Gospel Story Finder

With the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple in 1987, they became its president and matron. Sister Busche had never been a temple worker, so President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) advised her at a training seminar, “The most important thing is to have love and love and love.” She took his counsel to heart. She asked temple workers to make it their top priority to help patrons feel God’s Spirit.

I had my mother to thank that I was cooking breakfast for 120 elderly people on Christmas morning. Instead of Santa waking us, the phone rang with a call for help from the nursing home where I worked part-time. No one, the head nurse explained, had shown up for work, and they were desperate. Could I possibly come down for a few hours. My mom said we all would!
Morning is everyone’s least favorite time except for Mom, who managed to be extra coherent with Christmas spirit as she announced the news. “Get up! They need us down at the home. We’ll have our Christmas later. First, we have to go cook lots of eggs.”
“What about the presents?” Todd and Christine, my younger brother and sister, wailed.
“We’ve waited all night,” Christine pleaded.
“It’ll be here when we get home. Now get the lead out. Mom and Dad are serious about this,” I said without much sympathy.
Somehow we managed to pile in the car, and we drove the two miles in silence. The nurse met us at the door looking disheveled and frantic. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said. Not wasting any more time with gratitude, she pushed us towards the kitchen in unison. The only cook to show up that morning, Gladys, was rushing from stove to steam table, scooping out scrambled eggs and shouting orders to Frank, the janitor.
“Get moving on that O.J., will you,” Gladys said. She hadn’t noticed her bleary-eyed crew yet. “They’ll be down in 45 minutes, and I can’t find the bread, let alone the toaster.”
“Uhmmm, maybe we could be of help,” offered my dad, a bit reluctantly.
“We’re Diane’s family,” Mom introduced us, steering Todd and Chris over to the newly found toaster. “I think the children can make toast. Oh, by the way, I’m Irene, and this is my husband, Bill,” she pointed to Dad. “You know Diane, and the toast makers are Christine and Todd.”
“Hi,” muttered Chris and Todd together. They were thinking about opening presents, not about buttering toast.
Gladys stood in the middle of the kitchen supporting her latest batch of eggs. After a moment’s hesitation, she sized us all up and decided we’d do. Gladys shoved the bowl in Dad’s stomach, “Here, you look like an egg man to me. You can take over scrambling.”
Dad caught the bowl and his breath. “Sure, I can do that,” he gasped.
“And you, Diane,” Gladys turned me toward the hot cereal. “Oatmeal duty.”
We all set to work and before we knew it the breakfast rush was on, over, and breakfast dishes were just beginning.
“Mom, can’t we go home yet?” Christine whimpered, emphasizing yet. “It’s almost eight and every child in America, probably the entire world, has opened their gifts except us. Doesn’t that bother you even a little?”
Mom didn’t mince words. “No, not even a little, Chris,” she answered watching Dad and Todd squirt each other with the high powered hoses. “I know it isn’t easy to be here on Christmas, honey, but could we really be anywhere else?” When neither Chris or I responded, Mom started humming a cheery carol. “Let’s sing a song,” she encouraged.
I honestly wasn’t in the mood. Helping others was supposed to make a person feel good, but I was right there with Chris, wanting to be opening gifts and away from the smell of eggs and nursing home.
Mom continued without us, singing her favorite, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” At first she sang softly, but by the second verse she picked up the volume. Chris and I gave in, joining Mom, and sliding dishes down the metal chute on beat.
“Let’s sing ‘Rudolph,’” Todd shouted. “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” it was, Dad leading the family along in a loud baritone. This might have ended our musical contribution on that unusual Christmas morning, if it hadn’t been for Brother Greenwall.
I turned to pick up one of the last dish stacks, and there he stood, listening at the kitchen serving window. Brother Greenwall had lived in our neighborhood and attended church with us until his wife passed away.
“Hi, Brother Greenwall,” I said. His lonely eyes stared back, not recognizing me.
My dad smiled over his shoulder and walked to the window. “Harry, how are you? It’s Bill. Did you hear us singing away in here?” Dad chuckled, “Hope we didn’t disturb you.”
Harry Greenwall smiled back at Dad. I wasn’t sure if he remembered him or not, but something had been triggered. “Just a minute,” he muttered, hurrying off to the TV lounge.
Dad watched him go. “I wonder what he’s up to,” he said as Harry returned with two or three friends and their chairs. Before we figured out what Harry had in mind, he’d pushed open the door and seated them by the stove, then hobbled back to the TV room.
Eyebrows raised, Mom checked out the three seated in the kitchen. “Well, Bill, do you think we’re supposed to keep singing?” When no one volunteered an opinion she added, “I think Harry wants a performance.”
“Oh, Mom, do we have to?” Todd groaned, blasting his dishes with an extra hard squirt.
Dad put his arm around Todd, “You’ve heard of singing for your supper haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but …”
“Well, you get to sing for your presents.”
Chris and I laughed. “Come on and give me a hand helping Brother Greenwall with his friends,” said Dad.
By now Harry had returned, cramming in seven more concertgoers. Eight more joined the group, bringing the crowd to about twenty. Fully staffed, the kitchen never held more than eight people.
Harry stared at us without recognition, interested only in the music. Mom and Dad exchanged their you’d-better-do-something look, and Dad picked up the cue. “Well, folks, Harry thought you’d all like a little Christmas music.”
We sang, starting with family favorites like “Jingle Bells,” “Silent Night,” and “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.” Actually, “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” is Dad’s favorite. Mom says his eyes twinkle when he sings that song. I looked over at Dad to catch that twinkle, and its shine filled me with warmth. My voice cracked, and I stopped singing, bowing my head to hide the tears.
Looking down at the floor, I felt love for each of those people listening to my family sing. I tried to join in the music, but the same feeling came again, repeating the impression. This time I knew the Savior wanted them to know of his love. Doubting myself, I hesitated a moment and was overwhelmed for the third time with the same desire to comfort them.
My family finished the last few measures of music, and I began without thinking, “I just want to tell you I know Jesus lives. He is concerned for you and loves you. I didn’t really want to come here today, but I’m glad we did. Most of all, I hope you can feel the Savior’s love for you like I have. He really wants you to know this.”
Dad put his arm around me. “I couldn’t give any of you a better gift at Christmas than the knowledge that Jesus lives, as Diane has said.”
The kitchen was silent for a minute, the spirit of Christ in our hearts. “Let’s sing a carol together,” Mom suggested. “What one would you like, Harry?”
Considering all the carols available and Harry’s love for Christmas music, we should have been surprised when his choice wasn’t a traditional Christmas song.
“I Know That My Redeemer Lives,” he said.
Everyone sang his “carol,” filling the kitchen with the words, “He lives, my kind, wise heav’nly Friend. He lives and loves me to the end.”
That day became a treasure and started a family tradition of Christmas Day service we enjoy. And, out of all the carols we sing at Christmastime, Harry’s carol is our favorite and the finest way to get a twinkle in any of our eyes.
By the way, my dad says we still sound the best in kitchens.

I have been trying to follow the counsel of the prophets by keeping a journal. When I started, I hadn’t yet learned to read or write. I’d save something, like a pamphlet or ticket from an activity we had gone to, and put it in my journal. My mom then helped me write the things I remembered beside the item. I love to go back through my journal and remember all the different things I have done. I have kept my journal for over a year now. I am now learning to read and write, and I love to write down memories for myself.Rachel Averett, age 6Waterloo, Iowa

In 1850, Elder Lorenzo Snow of the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints ascended a very high mountain near LaTour to visit the Vaudois of the Piedmont. He and his two companions stood on a bold projecting rock, where he proclaimed that Joseph Smith had seen the Father and the Son and had restored the gospel in its fulness and completeness. He testified that the keys of the holy apostleship had been restored. He further testified that there were indeed living Apostles and prophets upon the earth. Many believed his startling message and joined the Church. Moved by his experience with the Vaudois living in the Alpine mountain valleys, President Snow cited the stirring words:
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God;
Thou hast made thy children mighty
By the touch of the mountain sod.
John Daniel Malan was the first of the Vaudois to be baptized on October 27, 1850, followed by the families of the Cardons, Stalles, Beuses, Pons, Malans, Gaudins, Chatelains, and many others. Some were in the first handcart companies to come to the Salt Lake Valley in the early 1850s. These families intermarried into other well-known families in the western United States, including the Larsons, Maughans, Crocketts, Miners, Budges, Thatchers, Steeds, and Parkinsons. Drawing from their roots in the Vaudois mountain sod, many of their descendants tended the vineyards of the newly restored Church and today are making singular contributions to the worldwide Church, believing, as did their forebears, that Apostles hold the keys that never rust.

Gift of health. In October we heard the shocking news that our beloved stake president had suffered a heart attack and was in a coma. As the weeks passed, members of our stake prayed earnestly for him. The doctors were very concerned, but then he came out of his coma and drastically improved. He lives in my ward, and one Sunday before Christmas I walked into the chapel and was surprised to see him sitting on the stand. After the speakers gave their talks, the stake president came to the pulpit and told us that he could feel the strength of our prayers. As I looked at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized his return to health was a great Christmas present for all of us.Katie B., Washington

On a hot July day when Alma Elizabeth was ten years old, she went to a ward meeting. The people felt very discouraged because their crops needed rain. President Brigham Young came to the meeting, and she listened carefully when he rose to his feet and spoke. He promised the people that if they would listen to his words, the Lord would open the heavens and send the rains.
The words hardly left the prophet’s lips when Alma Elizabeth noticed the gathering clouds. Soon they filled the sky, and rain poured down in torrents. On that day she received a great testimony of the gospel that she remembered all her life.

In the faraway islands of the Pacific, hundreds who were near-blind now see because a missionary said to his physician brother-in-law, “Leave your wealthy clientele and the comforts of your palatial home and come to these special children of God who need your skills and need them now.” The ophthalmologist responded without a backward glance. Today he comments quietly that this visit was the best service he ever rendered and the peace which came to his heart the greatest blessing of his life.

Brigham Young is called to serve as the Lord’s shepherd in leading His sheep across the plains. Brigham organizes, encourages, chastises, and guides the thousands of outcasts and secures them finally in the valley of the Great Salt Lake.
President Young, the pillowed, portly gent with flashing blue eyes, played by Jim Eastham, fell one night during the performance and hurt his foot. But he got right up and finished the part. “It’s not that bad,” he said as he went to the first-aid station backstage to get it wrapped. The next day he had it X-rayed and found it was broken, but he was on stage that night giving Brigham-counsel and Brigham-organization to the trek west.

Jeff Coffey couldn’t believe his good luck. Crab Island was “his” until next summer! He’d always lived on the mainland during the winter, but this year his mom was going to teach him at home on the island. He swung his ax over his head, determined to have the wood chopped and piled before his dad returned with the last load of supplies. Once the channel iced over, it would be almost impossible to get any more supplies before spring. He looked anxiously at the leaden skies. Already the wind was picking up.
As soon as his dad’s boat landed, Jeff wouldn’t care what the weather did. He was glad to be having school and Primary at home. The wind pushed his straight brown hair across his blue eyes. He lowered the ax to brush his hair back with a muscular hand.
Thinking about his Primary teacher, Sister Bartlett, made his lips tighten as he remembered how she had made a big deal out of reminding the class to pray every day to Heavenly Father. She must have seen the smirk on his face, because she had looked him directly in the eye and said, “There’ll come a time, Jeff, when praying is all that you’re going to have to pull you through a tough spot.”
While Jeff looked again at the sky, the strong wind picked up gravel and slapped it against his legs. He’d better get the sheep. As for Sister Bartlett’s advice, Jeff knew that he could handle anything that came up—and handle it all by himself, just as he always had.
He ran to the park in the middle of the little island town, where he saw Mr. Gordon herding the sheep with his white cane. The reclusive, cranky old man had been dubbed the Off-Islander because he always stayed behind when the summer vacationers left. “Mr. Gordon! It’s me—Jeff Coffey.”
Mr. Gordon turned his head toward the sound of Jeff’s voice. “Your sheep are scared in this wind,” he rasped. “Take them home and pen them up.”
Jeff nodded, forgetting for a moment that the old man was blind. The wind pried a board off a shuttered cabin window and sailed it over the backs of the sheep. It thudded against a tree.
“You’d better follow me home,” Jeff yelled above the now-howling wind. “It’s cranking up to be a bad storm.”
Mr. Gordon swatted the air with his hand. “It makes no difference to me if the weather’s fair or stormy,” he growled. “I can’t see it.”
“It isn’t safe for you to be out alone in this storm,” Jeff persisted. “It’s bad enough that my dad’s not home yet.”
“What’s that? Your father went to the mainland?”
“He went for the last of our supplies, and he isn’t back yet. He should be here anytime, though,” Jeff said.
Mr. Gordon was silent; then he spoke sharply. “Get on home, boy! Take care of your animals!”
“Yes, sir.” Jeff turned to the milling sheep, and the old man tapped his way down the street.
By the time that Jeff gathered the sheep safely in the barn, the sky was dark with thick snow. When he got to the house, he found his mother knotting one end of a rope to the iron ring bolted to the back door. Jeff knew the story of how his grandmother had once saved his grandfather by tying a rope to her waist and then fighting her way through a storm to the bell tower to ring his boat safely home.
“You’ll have to ring the bell for your dad, Jeff,” was all that his mother said now.
Jeff knotted the rope’s loose end around his waist, took the flaring black pot that his mother handed him to light his way to the tower, and started out. Then he looked back at his mother. She was holding her lantern high to given him his bearings. The snow was already piling up, making walking slow and arduous. Jeff had looped the coil of rope loosely over one arm so that he could pay it out as he walked. He could hear the sea thundering against the rocks below.
Ocean spray told Jeff that he was near the bell. After he had located it, he set the kettle of light in the bell cradle’s saucerlike top. When he grabbed the frayed and weathered rope, the coat of ice on it made it slide right through his hands. Twisting the rope around his fist to keep it from slipping, Jeff pulled hard on the rope again and again. The bell’s clang hurt his ears, cold seeped into his bones, and his arms ached. He switched arms, then switched again—first one, then the other. His father had to hear the bell! Jeff couldn’t give up.
Despite his efforts, the rope slipped out of Jeff’s cold hands frequently. And each time it did, the bell went unrung and unheard! Jeff’s shoulders ached; his fingers cramped with cold. He pulled again.
The rope spun away, caught by the wind. Jeff scrambled to catch hold of the rope and lost his footing. He slammed down, face first, against the icy rock. As he struggled to his feet, he felt something warm and wet on his face. His nose was bleeding. He wiped away the blood with a stiff hand.
Grabbing the rope in both hands, Jeff pulled hard. The sound of the bell just had to carry across the thrashing waves to his dad! Jeff’s fingers were numb, and his arms felt as though they had been yanked out of their sockets. He wasn’t sure that he could endure much longer.
The rope snapped out of his hands once more, its icy surface tearing at his already raw palms. Jeff caught a glimpse of his mom’s lantern through the swirling snow. With the baby coming, she depended on Jeff’s endurance.
Suddenly Jeff knew that he’d done all that he could do. He needed help! For once he wasn’t the tough, do-it-himself guy that he’d always been. He’d never been in such a tough spot in his life. Tough spot! That’s what Sister Bartlett said that I’d find myself in one day, Jeff thought. And she said that praying is all that I’d have to pull me through. Well, I’m in the toughest spot that I’ve ever been in, and I sure do need His help!
Humbly Jeff asked Heavenly Father to help him toll the bell for his dad. He asked it in Jesus’ name, then said amen. Knowing that he still had to do his part, too, Jeff kept on struggling to pull the rope.
Almost at once he felt a tug at his waist as if someone were advancing along on the rope still tied there. But his mom’s light still shone from the doorway. …
“Who’s there?” Jeff called.
“Gordon!” came the unexpected answer.
As the Off-Islander loomed into view, Jeff asked, “How did you get here?”
Mr. Gordon gave a short laugh. “I don’t need a light to find my way, boy.”
“B-but why did you come?” Jeff continued pulling the bell rope.
Mr. Gordon shook his head. “I don’t know why. I was warm and dry at home when I got this feeling that you needed help, and I just had to come.”
Jeff smiled as wide as his cracked lips and frozen face allowed. “I know why, Mr. Gordon. Heavenly Father sent you to help me.”
“It’s been a long time since I let myself think about anyone but myself,” said Mr. Gordon, a sense of wonder in his voice. He reached up. “If we pull together, the bell will ring louder.”
Together the old man and Jeff pulled on the rope. The bell clanged above the breaking waves again and again and again. And finally they heard the answering bells on Jeff’s dad’s boat!
Jeff forgot his cracked and blistered hands, his bloody nose, his sore arms. Sister Bartlett was right: Sometimes the only way out of a tough spot is by praying to Heavenly Father for help.

Ramona Morreale of the Cannonville Ward, Escalante Utah Stake, writes of a special family home evening when she read from her journal: “I found entries about our children and humorous things they said and did when they were younger. Before long we were all laughing. Our children often ask to have a ‘journal’ lesson again. Sometimes we also read spiritual entries from an ancestor’s journal. This brings great joy and helps us get to know them.”

After 11 exciting years of working at that job, I was in a meeting one night with those developing an essential part of the nuclear power plant. My secretary came in and said, “There’s a man on the phone who says if I tell you his name you’ll come to the phone.”
I said, “What’s his name?”
She said, “Harold B. Lee.”
I said, “He’s right.” I took the phone call. Elder Lee, who later became President of the Church, asked if he could see me that very night. He was in New York City, and I was in Washington, D.C. I flew up to meet him, and we had an interview that led to my call to be a mission president.
The head of the program I was working for was Admiral Hyman Rickover, a hard-working, demanding individual. I knew him well enough that I felt I needed to tell him as soon as possible that I was being called. As I explained the mission call to him and that it would mean I would have to quit my job, he became rather upset. He said some unrepeatable things, broke the paper tray on his desk, and in the comments that followed clearly established two points:
“Scott, what you are doing in this defense program is so vital that it will take a year to replace you, so you can’t go. Second, if you do go, you are a traitor to your country.”
I said, “I can train my replacement in the two remaining months, and there won’t be any risk to the country.”
There was more conversation, and he finally said, “I never will talk to you again. I don’t want to see you again. You are finished, not only here, but don’t ever plan to work in the nuclear field again.”
I responded, “Admiral, you can bar me from the office, but unless you prevent me, I am going to turn this assignment over to another individual.”
True to his word, the admiral ceased to speak to me. When critical decisions had to be made, he would send a messenger, or I would communicate through a third party. He assigned an individual to take my responsibility, and I trained him.
It wasn’t going to be hard for me to leave; I knew I had been called as a mission president by the Lord. But I knew that my decision would affect others. In the Idaho Falls, Idaho, area were many members of the Church whose jobs depended upon working in the nuclear program. I didn’t want to cause them harm. I didn’t know what to do. My heart kept saying, “Is this going to turn out all right, or will somebody be innocently hurt who depends on our program for livelihood?”
As I prayed and pondered about it, I had a feeling about the hymn “Do What Is Right.” A line from the hymn would come to mind: “Do what is right; let the consequence follow.” Other words from the hymn were reinforcing such as “God will protect you; then do what is right!” (Hymns, no. 237).
My last day in the office I asked for an appointment with the admiral. His secretary gasped. I went with a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hand. He looked at me and said, “Sit down, Scott, what do you have? I have tried every way I can to force you to change. What is it you have?” There followed a very interesting, quiet conversation. There was more listening this time.
He said he would read the Book of Mormon. Then something happened I never thought would occur. He added, “When you come back from the mission, I want you to call me. There will be a job for you.”

Many years ago in one of the courtrooms of Utah, a divorce case was called for a hearing. One of the participating attorneys, indignant and incensed, took the witness stand to bring before the court the fact that just the night before, the husband and the wife had reconciled their differences. He urged that because of the reconciliation, his adversary was unprincipled, unfair, and unethical in now coming into court.

The judge turned to the other attorney and asked him if he were going to take the witness stand to refute the allegations against his character. The defamed attorney, a wise and experienced counselor, said: “Oh, no, your honor. I’m not going to take the witness stand. He might be able to prove all those allegations against me.” The courtroom broke into laughter, the tension was broken, and things quickly were put into proper place.

Years ago, following a mission tour, my wife, Jeanene, told me about an elder she had met. Jeanene had asked him about his family. She was surprised as he responded that he had no family. He further explained that at his birth, his mother had given him to the government to raise. He spent his childhood going from one foster home to another. He was blessed as a teenager to find the gospel. A loving ward family had helped him to have the opportunity to serve a mission.

Later Jeanene asked the mission president’s wife about this fine elder. She learned that a few months earlier this elder had been in the mission home for a few days due to an illness. During that time he had joined them for a family home evening. Before he left to go back into the field, he asked the mission president if he could spend two or three days at the end of his mission in the mission home again. He wanted to observe how a Christ-centered family functions. He wanted to be able to pattern his family after theirs.

It’s Saturday! You’ve been looking forward to today all week long. You and some friends have big plans to go mountain biking. However, despite the sunny forecast that had been predicted, it’s raining buckets outside. What do you do?

Contact your friends and see if they’d be up for something different. They now want to go roller-skating, but you’ve never tried that before. It sounds kind of boring. What do you do?

You head to the roller rink, and skating is actually kind of fun. You’re about to go home when your cell phone buzzes. Your ward needs help with a last-minute service project to help a family moving to the area. Can you come?

You’d rather not. Normally you like service projects, but your plans were already thrown out of whack today. You turn down the offer and head home.

I had only lived in Tokyo, Japan, a little while. It takes an hour for me to get home from school on the bus. One day a friend said that if we got off at the first bus stop, he knew the way to my house and would guide me home. I believed him. So I got off the bus at the first stop, thinking that he would get off, too. But he tricked me. He didn’t get off, and I was alone.
I tried to remember the way to my house. I started to walk, but I came to a fork in the road, and I didn’t know which way to go. I felt very bad and scared. I said a prayer. I told Heavenly Father that I had made a mistake, and I asked Him to help me get home. I felt better, and He helped me choose the right way to go. I got home safely and was grateful that He helped me. I learned that He really listens to our prayers and helps us solve problems.
Ian Robert Evans, age 7Tokyo, Japan

My name is Leeih Siu-Ling and I am a Latter-day Saint girl who lives in Hong Kong. Even though I have been a member of the Church only five months, I realize how important the gospel is and I want to share this happiness with my friends at school.
I decided to introduce one of my friends to the Church. I invited her to go to Primary with me. She said, “I go to Buddhist school so I can’t go to your church with you.”
I told her she would be welcome to go with me even though she was not a member of the Church, and she decided she would. She felt a warmth and happiness in our Heavenly Father’s house, and she said going to Primary made her want to keep all the commandments of our Father in heaven.
I tried to tell her about the gospel too, and so her faith grew stronger and stronger. Then she asked if she could hear the missionary discussions.
Now she and I go to Church meetings together!

This past summer a brief article I had written appeared in the Liahona and Ensign. My son emailed me saying, “Dad, maybe you could tell us when you have an article coming out.” I responded, “I just wanted to see if you were reading the Church magazines.” He wrote back explaining that his 10-year-old daughter had “passed the test. She got the Ensign from the mailbox, came into the house, and read it. Then she came up to our room and showed us your article.”
My granddaughter read the Ensign because she wanted to learn. She acted on her own by exercising her agency. The First Presidency recently approved new learning resources for youth that will support the innate desire of young people to learn, live, and share the gospel. These new resources are now available for review online. In January we will begin using them in classrooms. (Learn more about the new learning resources for youth at lds.org/youth/learn.)

The group also delivered 10 desktop computers and a new laptop and monitor to the Seventh-day Adventist Church-run Kauma High School. The computer lab at Kauma High School had earlier been destroyed by fire.
Elder Tune and President Kendall expected to drop the computers off at the door of the school but were delighted to find that the entire student body was gathered to express their sincere thanks. The students further gladdened the visitors’ hearts by singing in their beautiful harmonic voices “Joy, Joy, My Heart is Full of Joy”.
“The feeling there was so powerful, it was almost overwhelming,” Elder Tune said. “We felt so much love and yes, we felt hearts full of joy.
“The Kauma High School principal, Tekemau Ribabaiti, is a wonderful, energetic man who is 78 years of age and still contributing so much. He was thankful for the computers, but even more so, he was touched that we would come so far to visit.”
Principal Ribabaiti told his students, “These people come with their hearts. We can feel their love. We are grateful for the computers, but we are more grateful for their hearts.”

A teacher from California, who went to Austria to study, made fun of the tales he had heard about the foehn. Years before, he had broken his leg in a skiing accident. When his old wound began to hurt, it was as though the break had just happened, and the pain was agonizing. He soon learned that the weather had changed and that a foehn had descended the mountains into the valley where he was staying. He stopped making fun of the foehn stories.

That night, Chase’s parents gathered the family together for family home evening. After the opening prayer, Chase’s father said, “Tonight we’re going to talk about two of your ancestors—your great-great-grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth McGowan.
“I think you older children have heard about them already, but Chase and Emily probably haven’t. I just felt impressed that I should tell you their story. As a young man, Joshua joined the Church in England and soon afterward came to America and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. There he met a lovely young woman named Elizabeth Sanders, who was also a member of the Church. They married and bought a farm with money Joshua had saved in England.
“One night,” Chase’s father continued, “an angry mob came and burned all their crops. They burned the barn and their farmhouse. Everything was destroyed. Elizabeth and Joshua had to start all over. Joshua became a blacksmith, and he did that for the rest of his life. They moved to Nauvoo and then later went to Utah with the Saints.”
“But wait—I don’t understand why those people burned their farm,” Chase interrupted.
“Simply because Joshua and Elizabeth were members of the Church,” Dad explained.
“But they must have done something to make those people so mad,” Chase insisted.
“No, Son, they didn’t do anything. It’s just that back then, being a member of the Church was often dangerous. Many people didn’t like members of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were different. They belonged to a new religion. Most folks didn’t know what the Church was really about. It’s just human nature, I guess, for some people to resent anything that’s new or different.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense, Dad.” Chase frowned.
“No, Son, it doesn’t.”
That night Chase lay awake thinking about Joshua and Elizabeth and Derek and Gishi.
Tuesday morning was cold and cloudy. It wasn’t hard for Chase to go to school on such a dreary day. As he parked his bike at the rack, Chase heard Derek’s voice coming from the playground.
As he walked over, Chase saw Derek pointing his finger and making fun of Gishi. Gishi bowed his head and looked nervously at the crowd forming around him. Some of the boys and girls snickered.
Chase ran up to Derek. “Knock it off!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Derek. Leave him alone.” Chase looked Derek right in the eye so he would know he was serious. Derek stared back at Chase. Finally, Derek shrugged.
“I was just fooling around,” Derek muttered as he walked away.
“Are you OK?” Chase asked Gishi.
“Yes. OK.”
“Believe it or not, Derek’s really not so bad. I think he just needs time to get to know you.”
Gishi said nothing, but nodded.
Then Chase asked, “Do you want to come to my house after school and play video games?”
Gishi smiled shyly. “Yes. Fine. You live where?” Chase wrote down his address and gave it to Gishi.
That afternoon, the two boys played video games for a while, then talked about some of the differences between English and Chinese. They took turns pantomiming various actions and having the other say the word for the action in his language.
Gishi wrote something on a paper and showed it to Chase. “This is you in Chinese.”
Chase looked at the pencil strokes shooting out at different angles. “You mean that’s the word for ‘Chase’ in Chinese?”
“No,” Gishi said. “Friend.”
“Love one another. Be kind to one another despite our … differences.”Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Doctrine of Inclusion,” Ensign, Nov. 2001, 38.