Gospel Story Finder

When I was growing up, every year or so my stake would hold a “roadshow”—a night of laughter and fun as each ward performed an unashamedly amateur melodrama before the rest of the stake in the crowded cultural hall. For weeks before the event, leaders in the wards would concoct unlikely plots, create ridiculous songs and dances, and coerce reluctant youth into wearing outlandish costumes. Our roadshows could hardly be termed theater, but they were a lot of fun.
Of all the stake roadshows I took part in, one in particular stands out in my memory. The year I was 16, the stake presidency, of which my father was a member, decided the wards would not be allowed to use glitter in their costumes or makeup. Although the shimmering flecks looked wonderful on stage under the spotlight, they invariably found their way into the carpets and furniture of the rooms the wards used for preparation. Because the roadshow was to be held on Saturday night, the stake presidency hoped this measure would help keep the building clean for the Sabbath.
But in the enthusiasm and good-natured competition of that year’s roadshow, the stake presidency’s counsel went largely unheeded. After the performances concluded, I looked for my dad among the members slowly trickling from the building. They all seemed to have had a night of friendship and amusement. When I finally found my father in one of the rooms used for preparation, I could see that he was not amused. He was walking slowly around the room, gravely surveying the sparkles scattered about the floor.
“Most of the wards used glitter,” I said, stating the obvious.
“It’s like this in almost all the rooms,” he said and sighed. “Weren’t we clear about not using glitter?” he asked in frustration.
“I think you were,” I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
By the time we found the rest of the family and went home, it was already late. But after seeing the younger kids to bed, my father took his car keys and went to the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Back to the stake center,” he said quietly. “I’m going to see what I can do to get it ready for Sunday. Do you want to come?”
I didn’t have any special desire to spend what remained of my Saturday evening cleaning, but when I thought about my dad doing all that work alone, I agreed to go.
By the time we reached the stake center, my dad’s attitude had changed. As we cleaned, he seemed less discouraged and even somewhat enthusiastic about the challenge before us. He spent the time asking me about school and my friends.
Although the cleaning took several hours, we both felt a certain pleasure in our work and tried to be as thorough as possible. It wasn’t until after midnight that we felt the building was ready for church in the morning.
The next day, I felt special satisfaction as I looked through the clean rooms and remembered how they had appeared the night before. I considered telling my friends about my one-night stint at janitorial work, but that didn’t seem appropriate. Apparently, my father felt the same—to this day I can’t remember him mentioning that night to anyone.
Today when I think back to that roadshow, I can’t remember any of the humor or costumes or music. What comes to mind are images of my father vacuuming and sweeping and picking glitter from the floor of the church—doing behind-the-scenes work in preparation for the Sabbath.

In 1972 we had a large family and a very small home. Seven of our nine children were then under the age of 12, and our five girls shared a single bedroom. We had only one bathroom. The opportunity came to move to a much larger and nicer home that was also closer to my work. It seemed like a simple, uncomplicated decision. It meant a change in ward, stake, and school, but that didn’t seem important in light of the advantages. I spent two frustrating months considering the move. I was learning about stupors of thought. I finally decided to take the problem to the Lord in a serious way. I determined I wouldn’t eat until I made a clear decision. For three long days the same frustrating ideas went through my mind. Finally I asked the right question: not about money and convenience but about family and Church. The next morning in the shower I knew we should stay where we were, and I made the decision. The calm peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7) came over me, and I knew it was right. I didn’t know why, I just knew. I learned why two months later, when I was called to be the stake president. The Lord, of course, knew all along. I just had to ask the right question.

It was the last day of school. The sun was shining. The temperature was perfect. Everyone had fun playing softball, running races, and eating hamburgers. But now it was time to go home, and for Jena, it wasn’t fun anymore.
This was her last day at Buckingham Elementary. This was her last day to see her teacher, Miss Wilson. This was her last day to be a fifth-grader and have recess. This was her last day to see many of her friends. Most of them were going to Pilot Butte Middle School next year. She was going to High Desert Middle School.
Jena cried when it was time to get on the school bus. All her friends cried, too. They hugged each other over and over. The deep noise of the bus engine started up, but the driver waited patiently. Finally, after more tears and hugs, she and her friend Randy boarded the bus. Jena lowered the bus window and yelled, “I’ll call you this sum—”
Jena never finished her sentence. She remembered that she couldn’t call anyone this summer. She was going to live with Grandma Hunt while her parents took summer classes at the university.
“This is going to be the worst year of my life,” Randy choked out. And even though everyone else on the bus seemed happy and excited, she slumped down in her seat and cried. “We probably won’t get to see our friends from Buckingham any more, and we won’t even see each other all summer.”
Jena wanted to say something to make Randy feel better, but she didn’t know what to say. She knew that if she tried to talk, she’d cry, too.
Just before the bus came to her stop, Jena turned to Randy and gave her a hug. “Write me,” she said. “I’ll write back. I promise.”
The first night at Grandma Hunt’s, Jena thought about Randy. She wondered if Randy was as lonely as she was.
“How about a good game of Irritation?” Grandma Hunt asked as she got out the board game.
Normally, it was Jena’s favorite game. But she didn’t feel like playing this time.
“You really miss your family, don’t you?” Grandma asked.
“Yes. I can’t quit thinking about them and my friends back home. Most of my friends are going to a different school next year. It won’t be any fun without them.”
“It’s true that we have some friends for just a short time and some of them longer. But they each make a difference in our lives forever. So each friend is to be treasured. And new experiences should be fun because they give us a chance to meet new friends.”
“If you say so, Grandma,” Jena faltered.
“Jesus Christ was the perfect example of a good friend. He served His friends. He fed the people, He visited them when they were sick, and He shared the gospel with them. He did things for all of us that we can’t do for ourselves.”
“Their lives were happier because He was their friend,” Jena said.
“That’s right. Their lives were different, better, because of what He did. Our lives are better because of what He did for us. You should look forward to going to your new school and meeting new friends. Be excited about it. You will have experiences you’ve never even dreamed of, experiences that can make you a better person. Just make certain that the friends you choose are trying to do what is right. Now, let’s play this game!” Grandma declared. “In the morning I’ll take you to visit one of my very good friends. I treasure her friendship. I hope you will, too, even though you’ll probably know her for only one summer.”
“Could we take the Irritation game with us and ask her to play?” Jena asked.
“She’d like that.”
The next morning, Jena and her grandma stopped at a store and purchased four large red marbles and four large yellow marbles.
“June B., that’s my friend, just got out of the hospital. She was in a terrible car accident and broke about all her bones, it seems to me,” Grandma explained. “She’s also partially blind from the accident, so these large, bright marbles might be easier for her to use.”
When they got to the house, June B. was sitting in a wheelchair. Her left arm was in a cast, and her right leg was in a cast. Her head was bandaged, and so was her nose.
“Come in, come in,” she called. “It’s so nice of you to come.”
“I brought my granddaughter, June B.,” Grandma said. “This is Jena.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Jena. Thank you for coming.”
“I brought a game.”
“I love games! Sit right here and we’ll play it.”
Jena played three games of Irritation with June B. while her grandmother cleaned the house and prepared some lunch. The games took time because June B. had to bend way over the board to see where each of the marbles was and make a decision where to move.
“There you go,” June B. said when she won the third game in a row. “You’re nice to let a blind lady win.”
“But I didn’t let you win.”
“I know—I’m just more ‘irritating’ than you. Would you help me take a bath now?”
“Well, I, ah …”
“There’s a bucket in the bathroom. Fill it half full of warm water and bring me a washcloth and the soap. I sit right here and scrub most of me. I only need help with my back and feet.”
Jena helped her grandma in the kitchen while June B. bathed. When she needed help, she called to them.
Grandma Hunt gently washed June B.’s back. “Would you like to bathe her feet?” Grandma asked.
“Well, I, ah … sure.”
Jena couldn’t believe her feelings as she knelt and gently lifted June B.’s left foot into the bucket. Ever so carefully she rubbed soap onto her hands and then rubbed the lady’s foot and toes. She lowered the foot into the water again and rinsed it carefully. Then she dried it with a towel.
Before Jena was halfway through, she started crying softly. Now she knew what Jesus Christ must have felt like when He helped others. And now she understood that Heavenly Father wanted her to meet many new friends. She could help them. And they could help her.
“Can I come and play a game with you tomorrow?” Jena asked softly.
“I’d love that!” June B. said. “And I promise, I won’t be so ‘irritating’ tomorrow.”

After World War II on a cold night in a train station in southern Japan, I heard a tap on the train window. There stood a boy wearing the same ragged shirt, a rag tied about a swollen jaw, his head covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out. I will never forget that hungry little boy standing in the cold, holding up his empty tin can.
Now in my 78th year, I understand what President Kimball was seeing; I know what he meant. That boy in Cuzco and the one in Japan and the other children about the world profoundly influence what I think and how I feel and what I pray for most earnestly. I constantly think of little children and their parents who struggle to raise them in ever more perilous times.

Janie Sigoda stared at the strange hat and shiny red notebook on the table. She was still wondering what they were for when her father started the family home evening lesson.
“Did you know,” he asked the family, “that the Nephites kept records but that they didn’t always remember to write all the important things that happened to them?”
Janie forgot about the hat and notebook and bounced up and down on the couch. “Yes, Dad,” she said, “in Primary Sister Lind said that Jesus asked the Nephites why the story of Samuel the Lamanite hadn’t been recorded.”
“It sounds like you already know the story,” Dad said with a smile. “Can you find it too?”
Janie opened the family copy of the Book of Mormon and searched through Third Nephi. “Here it is!”
Her father began reading while Mom held the baby. Janie and her brother, Chris, cuddled with Dad in the big overstuffed chair so that they could read with him the Savior’s words about Samuel the Lamanite.
“You see,” he finished, closing the book and looking at each of them, “keeping records is very important to the Savior.”
Janie’s eyes went back to the notebook, and even before her father spoke again, she guessed what he would say.
“Do you all see this red notebook?” Dad held it high, and the baby tried to reach and grab it. “This isn’t just any old notebook,” he went on, letting baby Karen play with it a few moments. “It’s a special reporter’s notebook. We don’t want to miss great stories in our family record either.”
He picked up the funny hat and stuck a card with FAMILY REPORTER printed on it into the hatband. “Each month someone gets to be the Sigoda family reporter. Who will it be first—Mom, Chris, me, or Janie?”
“Oh, please let it be me,” Janie begged.
Dad winked at Mom, then smiled at Janie. Pulling her close, he put the hat on her head and handed her the shiny red notebook. “Here’s your gear, Miss Sigoda. Next month you can read your report of our family stories to us.”
The month passed with lots of stories to write. One Sunday they visited Grandma, and Janie made sure that she wore her reporter’s hat and carried her notebook. Grandma always had great stories. “Tell me something about Dad when he was a boy,” Janie asked her privately after dinner.
“Oh, your dad!” Grandma’s laugh twinkled in her eyes. “I remember the time our bishop asked the congregation to raise their hands if they wanted a new parking lot. Every person there but one raised his hand to vote yes. Then, when the bishop asked if anyone was against the new lot, your dad raised his hand high and called out, ‘I am, bishop. If you put in a parking lot, we won’t have anyplace to play basketball!’ The rest of the congregation laughed for ten minutes!”
That was a good story to report, but the best one Janie wrote was of when Chris was baptized. She worked hard to get all the details exactly right for the family records. She made sure to include the facts that Dad baptized Chris and that both grandfathers were witnesses to the baptism. And she carefully wrote down each word of Chris’s testimony after he was confirmed: “I want to thank Mom and Dad and my sisters for all that they teach me,” he said. “I know that this church is true and that Heavenly Father and Jesus love me.”
The month ended too soon for Janie. She read her stories on family night, wearing her reporter’s hat. She especially liked watching her brother’s face light up when she finished by reading all about his baptism.
“Janie,” Mom said, “Dad and I are proud of you, and I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus are too.”
Dad gave her a big hug, then said, “You’re the last person to hold the family record, and like the prophets in the Book of Mormon, you get to pick who keeps the record next. So, sweetie, who will it be?”
Janie looked first at her mom, then at her dad, then at Chris. She could see his eyes shining just as hers had shone the month before.
“Chris,” she said, “I give the record to you.” She handed the hat and precious red notebook to him. As Chris jumped up and down and put the reporter’s hat on, Janie smiled. She knew how he felt—being a family reporter was great.

Jared Womack, of Franklin, Idaho, knows what team spirit is all about. After managing the Preston High School football team for five years, he received his letter in the sport. Jared also plays basketball and is a great example of good sportsmanship; he is always cheering for his teammates on the basketball team and finding ways to serve those around him.
“That’s just Jared,” says one classmate.
Although Jared has Down’s Syndrome, he is able to participate in school activities and hold an after-school job at a local grocery store. Jared is active in his priests quorum and blesses the sacrament regularly.

Case 4. Three plump young ladies had barely begun their attack on a table laden with yummy junk food when suddenly the feast vanished right before their eyes. Nearby three guardian angels looked suspiciously smug.
After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

They finally asked Andy to be in the Third Street Tigers. His best friend, Michael, was already in the club. If only he wasn’t afraid to climb up to the tree house where they had the meetings! Wooden planks were nailed up the trunk like a ladder, but whenever Andy tried to climb anything, he got a funny feeling in his stomach.
One day he decided to try climbing while no one was looking. On the fourth step, his stomach did a double flip, and he dropped to the grass. Turning to go home, Andy found Montgomery blocking his way.
“You’re afraid! You’re afraid!” teased Montgomery.
“What do you mean?” Andy gulped.
“You chickened out. I saw you! You’ll never be a Tiger.”
“Leave me alone!”
Laughing, Montgomery pushed Andy. “Maybe you should join the preschoolers. They meet in the sandbox.”
In the morning, Andy told Michael what had happened. “It’s no use,” Andy sighed. “I’ll never get all the way up. Montgomery was right.”
“But you have to be a Tiger,” Michael said. “Best friends are always in the same club.”
“Yeah, but Montgomery …”
“Forget Montgomery. I know something that might help you build up your courage. Meet me at the gym after school,” Michael said as he headed back to class.
All day long, Andy wondered what Michael’s plan was and if it would work. He wanted to be in the Tigers more than anything.
The gym was crowded when Andy found Michael in a corner, watching a girl do a somersault on the balance beam.
“What’s the plan?” Andy asked.
“The balance beam.”
“You’re not getting me up there. I saw what that girl was doing.”
“Not the high beam,” said Michael. “There’s a lower beam over there.” As he talked, Michael pulled Andy across the room.
Andy put one foot on the beam, then jerked it down again. He hoped the Tigers were worth all this trouble. With Michael guiding him, Andy finally walked to the other end. Then he saw Montgomery watching him.
Andy stepped down to the floor. “What do you want?”
“I came to see if you’re still afraid.”
“Let’s go,” Michael said to Andy. “We’re done here, anyway.”
As they left, Montgomery shouted, “Hey, Andy, maybe you can join the Tigers when you grow up.”
On Friday, Michael talked Andy into trying to climb the tree again. As he got close to it, Andy felt a familiar flutter in his stomach. Hitching up his pants and crossing his fingers once for luck, he started up the tree.
First step, no problem. Second step, fine. By the third step, Andy felt as if he could make it. Then the plank pulled away from the trunk, and Andy tumbled to the ground.
Andy and Michael were both thinking the same thing: Montgomery must have loosened the step. “I’m going to find him,” Andy raged. He headed for Montgomery’s favorite hangout, the city park. By the time he got there, he’d cooled off. What’s the use? he thought. No matter what I say, Montgomery will never leave me alone.
He turned to go back to Michael, when he heard yelling and a dog barking. Andy ran toward the sound and found Montgomery backed up against a fence, his arms covering his face. In front of him stood a large, barking dog.
Wow! Tough Montgomery is afraid of dogs! Andy wanted to run and tell Michael, but then he remembered how he had felt halfway up the tree. I guess everybody’s afraid of something.
Andy grabbed the dog’s collar. “Calm down, Montgomery! Don’t you recognize Mr. Henry’s dog, Skipper? He only wants you to play with him.”
“Keep him away from me!” cried Montgomery.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Andy told him. “Let him smell your hand.”
“No way! I’m getting out of here.”
“Watch me.” Andy bent down and held out his hand. The dog sniffed, then licked it. “Now you try,” Andy said.
Cautiously Montgomery put out his hand while Andy held the dog. When Skipper licked it, too, both boys began to laugh.
“It tickles,” said Montgomery.
The boys heard someone calling Skipper, and the dog ran off.
Montgomery jammed his hands into his pockets and played in the dirt with his shoe. “Thanks for saving me. Are you going to tell?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know,” Andy said. “It doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m sorry for picking on you,” Montgomery apologized. “If you want, I’ll help you climb the tree tomorrow—no tricks, I promise.”
“How come?”
“Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?”
In the morning, Andy and Montgomery went to the giant tree early. Andy took a deep breath, then looked up. The Third Street Tigers clubhouse was up high!
“You can do it,” Montgomery said. “I’ll be right behind you. If you get scared, stop and rest.”
Andy swallowed hard. With shaky hands he grabbed the bottom plank. Nervously he pulled himself up. Counting to three, he moved on to the second step, then the third, which had been nailed on tight again. He bit his bottom lip and stopped to gather his courage.
Andy forced himself to continue from each step to the next. When he saw the opening of the tree house, he heard Montgomery say, “I knew you’d make it!”
They pulled themselves inside to wait for the rest of their friends. Andy could hardly believe that he’d done it. When Michael arrived, he asked, “What happened? How’d you do it?”
Andy and Montgomery just looked at each other and grinned.

About three months into my mission to France, I was at the point where I realized missions are hard. We were working very hard without much success. I could speak just enough French to realize little children were making fun of my accent. I was a little down. One evening, my companion, Elder Miner, gave me a simple compliment: “Elder Schlag, your French is really improving.” I could tell he was sincere. He didn’t say it was amazing. He didn’t embellish the truth. He just said something nice. To this day, 34 years later, I can remember how that positive comment filled me with hope. I had hope that I would continue learning French. I had hope that I could be what God wanted me to be. That hope reminded me that God called me on a mission, and I could do anything with His help. My hope was shining brightly before me that evening because my companion said a nice thing.

A new convert to the Church recently shared this story. “I was in and out of enforced confinement most of my teen years. It wasn’t so bad being there because the food was pretty good, and we were treated all right. But it did get boring, so when anyone had any reading material, funny books, magazines, or anything, we would trade our food for a chance to borrow those items. One day I saw a fellow with a nice, thick book. I knew it would take a long time to read, so I offered him my pork chops, my potatoes, and all my main course food items for a week. He accepted my offer and loaned me the book. As I read it, I knew I was reading something very special and very true. The book for which I had sacrificed my food was titled the Book of Mormon. When I had a chance, I found the missionaries, changed my habits, and am now finding a new way of life. I love that book for which I traded my food.”
Here was an unusual but worthwhile sacrifice with rewarding results. This convert indicated that the more time he spends with this book, the greater his love becomes for the truths he is finding between its covers.

Let me share one of mine:

Simon Baker, an early convert to the Church, remained faithful through much persecution and sacrifice as the saints were driven to the West. He was then called on several colonizing missions. One particular incident illustrates his character.

“During the spring of 1856 [he] was called to go and assist in the colonization of Carson City and valley. He had justcompleted a house on his lot at the corner of First North and West Temple streets [in Salt Lake City, Utah – approximately where the Conference Center now stands]. Before starting on this mission, one of the leaders of the Church came and said, ‘Brother Baker, before going on this mission, we want you to do something for us to help pay off the Church debt.’ Simon replied, ‘Whatever is expected of me, I am willing to do.’ The request was: ‘We want fifty head of your best cattle, and we also want you to turn over to the Perpetual Emigration Fund your house and lot.’ Simon did this, and with his wife and sons … started on this mission.”

I thank my great-great-grandfather for his unwavering devotion. If his faith had wavered and he had refused to give up such valuable property and assuming his estate were still intact and could have been sold, his descendants would now each have a mere few dollars. Instead, each of his posterity, now numbering in the thousands, has received a priceless legacy of faith.

“Whatever is expected of me, I am willing to do.”

Now in closing, I would like to share with you for a moment an experience in our family's life about a special baby boy who was sent to this earth with a very special gift and talent from his Heavenly Father.

This little boy is our grandson, Paxton. Paxton was born in July of 2010. He was born with a rare chromosomal defect which has him in a life-threatening condition. Paxton spent the first four months of his life in the newborn intensive care unit of the Primary Children's Medical Center. Through much faith, fasting, priesthood blessings, and countless prayers, he is now at home with his parents and two brothers.

Whenever I am near Paxton, I can feel the strong spirit of love and peace that he radiates. The medical teams who have watched over him each day also commented on the spirit this little boy carries. And even with all of his challenges he now faces, he has brought a sweet peace to his parents and big brothers. Paxton has brought our family so close together, and has taught each of us about the important things in life, things that really matter.

Paxton has and continues to teach us what President Uchtdorf so beautifully taught in the October 2010 General Conference when he said: "we would do well to slow down a little, proceed at the optimum speed for our circumstances, focus on the significant, lift up our eyes, and truly see the things that matter most."[28]

That is the special gift this little boy was born with, teaching all of us the important things in life--"things which will still matter a thousand years from now."[29] This is truly Paxton's special gift he will carry throughout his life. We thank our Father in Heaven for each day we have with this special little baby.

My priests quorum was pretty much like any other quorum. We had an adviser, inspiring lessons by the bishop, assistants to the bishop, and then the rest of us. Our ward was neither huge nor small, but we had a number of members who seldom or never came to any meetings. In one particular quorum meeting we spent a lot of time discussing those young men who had not been to church in a while. Brother Wheeler, our quorum adviser, had prepared a list.
When I was young, many considered me shy and quiet, and I did not especially go out of my way to make noise or be seen. I was not the first to volunteer to visit the young men on Brother Wheeler’s list. All he was asking was for us to pick a name, make a friendly visit, and invite them to our upcoming weekly activities.
Hands went up when Brother Wheeler called out names from this list. He said it was a plus if you were already friends, neighbors, or schoolmates. I started to feel guilty as the list grew smaller and smaller. Finally there was one name left. The other boys were chatting about their plans of how they were going to take care of this assignment. Brother Wheeler looked at the name on the list and then at me. I lifted my hand. Smiling, he wrote down the boy’s name and sketched a map for me. He said the family had moved in a while ago and a visit could really benefit the young man.
We lived in an area of southeast Idaho where it was a mixture of farms and homes. Many of the parents commuted to work in town. As in many communities like this, we were fairly close-knit, and everyone pretty much knew everyone else. But I didn’t recognize the name I was given, nor did anyone else in our quorum.
Sunday passed, and I considered the name I’d received. Monday came and went. I still considered. Tuesday passed, and I considered with increasing gravity. How was I going to approach a total stranger and ask him to come to church?
Wednesday came, and my consideration began to change into worry. The week was already passing by, and all I could consider was a gut feeling of dread. This young man I was to visit had never been seen at church, he had never been seen at Scouts, he had never been seen at school, he had never even been seen, period.
The school bus dropped me off at my house. I pulled out the folded note I had been carrying with me since Sunday. The young man’s house was about two-and-a-half miles from mine. I wanted to get it over with and release this burden. I told my sister where I was going and, with grim determination, headed out.
Imagination fed on anticipation. I pictured a family where the dad answered the door with a shotgun in his hands and vicious dogs were ready to attack. I walked half a mile. I pictured a family that only spoke Russian. I walked along. I pictured a family with so much wealth that they only wore tuxedos and ball gowns. Was this how Nephi and Sam felt while they were on their way to get the brass plates? Or worse, perhaps this is how Laman and Lemuel felt. Suddenly, there I was in front of the house.
I rang the doorbell. I heard heavy footsteps. The door swung open, and an older man stood there. He looked at me. “Hello,” he said.
A rush of relief came over me. He was not holding a shotgun, he spoke English, and he was not wearing a tuxedo. “Uh, can uh …” I looked at my note. I couldn’t remember his name. “… Bill …” I couldn’t think straight. “… play?” I finally blurted out. I felt like a little kid. What kind of word had I used? “Play?”
The man looked very surprised.
“Is Bill … available?” I corrected myself. Did I read the map wrong? Was I at the wrong house? “Does a Bill, Billy, or even a William live here?”
The man’s expression changed from confusion to smiling enlightenment. “Oh, yes, of course. Come in. You must be from the ward. Brother Wheeler called last week and told me someone would be coming.”
An entire flood of relief swept through me. I followed the man through the front room, past the kitchen, down a hallway, to a bedroom. The house was neat and modest. I saw a picture of the Salt Lake Temple on the wall. The Ensign magazine sat on the kitchen table, opened. I saw scriptures on the shelf. “But these people never come to church,” I thought with more than a touch of confusion. And what about Bill, who was a total hermit apparently—and a very lazy one, because it appeared he was still sleeping.
The man softly knocked. “Billy?” he said as he gently opened the door.
Instantly everything was explained. I felt so small. A wheelchair and a hospital bed sat in the center of the room.
An emaciated boy lay there staring out the window. He turned his head to look at us. His eyes widened. “Help me sit up, Father. Do I have company? What is your name?”
I did not have to worry about carrying the conversation; Billy was very good at assisting me with that. I returned regularly to his house for the next several weeks. I brought various games; he especially liked chess. I learned that he was actually a foster child and had not seen his birth parents for years. Billy’s disease was critical, and the older couple he was now with had taken him in so that he wouldn’t have to stay by himself in the hospital. He was a member of the Church but could only remember being baptized.
Brother Wheeler arranged for us to have our priests quorum meet for class at Billy’s home. His bed had been moved to the front room to help accommodate the extra visitors. Our bishop came and even helped bless the sacrament for Billy and his foster parents.
I felt pretty good about the whole thing. Over the past few months I had made a friend, and I had helped this friend make other friends in our quorum. I did not anticipate the phone call I received from the bishop later that week. He told me he had interviewed Billy and found him worthy to hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Billy had asked the bishop if I could ordain him.
We held our priesthood meeting again at Billy’s house the following Sunday. I do not remember what I said during the ordination. I do remember Billy’s smile and the tears he was pushing back—the tears Brother Wheeler, the bishop, and all of us were pushing back.
A few weeks later, Billy was not available for “playing” anymore. His condition had worsened, and he spent most of the time in the hospital. About six months from my first meeting with Billy, he died.
Now what I remember most about Billy is not what I did for him on my visits, but what he did for me. A young man whose name I came to know from a simple list had become one of the most treasured memories of my youth.

With permission, may I read a letter from our new daughter-in-law, Elizabeth, whom I mentioned before. This was written in the Salt Lake Tabernacle just four months ago, following the beginning of their priesthood courtship. It reads:
Dear Judd,
We are now just two minutes to broadcast time. There are a few more people here than usual because of Easter. This morning is so beautiful. I think that the morning is the most beautiful time of the whole day because it is new and full of hope—like a little resurrection every twenty-four hours.
Sitting here listening to this glorious music and thought-provoking words is a wonderful blessing, but there is another gift not everyone is aware of. This is the gift of atonement and resurrection. They are singing a chorale from the St. Matthew Passion. If only the whole world could hear it and understand its significance! We are like the rest of the world if we do not sink our roots deep into the earth. A tree without roots is called a prop. Its leaves exist without purpose or growth. This kind of tree can look exactly like a growing tree, but its purpose is not for growing and producing. What I am saying is that, even though we laugh or joke or hold hands and smile, it is meaningless if we are without roots. Our roots have got to be so completely anchored that nothing can blow us over. These roots must be firmly anchored in Jesus Christ. We must receive that gift without pause and steadfastly. This relationship cannot exist or function unless we anchor it in this good earth of the gospel.
I love you for all I am when I am with you and for all you are even when I’m not around. Let’s keep building as dynamically and enthusiastically as we can.
Remember that, even though you have a scar in the middle of your eyebrow, I love you a lot.
E.C.
That is a beautiful love letter within the bonds of a priesthood courtship.

The second experience I would like to share involved our daughter Kelly.

Last June, our daughter Kelly was asked to help with the girls camp in her stake. She is a busy mother of four. With her husband serving in the bishopric, she wasn’t too anxious to go but she decided to accept the call because it was the ?rst camp for her oldest daughter.

A couple of weeks prior to the camp, the stake YW president and the camp director had gone to check out the camp site. They wanted to be sure they had everything they needed. They happened to run into a park ranger who told them among other things that their cell phones would not work there and they needed a satellite phone to communicate. He also gave them a number to call if they needed assistance from nearby help. Before the camp they acquired a satellite phone.

The day of camp arrived, June 26. A brother, who I will call Brother Dan, was recruited in a neighboring ward to help his wife bring all the equipment for their ward. I’m going to quote a lot from Dan’s own words as I share her experience. He was kind enough to write it up and share it.

All the participants, including a few men who had been asked to help set up the camp, met with their ward members early that day and left for the camp site. The camp was about an hour and a half away.

After Dan and his wife arrived with all of their ward’s equipment and they had ?nished their lunch, he was asked by one of the stake YW leaders to come and give a young sister a blessing. He was told at the time that he was the only man and priesthood holder in the entire camp. The other men who had been there earlier, had already left. He said he was somewhat nervous about giving this priesthood blessing alone with so little time to adequately prepare. He only had a few minutes to walk from his camp to where this young sister was located.

After he had given the young sister a blessing he returned to their camp area. The stake YW president came by to thank him and he says “perhaps she was inspired at that time to tell me... You can’t leave camp you’re the only Priesthood holder we have in the whole camp.” He hadn’t planned to stay but he had brought extra equipment and decided he could stay until other men arrived.

After our daughter arrived, she was helping to put up a large tarp or plastic cover, to provide shade over an eating area. She had been climbing trees to attach the cover. On the fourth corner she was about 10 feet up in a tree when the dried branches of the tree gave way and she suddenly fell, hit a table with her back and was thrown head ?rst onto the asphalt paved eating area.

I’m now going to share in Dan’s words what happened next.

A few hours after Dan had given the blessing to the young Sister, he wrote: “In our own camp, we had just started a ?re we would use to cook our dinners. Sister Harris, one of the stake leaders, came to the edge of our camp and quietly got my attention. She told me that someone had fallen out of a tree and also needed a blessing. Again, my heart began to race a little. As we walked she gave me scattered bits of what had apparently happened. It was clear that she was agitated. Her pace quickened. A moment later she sped up even faster. We were now running up the trail, past the stake camp and around a bend. There lying on the asphalt was one of the Young Women’s leaders. Other leaders were kneeling and standing at her side. Again I was not prepared for what I had been summoned to do. Not like earlier, this was different.

“I was expecting that someone might need a cast for a broken arm or maybe even a leg. No, that clearly was not the case. The condition of this young mother and the gravity of the situation hit me and I was afraid.

“I knelt on the ground above her head. Trying to process what I was seeing and all that was being explained by the others as to what had happened. It was immediately evident that she was in very serious condition. Her arms and shoulders were shaking violently. She was kicking her legs in the bushes to the side of the trail. We tried to isolate her head and movements so that she didn’t do herself further damage.

“The stake YW’S president was in the background, on a satellite phone talking to the 911 Operator. She relayed questions and answers and gave us instructions on what we needed to do to care for her as we waited for help to arrive. They told us that paramedics were on their way but It would be more than half an hour before they would arrive.

“The back of her head was a mass of bloody hair. Someone brought a bag of ice. We also put a cold compress on her forehead.

“Those at her side kept talking to her, each holding a separate hand. We had been instructed to keep this up and not let her lose consciousness. A nurse who was also there, kept checking her pupils, which were ?xed and dilated. She was not able to speak even with the constant dialog aimed at her. She just continued to kick and shake violently. All this time I sat there trying to summon inspiration and direction as to what I could possible say in a blessing.

“Judging from her condition, it appeared to me that someone’s life was in my hands. Thinking to myself, this is surely a job for someone else. There should be someone far better to carry this heavy burden. ‘Isn’t there another brother who could assist me,’ I asked? The question was met with empty, blank faced stares. One of the sisters asked, ‘Do you not want to give her a blessing?’ That wasn’t it. I explained that I can do it alone, but it would be nice to have someone by my side. I was still not ready to proceed. My mind was racing. In my heart of hearts I was still at a loss as to what I could and should say, what could I promise? Was I up to this? There was no one else.

“It took a few more minutes before I realized what I should have known all along. I did have someone by my side... He’s always by my side.

“I now resolutely said, ‘Let’s give her a blessing.’ I was still holding the cold compress on her forehead. I addressed her by name and then paused as the Spirit came into my heart. I knew that with the next six, seemingly simple words, that came out of my mouth I was stepping over a threshold into another realm. I would then be speaking the mind and will of the Lord. I proceeded, ‘In the name of Jesus Christ.’ I then declared the Priesthood authority by which I spoke in His name. Continuing, as the impressions came into my heart and mind, I blessed her with a peace and a comfort to come over her. Also, that the Lord was mindful of her and grateful for her service. I promised her that help was on the way.

“Almost unknowingly, I then commanded the elements of heaven and earth. The next impression came into my mind, and a split second later, came out of my mouth. ‘I bless you that you will recover from this accident.’ Nothing I had been seeing for the past twenty minutes or so suggested that this was a logical conclusion that I could make. The combination of those two phrases I had just pronounced, were so profound and out of character for me, I was struggling a bit with what I had just said. No simple man, of his own power, can make those commands. There was no denying the strong promptings as the Lord directed me. The blessing closed with the sealing of those blessings on her head, in the name of Jesus Christ.

Dan continued: “A collective, ‘Amen’ was pronounced by all those who were at Kelly’s side. Sister Witt, who was holding her right hand, immediately said, ‘Kelly it’s a miracle.’ She was looking at her face and was able to see that her pupils were no longer dilated and rolled back unresponsive. Sister Witt, once more, as she had been doing for nearly thirty minutes now, carrying on a one-way conversation with her friend, said ‘Kelly do you feel it? Do you feel the miracle that happened just as soon as he sealed those blessings on your head?’ Remarkably to us all, this time there was an answer. Kelly spoke. She answered ‘yes.’ This was the ?rst sound she had made since I had arrived. She was no longer shaking violently or kicking her legs. The ?rst portion of the blessing had come to pass just as soon as I closed.

Brother Dan concludes: “It is my most humble testimony that yes, a handful of people in a distant corner of Gods creations, were privileged that day to witness, and be a part of a miracle.”

Our daughter was taken by ambulance to the Park City Hospital and then transferred to the trauma intensive care unit at the Intermountain Medical Center in Salt Lake City.

She had a large skull fracture and two places where her brain was bleeding. Other tender mercies were granted to her as she was treated in the trauma unit. She was released after a week in the hospital to go home to recuperate. Her brain bleeds and resulting hematoma did not require surgery. Over time she has recovered as promised with only a few issues still remaining. (No paralysis, no permanent brain damage.) Today she is a busy active mother and wife caring for her family.

When I reached the eligible age, I decided to serve a mission and was called to the Korea Seoul Mission. It was the best decision I’d ever made for my life. I now had the opportunity to help others find the same spiritual support I had discovered.

Some months into my mission, my companion and I met an American woman living in Seoul. We needed help teaching her in English, so we taught her with the help of a senior missionary couple, Elder Bill and Sister Renae White. This was hardly a coincidental meeting, as the Whites became my eternal friends. As I reached the end of my mission, they encouraged me to go to Ricks College and get an education. I had never thought of college before, let alone leaving Korea. After all, I was the first in my family to graduate from high school. But soon I was accepted to Ricks College. That missionary couple were my angels, parents, mentors, and sponsors until they recently passed away.

When I arrived in the United States, another life-altering experience came to me when Steven and Marjorie Bennion, president and First Lady of Ricks College at the time, invited me to stay with their lovely family. This was, without a doubt, a divine intervention and a tender mercy from the Lord. They took me in as a daughter, and I experienced life in a happy, loving family setting; I was able to see how to live the gospel in a family and as an individual under the direction of a loving father, who strived to lead his family righteously, and a saintly mother, who nurtured the family with her faith, wisdom, and grace. This experience became my guiding light throughout my adult life, and I am so grateful that they are here today.

For three and one-half years after the First Vision, Joseph Smith continued the routine of life as a New York farm worker. At times, he later explained, he associated with jovial company and allowed his youthful exuberance to express itself with levity. Though not guilty of any act except the mischievousness which his native cheery temperament led him into, he began to feel that he had not acted consistent with the solemn counsel received in the vision.

With that concern uppermost in his mind, Joseph Smith, now seventeen, retired to his room, on September 21, 1823, and began to pray. Suddenly the room filled with light and he was visited by a heavenly messenger. The messenger who proclaimed himself to be an angel of God introduced himself as Moroni, the last record keeper of the Nephites, a people who had lived on the American continent fourteen hundred years earlier. Moroni’s message stirred Joseph to a realization of his mission, for he was told that in a nearby hill were buried sacred plates containing a record of the ancient inhabitants of the Americas and of the Savior’s teachings among them. Moroni repeated the message in two additional visits that night and again the following morning. Joseph was instructed to visit the Hill Cumorah each year to receive instructions to prepare him for his mission. Finally, on September 22, 1827, he was entrusted with the plates.

Years later I met with Elder Jairo Mazzagardi of the Seventy when he came to reorganize our stake. He asked me about my mission.
Elder Mazzagardi said, “Brother Murilo, I see that you were baptized when you were 16, but you did not serve a mission.”
“I did not serve a mission,” I said, starting to cry.
“But I do everything possible so the Lord will forgive me. I have served as a branch president for seven months, and I try to be a missionary and give my best. I work hard to help others. I want the Lord to forgive me. I do not want this blemish at the last day.”
“Brother Murilo,” he said, “do not look back; look forward. Whoever looks back walks backwards, and whoever looks forward walks forward. You are clean.”
I was happy to hear this! I felt light, happy, and peaceful.
It felt like a six-ton backpack was lifted off my back.
He told me to return with my wife and called me to serve as stake president.
Elder Mazzagardi then said, “Your experiences will help you be stake president. You will be able to help young people who have difficulties or who do not have the support of their parents. You did not have the opportunity to serve a mission, but this is your mission now. You will help send young people on missions.”
As stake president one of my main goals is to help young men and young women prepare to serve missions. The Lord has given me the right words at the right time to talk to these young people. I am grateful the Lord has given me the opportunity to help others choose to serve missions.

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.

After the last tree was decorated and the last card was signed, the youth set out to show the hospice patients how much they cared through their actions. They spent the afternoon doing yard work, scraping and painting houses and sheds, even doing housework.

“Helping people at their homes can be awkward at first,” says Priest Justin Saunders. “But they really appreciated it and seemed glad to have us. It turned out to be fun.”

Apparently, people were more than appreciative. They were ecstatic. One woman, whose husband had been bedridden for some time, took pictures of the youth scraping and painting the shed outside their home. She wanted him to see them in action, even though he couldn’t get outside.