediately joined a social fraternity and a service organization. I moved into the dormitory. I started attending church on campus rather than going home on weekends. My grades improved. I began to realize that life on campus was a good life and that I was happy to be there.

Later I attended law school. My first year was difficult because I was studying a different discipline than what I had studied as an undergraduate, and my grades, again, were not as good as they should have been. The second year, I got a part-time job in a law firm while I was going to school. My grades went up. At the end of my second year, I married my wife, Joy. Even with my additional responsibilities, everything was going well. My grades became better than they had ever been.

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

I really wanted to help with my family history, but my father had seven generations in his family tree, and all the temple ordinances were complete. For 11 years he found no new information about his family. My desire and hope disappeared. I told myself with frustration, “All my family history is done. Where am I going to get names to take to the temple?”
I decided to look at all the information my father had on his FamilySearch tree and a voice told me that there was still much to do. I began to search for information all over the internet. I was able to find many people with my surname, but I could not find my relationship to all those people.
When my hope was exhausted, I decided to fast with my mother to have success in our family history. The next Sunday morning as we were getting ready to go to church, I did my typical internet search, and suddenly I found a page with information I had never seen. It was a miracle!
With the help of new information, I, at age 14, took a total of 400 family names to the temple. I was so happy. My favorite part was sharing those names with the youth and seeing their happiness at having so many cards in their hands.
I testify of this great and marvelous work. When we do family history, the Spirit helps us have success and touches our hearts.
Guillermo T., Chile

On September 11, 2001, I had just entered my classroom in the Taylor building when I noticed the television was on and turned to a news channel. Everyone in the room was watching intently as the morning events of 9/11 unfolded in New York City and Washington D.C. We all sat in stunned silence as we watched what would turn out to be the biggest news story of our young adult lives. Most who watched the events of that day remember exactly where they were and what they were doing at that moment. The same could be true for anyone who has experienced any life-altering event. In many cases, the life-altering events we experience are not being broadcast to the world, and very few people know about our personal challenges.
On 9/11, no one knew about the many different emotions I was experiencing as I walked across campus to class. I had recently returned from my mission, Ricks College was now BYU-Idaho, my declared major was no longer going to be offered, and I had just been dumped by my girlfriend. In that moment, I wasn’t sure how I would sort through my own challenges, which were now being compounded by the fear of the day’s events.
For weeks, I had been anxiously waiting to hear from President Bednar—now Elder Bednar—to see if he would say anything that could help me. Fortunately, devotional proceeded as planned and the devotional talk that day proved to be another life-altering moment. It was so impactful that I still remember where I was sitting in the Hart gymnasium as President Bednar taught about the Lord’s pattern for receiving revelation in our lives. Up until that moment, I had the same misunderstanding about receiving revelation that President Bednar addressed in his talk when he said:
In that moment, I felt foolish for the negative thoughts I had had on my mission when I would pray and ask the Lord why He wasn’t giving me clear direction while I was trying to do His work. I would often find myself feeling disappointed and second guessing my ability to receive revelation if it didn’t come “as a big answer quickly and all at one time.”[2] President Bednar went on to explain the Lord’s common pattern in which we receive revelation using 2 Nephi 28:30:
I had read this scripture several times during my mission, but somehow I had not understood its meaning. In that moment, I had several memories come to mind as the Spirit helped me recognize moments in my life when I had received revelation “line upon line, precept upon precept.”[4] The guilt and frustration I felt turned to gratitude and excitement as I listened to the rest of the talk and wrote down my impressions.

My mother taught me to work hard. She asked me to get the work done first and then go play. One day a few of us helped my mom move a piano from upstairs to downstairs. It was a big, old piano. It wasn’t easy to move. We moved it around corners and finally down the stairs. When we set it down, my mother was glowing with happiness—just because we’d moved a piano! I said, “Mom, I think you would rather move a piano than listen to a piano.” She nodded. She loved to work.

My first impression of Edith Hooper was of white hair framing a wrinkled face. Her wide eyes looked as though she’d drawn a screen just behind them to keep people from seeing deeper inside.
Sister Hooper was an elderly widow, and a recent convert to the Church. My visit to her was my first experience with visiting teaching. I had been asked to go that month with a visiting teacher whose regular companion was ill.
Once inside Sister Hooper’s home, we noticed several glass cabinets containing a large collection of interesting seashells. Sister Hooper brightened noticeably when we asked her about them. But she kept a sense of distance and her television remained on during our entire visit. It was also apparent that she still struggled with a smoking problem.
I thought I felt her breathe a sigh of relief as we stood up to go, and I left wondering what good, if any, our visit had done. I had no way of knowing what a profound effect this woman was to have on my life.
It was eight years before our paths crossed again. I had forgotten all about Edith Hooper until I was assigned to be her visiting teacher. Our first visit to her home confirmed that she had not yet conquered her smoking habit. We soon learned that she no longer drove her car and didn’t get out much. She had few visitors, though she often spoke of two neighbors who checked in on her occasionally. Her main companion was her dog, Cindy.
During the next few months my companion, Virginia Lavender, and I discussed ways we could best help her. We decided to invite Sister Hooper out to lunch—and, since this was just before Christmas, we also bought her a small gift.
As we walked back to the car following the meal, Edith asked “Why are you doing this for me? No one else ever has.” The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me answer. That lunch date was the beginning of many to come.
As we made our monthly visits, we found Edith to be well informed on world and community news; she even had a favorite baseball team. What she didn’t see on television she read about. On several occasions, however, her speech seemed slow and her responses dulled. We would check back on her often after such visits.
One of her interests was genealogy. Sister Hooper had collected a lot of information that she needed help compiling, so I offered to help her type it up. We decided that both of us would benefit from attending the genealogy class in Sunday School. Saturday evenings I would telephone and remind Edith, then call for her the next morning.
We really came to know each other during those Sundays together. I learned that Edith’s mother had died when she was two, and Edith was raised in a convent for the next eleven years. Edith’s father remarried, and at age thirteen Edith was brought home from school to live and do housework. She had little opportunity to spend time with her father because her stepmother would send her from the room after her household tasks were done.
Edith attended high school and then met Gilbert, her husband-to-be. Gilbert was in the Navy fulltime, and when possible, Edith traveled with him. It was in Guam and the Philippines that she dived for her beloved shells. She had catalogued each shell in her collection with origin, specie, and the depth and place she had found it. Often she would dive all day.
She loved her husband’s family as the family she never really had and was pleased when in our genealogy work we were able to get clearance for baptism and temple work for her father, husband (who had died years before), and several members of her husband’s family. She was disappointed, though, that we were never able to get enough information to have her mother’s work completed.
One day I received a phone call from her neighbor saying that Edith had fallen and had been unable to get up. The neighbors had taken her to the emergency room at the local hospital and then to a rest home, where Edith was to live for the next several months. I went to see her, taking several things she wanted, and could see that, under their constant care, she was doing much better.
While she was gone, several women in our ward thoroughly cleaned her home and repainted her kitchen as a surprise. When she returned home, the sisters were organized to check on her daily, reporting any problems to me.
I learned that the difficulty she had been having with her speech was because she was not eating properly and had become weak. We talked about her diet and arranged to have a balanced meal brought in daily by a public service organization. We also discussed her smoking problem. She knew what was best for her, but she also knew that I loved her whether she smoked or not.
As Edith’s health worsened and she became more helpless, she often cried with frustration and embarrassment. I would put my arms around her thin shoulders and reassure her of my love and concern. Gradually this woman, who had never accepted or given affection, except perhaps to her husband, began to respond to my hugs and friendship.
One day another call came from Edith’s neighbor: Edith would not respond to knocks on her door. I arrived and, seeing how sick she was, called my doctor. He came quickly, diagnosed pneumonia, and we took her to the hospital. I visited Edith daily during her hospital stay.
Edith consented to rent her home to help pay expenses. I had begun writing out her checks, which she would sign, to pay her bills, and was eventually appointed conservator of her estate.
Edith had decided to donate her cherished seashell collection to Chico State University, with the understanding that she could choose a few to keep with her. Two university representatives, my husband, and I spent hours carefully packing the shells so none would be broken.
“How much money do I have in my bank account? What has become of my shells?” Edith asked me one day as I entered her hospital room. After I answered her questions, she gratefully replied, “I knew you would take care of them.”
Many days Edith was incoherent when I visited. But other times she would look at me with love in her eyes, protesting that I shouldn’t do so much for her. “Maybe I can be the daughter you never had,” I would reply.
One Saturday when the pneumonia had worsened and Edith was seriously ill, she was unable to respond to me. The next day my husband visited her and said she had recognized him and suggested that I go again the next day.
When I got there, I took Edith in my arms, as I had many times before, and asked if she knew who I was. She nodded that she did. I told her she was doing a good job and that I was proud of her. “You know I love you, don’t you?” I added. She nodded again.
That was our last meeting in this life. Edith passed away the next morning.
As we had agreed, I made the arrangements for her funeral. As I sat there at the services, noticing that there were no family members present, I wondered how often this sweet lady had heard the words, “I love you.”
“Impossible,” I would have said to anyone who had told me eight years ago that I would learn to love this withdrawn, stubborn woman. But she has touched my life in a way I can’t express.
I promised Edith that I would complete her temple endowment, and I have. The chapter is complete.

Then it was time for another zone conference. It was a rainy April day as they got on the interstate to travel to the conference.

Scott was driving. As he rounded a curve, he saw a car pulled over to the side of the road. A young mother wrestled with a tire jack while two small children peered out the back of the station wagon at their dripping mother.

Scott slowed down.

“We’ll be late if we stop,” his companion warned.

“I know.”

“If we help, we’ll get wet.”

“I know,” he said, pulling off the road.

“Then why are you stopping?”

“She needs some help.”

“Maybe it’s a trap. How do you know there’s not a couple of guys hiding, ready to take our money?”

“We don’t have any money,” Scott smiled.

Scott stepped outside into the pouring rain. “Can I help?”

“I can’t figure out how to work the jack.”

“Why don’t you get out of the rain? No use both of us getting wet.”

He worked quickly changing the tire. As he worked, he realized that he was singing. He looked up once and saw the faces of the two children pressed against the back window of the station wagon. He winked at them and made a silly face. They both giggled.

When he was finished, he opened the back door of the station wagon and put the flat tire and jack in the back.

The woman got out to thank him. “Can I pay you something?”

“No, but there is something you can do,” he said, running back to his car. He picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon and ran it back to her.

“Read this,” he said, thrusting it into her hand.

Then he turned and ran back to the car.

He had never felt so happy in his life.

“You look like a drowned rat,” his companion complained as they continued down the road.

“At least my hair isn’t wet,” he answered, smiling.

“I suppose you know that we’re going to be late for the meeting.”

“I’m sorry for making you late. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Yes it could. You could’ve passed her by. Someone else would have come along.”

“Will that lady ever have a better reason for reading the Book of Mormon?” Scott asked with a wide grin.

“She doesn’t even live in our area. Even if she’s baptized, someone else will get the credit.”

Scott found himself humming.

“Why are you so happy?”

“Because I’ve just done something that the Savior would have done.”

Imagine this scenario: Your friend hasn’t been herself lately. Usually she’s upbeat and fun, but now she doesn’t want to do things that she used to have fun doing. You were surprised when she decided to stay home rather than go to a dance last Saturday. Every time you see her now she seems sad, withdrawn, and irritable. And this has been going on for a while.
As you think about it, you realize your friend was always a good student, but last week she didn’t turn in her history paper for the third time in a row. It’s like she’s lost her motivation. She says she feels tired all the time but can’t fall asleep at night and mentions how she always feels sad but doesn’t know why. She’s been this way for a while, and you’re worried she might be depressed.