Gospel Story Finder

Another example is given of a man whose daughter came to him one evening and said, “Dad, may I use the car tonight?”
He replied, “It isn’t here.”
“What do you mean, ‘It isn’t here.’ Where is it?”
“I don’t know. I let a man borrow it.”
“Well, who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand. When will he bring it back?”
The father then explained, saying, “You seem to be quite concerned about my car, and yet you don’t seem to appreciate my wanting to know about your dates—with whom and where you are going and when you will come back. I have far more interest in you and your welfare than in my automobile, and I hope you can understand now why I ask you those questions.”

Last year in Cub Scouts, we were asked to design a crest, drawn on paper. The theme was “Yesteryear,” and only eight pictures out of the whole district were chosen. These pictures were then designed on a crest for all the Cub Scouts in the district.
I drew a covered wagon, and my picture was chosen to be on the crest. At the Cub Scout camp, a special presentation was to be made, and the eight boys whose designs were chosen were to be presented with a special award.
My Cub leader told me this would take place on Sunday morning at ten o’clock. I didn’t know what to do. If I went, it would mean that I would miss church. My mom said that I could decide. I thought about it, and I said a prayer. I told my mom that I didn’t want to miss church. I received my award later. I felt good about the choice I’d made.
Caleb Johnson, age 9Orono, Ontario, Canada

Brigham Anderson, a 52-year-old Whanganui resident, is debuting his first art exhibition that combines traditional M?ori tukutuku (geometric paneling art) with values from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”.
Anderson’s exhibition titled “Ng? tukutuku o te k?inga,” (The home of tukutuku) opened at the Space Gallery in Whanganui on 1 December ran through 18 December.
Anderson’s art is what he considers faith based. He quoted President Brigham Young (1801–1877), who taught the principle that truth can be found everywhere, including in art and culture. He said the family values and truth that are found in M?ori culture are similar to those found in the gospel, and so representing both in his art is important to him.
“There are lots of similarities in all people and religions, we have more in common then we have in differences, and I hope my pieces can bridge some of those gaps,” Anderson said. He hopes his paintings can be a reminder to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Although not a full-time artist, Anderson started focusing more time on his art during the pandemic which led him to create story-telling tukutuku paintings that symbolize principles and values from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.”
When people see these paintings, Anderson hopes it leads the viewer to reflect on where they are in life and what improvements they can make in regard to their own family relationships and faith.
In nine of the tukutuku panels in the exhibition, he specifically highlighted these principles for families: faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work and having fun together.
Hours of research and planning went into designing, crafting and picking symbols he used in each painting to portray its story. The colours, shapes, lines, and M?ori words he used to represent each principle all have special reasoning behind why he chose them.
In the faith panel painting, he included the word “rongo” at the bottom, which describes four of the five senses, excluding sight. With the increased influence of social media, Anderson said many rely too heavily on seeing to believe, but that isn’t how faith works. He used “rongo” to capture and symbolize the idea of not needing to see, to still exercise faith. “The word rongo also can mean peace, especially after a challenging time in our lives. The gospel of Jesus Christ brings that peace,” he said.
The panel titled “Inoi,” portrays the principle of prayer. He used the colour blue to depict Heavenly Father because “it is a peaceful colour.” The words Anderson painted mean to call out to Heavenly Father and the shapes were meant to represent someone praying and God bestowing blessings upon them. Anderson said this painting symbolizes how the further a person seeks light, the more God will give them because “everything Heavenly Father does is for our benefit.”
Anderson based the forgiveness “Muru” panel on a talk by President James E. Faust (1920 –2007). In the talk, Faust told a tragic story about a group of Amish people who forgave and served the family of someone who had killed multiple Amish children. Anderson said that story of forgiveness inspired him to create shapes that look like the white foam on top of rapids to parallel the importance of forgiving and moving on.
“If you don’t forgive, you can get caught up in the rapids, and can drown, but as you forgive, you move into more peaceful, calm water,” he said.
The colours, shapes and lines in his art are so exact, that many at first perceive his art to be digitally made and printed. But every piece of the exhibition he painted with acrylic paint. He said the precision of the paintings comes from his culture where they originally weaved tukutuku panels out of flax. If one part wasn’t done correctly, they would cut the flax off and start over completely.

Elder Quentin L. Cook told about a life-changing role a stake Relief Society president had in Tonga. During a stake conference held while Elder Cook was there, the names of sixty-three prospective elders were sustained for ordination to the Melchizedek Priesthood. When Elder Cook asked how this “miracle” had been accomplished, the stake president told him that in a stake council meeting, the stake Relief Society president spoke of many men in their late twenties and early thirties who had not served missions and who were in various stages of activity. She suggested that the council focus on priesthood ordinations and temple ordinances for them as well as for their wives—some of whom were less active or not members.

“As she spoke, the Spirit confirmed to the [stake] president that what she was suggesting was true,” Elder Cook related.

It was decided that the men of the priesthood and the women of the Relief Society would reach out to rescue these men and their wives. . . . Those involved in the rescue focused primarily on preparing them for the priesthood, eternal marriage, and the saving ordinances of the temple. During the next two years, almost all of the 63 men who had been sustained to the Melchizedek Priesthood at the conference I attended were endowed in the temple and had their spouses sealed to them. This account is but one example of how critical our sisters are in the work of salvation. [“LDS Women Are Incredible!” Ensign, May 2011, 20–21]

Anela (14), Chiyo (11), and Daniel (10) from the Philippines have a brother, Bien (12), who has cerebral palsy. They see him as a unique person with his own strengths. They wish others would get to know Bien the way they do.

“Where we live, there’s a steep hill that my siblings and I call a ‘mountain,’” Anela says. “We enjoy riding our bikes up the hill and racing back down. Bien has a hard time going up, so we help him. Sometimes people stare at him. It bothers me when that happens. But Bien doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and waves at them as we pass by.

“I wish people would know when they see Bien that he’s friendly and enjoys being around other people. He’s shy at first, but he’s a lot of fun once he feels comfortable. He can’t do what able-bodied people can do, but he loves to learn. I’ve learned from Bien that we shouldn’t worry so much about what everyone else thinks about us, and we should treat everyone with kindness.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to be patient with David, especially when he won’t listen,” Lucy says. “Sometimes he can’t help it, so I don’t want to get too mad at him, but I also want to make sure he learns and understands. It’s important to find balance. It helps me know how to help my brother.”

Chiyo has found that patience helps Bien learn. “I help teach my brother the alphabet, colors, numbers, and animals,” Chiyo says. “Sometimes he has a hard time identifying animals. I keep working with him, and after a while, I noticed he’s improved. I’ll name an animal, he’ll point to a photo, and he gets some of them right! Bien’s example teaches me that it takes time to learn new things and it can be hard, but if you have patience and keep practicing, you will eventually get it right.”

“I love that my family thinks about my brother before we do an activity so he can have a good time too,” Anela says. “We also include Bien in helping around the house,” Chiyo says. “He can fold some of his clothes and sweep the floor.”

Lucy has also seen how teachers and friends at church make David feel welcome. “It’s nice to see people try and learn about David’s interests,” Lucy says. “Right now, he really loves Star Wars, so ward members will ask him about it. They know it’s something he’ll be willing to talk about. One of his teachers tries to incorporate what David likes into the lessons in some way. This helps him pay more attention in class.”

Someone may look different, act different, or have different abilities, but we all belong. There are many ways to help everyone feel included and important. The more we strive to do so, the more we will all learn and grow.

We all belong.
Christ and the Palsied Man, by J. Kirk Richards

I would like to now tell a final story of another young Latter-day Saint who showed great faith. This story will be part of Saints, Volume 4. We begin in Hong Kong in 1953.

In Hong Kong, Nora Koot yearned to have missionaries return to her part of the world. The China Mission had been established in Hong Kong in 1949. That same year, 11-year-old Nora, who had lost both of her parents, had fled the Communist revolution in mainland China to live with family members in Hong Kong. Nora soon met the missionaries. She attended church meetings for over a year until she and two of her half-sisters were baptized, becoming the first Chinese members of the Church in Hong Kong. This is a photograph of Nora and her sisters.

Nora had endured many trials in her young life, and the gospel filled her with a new sense of freedom and joy. She loved interacting with the missionaries. Two weeks after Nora’s baptism, fifteen more people joined the Church, including Nora’s aunt. The future of the Church in Hong Kong seemed bright.

But then, a little over a month after Nora’s baptism, the Chinese Mission was closed. Tensions between Hong Kong and Communist-controlled mainland China had escalated with the beginning of the Korean War, and the First Presidency felt the missionaries were no longer safe.

Four years had now passed since the missionaries’ departure; the Saints in Hong Kong had no priesthood holders, no sacrament, no building, and no materials but a Book of Mormon in English. Despite these challenges, Nora’s faith continued to grow, and she never lost hope that the missionaries would return. The year before, Elder Harold B. Lee and his wife Fern had visited Hong Kong during a tour of Asia. The visit was brief, just one day, and Elder and Sister Lee invited Church members and friends, 21 in total, to their hotel room for a sacrament meeting. The next day, Nora, then 15, went to say good-bye to the Lees as they boarded a shuttle bus for the airport. She felt the Spirit tell her, “Tell him to send the Church back.” Unsure what was happening, she said “What” aloud. “Tell him to send the Church back,” the voice said.

Nora stepped up to the bus, her eyes meeting the apostle’s. As Elder Lee stretched out a hand to say good-bye, tears streamed down Nora’s face as she said, “Please send the Church back to China. We Saints without the Church are like people without food. We need to be fed spiritually.” Elder Lee replied, “As long as we have a faithful, devoted band like you who without a shepherd, are remaining true, the Church is in China.”

Nora continued to pray that the missionaries would return. One day in August, she was working at a movie theater when she saw a tall, blonde, blue-eyed man approaching her. She suddenly realized it was Grant Heaton, a missionary who had taught her the gospel.

Grant had just arrived in Hong Kong and told Nora she was one of the first people he had sought out. After the missionaries’ removal from Hong Kong, he had finished his mission working among the Chinese people in Northern California. Soon after his mission ended, he married and he was then drafted into military service during the Korean conflict.

Grant told Nora that the mission was reopening and he had been called as the new Mission President. He was only twenty six years old, and he and his wife Luana were the parents of a six-month-old baby boy. Their stewardship in the new Southern Far East Mission included Hong Kong, Taiwan, the Philippines, and Guam.

Soon, Elder Joseph Fielding Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles arrived for a visit. He praised the members for remaining faithful and then turned to Nora. He knew about her plea to Elder Lee, who had been so impressed by Nora’s faith that he had told Nora’s story during General Conference.

Nora’s prayers had been answered. “The sun [is] rising,” she thought. “Morning has returned to the Saints in Hong Kong!”

We then follow Nora as she becomes the first Chinese woman to serve a mission:

In early 1959, Sister Nora Koot and her companion, Sister Elaine Thurman, were on their way to Tai Po in the New Territories, an area of Hong Kong where missionaries had never proselyted.

Only a few years previously, the idea of the Church growing rapidly in Hong Kong might have seemed impossible. But now Nora’s district leader wanted to know what supplies she and her companion needed. Forty folding chairs and forty hymn books, Nora told him. She and Sister Thurman planned to set up the chairs in their living room apartment, so they could host Sunday School for the new investigators they planned to find.

The startled elder asked Nora if she really needed that many. “Yes, we do!” she answered confidently.

That week, Nora and Sister Thurman invited everyone they met to the service. Sunday came, and the two sisters set up the forty chairs and distributed the hymn books. They even constructed a makeshift pulpit by placing two suitcases side-by-side and draping a white cloth over the top. Then they opened the front door and waited.

One-by-one the visitors arrived. By the time the meeting started, all of the chairs were filled. Nora was grateful, but not entirely surprised. Throughout Hong Kong, missionary work was booming. Nearly a decade after the end of the Chinese civil war, the city still harbored hundreds of thousands of refugees seeking a better life. Some churches offered the refugees food in exchange for becoming members of their congregations. Hong Kong residents called them “Rice Christians.”

President Grant Heaton did not want the missionaries and local Church leaders to promise food in exchange for church attendance. He was so committed to the idea that investigators should have a true desire to learn the gospel before being baptized that he instituted a rigorous plan, requiring 17 pre-baptism lessons and another 20 after baptism.

It wasn’t long before there were enough members to form a branch in Nora’s area. She and her companion ran the meetings each Sunday, with Elders attending to bless the sacrament.

The pace at which the Church was growing made Nora think of Daniel’s dream in the Old Testament about a stone rolling down the mountain, getting bigger as it rolled, until it was so big it filled up the entire earth. Nora felt like she was helping to make that vision a reality. A final note on Nora: Some years later, she received her endowment at the temple in Laie.

Not far from here are some nuclear facilities that include prototypes for nuclear submarines. A nuclear prototype is a place that looks exactly like the real thing, only it is in a controlled environment so people can be taught without life-threatening danger. In those facilities, the individuals who man the nuclear fleet are trained to respond to emergencies automatically.

One day during the shakedown cruise of a real submarine, an accident occurred. The testing was almost over, and the ship was at full submergence depth at flank speed, the fastest it could advance in the water. The helmsman noticed they were at a slight up-angle, so he tilted the bow planes down. In that moment, the power went out. The boat locked in a down dive, and everyone knew that shortly they would be at a depth that would crush the hull. There was panic on board. But one engineer began to pull himself along the floor of the engine room to a compartment. He reached in, turned some switches, and reserve power came on. The emergency was over.

Later he was asked, “How did you know what to do? How did you know how to respond?”

The simple reply was, “I don’t know. I just did it.” Can you imagine him scrambling through the manual trying to find out what to do under that kind of pressure? He had learned in a prototype environment like your homes, like this campus with its classes and church environment. When the pressure came, he was ready. You will be ready because of the quiet resolve and determination in your life to live worthily as you learn from this prototype experience.

When I went on that first mission, President Anthon H. Lund spoke to us missionaries before we left and he told us that the people in the mission field would love us. But he said, “Don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not realize just what that meant at that time, but before I left Holland to come home, I knew what Brother Lund had meant. I shed many more tears bidding goodbye to my friends and converts there than I had when I bid farewell to my mother and father and brothers and sisters.

For instance, over in Amsterdam where I finished my mission, I went into the home of a short little woman, the mother of eight children, to say goodbye. Looking up into my face, the tears rolling down her cheeks and down the front of her apron, she said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it is harder to see you go.” Then I thought I could understand what Brother Lund meant when he said that they would love us, because I was the first missionary that she had ever met, and her whole family had joined the Church. One of her boys returned from his second mission just a short time ago—but I had better not give you the history of the whole family.

Then I went to say goodbye to a man who stood erect in the uniform of his country—a tall man with a little Dutch beard. He got down on his knees, took my hand in his, and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. Then I thought I could understand what Brother Lund had meant when he said that they would love us because of what we brought to them.

The story is told of a farmer who needed an extra hand to help on his farm. Several interviewed for the position and the farmer asked each about his qualifications for the job. The response of one young man left the farmer both confused and intrigued. He had simply said, "I can sleep when the wind blows." The young man was hired and worked diligently through the harvest.

Autumn ended and the first cold storm of winter came late one night. The farmer panicked as the winds began to blow. Calling the young man for help, the farmer grabbed his coat and boots. He was disappointed to find the young man asleep at a time like this. Grudgingly he ventured out alone to move the animals to the barn and then fix a hole in the roof. He mumbled as he thought of the farm equipment left to rust in the field.

However, when the farmer reached the barn all the animals were tucked safely inside. In fact, clean hay had already been set out for the new day. Not a single hole could be found in the roof, and the tractor was parked perfectly in the shed. "Who could have done it?" the farmer wondered. And then, he realized what the young man's answer meant. "I can sleep when the wind blows."

Many years ago I walked at dawn through the narrow cobblestone streets of Cusco, Peru, high in the Andes Mountains. I saw a man from a local indigenous group walking down one of the streets. He was not a big man physically, but he carried an immense load of firewood in a huge burlap sack on his back. The sack seemed to be as big as he was. The load must have weighed as much as he did. He steadied it with a rope that looped under the bottom of the sack and circled up around his forehead. He gripped the rope tightly on both sides of his head. He kept a rag on his forehead underneath the rope to keep it from cutting into his skin. He leaned forward under his burden and walked with deliberate, difficult steps.
The man was carrying the firewood to the marketplace, where it would be sold. In an average day he might make just two or three round-trips across the town to deliver similarly awkward, heavy loads.
The memory of him bent forward, struggling down the street has become increasingly meaningful for me with the passage of years. How long could he continue to carry such burdens?
I remember that man in Peru, hunched over and struggling to carry that enormous sack of firewood on his back. For me, he is an image of us all as we struggle with the burdens of life. I know that as we keep the commandments of God and our covenants, He helps us with our burdens. He strengthens us. When we repent, He forgives us and blesses us with peace of conscience and joy. May we then submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A new mission president, Elvon W. Orme, had to struggle for the duration of the war to administer the sprawling mission. A young Melbourne elder, Frederick E. Hurst, was called to help. Many smaller branches had to be closed. Dedicated sisters spent long hours typing copies of Church materials, scarce because shipping space was reserved for military uses, to be mailed to the branches. With growing talk of invasion, President Orme organized the evacuation of Latter-day Saint children from Sydney. Weeks later, suburbs adjacent to Sydney Harbour were shelled by warships off-shore. Some thirty children stayed at Grenfell, 400 kilometers west, until the threat of invasion had passed.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and Chris Tollstrup was glad to be going to Church with his family—Dad, Mom, Annie, Ryan, and Nicholas. They all just fit on one of the side benches in the chapel. During sacrament meeting, and especially when the bread and water were being passed by the deacons, Chris tried to think about the Savior, as his parents had taught him.
Afterward he went to his Primary class and was greeted by his teacher and friends. The teacher began the lesson by holding up several drawings and asking the class what they thought Jesus Christ would do if He saw each of the situations pictured.
One was a picture of a little girl who had fallen down and skinned her knee. There were also pictures of a boy finding a wallet with a lot of money in it, a beach covered with garbage, a girl eating all alone in the lunch room at school, a child lost in a shopping mall, and a mother who was overwhelmed by all the housework she had to do. It wasn’t too hard to decide that in each case Christ would have been helpful, loving, honest, and kind.
Monday is garbage day in Chris’s neighborhood, and the truck that comes to pick up and empty the garbage cans always seems to drop some trash along the side of the road as it goes from house to house. On the Monday after the lesson about following the Savior’s example, Chris’s Primary teacher was driving home after work. She noticed Chris halfway up the street, lugging a garbage bag that was almost full and nearly as big as he was. She slowed down and watched for a minute. He was picking up the paper and other trash the truck had dropped that day and putting it in the bag. She rolled down the window of her car and asked, “Chris, what are you doing?”
“Do you remember the picture of the beach we looked at in Primary class yesterday?” he asked. “Well, I’m trying to do what Jesus Christ might do if He saw our street today.”

We were living in a small town in Georgia, USA, when my father died at just 55 years old. Most of our family lived in another state. Never had the 2,000 miles (3,200 km) between us felt greater than at that time.
My husband was the bishop and I the organist of our small ward. With all the emotions and stress of helping with funeral plans, I was feeling especially weary that Sunday when it came time for our sacrament meeting closing hymn: “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” (Hymns, no. 152).
Halfway through the second verse, my grief overcame me. Somehow I played through the end of that verse, but my hands were shaking and my eyes so full of tears that I had to stop with an entire verse left. I couldn’t stop crying.
A brief pause followed as the congregation realized the organ had stopped. But then ward members started singing a cappella. The singing wasn’t perfect. We were few, after all. But the Spirit made up the difference. Through my tears and embarrassment, I could feel the love of many as they sang.
God be with you till we meet again;
Keep love’s banner floating o’er you;
Smite death’s threat’ning wave before you.
God be with you till we meet again.
When the hymn ended, the music leader held me as I sobbed through the closing prayer. Several people then came up to the organ with tears in their eyes to say how sorry they were about my father.
Later, I told the music leader I would be playing the piano at the funeral. It probably seemed like a bad idea after what had just happened, but my dad so enjoyed hearing me play the piano. I wanted to play for him. I realized then how close he had felt during the closing hymn.
I am so thankful for the hymns. I testify that music can teach and comfort us in ways that words often cannot. As the First Presidency wrote in the preface to the hymnbook, “Hymns … comfort the weary, console the mourning, and inspire us to endure to the end.” I am also thankful for the love of a good ward when I was so far away from my own family. I know that my father and I will indeed meet again.

On the eve of our journey, the whole group met for a special family home evening at the meetinghouse. Afterwards, those who lived far away remained there all night to be on time for the bus, which came at 5:30 the following morning. Leaving early would give us enough time to get through Chilean customs.
As we traveled, everyone was filled with the spirit of love and brotherhood. Food and juice were divided generously. Each family had stories and testimonies to share, and there were many sessions of hymn singing. We looked out the windows often to admire the magnificent Andes mountains. We passed picturesque towns as our winding road traversed snowy peaks, ravines, and streams. Who could doubt that a divine hand had created this beautiful world?
We crossed the border into Chile, and before long we were making our approach to the temple. How our hearts leaped with joy when we saw the angel Moroni on the temple’s spire! We could almost hear the call of his trumpet. The temple workers were there to welcome us. They had arranged places for us to stay in homes of Chilean Saints, and we immediately went to the homes, bathed, and made ready for the special temple session that had been prepared.
Next came the sublime moment when we actually entered the house of the Lord. It was truly indescribable. Mere words can never express the spirit of that holy place. One must experience it—and that can happen only when a temple recommend is presented with a humble and contrite heart. Only then can the initiatory ordinances, endowments, marriages, family sealings, and baptisms for the dead be performed with the proper spirit.
Now we understood those who had gone before us. They had been right when they said that once we were inside the temple, we would never want to leave. Nevertheless, that wonderful day eventually came to an end. We went to the homes of our Chilean hosts, eager to return in the morning.

“I like to be different and do things that no one else has done,” Cheryl Brooks says of her latest accomplishment. Instead of completing just 28 Personal Progress goals while she was a Mia Maid in the Highland (Utah) 14th Ward, Cheryl decided to do every single experience listed—115 in all!
“There were times when I wondered if Cheryl hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew,” says her mother, “but that just made her more determined.”
Because of her tremendous effort, Cheryl has gained a greater appreciation for her family history and has learned to rely on Heavenly Father to help her accomplish what she wants.
“I feel like I’ve done something worthwhile, and it taught me so much about the gospel,” says Cheryl.

I can’t believe that my parents named her Angela! They’re both teachers, so you’d think that they’d know better than to call the terror of the kindergarten an angel. Being her eleven-year-old brother is hard. I have to baby-sit her on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. The other days I have soccer or my first-aid class for Scouts. That and my homework keep me “legitimately” busy until suppertime.
The thing is, Angela has a vivid imagination. She’s always pretending to be a world-famous astronaut or world-famous ballet dancer or something else “world-famous.” She also likes to talk a lot, which drives me bonkers. And she loves animals. You’d think they were people, to listen to her.
Last Tuesday Mom was just leaving for a class as I walked in the front door after school. She gave me a quick kiss and said good-bye. I sighed and headed for the kitchen. It was too quiet! Angela was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a gooey peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. Except for the grape jelly around her mouth, she looked like one of those kids in a TV commercial. But she didn’t fool me! I looked around the kitchen for signs of damage. I didn’t have to look far. Max, our sometimes-troublesome mutt, was under the table, having a great time finishing off the grape jelly—right out of the jar.
“He was hungry, too, Jeff. How could I eat in front of him?” Angela asked as I glared at her.
I shooed her next door to play with her friend Carrie so that I could clean up. Carrie has a swing set, and I figured it would help if Angela wore off a little energy. I used some wet paper towels to mop up the rest of the grape jelly, then curled up with my latest book, Invader from the Unknown.
Not even five minutes later I heard Carrie screaming at the top of her lungs. “Angela’s stuck! She’s going to fall! Hurry, Jeff!”
I tore out of the house and over to Carrie’s swing set. Angela wasn’t making a sound, but she had a panicky look on her face. She was hanging upside down from the swing set by one foot.
As soon as I helped her down, she gave me a mischievous grin. “The swings were gone, so we’ve been practicing for the Olympics. We’re going to be world-famous gymnasts.”
I gave Angela a threatening look. “You’re going to be a world-famous prisoner if you keep it up. One more caper like that, and you’ll stay in your room until Mom gets home.”
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’ll be really good now. Carrie and I will have a tea party for our dolls.”
A few minutes later, all was quiet. Keeping one ear tuned for trouble, I stretched out on the couch with my book again. The alien ship had just set down on planet Earth, and billows of smoke were rising from the craft. …
All of a sudden I realized that there was real smoke and that it was coming from the kitchen! I made it there in record time. Carrie was hightailing it out the door for home, and Angela was staring sadly at a cookie sheet with several little black mounds on it.
“I did it just like Mommy did the peanut-butter cookies the other day,” she told me, “but I didn’t know what number to put the oven on, so I just turned the knob as far as it would go. I guess that was wrong, huh?” Seeing the fury on my face, she added quickly, “I turned it off as soon as I saw the black smoke.”
I looked at the clock, and my anger turned to panic. Mom would be back soon! “Angela,”—I spat out the ultimate threat between clenched teeth—“if you don’t help get this kitchen cleaned fast, I will never give you a piggyback ride again!”
Angela’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the sponge. She started wiping the counter, making big doughy streaks in the flour she had spilled while making the cookies. While we worked to get the worst of the mess cleaned up, Angela talked a blue streak about how she and Carrie were going to be world-famous cooks. I looked at the black blobs in the garbage can and had to admire her optimism. I was awfully glad that I had my first-aid class the next day, though. I didn’t think I could take another afternoon like this one.
“Angela, how about another snack?” I figured food would keep her quiet, and I didn’t know how much more of her jabbering I could take. I opened a can of little hot dogs. The food didn’t slow her down a bit; she was still talking a mile a minute. I growled, “Angela, if you don’t stop talking while you’re eating, you’re going to choke.”
All of a sudden, Angela got very quiet. She had a funny look on her face, and she was turning blue!
Without thinking about it, I reached over and whacked her on the back. Nothing happened. Then I remembered the Heimlich maneuver. It’s to help someone who has something caught in his throat and can’t cough it up. I’d just learned it last week in first-aid class.
I was scared. I’d only tried the maneuver on the dummy there, and I knew it should only be used in a real emergency or the person could be hurt badly. But Angela looked like she was going to pass out any minute. I heard my voice saying, “Don’t be afraid, Angela. I know what to do. I’m going to stand behind you like this. …”
I put my arms around her in a bear hug from behind, right below the rib cage, as the instructor had demonstrated. I made a fist with my left hand, thumbside against her stomach, and grasped the fist with my other hand. Taking a deep breath, I gave a sudden squeeze.
Angela made a funny choking sound, and the meat popped out onto the floor. She started breathing and crying at the same time and wrapped herself around me like a pretzel. That was OK with me—I was so glad to hear her breathing again that I wouldn’t have cared if she’d hung on all day.
Now both Mom and Angela think I’m terrific—or, as Angela says, “a world-famous hero!” And Mom said that as a reward for my heroism I don’t have to do the dishes for a week.
I’ve decided that Angela isn’t such a bad kid after all. She’s just different. “Unique,” Mom says. But then so am I. Unique, I mean.
And I’ve decided something else: Angela can have all the piggyback rides she wants—this week anyway.

With these thoughts in mind, an incident I was privileged to witness a few years ago takes on additional significance. I had a meeting scheduled with President Spencer W. Kimball. He had asked me to review some files and bring him some recommendations about them. As I descended from my office in the Church Administration Building down to the first floor where his office was, I became aware that the foyer of the building was filled with young people.

It was summertime. A traveling musical group had arrived at Church headquarters unannounced. They had been touring some of the national parks and had given concerts in several states. Impulsively, they had decided to come to Church headquarters to perform for the prophet.

President Kimball’s secretary, Arthur Haycock, was talking to them. He kindly explained that the prophet was extremely busy and was not feeling very well. Others had previously arranged appointments. He was very sorry, but the President would not be able to see them.

There was great disappointment. Brother Haycock sensed this, and in an attempt to make everyone feel better he suggested that perhaps they would like to come into the inner waiting room and sing. He assured them that this would be appreciated by others in the building. He said that in all probability the strains of their music would filter throughout the building, and President Kimball would be able to hear them even though he would not attend their impromptu concert.

This seemed to be an acceptable alternative, and the young visitors enthusiastically formed ranks and began to sing. Two or three songs were sung. As a closing number, in honor of the prophet they had not seen, the group softly and reverently commenced “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” As they did so, from my seat in the waiting room, I noticed a shadow appear in a nearby doorway. It did not move during all three verses of the song. When the choir concluded, a slight figure stepped into view. It was President Kimball. He moved quickly to congratulate the conductor and thanked him for coming. He expressed admiration at the sweetness of the song; and then, caught up in the spirit of the moment, he began to shake hands with the members of the choir.

I watched with love and admiration. In that familiar, low, husky voice he would step up to a young person and say, “Thank you for coming,” “My, you are lovely,” “My, you are handsome.” To the young men he would ask, “I hope you are planning to serve a mission when you turn 19?” To the young women he would say, “I hope you are planning to marry in the temple when the time comes?” One by one, he extended this greeting to each of the singers.

He eventually came to a tall, rugged-looking baritone on the back row. The young man knew what the President was going to say before he arrived, and as the prophet took his hand he said, “President, I want you to know that I sent my papers in before we left California. I can’t wait to get home to find out where I am going on my mission.” President Kimball paused. He had left people in his office while he came out to listen to the choir. But obviously the young man’s statement had intrigued him. He stopped, stepped back, looked up into the handsome youthful face and said, “Would you like to know now?”

“I sure would,” was the reply, “but they told me I would have to wait until I returned home.” President Kimball smiled and said, “I think we might be able to tell you now.” He turned to Brother Haycock and asked him to telephone the Missionary Department and find out where the young man was to be called. Then the President finished shaking hands.

After a few moments, Brother Haycock returned. He had a folded piece of paper in his hand. He jokingly said that the Missionary Department had been reluctant to give him the information. He had to explain that the prophet wanted it. Then he gave the folded slip to President Kimball.

President Kimball stepped in front of the choir, which was still standing in almost assembled formation. It was as if he were the choir director. He opened the paper, looked at the boy, looked back at the paper, and then looked again at the young man. Then, including the entire group in the scope of his mischievous question he asked, “Are you sure you want to know?” By this time the young man was so anxious that he could scarcely contain himself. “Oh, yes!” he said. With the eyes of everyone upon him, President Kimball looked again to the paper, chuckled, and announced, “Taiwan.”

Pandemonium spread through the choir. They began to congratulate their friend on his mission call. President Kimball wished him well and waved good-bye. He went back to those who were waiting for him. The young visitors left the Church Administration Building thrilled, but somewhat unaware, I think, that they had participated in an extraordinary experience.

Dear brothers and sisters, today is a special day for me as once again God proved that He listens and answers our sincere prayers.
When my family moved from Chennai to Vijayawada in 2014, we were starving for spiritual food, as no branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was available in Vijayawada and we were not interested in attending other churches, despite their being available aplenty around our house. Monthly we used to travel about 200 km to attend church meetings in Rajahmundry, but for rest of the month we had no spiritual nourishment. As a family we used to pray for a branch in Vijayawada, and God has answered our prayers. In November 2015, the mission president agreed to have a home group in Vijayawada at our house with seven members. We as a home group sincerely prayed for a branch in Vijayawada. Today is a great day for us, as we have a branch in Vijayawada with about 50 members.
God not only answered my prayers but also gave me an opportunity to serve Him as branch president. I’m very much grateful to Heavenly Father for listening and answering my prayers. I’m once again surrendering myself to Almighty God to utilize me as a useful vessel. What I shared is true, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Jared was baptized in the Naknek River, which empties into the Bering Sea. The beach along the river is a favorite place for the children to play, and they also catch lots of fish in the river, mostly red, king, pink, and silver salmon. King salmon may be as big as Jared, so just one will feed lots of people!
The day Jared was baptized, a special thing happened. It rains a lot in King Salmon, and it had been pouring for two days. A few minutes before the baptism the rain stopped. As the congregation walked down to the river, the sun peeped out and the usual sounds of aircraft and other noises ceased just long enough for Jared’s father to baptize him!

Rex: Among the more obvious people to whom we can turn for help are our Heavenly Father—through scripture study and prayer—families, roommates, friends, bishop or other church leaders. And we faculty members also want to help. I will never forget the impression made on me by a particular professor when I was a student here. We used to register by standing in long lines in the Fieldhouse to enroll for each class. At the end of each line, the teacher for that particular class handed out an IBM card, if there were any left. If there weren’t any left, you got in another long line. Believe me, whatever its minor disadvantages, telephone registration is a great improvement.
On my first registration day, when I finally reached the front of the line for a political science class, I found a thoroughly congenial faculty member who, to my amazement, called me by name. I had never seen him before. He knew that I was a prelaw student and said how much he was looking forward to having me in his class and giving me any help that I needed in preparing for law school. To this day I have no idea how he knew who I was or what my interests were, but that was the beginning of a relationship with Stewart Grow that would last all of his life. He not only guided me during my BYU days, but also through law school and my professional career. His advice was helpful, but even more helpful was the sure knowledge that there was always someone there who cared about me. Stewart Grow is no longer with us, but there are other faculty members just as conscientious. Take advantage of their willingness to help. In fact, the reason for the new mentoring program is that we want to help create more relationships like the one I enjoyed with Professor Grow. One of BYU’s goals is to be “user friendly.”