Gospel Story Finder

When I was a little boy, my mother became concerned one early December by the amount of time I was spending perusing the JCPenney Christmas catalog and the lengthy wish list I had amassed for Santa. To help me catch the true meaning of the season and to overcome these selfish tendencies, my mom decided that for the 12 days prior to Christmas each evening I should visit the home of the 9 or 10 widows who lived within our ward boundaries and deliver a small Christmas gift. Plainly put, I was not happy about being compelled to sacrifice my time and interests for these older ladies. But every evening, I reluctantly walked to the door of each widow and hand-delivered goodies and other hand-crafted presents prepared by my mother. When Christmas Eve rolled around, my mother thought it would be special if I were to sing "Silent Night" solo on each doorstep. To say that I was less than excited would be an understatement, but somehow, she got me to do it. The first home I went to was a woman who lived a secluded life and didn’t participate in church. As I sang, this woman was visibly moved to tears. (To this day, I’m not sure whether she was crying because of the Spirit she felt or how poorly I sounded.) But as the song concluded, she gave me a huge embrace. That evening, a similar experience occurred at each of the other homes. Only, after that first door, being there was no longer a "burden" but a privilege. Each year thereafter, I looked forward to visiting my widows the 12 days before Christmas. I thank my mother for having given me that special privilege. Now that my mother herself is a widow, that childhood experience has all the more meaning.

Last summer the softball team I play on was invited to participate in a national tournament in Shawnee, Kansas. During the first game a girl on the other team hit a line drive to left field. My teammates were yelling to me in the outfield “back, back, back!” I turned and ran, but the ball kept going, until it landed on the other side of the fence.
I put my arms in the air to signal that the ball was out of play. At the same time, I saw my coach come out onto the field with a disappointed, angry look on his face. He asked me if I was sure the ball had actually gone over the fence, instead of bouncing over it after hitting the ground once, or rolling underneath it. It would have been easy to say that either of those things had happened, since I was the only one who really saw it clearly. But when the umpires came out to talk to me just a few seconds later, I confirmed that the batter had really hit the ball over the fence.
We finished the game and ended up losing. I felt bad about that, but I felt good that I had told the truth.
A few days later, after we had finished playing for the day, I received an envelope. It contained a poem titled “Honesty on the Field,” and it was about my telling the truth on the field when it would have been easy not to. It had been written by an umpire who had seen the game. He said he was glad I had had the courage to tell the truth, and that not all people show integrity on the ball field.
Even though my team didn’t win very many games at the tournament, I will always remember that incident as a time when I felt like a winner.

Photographs by Jeffery Barker Edwards
Sister Dil had only six weeks left on her mission in New Zealand when she found out she would be spending those last weeks serving with Sister Tuala!
“It’s the very last thing I would have signed myself up for,” says Sister Dil.
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala had been starting players for their high schools’ top competitive basketball teams in Auckland, New Zealand. They were rivals. They would often play against each other in final tournaments, and it was not pretty.
“To put it into context a little bit,” says Sister Tuala, “we would walk off the court with scratches and bruising.”
Sister Dil and Sister Tuala spent a lot of time training and playing basketball. “Basketball was our lives,” says Sister Dil.
After graduating from high school, they both felt impressed to serve a mission—although neither of them had ever felt a desire to serve before.
For Sister Tuala, it took time to align her will with the Lord’s will. “I was 21 when I made the decision to act on the prompting,” she says. “I was pretty much fighting it until I was on the plane.”
Sister Tuala arrived on her mission in New Zealand during the COVID-19 pandemic, and although it has been difficult, she is very grateful she decided to serve.
“I can’t imagine being the same Sister Tuala that I was when I was 21. I really feel like I’ve grown.”
Sister Dil had a “clear and direct” prompting to serve a mission when she received her patriarchal blessing. After some time, she decided to follow the prompting to serve, because “the Lord’s will is always the right way and the best option.” The call came, and she packed her bags to serve in New Zealand.
Just because Sister Dil and Sister Tuala served in the same mission didn’t mean they were instant friends. After being rivals for so long, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala still had a hard time seeing each other as anything else.
In fact, the first day Sister Tuala saw Sister Dil, one of her first thoughts was, “I don’t know if I’m supposed to like her.”
So when Sister Tuala and Sister Dil were assigned to serve together, it was definitely weird.
Both had ideas about each other based on how they played on the basketball court. Each thought the other was aggressive, competitive, and mean.
But things began to change as they got to know each other. Sister Dil realized Sister Tuala is “the complete opposite” of how she had always seen her. “She is actually a very loving person—one of the most loving companions I’ve served with,” Sister Dil says.
Sister Tuala had a similar experience. She hadn’t realized that her feelings of rivalry toward Sister Dil had been “quite an unconscious conflict” in her life.
Those negative feelings of conflict and judgment were replaced with love and understanding as she began to see who Sister Dil really was. And although Sister Tuala thought Sister Dil was quiet, she found that “Sister Dil can talk!”
In their newfound friendship, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala realized that maybe they had never really been enemies after all.
“In basketball you build in your mind this idea that we’ve got to win, and every other team’s the enemy,” says Sister Dil. “And then basketball finishes, and you realize, ‘Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.’”
Now, Sister Dil and Sister Tuala see that they are on the same “team”—God’s team.
Christ in the Midst, by Judith Mehr
Both sisters felt God’s hand in their assignment as companions and know the power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ allowed them to experience healing and change.
“Jesus Christ made that sacrifice so all these things that have gone wrong in the past can be healed, made right, and made better,” Sister Dil says. “We can forgive. We can forget. We can move on, and things change.”
Not only did Sister Tuala and Sister Dil heal their conflict, but they also learned how to see others as God sees them.
“Coming out here and being able to see my companion and other people in a different light, I realize that every person’s story matters,” says Sister Tuala. “And everyone needs the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
They learned that although it can be difficult, it’s possible for two people who once saw each other as enemies to come together through love.
“It doesn’t matter what age you are or what ethnicity you are,” says Sister Tuala, “or whether you’re an atheist or religious.
“If I can work alongside someone who I never really had a great relationship with, and the two of us come together for one main purpose, then other people can too.”
For more information on missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, visit ChurchofJesusChrist.org/callings/missionary.
Oh, they’re no longer the enemy. They probably never were really the enemy.

Susan: “For a while, any contact my husband, Tim, had with the Church was very stressful for me. I was constantly praying that someone would say the thing that would open his eyes and that no one would do or say anything that would offend him.

“Five years passed before I finally realized that during my own investigation of the Church, no one had smoothed the way for me or prepared every personality for my benefit. There had been unsettling experiences for me now and again; but through it all, I had retained my agency. When I decided to be baptized, I did so because I knew through prayer and study that the Church was true.

“Now I have accepted the fact that my husband is capable of making the same mature investigation of the Church whenever he is ready.”

Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.
These sweet memories about the spirit of temple work were a blessing in our farm home, our little rural ward of three hundred, and the old Oneida Stake. These memories have returned as I have performed the marriage of each of our children and grandchildren—my mother’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren—under the influence of the Spirit in the house of the Lord.

A few years ago, I had a unique opportunity. In April of 2013, I got to run in the Boston Marathon. In order to run the Boston, you have to earn the right to run it by successfully completing a qualifying marathon in the year prior to the Boston. Qualifying times are adjusted based on your age and gender. My designated qualifying time was 3 hours and 45 minutes, which translates to an average pace of about 8-and-a-half-minute miles. I tried to qualify for the Boston in the Top of Utah Marathon in Logan, Utah, in 2011 but missed my qualifying time by 46 seconds. While I was disappointed, I continued to train throughout the winter. I changed one key strategy and then ran the Ogden Marathon in May 2012. This time I met my qualifying time with a few minutes to spare.
So what was the strategy that ultimately contributed to my qualification? I changed my pacing. In my first qualification attempt--the Top of Utah Marathon--my strategy was to go out and run as fast as I could.
My husband, Eric, who is a fast and accomplished runner in his own right, ran out in front of me, and I did my best to stay right behind him. It felt amazing for the first half of the race. We were flying down the mountain and passing people right and left, but unfortunately this strategy came with a price. By the halfway point, I had expended most of my energy and ended up having very little energy to complete the race, let alone meet my qualifying time.
Eight months later, in the Ogden Marathon, I changed my approach.
I promised myself that I would not allow myself to run faster than an eight-minute mile pace. There were several times during the race that I would look down at my GPS, and I was going too fast. I had to make myself slow down. This was really hard! It's hard to allow people to pass you when you know you are capable of running fast too. But the goal is not to just run fast; the goal is to endure to the end. By slowing down the pace just a little, I increased my endurance. My new strategy paid off, just like the classic fable about a tortoise and a hare. The hare runs in short, distracted bursts. The tortoise is slower but more consistent in pacing, and the consistency ends up winning the race.

When I was about 14, my mother and father were divorced. There were seven children left at home. Little or no child support was ever paid. I watched my “champion” mom put on heavy shoes with metal toe protectors, dress like a workman, and go out to Garfield smelter to work so she could earn enough money to support our family. The poor woman would get ready for work at about 9:30 P.M., catch a bus at 10:00, work all night until 7:00 A.M., return home, and be there about the time we got up to go to school. During the day she would wash and iron, bake bread, fix meals, clean the house, and always be up when the children were home. I don’t know how she did it.
Now some of you will never have to experience conditions like that in your home. But let me say here, one of the highest places I have ever walked is in the shadow of a great mom who forgot her embarrassment and womanly image to simply support a large family until they came of age. I saw an older brother who grew up fast and was able to go to work at age 14 in the Bauer Mines near Tooele because he was large of stature. He became the masculine image to all of us who were his younger brothers and sisters.
It is no wonder that I love work. My wonderful mother taught me how to work, and when I did get a job, I knew the family was depending on me to hold it.

After a year here at BYUH, I needed to make a decision about my major. My desire was to graduate and return to Samoa to help the students at my high school, CCWS. I wanted to be close to the students I was going to teach, to be a mentor as my teachers were to me.

One evening in the unit, I was sharing my feelings with a new roommate who had just returned after serving a mission. She asked where I was from and what I was studying. I mentioned that I was unsure whether I should be a school counselor or an English teacher and was having a difficult time deciding. She asked me if I had fasted and prayed about my decision. I replied that I hadn’t. She began to counsel with me and shared her experiences about fasting and praying for direction and confirmation of decisions. As she shared her thoughts and feelings, I felt strongly that I should try what she suggested. I had fasted every single fast Sunday while growing up at home, but had never fasted for a purpose. Using my own method of pros and cons, I decided I was going to be a school counselor. I reasoned that it was a way that I would be able to encourage and motivate students to not only pursue higher education, but also inspire them on their spiritual path. I chose a day and fasted and prayed to receive confirmation about my decision to be a school counselor. A few days later, I was sitting in a Psychology class taught by Professor Carl Harris. I distinctly and clearly heard Brother Harris say during the lecture, “If you want students to come to you for advice and if you want to inspire your students, don’t be a counselor, be a teacher! Students typically don’t go to counselors. They go to their favorite teacher.”

This experience taught me about what inspiration feels like.

I am eternally grateful for my roommate who was courageous enough to share her spiritual wisdom and her missionary experiences with me about praying and fasting with a purpose. I believe that she was sent by a loving Heavenly Father to help me, an amateur sophomore, at “such a time as this.”

I remember that as a young executive many years ago, part of my job involved attending dinners sponsored by different business groups. Each dinner was always preceded by a social hour. I felt very uncomfortable in these settings. After the first one or two dinners, I started coming late to miss the social hour. My boss thought this was not a good practice because I was missing valuable time associating with business leaders. Still, I felt awkward visiting in groups where I was the only one without a drink in my hand. I kept wondering what to do with my hands. You can always put one hand in your pocket, but you look a little foolish with both of them there. I tried holding a glass of 7-Up, but it had the appearance of an alcoholic beverage.

Finally I went over to the bartender and asked him if he had any drink that was distinctively different in appearance from an alcoholic beverage. He went into the kitchen and came back with a half gallon of milk and poured me a glass. Pouring a glass of milk at a cocktail hour was a unique event. It seemed to attract the attention of everyone, and I became the target of a lot of jesting. It embarrassed me at first, until I discovered that I was meeting more business leaders than I had at any previous gathering. I found that I did not have to violate Church standards to become a viable, contributing member of my chosen profession. It was more the case that success came because I did adhere to my values.

It soon became a practice at the social hours in that community to always have a carton of milk on the bar. I was amazed, as time passed, by how many of my associates were joining me for a glass of milk during the hour that we spent together. I found, just as Daniel did, that being different in the world brought some interesting reactions, but obedience to the Lord’s law is always associated with His blessings. Isn’t that the message of the revelation contained in the Doctrine and Covenants?

In April 2006, I married Teni Leavai in Auckland, New Zealand. Although we were both members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we weren’t active at the time, so we had an intimate civil ceremony performed by my bishop. Then we began to make changes in our lives so that we could progress spiritually, more fully participate in the gospel, and embark on our journey together as a family.
Before we knew it, it was 2012. Teni and I had grown even closer and were deeply in love—it is an amazing feeling, being married to my best friend—but something significant was missing. For six years, I just couldn’t fall pregnant. I began to think I might forever be an aunt, but never a mum.
We felt so incomplete.
One evening, we received a phone call which would change our lives! There was news of an unborn baby boy and an expectant mother determined to find a good family for him.
On the night that Kahn Ui was born, his birth mother—tears streaming down her face—delicately placed him in my arms and whispered, “He’s yours now. Thank you for loving him as much as I do.”
Alert and curious, baby Kahn looked up at me, completely unaware of the miracle that had just taken place. He fit perfectly in my arms, and it is with that same ease and sense of familiarity that he also fit into our family.
My husband and I entered the wonderful world of parenthood together. We took turns feeding our baby throughout the night; we talked to him, sung to him, and shed tears of immeasurable joy as we got to know him.
We realised a profound truth in those early days. As much as Kahn needed us, we—his new parents—needed the Lord more than ever. We prayed for His guidance as we learned our new roles.
Little did we know, another miracle was in store for us.
When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”
It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.
My husband and I were astonished.
We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.
My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.
It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.
We relocated our growing family to Australia and then, in September 2017, our family was sealed, for time and all eternity in the Melbourne Australia Temple. It was a powerful experience; one we will cherish forever.
With hearts bursting with love for our newly sealed family, how could we know Heavenly Father had yet another miracle surprise for us?
Imagine my shocked delight only three months later when we discovered I was pregnant. How could this be? We double checked the home pregnancy test—positive! We took two tests just to make sure. We both wept. I know the Lord was with me through every step of that pregnancy. I felt the love and strength of my parents, from the other side of the veil, assuring me that everything would be fine.
In the early hours of 12 August 2018, our precious little girl was born. My husband named her after his mother—Faaifomailelagi, which in Samoan means ‘sent from heaven’.
Motherhood is one of the most difficult things I have experienced, but it is by far the most fulfilling. To this day, our children continue to make us better people and better servants of the Lord. They teach us patience, forgiveness, humility and so much more.
I know that all my challenges have been for my good. When we endure our trials well and learn from them, we discover that it is never by chance that things happen, but by divine design and all in God’s timing.

I began school again and started dating. I could see that I was progressing, but I felt that I would always view my mission with a little bitterness. Then a friend of mine reminded me that the Savior’s Atonement can heal all pain and bitterness. With His help I could be happy when thinking about my mission.
I knelt down and prayed to my Heavenly Father. I told Him about my pain and my efforts to be healed and comforted. I asked if He would take away the bitterness I felt. After my prayer, the Lord opened my eyes to see my mission from His perspective. Both my service and early return were a part of the Lord’s plan to help make me into who He wanted me to be. I could see the miracles that He had provided since I came home. It has been a hard path, but now I can look back on my early return home with peace, knowing that God has my best interests at heart.

Many times the most beautiful examples of obedience and service are given by ordinary people who live close to us. Sister Ana Rita de Jesus, an elderly widow, lived in Anápolis, Brazil. She could not read or write. The missionaries would go to her home every week to read the scriptures to her. She was loving and kind. Every Sunday she would ask the missionaries to help her fill out a tithing slip. Sometimes her tithing and offerings were not more than a few cents, but she knew the law and wanted to obey it. After paying her tithing, she would walk into the room where the sacrament meeting was held in the rented house used as a chapel and would place a flower on the pulpit. In doing so, she served her brothers and sisters, bringing beauty to the place where we worshiped the Lord. That sister, in a very simple way, taught us obedience and service through her faith. She knew that obeying the commandments is the best preparation to serve. President Monson advised us in the last April general conference to “obey the commandments” and “serve with love” (“In Harm’s Way,” Ensign, May 1998, 47). Sister Ana Rita did so throughout her life.

It was late at night, I was the only cashier on duty, and there wasn’t another soul in the entire grocery store. As I wiped down the checkout counters, I began humming.
My humming quickly turned into singing. I started singing “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). I don’t usually sing hymns for fun, but I sang energetically until the sight of someone stopped me.
An older man approached.
“I know that song,” he said. “How do you know it?”
“It is a hymn we sing in my church,” I said.
“Are you a Mormon?”
I responded that I was.
He told me his wife had been a Latter-day Saint and had passed away from cancer in 2011. He said “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was sung at her funeral. I expressed my condolences and told him my older brother passed away in 2011 while serving a mission in Chile. We also sang that hymn at his funeral. The Spirit touched our hearts as we marveled at this “coincidence.”
“So do you think you’ll see your brother again?” he asked.
I had asked myself the same question countless times. In the difficult months after my brother died, I struggled with doubts. Eventually, Heavenly Father blessed me with a sweet knowledge that families are forever. I still had questions, but I met the man’s gaze and declared, “Yes, I do!”
“You have a lot of faith,” the man said. “My wife used to say we should have ‘a perfect brightness of hope.’” I agreed and quoted the rest of 2 Nephi 31:20, that we should love God and all men, press forward, feast upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end.
“That’s it!” the man said with tears in his eyes. “That’s what she would say! How did you know that?”
I told him it was in the Book of Mormon. He asked me how he could get a copy. I told him how to do it online. The man shook my hand, thanked me by name, and left.

But the Kirtland story doesn’t end with these marvelous manifestations. A year after the temple’s dedication, the community was fraying. An international economic crisis led to massive unemployment in the United States. Banks failed across the country, including a small bank established by Church leaders in Kirtland to spur development of the community. Joseph Smith and other Church leaders desperately tried to save the economy of the community. But the tide of the global economic crisis was too much. People began to lose jobs and homes. Many began to murmur against God and the Church. Why had the Lord allowed His people to fail economically? Some began to whisper and then proclaim that Joseph was a fallen prophet.

At one meeting in the summer of 1837 in the Kirtland Temple, Joseph Smith Sr., the Church patriarch, spoke in his son’s absence. As he spoke, a dissenter tried to pull him from the pulpit. When William Smith defended his father, a fellow Apostle threatened to kill William with a sword. Other men with knives and pistols surrounded William. The temple, which had been a place of sacredness and spirituality a year earlier, was now a place of violence, dissension, and chaos.

When Joseph Smith returned to Kirtland, most Church members sustained him as the prophet, but three Apostles were removed from the Quorum of the Twelve. Economic problems had turned into spiritual problems. Within a few more months, the Lord told Joseph to leave Kirtland for the safety of his family and for the sake of his own life.

Eyewitness accounts testify to the difficulties of that time. Vilate Kimball, the wife of Apostle Heber C. Kimball, sent a letter to her husband, who was then serving as one of the first missionaries in England. “I have no doubt but it will pain your heart,” she wrote to Heber, telling him about the dissenters. “They profess to believe the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants but in works deny them.”

Vilate knew that Joseph was not perfect. He had made mistakes in the Kirtland economic crisis. And she continued to love many among the dissenters. But she saw a deeper lesson in the events of 1837: “The Lord says, he that cannot endure chastisement but denies me cannot be sanctified.”

In the same letter, Marinda Hyde added a note to her husband, Orson, also an Apostle serving in England. Marinda’s older brother was one of the Apostles who had left the Church. “Such times in Kirtland you never witnessed as we now have, for it seems that all confidence in each other is gone,” she wrote.

Since Dad’s death, when Jared and I were four and five, Mom had been denied the luxury of sentimentality. There had always been so much work, so many worries, so much pressure. That’s why I was surprised after my mission to discover that she had kept the roses. I had just assumed that she had tossed them out with the wilted lettuce, the table scrapings, the cantaloupe rinds, and a host of other disposables. They were, of course, dry and brittle, mere shells of their former, fragrant selves. But there they were, wrapped delicately in the green floral paper, laid in the white oblong box, and endowed by her touch with a tender timelessness, completely impervious to the persistent onslaught of age.
In the beginning Jared and I had gone to Brother Palmer’s floral shop fully intending to send roses to the twins, girls who had earlier taken us to the Easter dance.
We pushed open the glass door with the “Yes, we’re open” sign displayed prominently on the inside. As we did, a silver bell tinkled a cheery welcome, and a wave of intoxicating flower perfumes enveloped us.
“Well, how are the handsome Hansen brothers today?” Brother Palmer called out to us as he saw us enter. We closed the door, stepped into the cool interior, and basked in the fragrance.
Brother Palmer was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of green faded slacks that hung low on his ample hips and supported a stomach bulge that buried his belt buckle and most of his belt. A disarming smile cut across his round perspiring face, the corners of his eyes crinkled in happy welcome, and his bald head, laced with several thin strings of graying hair, shone brightly.
He had been watering and pampering two enormous ferns he kept hanging above the counter, but when he saw us, he set his watering can on the floor, wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, and ambled toward us with an outstretched hand.
Jared and I smiled a greeting. We liked Brother Palmer. He got a little preachy at times, but under all his paternal advice and cautions, he was a good man. He was also our home teacher and had been for as long as I could remember. Mom appreciated him too. In fact, he was the only exception to her strict rule of absolute self-reliance. She would allow him to assist us as long as he disguised his service and kindness enough for her to maintain her pride.
Though Mom was a widow, she was fiercely independent, never one to run to the bishop or the Relief Society for help, refusing anything remotely resembling a handout. Ever since Dad died, she had been supporting us single-handedly. She had worked her way through college, raising us at the same time, and after graduation had finally found a teaching job. She had been working at it ever since.
“We need some flowers,” I announced to Brother Palmer, glancing about his shop, intrigued by his jungle of ferns, flowers, and creepers, mesmerized by the yellows, blues and myriad shades of red that surrounded me. I loved coming to Brother Palmer’s shop because it was like stepping into a giant, magical terrarium.
“How’s your mother, Jarom?” he asked me, ignoring my request and tugging on his sagging pants.
I pushed my hands into my pockets and nodded. “All right, I guess. She manages to stay busy.”
“I suppose she would with two boys like you to look after.” He eyed us sternly. “You treating her all right?” Jared and I nodded. “No back talk? Not too much complaining?”
Our faces colored just a little. “Well, not much,” Jared mumbled.
We were used to Brother Palmer’s interrogations, and we knew he would never talk about our flowers until he had made his inquiries. And it made no difference to him that he had seen us only two days earlier at church and had asked us other questions then. He never let an opportunity pass without inquiring about our welfare.
“Has anyone plowed your garden?”
“Brother Parks is letting us borrow his tiller,” Jared explained. “Jarom and I should be able to take care of it.”
“I have a few extra seed potatoes and tomato plants. I’ll run them over to you tomorrow.”
I grinned. “You always just happen to have a few extra ones. Just enough to plant our garden. You’d think that after all these years you could estimate a little closer than you do.”
Brother Palmer raised an eyebrow. “I estimate all right.” He rubbed his double chin and said, “Tell your mom that my wife will pick her up for leadership meeting tomorrow night.”
“We’ll tell her. And by the way, we’re having our family prayer and home evening too,” Jared grinned knowingly. “Now, what about the flowers?”
Brother Palmer plucked a dried leaf from his pet fern and dropped it into the garbage can behind the counter. “I’m just doing my job.” He heaved a sigh. “One of these days I’m going to meet your dad, and the first thing he’s going to do, even before he so much as shakes my hand, is ask about your mother.” He stared out the front window into the street without really seeing anything out there. “I remember when he courted her. I was in the temple when they were married. Your dad loved your mom.” He slapped his hand on the counter. “Now, when I meet him, I want to be able to give him a good report.” Brother Palmer cleared his throat. “I hope you two have some good answers for him too.”
His eyes twinkled, and he stepped behind the counter. “Now, what did you have in mind? Something for Mother’s Day?”
“Mother’s Day?” I asked, glancing over at Jared. “Is it Mother’s Day?”
Brother Palmer forced a cough. “I’ll bet you don’t forget dinner very often,” he muttered. “And it looks like your clothes have seen a washing machine lately, no thanks to the two of you.”
“Mother’s Day isn’t this Sunday, is it?” Jared asked.
Brother Palmer nodded. “That gives you five days.”
“We’ll have to get Mom a card,” I said to Jared. “Let’s not forget.” I turned back to Brother Palmer. “We’re taking the twins out to dinner this Saturday. We want to take them flowers when we pick them up.”
“Very romantic,” he remarked dryly. He stared at us a moment without speaking. He took a handkerchief, wiped his brow and the top of his head, blew his nose loudly. “Card for your mother; flowers for the twins,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and stuffed his handkerchief in his back pocket. “Nothing. Just thinking with my mouth open. I have carnations and daisies,” he said gruffly. “If you want I can even gather up some dandelions.”
Jared and I laughed. “Actually we had something a little more impressive in mind. Do you have roses?”
“Not for the twins,” he said bluntly.
“Huh?” I grunted.
He grabbed a rag and began polishing the counter. “Nope, boys, I have flowers for all occasions, but you have to fit the flower to the occasion. Now for your special occasion,” he said with not a little sarcasm, “a bouquet of daisies or dandelions will do just fine.”
“Come on, Brother Palmer, we’re trying to give you a little good business,” I said, not sure whether he was joking with us.
“You’re forgetting,” he said, jabbing a finger at me, “that I’m your home teacher first, your florist second.”
“I don’t get it,” Jared said.
Brother Palmer shook his head and began to explain as though this were the one hundredth time he had gone over it with us. “You don’t give roses to just anyone. You spoil the effect if you do. Now, I don’t know the twins. Maybe they’re good girls, but I suspect that they’re too young for roses. Maybe in a few years they’ll be old and wise enough, but not yet. Have you ever given roses before?” We shook our heads, utterly confused. “Then don’t start on the twins.” He sighed. “You can send a million carnations to almost anyone. But be careful when you send roses.”
“Brother Palmer,” I moaned.
“What will it be,” he demanded, “daisies or dandelions?”
“Roses.”
He wagged his head. “Not for the twins.”
“Brother Palmer,” I protested.
He shook his head adamantly. “I do have a good deal on roses for Mother’s Day,” he added quickly. “I don’t sell Mother’s Day cards, though.”
“Mom doesn’t even like roses. She’s too practical,” I declared. “If you can eat it, wear it, or put it in the bank, she’ll like it, but roses are just for beauty’s sake. To Mom that would be a waste.”
“Yeah,” Jared agreed. He thought and then added, “She does like potted plants. She keeps some around the house, but roses would be a waste of money because you just throw them out after a few days.”
“I know,” I called out, “we’ll get a potted plant and some roses.”
“Who gets the roses?” Brother Palmer asked. “The twins. Mom likes potted plants.”
Brother Palmer shook his head. “I don’t sell that combination.”
“But we’re getting the plant for Mom.”
Brother Palmer eyed us, the disappointment obvious. “Why not roses for your mom, the plant for the twins?”
“It’s not the same,” I complained. “Roses are …” I groped for the word.
“You’re right,” Brother Palmer said quietly. “It’s not the same. There’s a message that comes with a rose. It doesn’t come with any other flower.” He looked at us. We avoided his eyes and stared at the floor. “Don’t send that message to anyone until you’ve first sent it to your mom. Otherwise you spoil the effect. Once you’ve sent roses to your mom, you’ll know when to send them to someone else.”
“But Brother Palmer,” I complained.
“I have a good deal on a dozen roses for Mother’s Day,” Brother Palmer said, straightening up with determination. “Long-stemmed roses.”
“A dozen roses!” I choked.
“Roses come in dozens. Otherwise that magical impression is lost.”
“But we were only getting each of the twins two.” “Well, if you overspent on your mother like you planned to overspend on the twins you’d have to buy her a hundred dozen roses, but since your mother is a practical woman, let’s settle for an even dozen.”
“We can’t afford a dozen.”
Brother Palmer held up both hands. “Calm down,” he soothed, “I’m going to give you a good deal and save you money too. You’ve already planned for four roses and a potted plant. We’ll trade in the potted plant for three more roses. You can take the twins down to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone, and with the money you save on dinner you can easily buy the other five roses.”
“But Mom’s not the type,” I tried to explain. “Roses are you know—romantic. They dazzle.”
“Then dazzle your mom,” he said with quiet seriousness. “Don’t you think your mom would like that?”
We laughed. “You don’t know Mom.”
“No, you don’t know her,” Brother Palmer said warmly. “You think because she’s worked her fingers raw and grown gray that all she cares about is washing dishes, cleaning house, and putting food on the table for you. Well, I’ve got news for you. She doesn’t do a lot of things now, but not because she wouldn’t like to. Now she won’t tell you that, and it’s too bad I have to, but it’s better that I tell you than that than that you never learn. You don’t think anything of sending roses to the twins, and what have they done for you? Took you to a dance, smiled at you in the halls, tickled your vanity. And you were going to send roses to say thanks for that? Daisies or carnations perhaps. Roses never. Oh, the ignorance of youth.”
“Roses for Mom?” I asked incredulously.
“I’d sure hate to be in your shoes when you meet your dad,” Brother Palmer remarked. “You’ll have a hard time convincing him your mother didn’t like roses.”
I stared over at Jared, and he glanced my way. There was an annoying twitch in the pit of my stomach, the nagging by-product of a guilty conscience. Brother Palmer was right, and yet I surely had my mind set on dinner with the twins. There was no way we could do both.
Brother Palmer watched us fidget and fret. Finally he said, “Of course, you could always run down to Timmerman’s Floral. I hear he sells roses to anybody for about any reason. But then, he probably won’t ever meet your dad either.”
Glaring at the ground, I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jared doing the same. “All right,” I mumbled, “a dozen roses.”
“It’s for Mother’s Day, not your funeral,” Brother Palmer remarked. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“Brother Palmer,” I cried out completely exasperated, “you just talked us into it. Are you going to try to change our minds now?”
He placed his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for your mother.”
Reluctantly we counted out our money. All I could think about was the dinner I would never have with the twins. I slid the money toward Brother Palmer, who ignored it completely.
“The roses will be ready Saturday afternoon,” he said as we turned and dragged our feet toward the door. We pulled the door open and the tiny silver bell tinkled softly. “Boys,” he called to us, “I’ll wager that in ten years you won’t even remember the twins’ names. If you can, come back and get a full refund. That’s a Palmer guarantee.”
The roses were forgotten until late Saturday. Most of Saturday we spent at the district track meet, trying to qualify for the state meet the following week. Unfortunately, neither of us quite made it. All we accomplished by going was pulling a hamstring, twisting an ankle, and acquiring a stinging sunburn. As soon as we stepped off the bus at the high school, all we wanted to do was go home, take a long bath, and drop into bed for about 48 hours. We forgot all about the roses until we passed Brother Palmer’s shop on our way home.
It was several minutes past closing time, but the place was still open, and Brother Palmer was waiting for us behind the counter next to our pile of money and a long white box, neatly wrapped with a giant red bow and ribbon.
Guiltily we shuffled in with our sweats tucked under our arms and presented ourselves before Brother Palmer. He eyed us for a moment, and then a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he said sheepishly, “I twisted your arms pretty hard the other day. I apologize. If you’ve changed your mind, you can take the money. Or the roses. Or both.”
We shook our heads and reached for the box. “You can take the money too, if you’d like,” he said, pushing it toward us.
I grinned tiredly. “And what do we tell Dad?”
Brother Palmer chuckled and nodded. “You better tell him you took the roses.”
I opened the door. “Boys,” he called out, “you have a good mom. Some day you’ll find good wives. But you’ll have to look pretty hard and be pretty picky before you’ll find one as good as your mom. The next time you order a dozen roses, you’ll begin to understand what I mean. You’ll be glad you gave your first dozen to your mom.”
When we finally arrived home, stumbled stiffly up the front steps and pushed open the front door, the smell of stew and baking biscuits greeted us. It wasn’t until then that I realized I was just as hungry as I was tired. But I didn’t notice that the carpet was vacuumed, that the furniture was dusted and polished, and that I had freshly pressed shirts in my closet. Nor did I take note of the warm, loving security permeating the homey atmosphere.
“Is that you, boys?” Mom called from the kitchen. “I’m running a little late. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you wash up and come in and tell me how things went at the meet. I’ll bet you’re exhausted.”
We tiptoed into the kitchen. Mom was hovering over the stew on the stove. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” we called out. She turned around, her face flushed and her hands wet. I held out the roses and pressed them into her arms. She stared down at the box, too surprised to respond. I laughed and wrapped her arms around the box. “It’s all right,” I grinned. “It’s not a trick. They’re real, and they’re for you.”
“We didn’t qualify for the state meet,” Jared remarked, “but we did remember Mother’s Day—with a little help.”
Mom looked shocked, almost scared. Jared pulled out a kitchen chair and gently pushed her toward it and helped her sit down. With her eyes wide with anticipation and her hands trembling, she fumbled with the bow and finally pulled the lid off the box. A rich rose fragrance filled the room. Hesitantly, she pulled back the stiff, crackling green floral paper and gazed inside.
For a long time. she just stared, unable to touch or smell the roses. She didn’t even move. Then a tear glittered in the corner of her eye, soon crowded by another and another until a gentle flow of tears washed down her cheeks.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get another rose,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “They’re beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Setting the box on the table, she stood and went to her bedroom. She returned a moment later, choking back her tears and holding out a plain, white vase. It was one she had always kept on her dresser, always empty. More than once I had wondered why she had kept an empty vase there. It was not pretty. There was nothing unique in its features or design.
“Your dad gave me this when he sent me my first dozen roses, the night he proposed to me. Every year on our anniversary he would give me roses for my vase. Never a dozen, but always some roses.” She swallowed. “Now I’ve received a dozen roses twice.”
A smile of expectancy touched Mom’s lips and lighted up her face. Suddenly she was like a school girl, receiving her first bouquet. Carefully she took the roses from the box, one at a time, and arranged them with tender perfection in the white vase.
That night the stew and biscuits burned. Mom was embarrassed because that was something she rarely did, but Jared and I smelled the roses and ate the stew and biscuits anyway, without comment or complaint.
Five years later, looking down at the dried and faded roses, I was filled with poignant warmth. The roses brought so many things to my remembrance. Of course, I remembered Brother Palmer, and I was grateful for his far-from-subtle prodding. But mainly I remembered Mom. I remembered the clean sheets, the pressed shirts, the thousand meals, the clean home, and the baked chocolate chip cookies. I remembered the late nights when she had waited up for me and listened to me. I remembered the pride in her eyes at each of my ordinations. I remembered her face aglow with quiet excitement at my seminary and high school graduations. I remembered the second job she took, cleaning the seminary building evenings, so that I could go on my mission. I remembered the weekly letter I had received from her every Wednesday of my mission, and I wished then that I had sent a hundred dozen roses.
I smiled, realizing that I no longer remembered the twins’ names. But, oh, how well I remembered Mom!

In Mendoza, Argentina, we attended a seminary graduation. In the class was a young man who had great difficulty climbing ordinary steps. As the class marched in, two strong young classmates gracefully lifted him up the steps. We watched during and after the proceedings, and it became apparent that the whole class was afflicted with a marvelous kind of blindness. They could not see that he was different. They saw a classmate, a friend. In them the works of God were being manifest. While there was no physical transformation in the boy or in his classmates, they were serving like angels, soothing a spirit locked in a deformed body awaiting that time when it would be everlastingly made perfect.

During the better part of a year, Jim Christensen, Steve Taylor, Steve Hatch, Kirk Henrichsen, and Bruce Chapman, all of the Sharon East Stake in Provo, Utah, photographed, recorded, and edited a fantastic thirty-minute three-screen slide show, complete with stereo sound track.
The presentation requires six people to set up and run the equipment, so others often get called in to help, especially since the two Steves recently left on missions. The show is in great demand, and thousands of people have seen it at many school and ward showings.
Their reason for doing the show? They wanted to show themselves as they are, young people who are products of the gospel. “It is nice to be out and alone and away from all the world’s hang-ups. We all love nature, and we wanted to show how beautiful the world around us really is. Everything is so great and the plan is so perfect, so why get all hung-up? Just go out and let the environment and your inner action with it tell you what to do,” explained Jim Christensen.
To them, the show represents life as the pictures slide through the various seasons. They really have great ideas for their next production, because now they have reaped the artist’s reward—they have moved people. They reached out and touched someone; they made them feel good and warm inside. And with their music and pictures, they have made thousands aware of the power and beauty of God’s creations. The following words and pictures are theirs.

Most people wouldn’t have thought 1853 was the best year for the Saints to break ground for an extensive building project. After all, people were still arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, and most of them didn’t bring much with them. One anonymous brother described his situation like this: “I walked the morning the ground was broken for the foundation of the Temple. … I went through frozen mud and slush with my feet tied up in rags. I had on a pair of pants made out of my wife’s skirt—a thin Scotch plaid; also a thin calico shirt and a straw hat. These were all the clothes I had. It was go that way or stay at home. … I was not alone in poverty. … There were many who were fixed as badly as I was.”

But the Lord’s house needed to be built. Later that day, John D. McAllister described the following event:
“The ground being frozen, President Heber C. Kimball commenced breaking the ground with a pick. … President Young took out the first turf. … While taking it out [a] silver dollar was flung from someone in the congregation which struck in the hole. Brother Kimball said that was an omen that we should have plenty of money to build the Temple.”

All many people need is to have someone lay things out for them so that they can understand them. I have another little story to illustrate what I mean. I toured the Colorado Mission with Brother Hinckley, a former stake president who lives here in Provo. We were holding a meeting over in Nebraska and the leader of the Reorganized church in that particular locality honored us with his presence in the meeting, and I went up to him afterward. He seemed very interested, and I said, “You have so much to be grateful for. You have the Prophet Joseph, and you have the Book of Mormon, but you only have about half of what the Prophet Joseph taught. Wouldn’t you like to know all about it? You have half a pie; we have the whole pie. I have written a book. If you will agree to read it, I’ll send it to you.”

A few weeks after that I received a letter back from him in which he thanked me for the book. He said, “I read it, and last Saturday my brother and I were both baptized members of your Church. Now I have sent the book to one of my friends over in Independence, one of the leaders of the Reorganized church, and asked him if he would read it.” If we will just take time to tell them what we have, we do not need to worry about their joining the Church.

The spring of 1898 was not a happy one for Sonora Louise Smart. Her mother died in March, leaving her and five younger brothers motherless. Sonora must have wondered how they would manage with no mother to look after them, but she had no need to worry.

Billy Smart, her father, believed that fatherhood was a lifelong responsibility, and he didn’t take that responsibility lightly. After his wife’s funeral, Billy quickly assumed the duties of both father and mother to his six children. Sonora in later years described him as a “good home person” and a “Golden Rule type of father.” Billy Smart was a strict man, but he was also a loving father, who kept his children happy and together.

Sonora loved her father and recognized and admired his sacrifices to raise her and her brothers by himself. Her love and appreciation for her father inspired a tribute to him that eventually became a national holiday to honor all fathers.

Eleven years after her mother’s death, Sonora (now married to John Bruce Dodd) sat in church listening to a Mother’s Day message. It was a wonderful talk about the role of mothers, but she noticed that the word father was never mentioned. When Sonora thought of the sacrifices that her father had made, she felt that it was only fair that fathers be recognized in a like manner. After the meeting she approached the speaker and asked, “Don’t you think that fathers should have a special day of recognition too?” With that question, Sonora Dodd began gaining support for her Father’s Day idea.

The following year Sonora, supported by local church leaders, submitted a petition to the Spokane City Council. As a result, the mayor declared that the third Sunday in June would be observed as Father’s Day. Following Spokane’s lead, the governor of Washington made it a state holiday, and June 19, 1910, it became the first official Father’s Day in history.

Even though a day to recognize fathers had been declared, Sonora Dodd did not feel that her work was done. That first Father’s Day she and her infant son, Jack, traveled by carriage to deliver gifts to shut-in fathers in Spokane.

Mrs. Dodd next sought support from national politicians for recognition of Father’s Day. She wanted a designated day when people across the nation would be reminded of a father’s proper role in the training of children, in the safeguarding of the marriage tie, and in the protection of womanhood and childhood. And while her efforts to honor fathers were successful and Father’s Day was celebrated in many areas in the United States, it wasn’t until 1972 that the holiday was established by a congressional resolution.

Sonora Dodd devoted her life to honoring fathers, and her strong feelings about fatherhood were passed to her son, Jack. In 1952 one of Sonora Dodd’s proudest moments came when Jack was named “Father of the Year.” Nineteen years later, an even prouder moment came. Sonora Louise Dodd, the woman known as “the mother of Father’s Day,” became the first and only woman ever to be named “Father of the Year!”

In 1978 Sonora died just a few weeks before the sixty-ninth Father’s Day. This June 15, on the seventy-sixth anniversary of Father’s Day, her name will seldom be mentioned in connection with the day. But that’s the way she wanted it. She never wanted acclaim for her contribution toward the establishment of Father’s Day. As she often said, “Father’s Day is to glorify fatherhood and not to glorify me.”