Gospel Story Finder

The rooms that April morning had been beautifully decorated with flowers and potted plants, for it was President Snow’s eighty-seventh birthday. On the mantle of the northeast parlor stood a gorgeous bouquet of American beauty roses. Early that morning, before the president was up, there had come a knock at the door of the Beehive House. When it was opened, there stood two little girls almost hidden behind armloads of stunning red roses. They explained that the flowers were for President Snow.
With radiant faces, the children were conducted directly to the prophet’s bedroom. There they sang two or three songs. President Snow was deeply touched by the serenade and said he would cherish the memory all of his life.

by Deborah J. Lingle
The Young Women of the Battleground Ward, Vancouver Washington West Stake, responded to a challenge. Their advisers encouraged each girl to purchase a Book of Mormon or A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, write her testimony inside, and give it to a nonmember.
Catching the spirit of the challenge of missionary work, the 13 girls managed to give away 22 books in eight months.
After prayerful consideration, Jennifer Goodner, a Mia Maid, felt inspired to place her book with a friend at school. The friend thanked her and said she’d been waiting for Jennifer to approach her because she had so many questions about the Church.
Each girl had experiences that were unique. Alyce Clark, a Mia Maid, managed to place seven books by herself, one to a man who had rejected the Book of Mormon for many years.
The project was an overwhelming success. The process of writing their testimonies helped the girls to examine their beliefs and grow closer to their Heavenly Father. The experience also gave the girls the self-confidence to speak out about the gospel.

The six golden spires above the gleaming white, seven-story building shone in the November sun. It was a windy day. It was an inspiring day. The Washington Temple was being dedicated, and thousands had traveled thousands of miles to participate. Standing outside after one of the meetings was a young bishop and his wife. They came from Indianapolis with four teenage youths to participate in this glorious occasion.
The President of the Church was about to exit the temple. The bishop and those with him waited patiently to catch a glimpse of the man they sustain as prophet, seer, and revelator. There he was! As he came through the doors, he looked over the crowd of Saints who had been asked to clear a path for his departure. He moved through them unhurried, shaking hands and smiling warmly. He extended his arms as far back into the crowd as he could to reach as many hands as possible.
He finally reached young Bishop Gurney, his wife, and their small party of youths. Linda Surface was one of them. She was noticeably self-conscious, and as her hair tossed and swirled in the whipping wind, she fought with both hands to control it. President Kimball saw her, took her nervous hand, and comforted her: “Don’t worry about your hair, you are beautiful as you are.”
Then he took the bishop’s wife by the hand: “Thank you so much for waiting for me.” And to the bishop he gave a similar grateful greeting.
As in all things our president sets the example. And he follows the example of the Master: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” (John 13:35.) President Kimball demonstrated in those simple acts outside the Washington Temple that November day the graciousness, love, and concern for others that show “love one to another.” That mark alone will make any social gathering warm, pleasant, and filled with the proper spirit.
The sensitive comments of President Kimball that November day outside the Washington Temple—those of love toward others—should be our guide in all we do. The act is simple if the correct principle is followed. The correct principle, as King Benjamin counseled, is forgetting ourselves and acting on our concern for others so we “might rejoice and be filled with love towards God and all men.” (Mosiah 2:4.)

Photograph courtesy of the author
After general conference a few years ago, my wife, Yenifer, and I felt that we needed to make some changes in our discipleship. We felt prompted to do more than we were doing. We didn’t just need oil in our lamps—we needed more oil.
One of the related goals I set for myself was to do more service. I decided to do family history work, including indexing.
When I started, I quickly learned that the oldest records, which are the most difficult to read and understand, are the hardest to index. But I like challenges, so I decided to start with old records.
It didn’t take long, however, before I was wondering why I was indexing difficult records when I could index more batches of names if I indexed more recent, easier-to-read records. While I was trying to read and understand some difficult marriage records, I got a headache.
“Why am I doing the hardest records?” I asked myself.
Almost immediately, I felt a soft voice say, “Thank you.”
A few seconds later, Yenifer called me on my cell phone to see how my indexing was going.
“What are you indexing now?” she asked.
“I’m doing the oldest records,” I replied.
“You know those are the most difficult ones,” she said. “Why are you doing those?”
At that moment, I again experienced a feeling of gratitude. The people whose names I was indexing had waited over a thousand years for their temple work to be done. Just as I am happy because I have received my saving ordinances in the temple, they also want to be happy by receiving theirs. Indexing names makes that possible because it helps people to search for their ancestors online. Indexing is a first step in preparing names for the temple.
I began to weep as I came to understand the eternal importance of the work I was doing. Many people have waited a long time for their temple blessings. I know that we need to help them no matter how difficult the work is.

I had always planned on serving a mission when I turned 20, the age of missionaries at the time. After playing two seasons of football at Utah State University, I had a difficult decision to make. I knew that, at that time, very few returned missionaries played football after their missions. I had put a lot of effort into football, and I loved the game. I decided to delay my mission a few months so I could play one more season and then serve a mission. By the end of that season, I had won the starting quarterback position for the next year.
My coach was surprised and disappointed that after all my hard work in football, I was going to leave. He encouraged me to stay and play my final season. He couldn’t understand why I would walk away from this opportunity. I listened to his comments and his logic, but I told him that I could not wait another year to go on my mission. If I did, I feared I would miss my opportunity to serve a mission. After all my hard work in football, I said good-bye to the team and left for Great Britain to serve the Lord.
I never regretted that decision. I learned so many things on my mission. To witness people embracing the gospel was an incredible experience, which shaped the rest of my life in many important ways. My mission helped make me into the person I am today and had far greater impact on me than football ever could have.
As it turns out, when I returned from my mission, I got the chance to play football again. Although it was unexpected, I played my final year and achieved more than I believe I could have done before my mission. I was given incredible opportunities that probably would not have come about had I chosen to further delay or even forego my mission.

We are instructed to “counsel with the Lord in all thy doings” (Alma 37:37). I suspect that none of us is able to spend all day on bended knee counseling with the Lord. There are classes to attend, chores to do, meals to cook, and a thousand other things each of us needs to do every day. What, then, might it mean to “counsel . . . in all thy doings”? Clearly, part of it involves regular, formal prayers; but to me it also suggests an attitude of living—the recognition of our dependence on our Heavenly Father and a commitment to seek and know His will.

Several years ago the “What would Jesus do?” movement became very popular. It was inspired originally, I believe, by our friends in the evangelical community. Before it became a marketing tool used to sell merchandise, it contained a helpful reminder: to keep our relationship with the Lord in our minds as we make decisions throughout the day.

Early in our marriage, Amy had a friend who took this teaching quite seriously. She counseled with the Lord in all aspects of her life, including seemingly trivial matters like what to cook for dinner or how to decorate her apartment. Amy and I used to laugh at this, confident that the Lord didn’t need to be troubled with such minutia of daily life and thinking that such prayers suggested a kind of unhealthy spiritual dependency. Now, with a little more life experience, I’m less quick to dismiss these kinds of prayers. I still don’t find myself asking the Lord about paint colors for the walls, but I’m more inclined to believe that constant communication forms part of the fabric of a necessary relationship with the Lord.

For me it makes some sense to relate it to parenthood. Each of our children has different ways of communicating with Amy and me. We’ve tried to raise them to be independent, capable adults, something I hope they’re on their way to becoming. But on the way I’ve noticed some interesting things. Our oldest daughter, Kelsey, just finished her junior year at BYU. She lives in an apartment with friends and manages her life about as well as any 20-year-old could be expected to do. She also calls us just about every day, often with what seem to be nonquestions. Amy and I used to laugh about it, but it has gradually dawned on me that there may be a purpose in those calls. Kelsey doesn’t really need us to answer the question she’s asking; she needs us to know what she’s doing and that she’s thinking about us and values our opinions.

Our other children have their own ways of communicating. Some of them want to tell us lots of details and practically demand our attention, while others are happy to simply know we’re there. I suspect the same holds true for each of our relationships with the Lord. They are colored by our own personalities and needs, and they each march to their own individual rhythms.

Let me share with you an experience that taught me this lesson very well. My mission call was originally to Brazil. When I arrived at the old LTM in Provo, I was the only sister who would be learning Portuguese. The biggest problem was studying the language. The rules forbade elders studying with sisters and I didn't see how I was ever going to learn to speak Portuguese if I couldn't practice with someone. Finally, as a compromise, I was allowed to study with an elder if we sat in the cafeteria. Generally though, I spent much of my study time alone. One day I was studying the discussion about the Savior's role as Creator and Redeemer. I was alone with my thoughts and with the truths of the lesson. In that tiny classroom I had one of the most significant testimony building experiences of my life. The sweetness of redemption and the love of the Savior filled my heart and I felt his encouragement.

Because we were unable to get visas to travel to Brazil, my district was sent to the New York City Mission. When we arrived the mission president told me that I was creating severe problems for him because he now had an uneven number of sisters and no apartments in the mission would accommodate three sisters. After a few days of pondering, however, he sent me to Manchester, Connecticut.

It wasn't long after arriving in Manchester that I met Jane, a young woman who was investigating the Church. Unfortunately I had replaced her favorite sister. She even wrote to the mission president about having me exchanged for her favorite sister but the mission president denied her request. One night Jane had come to our apartment for a lesson. It just happened to be that lesson on Jesus Christ, the Creator and Redeemer. From the minute we started the lesson something was wrong. Jane was acting flippant, almost rude. She wouldn't answer questions except with silly or inane answers. I tried to be patient, but finally, I could stand the mockery no longer. I slammed the flip chart shut and said, "this is too important to me to continue with you acting this way. Either cut the smart stuff and listen or get out."

Jane accepted my gentle invitation and got out. We didn't see her for days. My companions were sure that I had offended our golden contact and driven her from the Church. I was almost sure I had. It was gloomy. I wondered why the Lord had called me to Brazil, sent me through an intensive language course, just so that I could go to Connecticut and offend people in English.

After what seemed forever, but I think was really only about two weeks, Jane called and invited us to her home for a slide show. We arrived somewhat wary but Jane launched into a history of her family vacations. Jane's travelogue covered most of the eastern seaboard and then headed west. Suddenly, a slide of Temple Square in Salt Lake City flashed onto the wall. Jane said, "This is Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah, the headquarters of the Church I want to join."

We were amazed and thrilled. Jane was baptized and two months later I was reassigned to the Phillippines, the Church having given up on getting me a visa to Brazil. Jane served a mission in Arizona a few months later. After her mission she called me. She said that on that night I had told her to listen or get out she had made up her mind to try an experiment before she came to the discussion. She had read the Book of Mormon completely and knew it was true. She knew what we were teaching her was true. But, she said, "I didn't know if it was important." She decided to test us by being obnoxious. She told herself that she would know whether the truth was important by how we responded to her rude behavior. She then told me that she knew that the sister I replaced would probably have been so afraid of hurting her feelings that she would have let her be rude all night. She then said, "you made me know how important the gospel was and the reason I had to get out of the room was that I knew I had to make a life-changing decision."

Did I waste my time in the LTM learning a language I never used? Were my three months in the New York City mission a waste? Maybe if I were to use the world's measures the answers would be yes. How inefficient to study a language I would never use. How ridiculous to send me to Connecticut in a frozen winter dressed in my tropical Brazilian wardrobe when the Church could have just sent me straight from the LTM to the Philippines instead. But, if measured by what the Lord considered to be important for my learning and growth and for Jane's learning and growth, every experience I had better prepared me to be the Lord's instrument. Would he do all that for one soul? Or two souls? Yes, I believe he did.

The Latter-day Saints had many problems in Missouri. In the autumn of 1838, Governor Boggs told leaders of the state militia (army) to force the Saints to leave the state.
The Mormons must be treated as enemies.
Joseph and other Church leaders were arrested for crimes they did not commit. The militiamen mocked the prisoners and kept them out in the rain without any shelter.
The commander of the militia told General Alexander W. Doniphan to shoot Joseph and the other prisoners. The prisoners prayed that they would not be killed. Their prayers were answered.
It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order.
The next day the guards watched closely as the prisoners said good-bye to their families in Far West. Joseph’s wife and children were grateful to see him alive but very sad to see him go away. Joseph worried about them.
God alone can protect them and deliver me from the hands of my enemies and restore me to my family.
The militia took many Latter-day Saint prisoners to Independence, then to a jail in Richmond. Later, Joseph and a few other men were moved to a jail in Liberty.
The guards treated the prisoners badly. One night the guards at the Richmond jail told each other about the terrible deeds they had done to the Latter-day Saints. Joseph stood up and rebuked them.
Silence! In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you and command you to be still.
I will not live another minute and hear such language.
The guards apologized. They were quiet for the rest of the night.
Other guards watched over the prisoners as they traveled to a different county for a court trial. One night the guards got drunk. They allowed Joseph and the other men to take their horses and escape.
I shall take a drink and go to bed, and you may do as you have a mind to.
After spending almost six months in prison, Joseph was reunited with his family in Quincy, Illinois.

I began seeking for ways that I could teach “The Living Christ” to our children. I recognized that they were young (our oldest was 11) and that this precious document was rather lengthy. But I had a desire, and after I prayed and thought about it often, the Spirit showed me how I could teach my family.
I had long collected pictures cut out of old Church magazines. I went to the box where I kept them and started pulling out pictures that seemed to match the different phrases in “The Living Christ.” For instance, for “He was the Great Jehovah of the Old Testament,” I found a picture of Christ, as Jehovah, talking with Moses. For the next phrase, “Under the direction of His Father,” I found a picture of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ standing together. Within a short time, I had gathered many pictures and paired them with their associated text from “The Living Christ.”
December seemed the perfect time for our family to start focusing on “The Living Christ.” Our children were excited and really got into our endeavor. We posted the pictures we were working on in our kitchen. I noticed that during the day, the kids would say the phrases as they passed by the pictures. When everyone had memorized the set of pictures on the wall, we put them away and started working on a new set.
With each picture, we discussed the gospel and life of Jesus Christ. Our family home evening lessons were filled with stories and lessons about the Savior. My husband taught some of the concepts in “The Living Christ,” bringing new insights.
Family prayers became more meaningful because the children gave more thought to Him in whose name they were praying. The Spirit filled our home. We felt like Nephi when he wrote, “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ” (2 Nephi 25:26). Our home became a place of greater peace.

Don’t look now, but there are three boys flying through the air on a magic bench. They’re wearing wild clothes, hats, and boots, and they’re singing beautiful music. The people on the ground below are also dressed in colorful costumes—one of them looks like a bird—and they’re singing a plea for help. The words to the boys’ song in response seem enchanted. All problems are resolved.
Does this sound like some bizarre dream caused by a hot fudge, french fry sundae right before bedtime? It’s not. It’s all in a day’s work for professional opera singers Steven Wilkin, Andrew Grose, and Jeffrey Perry, the deacons who recently starred as the “genies” in the Utah Opera Company’s version of Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
At 13, the three boys have been singing professionally for several years. Their performances have taken them all over the country and even to different parts of the world. They’re making friends and developing talents at a remarkable rate. As far as after-school jobs go, “it beats a paper route,” says Jeff.
When you hear the three boy sopranos sing, whether they’re harmonizing together, performing in front of huge crowds in Japan as Steven and Andrew have done, or crooning country-western tunes as Jeff does in a restaurant on Thursday nights, you think you’ve been transported to heaven and are listening to the angels themselves. Their voices are high and clear, and although they work hard and practice incessantly, it’s obvious that a certain degree of their talent is a divine gift.
Steven discovered he had a gift when he was about three, singing and talking in Primary. Andrew’s talent was discovered by his third-grade teacher when she cast him in the class production of Hansel and Gretel. Jeff discovered he was talented only a few years ago, when his friends heard him sing along perfectly with Whitney Houston’s recording of “The Star Spangled Banner.” Voice lessons would be a good thing here, decided the boys and their parents. Training helps, but without the “something extra” they were born with, they would never be where they are today.
Each was also blessed with the ability to sing on stage in front of thousands of people without being nervous or afraid. These boys have always been amazingly poised, getting leads in major productions like Oliver and Amahl and the Night Visitors almost the first time they tried out. “Prayer helps a lot,” says Andrew. “And Dad’s blessings that I’ll perform to the best of my abilities help too,” adds Steven.
Now before you get jealous and start wondering why God didn’t bless you with a talent like that, consider the fact that there are some drawbacks to being a gifted boy soprano. All the blessings in the world won’t make these three boys comfortable singing in front of their own wards.
“The older boys and the deacons quorum tease you about singing high,” says Steven. “I like to collect fast offerings and to pass the sacrament with them, but when it comes to singing, it’s easier to be on stage in front of thousands of people you’ll never see again than to have to sing in front of a room full of people who really know you.”
Because of his high, clear voice, Andrew couldn’t even get a part in his own school musical. “They were doing Guys and Dolls, and the drama teacher said the only part they had for my voice would have been the female lead, which I obviously couldn’t play. Some of the kids at school went around saying, ‘I got a singing part without even taking a lesson, and Andrew, who has had all this training, doesn’t even get to be on stage.’ It worked out okay though. I got to be stage manager, and it was fun to watch everyone else perform without any pressure on me.”
The pressure. That’s something else these boys are forced to deal with, and at a very young age they’re learning some amazing things. Steven was ecstatic about landing the lead role in a professional production of Amahl and the Night Visitors, until he heard his understudy sing. His voice was like silver. “Oh Mom!” Steven said, with tears in his eyes, “He’s so much better than I am! He should have my part.” It was then explained to Steven that the boy who was singing had grown too big for the lead, and Steven’s part was secure.
Steven decided right then and there that he would be very nice to his understudy and treat him without jealousy or malice. Steven knew how that felt, because he’d been treated poorly as an understudy before. This decision turned out to be better than Steven ever expected. His understudy in Amahl was Andrew, and now they’re the closest of friends.
It’s a good thing these boys have learned how to make friends at all times and in all places. When they’re involved in a production, there isn’t a lot of “hang time.” While most guys their ages are playing Nintendo and hanging out with their friends, Jeff, Andrew, and Steven are busy learning Italian, Latin, German, Japanese, taking dance and voice lessons, and attending rehearsals. Those activities, plus Scouting and deacons quorum duties, and a few sports like baseball, skiing, and basketball, take up almost all their time. That doesn’t leave many minutes for just being with friends.
“Sometimes I wish I had more time for that,” says Steven, wistfully. “But I’ve become good friends with the other guys in the productions, and we hang out at the rehearsals. We’ll rollerblade when we’re not on stage, and stuff like that. It’s pretty fun.”
That’s all fine for now, you might say, but what happens as they start growing up? “The Dreaded Voice Change,” as Andrew calls it, has been looming darkly on the horizon ever since these boys discovered they could sing soprano.
How will they deal with it? Their beautiful voices have been earning them money and attention, and all that could easily change in a week. They each handle it in their own way. Steven’s voice has already changed, but because he was rehearsing so hard for The Magic Flute while it was happening, he can still reach the high notes and sound as good as ever. Andrew is hoping to develop his new, deeper voice as well as he developed his boy soprano voice. Jeff can’t wait for his voice to go lower. He’d rather be a professional baseball player or a doctor in the long run anyway.
In the meantime, these boys do what they can to turn around and bless others with the talents they’ve been given. You’ll often find Andrew entertaining large groups at nursing homes. “I love singing for older people,” he says. Steven has performed in a number of charity concerts to raise money for the homeless and terminally ill children, and Jeff has used his voice to help his grandparents do missionary work. All three boys sing often at missionary farewells, funerals, and in other Church programs.
While all three boys love the feeling they get when they sing before an audience, their lives don’t necessarily revolve around their singing careers. If you catch them after a Saturday night performance when the audience is roaring and they’ve just taken three curtain calls, you might ask them, “Now that you’ve won the hearts of thousands and your voices are critically acclaimed, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pass the sacrament!” these three deacons would tell you. What else would they do on a Sunday?

I was not feeling the Christmas spirit. It was December of my senior year in high school, and college applications and my final Laurel project loomed before me. I hoped to find a volunteer opportunity that would flesh out my college applications and double as my Laurel project. Luckily my student council adviser asked my friend Jessica and me if we would organize a school toy drive for a local charity.
I delegated most of the work to the project committee. I had them create a bulletin board featuring a large thermometer that indicated the number of toys donated. We thought that was enough advertising, and we spent each lunch period collecting donations. Students donated few toys, however, and the thermometer remained low.
Strangely, our adviser began setting aside some toys. When Jessica and I asked what she planned to do with them, she told us that a teacher at the school had recently been diagnosed with cancer. After struggling to teach while going through treatment, he had decided to take a leave from work. With the holidays approaching and medical bills piling up, his family wouldn’t have much of a Christmas. Our adviser suggested that we wrap the set-aside presents for them.
My heart was touched. I had been looking at my service project as a means to serve only myself, not others. I decided to triple our goal for donated toys and to start a monetary collection for the teacher and his family.
Jessica and I visited classrooms and championed our cause. The response was enormous. Teachers, staff, and students gave toys and money to help the family. We soon surpassed our toy goal, which amazed the charity. We also collected more than $1,000 for the family.
As we carefully wrapped the gifts we had collected and purchased, I realized that the testimony of service I was receiving was just as great as the gifts we were giving. I can’t express the thrill I felt as we secretly watched the family discover the gifts we had anonymously left on their porch.
A few months later, Jessica and I were asked to teach a seminar on service projects. We explained what we had done without mentioning the teacher’s name. A girl raised her hand and stood. Tears flowed as she spoke. The teacher was her uncle, and she described how much our service had meant to him. She said it was an answer to his prayers.
What a joy it was that holiday season to come together in heartfelt service and know we had made a difference.

During the final phases of World War II, I turned eighteen and was ordained an elder one week before I departed for active duty with the navy. A member of my ward bishopric was at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed two books into my hands. One was a popular satire in which I took interest. The other was entitled The Missionary Handbook.

I laughed and commented, “I’m not going on a mission.”

He answered, “Take it anyway—it may come in handy.”

It did. In basic training the company commander instructed us concerning how we might best pack our clothing in a large sea bag. He advised: “If you have some hard, rectangular object you can place in the bottom, your clothes will stay more firm.”

I suddenly remembered just the right rectangular object—The Missionary Handbook. Thus it served for sixteen weeks.

The night before our Christmas leave, our thoughts were, as always, on home. The quarters were quiet. Suddenly I became aware that my buddy in the adjoining bunk, a Mormon boy, Leland Merrill, was moaning in pain. I asked, “What’s the matter, Merrill?”

He replied, “I’m sick. I’m really sick!”

I advised him to go to the base dispensary, but he knowingly answered that such a course would prevent him from being home for Christmas.

The hours lengthened. His groans grew louder. Suddenly he whispered, “Monson, Monson, aren’t you an elder?” I acknowledged this to be so, whereupon he asked, “Give me a blessing.”

Suddenly I became very much aware that I had never given a blessing, I had never received such a blessing, and I had never witnessed a blessing being given. My prayer to God was a plea for help. The answer came: “Look in the bottom of the sea bag.” Thus, at two o’clock in the morning I spilled the contents of the bag on the deck, took the book to the night light, and read how one blesses the sick. With about seventy curious sailors looking on, I gave the shakiest blessing I’ve ever given. Before I could stow my gear, Leland Merrill was sleeping like a child.

The next morning Merrill smilingly turned to me and said, “Monson, I’m glad you hold the priesthood.” His gladness was surpassed only by my joy.

Photograph courtesy of Ariana O.
Ariana O. of Queensland, Australia, along with several other students in her music class at school, was given an assignment to compose a song about something uniquely American. “I had a few things going around in my head,” says Ariana, “but the Restoration stood out to me the most. It was something I was passionate about and something I am very proud to be a part of.”
On the Friday after she finished writing the song, the teacher told the students that they would perform their songs the following Monday. “When I went home that evening, I practiced whenever I could so that I could surprise Mum and Dad with what I wrote the song about,” says Ariana. “I had to wait the whole weekend, and I was a little bit scared as well. I didn’t know how my classmates would react, and I didn’t want them to think I was weird.”
On Monday, the teacher announced the performances. As it turned out, only Ariana and one other group had actually written a song.
“I was nervous,” she says. “One group wrote a song about cowboys and Indians, and I wrote a song about Joseph Smith. The group who wrote their song about cowboys went first, and they were just as nervous as I was, but there were two of them performing. When it was my turn, I said a little prayer and went to the piano. I started playing, and it was like it was just me and the piano. Once I finished, I explained what the song was about, and then I sat back down.”
Though Ariana wasn’t sure how the others felt, she was glad to have shared her testimony in that way. And, she says, “I knew that I had grown spiritually.”

During my senior year in high school, I realized that I wouldn’t be seeing my family very much. With homecoming activities, honors classes, and my job, the hours I spent at home were few and far between. In the mornings I would kneel with the family for prayer. Then with a quick amen and hugs all around, I’d rush out the door to the bus. A foil-covered dinner would greet me each evening when I arrived home late. The rest of the family was asleep, so a textbook propped up against my glass of milk was my only company as I ate.
Later, I’d tiptoe upstairs and whisper good night to my sleeping parents. Mama would prop up a little on her elbow, “How was your day?”
“Fine.” The standard answer, but one they accepted.
I’d feel my way down the hall into the dark bedroom where my five other sisters slept. I always made sure I kissed them each on their cheeks and whispered, “I love you.” I wonder if my words ever entered their dreams. Then, setting my alarm clock, I’d say my prayers and crawl into bed.
Life continued like this for several months. I was just too busy.
Then one morning I was awakened by a flashlight shining directly into my eyes. Startled and peering past the bright beam, I was surprised to see my Papa clad in pajamas and robe with a big grin on his face.
“What time is it?” I asked, yawning.
“4:00 A.M.,” said Papa, his face never losing the grin.
“You’re kidding. Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, “follow me.”
I crawled out of bed and sleepily followed him downstairs. As I rounded the corner, I was surprised to see the living room light on and a small table pulled up to the couch. On the table were two dishes of ice cream with chocolate cookies stuck in the top. It looked very inviting.
“What’s this?” I asked incredulously.
“Have a seat,” Papa said. He took me over to the couch and sat me down. “All right, let’s talk.”
“Papa, you’re kidding. No one gets up just to talk and eat ice cream at this hour.”
“I know, but I haven’t seen you for a while, and I wanted to know how things are going in your life.” He hugged me and handed me some ice cream.
As we ate, we talked, really talked, for the first time in many weeks. Papa wanted to know about everything: How’s school? Work? Grades? Are you okay for money? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you healthy? How are you doing spiritually?
One by one I answered his questions, told him my concerns, and asked for advice. My heart thrived on the love I felt from him. With 10 other children in the family, how could he possibly care so much about my life? But he did. Momentarily all the bills, work, Church callings, and the interests of a dozen other people he had to care for were forgotten. He was concerned about me. On that couch, side by side, giggling, laughing, and sharing the deepest feelings and thoughts within us, we passed the early morning hours. We talked long after the ice cream was gone.
It has been many years since that morning. I don’t live at home anymore, and now it’s normal not to see Papa or the family for a few weeks or months. But that four o’clock morning is engraved on my soul, a memory sweeter than ice cream. That morning I really knew someone cared—my father.
Many times since then, when life gets rough, I have been awake at 4:00 A.M., wishing for someone to talk to, wishing for someone who cared enough to ask me those questions. Papa cannot drive the many miles to shine a flashlight in my face. And most people are too practical to serve up ice cream at four in the morning.
However, even when my papa isn’t there, I know from his example of another Father who also watches over his daughters and his sons. A Father who is willing to listen about school, about problems, about life; one who knows us so well that He can see into and feel our hearts; a Father who understands perfectly the world we are facing, our fears and hopes, and asks all the right questions.
That morning reminds me of Heavenly Father, a Father who is omniscient and omnipresent. This Father, too, is always willing to talk, no matter what time it is. And that’s even better than 4:00 A.M. ice cream.

In May of 1974, I was with Brother John H. Groberg in the Tongan islands. We had an appointment to visit the king of Tonga, and we met with him in a formal session. We exchanged the normal pleasantries. However, before we left, John Groberg said something that was out of the ordinary. He said, “Your Majesty, you should really become a Mormon and your subjects as well, for then your problems and their problems would largely be solved.”
The king smiled broadly and answered, “John Groberg, perhaps you’re right.”
I thought of the Apostle Paul before Agrippa. I thought of Agrippa’s response to Paul’s testimony: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” Brother Groberg had the courage to bear his testimony to a king.

There was a touching event here about a rescue last summer that illustrates how this supporting network so frequently functions. Three of our students were injured in a near tragic automobile accident. The car was completely demolished. The girls were in shock and pain. There was confusion and fear, even panic and humiliation. A crowd began to form around the vehicle as people came running to see what had happened. Traffic was backing up. A fire truck arrived and firemen took charge. One of the girls lay on the ground by the car, another was still in the back seat, and the third was trying to talk to one of the firemen.

You can imagine the tension in the air. Then, out of the crowd stepped a man in a white shirt, who announced to the chief fireman that he was a minister in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and would like to give a blessing to the girls who he recognized were from BYU-Hawaii because of a BYU-Hawaii insignia on one of the girls' shirts. He approached the girl lying on the ground, asked her name, then blessed her in the name of the Lord that she would live and be healed. He proceeded to the girl in the back seat and gave her a similar blessing and then to the driver. The girls themselves had never seen the man before. In fact, none of the three was a member of the Church. But all three later testified to me that the moment he laid his hands upon their heads they felt peace, love, warmth and an assurance that they would be okay. Each spent time in the hospital, but they were all sustained by the comforting knowledge that they would be healed and fully recover.

The driver of the vehicle was released from the hospital first. Terrified and confused she just sat in her room. Far from home and parents, she anguished over her companions. About her darkest moment, she told me later: "I sat in the middle of the floor weeping and praying that someone would be sent to help me." At that very moment the phone rang. It was Sister Shumway, the campus mother, calling to see if there was anything she could do to help.

Help was extended; the girls recovered. The mystery person who gave the blessings at the accident scene was none other than our own Brother Sione Niu. Thanks to his spiritual preparation, his presence of mind, and his courage, the girls were blessed.

After church Tara puts away her shiny shoes.
She looks at her Book of Mormon picture book.
She draws a picture to send to her auntie.
While Dad and Mom make dinner, Tara plays with her baby brother.
Then she sets the table.
“Tara, thank you for helping our family have a happy Sabbath day!” says Dad.
Trace your finger along the line to help Tara move through her Sabbath day. Can you tell what she does to make Sunday a happy day?

Leaders of the Church have counseled us to cultivate a garden at our homes. Recently, members from the Mountain View Ward in Nairobi, Kenya heeded that counsel, and following their bishop’s assignment and worked hard to create a ward shamba (the word ‘shamba’ means ‘garden’ in Swahili). Ward members joined hands and applied their knowledge in transforming the thickets and shrubs into a bountiful harvest.

Finally, the day came when the rewards were quite visible and abundant. The Mountain View Ward members’ hard work proved itself. There was an abundance of food, ranging from bananas to mboga to beans and they are about to harvest the maize. It was clear that the members’ aim wasn’t for instant gratification. They understood that in all harvests, some blessings don’t come until later, so they chose to be patient with the sweet potatoes and cassava.

Then I read a story about a pioneer woman. When that woman was a child, the prophet asked her family to help settle a Latter-day Saint community in a remote area. Tragedy befell when one of her siblings died. Her mother was distraught, and deep sadness permeated the family.
One day this little girl was looking out the window. As far as she could see, a blanket of snow surrounded the family’s modest home. As the little girl stared at the horizon, she saw two people trudging toward the house. On they came, slowly making their way, and suddenly the child realized who they were—they were her mother’s visiting teachers.
That story inspired me. I was baptized in May 1983. It is an honor to be a visiting teacher myself. I love associating with so many women who exemplify the “virtuous woman” whose “price is far above rubies” (Proverbs 31:10). It is wonderful to be with women who are also striving to be kind, to love one another, and to bring others unto Christ.

As we build our homes, we value spiritual growth more than material possessions. In the Hapi family in Nuhaka, New Zealand, the parents want to teach their five children to be thrifty, make their offerings to the Lord, and live within their means. When the children complain that their friends have more material things than they do, Sister Hapi reminds them, “We are preparing for an eternity, not today, and we cannot take those things with us to the hereafter.”