Gospel Story Finder

Here's an example you may relate to. Years ago I was called away from my home ward to serve on this campus. A week or so after being set apart, a sister came in for an interview and expressed some concern about a calling she had received at the beginning of the semester. As I recall, she said something like this: "I came here to Ricks College and was excited to participate and serve. When the bishop called me into his office, I knew he had a calling for me, and I secretly hoped that it would be something that stretched me and helped me to get to know people. As it turned out, my calling was to be the centerpiece coordinator in Relief Society. I've been doing it, but I know it's not important and no one really cares. What do I do?" First of all, I had no idea what a centerpiece coordinator did. It wasn't in the handbook, and there was no manual I could give her. She explained that she was to call the teacher each week, find out what the lesson topic for that Sunday was, and then create a centerpiece befitting the lesson. We don't do this in priesthood meeting because if it's on the table and it's not edible, the brethren don't care. (Although I did Google "LDS centerpieces" the other day, just for fun, and saw an orange Powerade bottle that said, "Orange you blessed to have the priesthood "Power" to "Ade" you in your life?")

Anyway, regardless of how you feel about the need for centerpieces in our meetings, this good sister felt underwhelmed, and questioned how much she was worth to the Lord. I can't remember exactly what I said to her then, but I have some counsel for any of you, students and faculty alike, who may be struggling with similar feelings now.

In 1932, Lauri Lehtinen of Finland was favored to win the 5,000-meter run. An American named Hill challenged Lehtinen on the home stretch, bringing the crowd to its feet. As Hill moved to pass, Lehtinen swerved into his path. Hill tried to pass on the other side, and Lehtinen blocked his path again and forced the American to break stride. Hill barely missed catching Lehtinen at the wire.
The fans booed so long and loud that officials held up naming the winner for more than an hour. But since there was nothing illegal about the blocking, they declared the Finn the winner.
As Lehtinen mounted the victory stand’s top step, an enormous chorus of boos erupted. When the olive wreath was placed on his head, Lehtinen removed it, stepped down, and placed the wreath on Hill’s head.

I'd like to share an experience with you that our family went through several years ago that has been a visual symbol to me of the importance of having the Spirit in my life. We were on vacation at Lake Powell with our children, some extended family and my parents. This was one of our first trips to Lake Powell with our family. We launched our boat at Bullfrog one morning and spent the day traveling down the channel towards Rainbow Bridge, which is 50 miles away. We stayed there for most of the day. Towards evening, we started back toward the Marina at Bullfrog. We had gone a few miles when the steering mechanism on our boat broke, and we found ourselves stranded in the middle of the lake with no way to steer the boat. Lake Powell can be a formidable place when you are in trouble, it was beginning to get dark, and we were all very aware of the danger of our plight. I can tell you there was a prayer in every heart. We had two choices, we could spend the night on the lake since there was no beach nearby, or we could hope that another boat would come by and get help for us. We looked around us for another boat, and sure enough, in the distance, we saw a boat headed our way. As it drew near, we waved our red flag and beckoned the driver over. Once they were close enough to discern faces, to our complete surprise, shock, and joy, we found the family in the boat to be friends of my parents - one of those happenings that could never be a coincidence. To add to our good fortune, their boat was bigger than ours, and they had a tow rope and a powerful spotlight. We tied our boat to theirs and began the long night's journey back to the marina. We were 35 miles away from Bullfrog and our towing speed was 7 miles per hour. There was no moon and it was really dark. If you know Lake Powell, you realize you can easily get out of the main channel and lost in daylight if you don't know where you are going. The channel is marked with buoys that are one mile apart, and at the top of each buoy is a small reflector. We took turns sitting on the bow of the lead boat, searchlight in hand, looking for the next buoy. When the light would catch the reflector, we would head to that buoy and then begin searching for the next reflector. One mile after another for 35 miles we searched for each reflector. Once we found it, we held on to it as if our very life depended on it. We finally arrived at Bullfrog at 1:00 a.m., very grateful for good friends who were guided to us and a light that brought us home.

I have learned for myself, brothers and sisters, that there is a God and that he loves us and that through the Holy Ghost he answers our prayers when we are sufficiently humble and meek to listen. As a young missionary in Central America, I was the leader over the missionaries in a particular country. We all went on a p-day activity to see the crater of a supposedly extinct volcano. There were two ways to get down into the crater of the volcano. One was to go down some steep ledges into the face of the volcano and the other was to walk through a jungle area around the rim of the volcano and come in on the back side that gently sloped to the crater. Most of the missionaries took the path through the jungle area. Some of us went down the cliffs. We met safely at the bottom and enjoyed seeing the volcano, (which, by the way, erupted a couple of months later). As we prepared to leave, it began to rain. I had not brought my raincoat or umbrella. I was getting soaked as we walked, and said to the others, I’m getting sopping wet and the rest of you have protection, just tell me how to get back through this jungle area, and I will meet you at the bus. I always tried to be an obedient missionary, and I knew I should always be with my companion, but out in the middle of the jungle there was no danger of immorality, so it seemed harmless to go ahead alone. Off I went. I soon came to a little fork in the path, and did what I thought I had been told to do. I continued for sometime through some very dense jungle growth. I wondered why the elders and sisters hadn’t complained about having to go through this. I could hardly see because the rain was now falling in torrents and my glasses were muddy. I tried to go faster but soon realized I was lost. I tried to retrace my steps, but I had left no trail. I began to panic. I ran and pushed through the dense undergrowth. At one point I fell into a big pit that had been covered over by vines and other growth. I managed to crawl out, but it was very obvious to me that I was lost in a jungle, I had no idea where I was or how I was ever going to get out.

Finally I dropped to my knees in the mud and told Heavenly Father I was awfully sorry and that I really needed His help. In my mind I could see the headlines “Missionary Lost in the Jungle” or “Other Missionaries Lost Trying to Find Their Leader,” or “Mission President in Helicopter Looking for Lost Missionaries.” I was absolutely terrified, not only for my own safety, but for fear that others would come looking for me and be placed in jeopardy themselves. After prayer, the only thought that came to me was that I should climb a tree and yell. I had been yelling, so that didn’t seem like much of a prompting, but I climbed a tree. I remember seeing an orchid on the limb that I crawled out on, and began yelling as loud as I could yell. I was really discouraged and frightened. As I recall, there was a brief ray of light that shone through the dark sky and gave me hope. I yelled louder. I thought I heard something so I yelled again and then I climbed down out of the tree and continued to yell, to listen and follow in the direction of what I hoped I was hearing. After what seemed like an eternity, I found my way to the company of two wonderful missionary companions. They told me they had come looking for me, but that they were certain that I had not gone the way I had because it was going exactly opposite of the way I should be going and was heading deeper into the jungle. They told me they had turned around and started back but felt to go just a little further before turning back. As they did so they heard my voice and began calling to me.

I know through this and many other experiences, some as recent as this week, that God hears and answers prayers and that the promptings of the Holy Ghost are real. I had been unwise. I hadn’t committed a great sin, but I had been disobedient. I assure you, my heart and mind were open and eager for inspiration.

Some of the older boys were asked to help with the flood watch. Jeff Larsen spent several shifts from midnight to three in the morning patrolling the stream banks and cleaning drains to keep the water moving in its channel. “It was a strange feeling being out that late in the dark trying to see if something was going wrong. At first I felt nervous, but there was a good feeling of doing something that really needed to be done.” Jeff had to come home after each watch and try to get enough sleep before reporting to his job.

Walter and Edith were serving a temple mission and had only a few months left when he became seriously ill with cancer and was bedridden for the first time in his life. During his illness, he reflected on his life. “He could see that he had accomplished much,” says Gloria, “but he also saw that he probably could have led a more balanced life. He softened at the end, in all of his suffering. The thing that made him happiest was that his family had strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Walter Spät died on 15 May 1989.

At the age of twelve, I attended the wedding reception of my older brother James and his wife Janet just after they were sealed in the Washington, DC Temple. The reception was held in the cultural hall of an LDS church building. As part of the festivities and decorations, they had a large, multi-tiered wedding cake that was placed in a prominent place in front of the stage, with its curtains closed, at one end of the cultural hall. For most of the reception, I was free to wander and eat the provided snacks – my favorite part of any wedding reception. At some point, I noticed that one of my older sisters, Faithann, who is closest to me in age, was sitting on the stage with her back to the curtain. I have always been a bit of a tease, so I got it into my mind that it would be fun to startle my sister by sneaking up to her from behind the curtain. Carefully, I went back stage and then crept up to the curtain until I found the opening between the two sides. With a cry of “Boo!” I threw the curtains open.

My shout did, in fact, startle my sister as I planned. However, it caught everyone else’s attention as well. They all turned to look toward me just as one side of the curtains that I had thrown open hit the beautiful wedding cake, knocking it over…

The good thing is that my newly-married brother was standing, in his white tuxedo, next to the cake and managed to catch it. The bad thing is that, sitting on top of the cake, was a beautiful, miniature, crystal model of a temple. It had been borrowed from a ward member as a cake topping. Even now, I can see in my mind’s eye with clarity, and in slow motion, the fall of that crystal temple as a voice in my mind screamed “Nooo!” and it hit the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces.

Like Alma the Younger, I know what it is like to wish “that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body.”15

I did not have the money to purchase a replacement for that temple, but my dad did. He did purchase a replacement, but it was not a free replacement. When we got home, I was given a long list of chores to do to pay my dad back for doing what I could not.

My father replaced the temple AND required me to put in effort to complete the chores because he loved me and wanted me to learn a valuable lesson.

Our Heavenly Father does the same.

“I was fortunate when I was a boy to have an outstanding Sunday School teacher. When she talked about the apostle Paul, we could almost hear him preaching. She made every character in the scriptures come alive. She was an unusually kind woman and let us boys know that she expected us to be gentlemen.

“In our class we had collected some money to use for a big party. One Sunday morning our teacher came to class and told us that one of our classmates would be absent—his mother had passed away. We were all very unhappy. The subject of the lesson that morning was that it is better to give than to receive. After she had presented the lesson, she talked about the hard times ahead for the absent boy’s family. ‘How would you students like to follow the Lord’s teachings?” she asked. ‘How would you feel about taking our party fund and giving it to this boy’s family as an expression of love?”

“The decision was unanimous. I remember that I was the treasurer of the class, and the teacher said to the boy’s father, ‘Brother Devenport, the class would like to make an expression of their feelings.’ Then she called on me to make an expression, and afterward I handed our party fund to him. I think that was one of the first times I saw a grown man weep. This simple act of kindness welded our class together. We learned through our own experience that it truly is more blessed to give than to receive.

Let me tell you of one young woman who has demonstrated remarkable strength in the face of great tragedy. On April 17, 1999, a big van broadsided a car and severely injured 16-year-old Emily Jensen. Her skull was fractured, and she was in a coma for three months, and six months in the hospital. She has had to learn everything again as if from birth. It would have been easy to give up, but giving up is not in Emily’s vocabulary. She works so hard at recovery that she runs the equivalent of a 26-mile marathon every day. Her faith, courage, and perseverance have strengthened and motivated many other hospital patients.

Emily is still working very hard to regain her speech. Even so, she fearlessly asks nurses, technicians, and therapists, “Are you a Mormon?” If they reply no, she tells them in her muddled sentences, “You should be. Read the Book of Mormon.”

Emily dictated to her mother what she wanted written in five copies of the Book of Mormon that she gave to a doctor, three therapists, and a technician before she left the hospital.

Emily dearly loved one technician who had become totally inactive in the Church. They prayed together in Emily’s hospital room. In language that was difficult to understand, but with a spirit that was strong and clear, Emily told her that she needed to go back to church. That technician later wrote Emily: “I want to thank you so much for the Book of Mormon you gave me. I cried when I read what you wrote. I know someday I will love this book as much as you do.”

Emily’s life was recently brightened at Skyline High School in Salt Lake City. The student body picked her as this year’s prom queen in recognition of her extraordinary courage. Her classmates stood and cheered as she struggled to the stage of the packed auditorium, supported on the arm of the student body president.

Though she continues to go each day for therapy, Emily’s life is still defined by her spiritual identity, her goodness, her kindness to others, and her strong testimony.

Brother Bennett likes to recount a conversation he had with a newspaper reporter during the South Pacific Games of 1979. Intrigued over the Tahitian captains’s refusal to play on the Sabbath, the journalist sought an interview. During the discussion, he asked, “Who is the person, alive today, that you admire most?”
“He sat back and waited for me to answer,” Brother Bennett recalls. “I guess he expected me to name some outstanding athlete. Instead, I told him the man I admired most was eighty-three year-old Spencer W. Kimball, president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I said I wanted to shake his hand one day. The rest of the interview was mainly about the Church!”
Erroll Bennett did eventually shake President Kimball’s hand. On 13 February 1981, the president visited Tahiti to break ground for the Tahitian Temple. Assigned to assist in handling security for the Church leader was Erroll Bennett.
Today, Brother Bennett, 32 and the father of five, is still at the top of Tahitian soccer. Shelf space in the lounge room of his home in suburban Papeete is occupied by a dazzling array of trophies. He has been the top scorer in Tahiti every year for the past ten years.
It is intriguing to observe the effect Brother Bennett’s courage has had on the image of the Church in the islands. Mission President C. Jay Larson has not been slow to use Brother Bennett in Church meetings attended by investigators. Jean Tefan, recently released public communications director for the Tahiti Region, muses: “Of course, not all people agree with the Church’s stand on the sanctity of the Sabbath. But I believe it’s fair to say they respect us for it. Many admire the fact that there are people who are still prepared to stand up for a principle. And there are countless Tahitians today—not only footballers themselves, but thousands of their supporters—who are now with their families on Sundays instead of at a game because of the character of a Latter-day Saint.”
Perhaps the most important question still remains. Why was a man with the stature of Napoléon Spitz willing to go to such extraordinary lengths to back Erroll on the Sabbath issue, when he did not share the player’s religious conviction? What did this president of the powerful Comité Territorial des Sports, this president of the Football League of French Polynesia and recently elected first vice president of the French Polynesian legislative assembly, see in Erroll Bennett that he so admired?
“For Erroll, I knew that it was a matter of deep religious conviction, and I respected him for it,” Mr. Spitz says. Then, as he leans back in his chair in his political office in the Assembly building, he adds with feeling:
“Erroll Bennett is more than just a soccer player. I believe he is the greatest Tahitian soccer star of all time—as a player, his attitude and his spirit mark him as a great man. If he had these qualities before he became a Mormon, he has them to an even greater degree now. Not once in his career has he ever been cautioned for bad behaviour.”
No one knows how much longer Erroll Bennett will be playing soccer. He could still be at the top five years from now. Yet one senses that an honourable retirement may not be too far distant. In the division of the Papeete Tahiti Stake on June 20 last year, Erroll’s former bishop, Lysis Terooatea, was called to preside over the new Pirae Tahiti Stake, and Erroll was called as a member of the stake high council. True to form, high council meetings come before practice sessions. For his part, Napoléon Spitz is hopeful that Erroll can keep going until the South Pacific Games scheduled for Apia, Samoa, this year.
Of his own life in the past hectic five years—of the pressures he has faced, the principles he has stood for, and the lives he has touched—Erroll Bennett says simply: “I’ve been truly blessed.”

After I came home from my mission, I suddenly had a new life to face. I had to find my way in school, navigate new friendships, attempt to date, and figure out new work schedules.
It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
I wanted to turn to the Lord for reassurance. I had a firm testimony that the Book of Mormon was the word of God, but I found myself feeling distant when I tried to read my scriptures. I felt like I was unable to access the peace and comfort I usually felt while reading the Book of Mormon.
I was facing a lot of big feelings, and when I tried to read my scriptures, I wanted big answers. But those answers just didn’t seem to be coming.
My feelings of discontent grew to the point where I struggled to open my scriptures at all.
As I pondered on the preservation of the Book of Mormon, I was struck by the marvelous truth that the wise purpose behind its writing includes me. Heavenly Father knew how much I would need the Book of Mormon in my life. In fact, He knew the challenges each of His children would face in mortality, and in a grand expression of love, He provided us with the scriptures to lead us, guide us, and comfort us.
So why was I not feeling comforted?
One week as I attended my church meetings, I prayed to learn something that would help me. The impression I received at church that day prepared me to hear Heavenly Father’s voice.
As I sat and listened, I was reminded of a truth I had forgotten. I wrote in my journal: “One way to work through frustration when you feel like you aren’t receiving answers is spiritual consistency. It is the daily moments of spiritual consistency that allow God to create patterns, point out subtle feelings, and convey simple but powerful, comforting truths. It’s the consistency that turns our heart to Him, that aligns our will with His.”
In that moment, I remembered the principle that Alma taught his son while instructing him to keep a record:
“Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.
“And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls” (Alma 37:6–7).
These verses and the revelation I received in church that day helped me reframe my expectations for my scripture study. Instead of looking for big spiritual experiences when I somewhat sporadically read my scriptures, I began to focus on creating simple moments to connect with the Lord daily through scripture study.
By taking the pressure off, I felt a simple, sweet spirit begin to fill my life. It was small and subtle, but I was able to see that Heavenly Father truly can convey great, meaningful messages in small and simple ways. And being spiritually consistent in my scripture study helped me develop my ability to recognize those messages.

There was Uwe, the young, idealistic environmentalist, who heard about the plan of salvation and knew the message was true. He bicycled 5 miles (8 km) to church on Sunday morning in answer to our invitation, even though his long, leather-clad legs wouldn’t fit into the chapel’s pews. When he prayed on his knees for the first time, we felt the peace that entered his heart, and we watched his countenance change.

When they were engaged, Sonia Lopreiato Piros and Gabriel Piros of São Paulo, Brazil, talked about the decisions they would have to make when their children were born. But after one year of marriage and the birth of their first child, “everything that was once so simple in theory turned out to be complicated to practice,” Sister Piros says. “We faced the moment of decision, and fear invaded our hearts. My husband was afraid he would not earn enough to provide for our needs, and I was afraid to end my promising career.”
Brother and Sister Piros began reviewing the Eternal Marriage Student Manual (item no. 35311) and attending institute classes together. They felt certain the right decision was the one they had made before they were married—that Sister Piros would set aside her career for now, even though both knew it would not be easy for Brother Piros to provide for the family’s needs.
“We exercised our faith, and as the scripture said, we proved the word of God,” she says (see 2 Ne. 11:3). The couple began to experience many blessings as a result of their sacrifice, including Brother Piros’s professional growth.
“We still face some challenges and fears, but we are certain that God will be there at our side and that He will answer our prayers,” Sister Piros says.

In the late 1980s, Elder Carlos A. Godoy had just been released as bishop. He had also graduated from college, was working for a successful company, and thought life couldn’t get better—until an old friend came to visit.
That friend congratulated him but then asked a question that left him unsettled: “If you continue to live as you are living, will the blessings promised in your patriarchal blessing be fulfilled?”
Elder Godoy realized that he needed to make changes if he wanted to receive all his promised blessings. Despite his contentment, he decided to pursue a master’s degree. He quit his job, sold everything he owned, and, with his family, left the familiarity of Brazil to attend school in the United States.
Elder Godoy, named to the Presidency of the Seventy on March 31, 2018, said this experience taught him a lot about trusting in the Lord’s plan and being willing to leave his comfort zone.
“I know that the Lord has a plan for us in this life,” he testified in the October 2014 general conference. “He knows us. He knows what is best for us. Just because things are going well does not mean that we should not from time to time consider whether there might be something better.”

President Hinckley’s propensity for looking at the big picture extends to many arenas. Shortly after he married, he tackled the formidable task of building a small home, designing it to be added upon as the family grew. Son Clark says, “Dad always had a plan for the future. In the house he built, he left areas for doors within walls, under the theory that as he remodeled and expanded, the doors would be needed as part of the plan.” Eldest son Dick adds, “It seems our home was always a year or two behind the family growth, and Mother constantly had to deal with some unfinished aspect of home or yard. When they moved into a condominium years later, Mother said, ‘At last, brick walls that Dad cannot knock out or change!’”

When they reached Nauvoo, Orson Spencer directed them to the home of the Prophet. Joseph and Emma Smith welcomed them, inviting the Mannings to stay at the Mansion House until they found homes. Eventually all the members of the Manning family found jobs except Jane. The Prophet and his wife urged her to stay with them.

Jane did stay for several months. When the Prophet was martyred, Jane grieved for him, saying, he was “the finest man I ever saw on earth.”

On the plains of Paraguay sits the tiny village of Mistolar. It is located on a large stretch of land in a desolate area near the Pilcomayo River. There in this small farming community is a branch of the Church. In June of 1987, with the melting snows of the Andes, the river which was their lifeline for crops was also the source of their destruction. It overflowed its banks not once but twice, forcing the Saints to relocate and then relocate again. They lost everything: their chapel, their homes, their gardens and fences. For a month they waded in knee-deep water simply trying to stay alive.
The Area Presidency, hearing of their plight, dispatched supplies, and Elder Ted E. Brewerton of the Quorum of Seventy led the rescue party in a grueling two-day journey.
When the group arrived they were warmly welcomed by the women and children because the men, for the most part, were away hunting and fishing.
The people had little food and clothing to sustain them in that freezing winter weather, and their surviving livestock included three sheep, a few chickens, a goat, and a scrawny dog. At night their makeshift reed-and-stick homes offered very little protection.
Clearly their situation was bleak, yet the villagers were smiling. Their peace was a stark contrast to their destitute circumstances.
How were they sustaining their spirits under such difficulties? The answer came when Elder Brewerton asked the young branch president, “Do you have any sick among your members?”
The young priesthood leader paused and said, “I don’t think so; let me ask the other brethren.” A few minutes later he answered, “There are thirty-nine of us who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood. We watch over and bless our people.”
That evening at the branch meeting a sister offered a prayer, one Elder Brewerton will always remember. She said, “Father, we have lost our beautiful chapel, we have lost our clothing, we no longer have homes, … we don’t have any materials to build anything, we have to walk ten kilometers to get a drink of dirty river water and don’t have a bucket. But we desire to express to thee our gratitude for our good health, for our happiness, and for our Church membership. Father, we want thee to know that under any conditions, we will be true, strong, and faithful to the covenants we made to thee when we were baptized” (in Heidi S. Swinton, Pioneer Spirit [1996], 10; see 8–11).
When all around them had washed away, the Saints in Mistolar held firmly to the power of the priesthood and its spiritual blessings (see D&C 107:18). I can picture that Relief Society sister standing up to thank the Lord in prayer for all they had. They had practically nothing—not even a bucket. But they had their covenants, they had their Church membership, their commitment to Christ. They were blessed to become “partakers of the glories.” In the Doctrine and Covenants we read, “Blessed are you for receiving mine everlasting covenant, even the fulness of my gospel, sent forth unto the children of men, that they might … be made partakers of the glories which are to be revealed in the last days” (D&C 66:2).

On vacations, Father would take us to historical sites that were prominent in Church history to build our knowledge and testimonies.
On one occasion, when I was a twelve-year-old deacon, Father asked if I would like to go to the baseball hall of fame in Cooperstown, New York, and to the Hill Cumorah Pageant near Palmyra, New York. This is where Joseph Smith was led to the golden plates which were later translated into the Book of Mormon. Father also took me to the Sacred Grove, where Joseph Smith had prayed to Heavenly Father and was visited in a vision by God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We prayed together in the grove and expressed our desire to be true and faithful to the priesthood which we held. Father later painted a picture of the place where we had prayed and gave it to me as a reminder of our promises made that day together. It hangs in my office today and serves as a reminder each day of my sacred experience and promises made with my earthly father as well as my Heavenly Father.

The January night was cold and dark. Six-year-old Brigitte huddled next to her nine-year-old sister, Wanda, both of them trying to stay close to the wood-burning stove. Black paper covered the windows so that not even a bit of light would show through to show enemy planes where to bomb. Papa held out a paper, straining to read it by the light of one tiny candle.
“I am to report to Augsburg (Germany) for military training by February first,” he said. “I have been drafted.”
To be without Papa? It was unthinkable! Papa with his funny stories. Papa, who had always kept the family safe. Brigitte looked at the shadowy faces of Mama, Papa, and Wanda. They were sad faces, but without tears.
Papa’s voice was calm. “Over three-fourths of Nuremberg has already been bombed. We ourselves had to find a new home when a bomb tore the hole in our kitchen. Elizabeth, I think that after I am gone, you and the children should try to find a place to stay away from here. It will be safer in the country.”
Mama nodded her head. “My sister Margarete is already looking for a place for us.”
Shuddering, Brigitte remembered the bombs hitting the top floor of their apartment building before they could escape to the shelter. She remembered burning mattresses being flung out of windows. And she remembered being pulled along to the bunkers by her father’s strong hand as they ran through the street in terror, the upper part of it engulfed in flames. That time there had been no warning.
As though reading her mind, Papa said, “Gitte, remember the time Mama covered you with blankets in the shelter to try to block out the noise and screaming? You had been crying. I know that you were very much afraid. Then you heard one of our neighbors say, ‘I want to sit by Mrs. Baier—she has such strong faith, nothing ever happens to her.’ You pushed the blanket off and looked at Oma (Grandmother), who was sitting quietly. Do you remember what you did then?”
“Yes, Papa. I crawled into Oma’s lap, and I stopped crying.” Brigitte smiled. “I always want to be just like Oma.”
“We must all have faith like Oma,” Papa agreed. “Ever since I was baptized when I was fifteen years old, I have never doubted the truthfulness of the gospel. This war will be over soon, but I will never have peace in my heart until I can move us to America and we are sealed in the temple. I have to leave you for a little while now, but we will be together again, and then, somehow, we will get to America.”
Mama smiled. “Yes, George, I’m sure that your dream will come true when you come back to us. You could have gone there after your mission in 1931. I’m glad you stayed here to marry me, instead.”
Papa grinned back at her. “I thought we could go in 1936, after Wanda was born—we even gave her an American name—but by then the government wouldn’t let us out of the country.”
“You were the branch president, however—perhaps you were needed here for a while. I was really frightened, though, when the police came to our home to search for Church books.”
“I was, too, Elizabeth, but no harm came to us.” Papa looked at his two little girls. “I want to give you each a father’s blessing before I leave. And don’t ever doubt that Heavenly Father will take care of you. He won’t ever leave you.”
Brigitte felt comforted after she was given the blessing. Somehow it made her feel like Papa was always close by, even after he had to go away.
Aunt Margarete found a place for them to stay in the country with a kind farmer and his family. Brigitte started school in the nearby village. There was no word from Papa since he had written that he was being transferred. Every day Mama faithfully wrote to him.
“Mama! Mama!” Wanda cried one day as she hurried home. “The Americans have come. The war is over! Surely Papa will be home soon.”
Mama looked up from the stove where she was cooking potato pancakes, wiped her brow with her apron, and sighed. “I hope so, Wanda. I wish we would have some word of him.”
Although the long war was over and there were no more alarms, no more hurrying through the streets to get to the underground shelter when the bombs came, there was no word yet from Papa. Was he alive? Mama still wrote to him. But it had been two years. …
When she came home from the post office with a letter one day, Brigitte and Wanda both ran to her crying, “Is it from Papa?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Oma needs us to come back to Nuremberg. Opa (Grandfather) is very sick. She needs help taking care of him. We must leave right away.”
What about school? Brigitte wanted to ask. But she kept silent. Oma needed them. They walked over an hour, and then two American soldiers gave them a ride in a jeep to Nuremberg. All of the American soldiers treated the people with kindness.
“Oma, let me sweep this floor for you,” Brigitte said, hurrying to take the broom from her grandmother. Opa did not have much longer to live, and Oma looked worn out. Brigitte watched for every chance to help her.
Mama had been called to be Relief Society president. “I don’t know what we’d do without this help from the Saints in America,” she said, opening a big box of food to distribute to people in need.
Brigitte loved the powdered milk that came in some of the boxes. How she loved to put a bit of the white powder on the end of her spoon and lick it off. Mmmm!
Spring came. Opa died in March, and Mama, Wanda, and Brigitte planted a garden where he had always planted one. He had always been so proud of his garden. In the years before he got sick, he had risen at five o’clock each morning and hurried to it, a small part of a shared lot about a twenty minute walk from their apartment.
The garden wasn’t doing very well, though, and Mama was discouraged. “Throw these plants away, Brigitte. They’re so scraggly and the soil is very poor. I don’t think they’re worth bothering with.”
Brigitte looked at the plants with their drooping leaves. They looked dead already. She started to pull them up, then stopped. Opa always worked hard in his garden, she thought. I can’t give up on these plants. I know he wouldn’t. She carefully loosened the dirt around each one and gave them a drink of water. “Please help them to grow, Heavenly Father,” she prayed. Every day she came to the garden and watered it or pulled weeds or both.
One day after she had worked in the garden, she returned home to find her mother sitting and rocking back and forth with tears chasing each other down her cheeks, clutching a letter. “Papa’s alive! This letter is from him. He is a prisoner of war in France and has been clearing the forests there. He didn’t get any of my letters, so he wrote to our friend Peter Loscher in America to see if he could find out if we were all right. Peter sent him our address.” She started to read from Papa’s letter:
“I am so happy to finally know how to reach you and to find that you are safe and well. I am too. My biggest problem is lack of food. Sometimes I have been so hungry that I have had to eat insects. But my faith remains strong. Once when I was clearing a forest, I climbed to the top of a high mountain, where I was able to be alone for a few minutes. I asked the Lord for renewed strength to endure it here. I haven’t forgotten our dream—surely we will be together soon!”
(To be continued)

Aaron’s mother came through the door, a bag of groceries in her arms.
“Mom!” Aaron jumped up and gave her a hug. He took the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter.
Aaron was home alone in their apartment after school while his mother worked. It was only for a couple of hours, but it was the loneliest time of the day.
“Hey, Buddy,” she said, “got your homework done?”
“Yep. What’s for supper?” he asked as he showed her his notebook.
Aaron’s mother sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just sit down for a few minutes before I get us something to eat.” She sat down in her “resting chair.”
Aaron’s mom was usually tired after work. His dad didn’t live there anymore, so it was just the two of them.
Aaron hid a small disappointed sigh. His mom put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.
A few minutes later the phone rang. “Hello,” Aaron answered politely, “Jackson residence.”
“Hi, sugar. How’s my boy?” a familiar voice asked.
“Grandma! I’m just fine. What’s up?”
“I just called to wish your mom a happy birthday. Is she home yet?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but she’s asleep. I didn’t know it was Mom’s birthday. I’ll go wake her up.”
“No, child,” his grandma said quickly. “Don’t bother her while she’s resting. I’ll call back later tonight. Take care, sweetie!” And she hung up.
Aaron put the receiver back down. Hmmm, Mom’s birthday. …
He remembered his own birthday a few months ago. The cake and ice cream were great, and so was his present—a blue remote-control race car! Oh, how he had wanted one! His mom had said that it was too expensive, but somehow she’d managed to get one for him.
“I’ll have a party for Mom!” he said out loud. Oops! I’ll have to be quiet—and hurry! But what can I do? I don’t have any money, and I can’t go out alone, anyway. I’ll have to make something, instead—I know!
He went to his mother’s jewelry box. She had broken her favorite necklace a few weeks ago. It was made of beads from Africa and had belonged to Aaron’s great-grandmother. Aaron had helped his mom pick up all the beads when it broke, but she hadn’t had time to string them back together. He found some new string and carefully threaded it through the beads one by one. He couldn’t remember the exact pattern but came as close to it as he could.
The new string was a little shorter than the first one, but it would still fit over her head. There were a few beads left over, so he put them back into the jewelry box.
He tiptoed past his mother into the kitchen, wrapped the necklace in a blue paper napkin from the table, and found a piece of yarn for a bow. It made a nice present. But it looked kind of small all alone on the table.
I need a cake, he thought. He looked through the kitchen cabinets and spotted the peanut butter.
I know—I’ll make a peanut-butter-and-jelly cake! I hope we have some jelly.
Aaron got out bread, peanut butter, and jelly, put a slice of bread on a plate, and covered the top with peanut butter, then jelly. He put a second slice of bread on top of that and spread it with peanut butter and jelly too. A third piece of bread went on top of that. For the frosting he just spread a third layer of peanut butter. Carefully he wrote Happy Birthday in the peanut butter with a knife. It looked a little plain, so he put dots of jelly here and there for decoration. Perfect! He found two of the candles from his own birthday cake and put them on top. He wasn’t allowed to use matches, so his mom would have to light them.
Aaron heard her stirring in the next room. Please don’t wake up now—I’m not ready! he thought.
Finding a large yellow envelope in the trash, he cut off all the writing until he had a small piece of plain yellow paper. With a colored pen he wrote, “You’re the best, Mom!” After folding the card and putting it next to the present and cake, he hurried to put away the groceries that she had brought home. Then he even swept the kitchen floor.
Everything looked great! Aaron felt good about his hard work. Now he could hardly wait for his mother to wake up. He crouched down behind the table and fidgeted.
Finally he heard Mom get up and say, “Goodness! I’d better get supper on. I wonder what Aaron’s doing.” She walked into the kitchen. “Well, what’s all this?”
Aaron jumped up. “Surprise! Happy Birthday, Mom!” he shouted.
“Why, Aaron, did you do all this?”
“I sure did!”
Aaron couldn’t remember seeing his mom smile so much. She grabbed him up for a big hug. “This is the best kind of birthday!” she exclaimed happily. They laughed and danced around the kitchen.
“Here,” Aaron said. “Open your present!”
She opened the blue paper napkin. “Oh, honey, you fixed Grandmother’s necklace for me. It’s so beautiful. Strong too. And a card!”
She read the card. She looked at everything for a long time. “Buddy,” she said with tears in her eyes, “you’ve made today the most special day for me.” She held Aaron close. “I love you so much.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, pulling away. But he did feel pretty special.
After a supper of soup and salad, they cut into Aaron’s cake and ate every bite!
Later, as Aaron’s mom was tucking him into bed, the phone rang. “That’s Grandma,” he said. “She called while you were asleep.”
Mom kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful birthday, Aaron. Sweet dreams.”
Aaron listened as Mom told Grandma all about the special birthday. She laughed as she talked, and sounded happy.
Aaron felt happy too. Yes, this was the best kind of birthday.