Gospel Story Finder

A few months before that I met with students of the University of California at Los Angeles and the University of Southern California, who gathered in our institute building in Los Angeles. Most of these are involved in graduate studies. They are in a challenging and wonderful season of their lives, concerned with great and serious undertakings. I have no doubt they will become leaders in their chosen disciplines. But they are also young men and women with faith who gathered that Sunday to listen and learn of the things of God.

At school you have a geography assignment due, and everyone is sharing answers before class. You forgot all about the assignment, and your friend tells you:
Don’t worry about it. One assignment won’t matter.
If you hurry, you can finish it before class.
Quick, here’s my assignment. You can copy from mine.

The Holy Ghost and Me
Before going to stay at the hospital, I wanted to have the gift of the Holy Ghost. I didn’t know if I could get baptized while I was going through treatments. But it worked out. I was baptized and received the Holy Ghost when I turned eight!

Thank you so much for the article “Your Charge” by President Ezra Taft Benson in the September New Era. It brought light to many questions I have had concerning truth, knowledge, and progression. It also reassured me to know that my ideals and goals are not old-fashioned or out-of-date. Each article of every New Era is really terrific and has such an important message.
Barbara RexBrigham City, Utah

Susan woke with a start. What was that noise? She listened carefully. The wind howled through the eucalyptus trees and knocked seedpods onto the roof above her bedroom. The noise of their falling sounded like heavy rain, and it had awakened her.

Susan sighed. Her family had just moved into this house, and she wasn’t used to all the new sounds. It didn’t help that Susan now slept alone. In their old house she had shared a bedroom with her older sister.

She pulled her blankets up under her chin as another shower of pods hit the roof. She was scared, lonely, and, she realized, missing her dad. Susan’s dad was an officer in the military. He was away on training. Although he wasn’t in danger, Susan suddenly grew frightened. What if someday her dad was sent to war and got killed? She didn’t want to grow up without her father. She needed him.

Tears pricked her eyes, and Susan knew she needed help to calm her growing fears. Her sister wasn’t nearby, but she knew that Jesus and Heavenly Father were always close.

Gathering her courage, Susan slipped out from under her blankets and knelt by the side of her bed. She prayed to Heavenly Father to help her, to take away her fear.

And then Susan heard something. It was softer than the clatter on the roof. It was her mother’s voice, and she was singing. As her mother walked through the house, finishing up her chores and getting ready for bed, she sang.

Susan’s mother had a beautiful voice and sang often, but this was the most wonderful song Susan had ever heard her sing. Though Susan didn’t recognize the tune, the words were about Jesus. The song filled her with peace.

Susan thanked Heavenly Father, then climbed back into bed, and listened to her mother’s song. Tears came to her eyes again, this time tears of gratitude and relief. She felt that all was well. She knew she had a loving family. She knew that Heavenly Father cared about her. She believed that no matter what happened, there would always be a reason to hope. Susan knew that whenever fears threatened to overcome her, she could find peace by remembering the night her mother’s song was stronger than fear.

Ross Anslow said glowingly to his wife, “Ann, our three sons will make fine farmers. I’ll buy more land for Sam and Joey. And when Bob is old enough, he’ll have his share too.”
Sam and Bob smiled happily, but Joey said quickly, “No thanks, Dad, none for me. I’m going to be an ice skater.”
Bob snickered. “A skater!” he hooted. “You don’t even have a pair of skates!”
Sam laughed too. “What’s wrong with you, Joey? Why would you want to spend your time twirling around on the ice like a top, when Dad’ll buy you land to work?”
Joey answered his brother, “I don’t want land to work. I want to skate on the ice in a fancy costume and have crowds cheering for me.”
“Just because you went with your school to see an ice show,” his dad said irritably, “doesn’t mean that you’re going to make a career of ice-skating. You’ll get over it.”
Joey’s mom wasn’t so sure their son would get over it.
“Joey is different,” she cautioned her husband later that evening when the boys had gone to bed. “It could be that farming isn’t for him.”
“Certainly he’ll be a farmer,” Joey’s dad continued stubbornly, “after he gets this silly notion out of his head. I’ll let him grow a calf for the boy’s club. Then maybe he’ll show more interest in farming.”
That night Joey dreamed that the sun was hidden by a heavy mist and that he was running through it. Always ahead of him, just out of reach, moved a pair of glistening silver skates.
Joey thought about his odd dream all the next day. Will it always be like this for me? he wondered. Will I never get a chance to wear those silver skates?
When his dad told him he could have Nellie’s calf, Joey was pleased. He supposed it would be interesting to watch it grow, but he didn’t dance for joy like his brothers would have.
Joey began to daydream about the skates gleaming in the fog—leaping, twisting, bounding along just out of reach. He next imagined that he was clad in a sparkling costume and white boots with shimmering silver blades attached to them. Joey signed. Maybe it was best to forget his dream.
One cold winter morning Joey’s mother asked him to take a loaf of freshly baked bread to some new neighbors. To his delight Joey found that they had a girl his own age. She had sparkling brown eyes and dark hair. Her name was Sabrina.
Sabrina’s parents were pleased to find that they had friendly neighbors, and asked Joey to stay for lunch. When they were through, Joey and Sabrina talked about sports, and Joey found himself telling her about his longing to become a professional ice skater someday. Then with a rueful smile he admitted, “I don’t own any skates. I’ve never even had any on. But I always dream about skating.”
Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve something to show you,” she said, disappearing into another room. When she returned, Sabrina was holding up a pair of shining silver skates exactly like those in Joey’s dream!
“They’re my dad’s,” Sabrina explained. “He used to be a professional skater. He’s Don Carber—have you ever heard of him?”
Joey was excited. “Wow! He’s your dad? I’ve read about him!”
Sabrina nodded. “Would you like to see his scrap-books?”
“Would I!” was all Joey could manage to reply.
While they were going through the books, Joey imagined that he was Don Carber—leaping, spinning, and waving to the enthusiastic crowds.
Before Joey left, he told Sabrina, “I’m going to wear silver skates, too, someday. I want to be like your dad was—a star on ice.”
Sabrina smiled. “I know you’ll be a star, Joey, and I’ll help you.”
That night Joey summoned up the courage to ask his dad for a pair of skates.
Joey’s dad was unbending. “You’ll have to forget this nonsense, Joey,” he said. “No son of mine is going to waste his life scooting about on the ice.”
Joey persisted. “If I keep up with my chores and schoolwork, then earn the money for skates, may I sweep the snow off the pond out in the pasture and try to skate on it?”
His dad was going to say no at first, but then he thought that Joey might come to his senses and forget about ice-skating after a few falls on the ice. So he replied, “Go ahead, Son, but remember—chores and schoolwork first.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Don’t expect me to pay for lessons either; you do this on your own.”
The boy nodded. He decided not to mention that he was being encouraged by Sabrina and her father.
Joey worried about a job to earn the money for skates. If it had been summer, he’d have had longer evenings. But now the days were so short that by the time he finished his chores, he didn’t have time for a lengthy job. Joey asked his neighbors about a job, but any available work either took too long or was too heavy for him.
Then Joey remembered that he hadn’t asked Bill Jones about a job.
Luckily for Joey, Mr. Jones said that he could use some help during the evenings. And when Joey had earned enough money, Mr. Carber offered to help him choose the right skates to learn on.
His brothers teased Joey when they saw him with his skates. “We’ll likely be watching you on TV tomorrow,” they joked.
Joey smiled and answered good-naturedly, “Not tomorrow, but maybe someday.”
Dad remarked, “I could understand getting excited about playing hockey or skiing—but figure skating!”
Mom smiled and said, “They’re lovely skates, Joey.”
At first Joey was awkward, and he fell a lot. But whenever he became discouraged, Sabrina was usually there, skating with him and encouraging him.
Mr. Carber sometimes came to watch and to coach. He was amazed at how quickly Joey learned. Figure-skating movements seemed to come to the boy naturally.
With a broom and shovel kept close by to clear the ice of snow, Joey spent every available moment on the pond. Early mornings and late afternoons he practiced the motions suggested by Mr. Carber. Joey’s family took neither the time nor the interest to watch him.
Once, when she saw him hurrying out of the house with his skates slung over his back. Mom called to him, “Don’t try to learn everything in one season. You have years ahead of you.”
Joey answered, “No, Mom, I haven’t. I was late starting.”
His mom sighed. With Dad against the boy’s skating, and his brothers always teasing, things weren’t easy for Joey.
One Saturday afternoon Joey was busy sweeping the pond when he saw the tall figure of Don Carber striding between the snow-laden cedars. Mr. Carber took the broom from Joey and said, “You won’t be needing this today. You’re going to have a chance to try some better ice. I have business in town, so if it’s all right with your folks, I’ll drop you and Sabrina off at the rink for the afternoon.”
Joey felt so happy he nearly shouted for joy as he ran home. Rink ice for the first time!
When Mr. Carber finished his business, he went back to the rink to watch the children going through the movements he had taught them on the pond. He thought Sabrina was good, but Joey had a special talent. If only his parents could see him skating …
The remainder of the winter Don Carber took Joey and Sabrina to the rink often. Sometimes he skated with them, and Joey eagerly copied his movements.
In the spring a notice was posted in town announcing that an amateur skating contest would be held.
Before the contest Don Carber went to the Anslow farm to talk with Joey’s parents. He invited them to come and watch the competition.
Joey’s dad sputtered, “Really couldn’t. Chores, you know. Lambing time. Then there’s—”
His wife interrupted. “We’ll be there, Mr. Carber,” she stated firmly.
“Good!” Don Carber said happily. “And let’s surprise him.”
But it was Joey’s family who were surprised. When Sam and Bob saw their brother swoop down the ice, they were truly astonished.
Even before Joey won a prize, everyone at the rink knew that his sharp routine was the best one seen during the competition.
As the crowd cheered, Ross Anslow smiled proudly at his son.

An experience from my youth taught me something about wisdom. I was a city boy, so my father sent me to work on my uncle’s ranch in western Utah. While I was there, I never could understand why the cattle, with thousands of acres to choose from, would put their heads through the barbed wire to eat the grass on the other side of the fence. Have you ever thought about how much we’re like that? We will always push to see what the outer limits are, especially in our youth. As human beings—the natural man—we tend to push up to the barbed wire and stick our head through it. Why do we do that?

I returned home from my first day at Primary in shock. My only hope came from the disturbed looks I saw on some of the other teachers’ faces who had had a similar experience. Maybe all the students had a hard time settling down after vacation. I returned home the second week in total depression. Not once had I felt in control of my class. My homemade visual aids had not survived the rough handling; the boys had stood on chairs and tried to climb through the window; the girls had quarreled among themselves and with the boys.
My first impulse was to quit—no person could take eleven months of facing those eight-year-olds. But I had too much pride to give in. I had taught all my adult life—Sunday School, Relief Society, MIA, Seminary, college English—and I had never had a teaching failure. When my bishop asked me to take this assignment, he had said, “I feel that this work in Primary will open up new avenues of growth and development for you.” Well, it had done more than that! It was the most humbling, frustrating assignment I had ever had.
I slept little that night, and was irritable with my children the next day. I finally told my worries to my husband. He listened sympathetically and offered a very practical solution: that I should notify the parents about the behavior problem and send report cards home with the students each week. At first I didn’t want to do it because of pride. I didn’t mind the school class atmosphere as much as I did admitting my failure to others. I was desperate though; but as I made copies of some “class behavior” cards and tactfully talked to each mother, I realized that this would not be enough.
The unusualness of the reporting system did diminish in about a month, but during this “be quiet or else” period I had a chance to present my lessons, bear my testimony, plan a class party, and organize a service project for a widow. One of the previously noisy boys in the class told his neighbor: “Quit bothering me. Mother gives me a treat if I bring home a good report card.”
The weeks continued, some better than others, but none as disastrous as the first two. I found that constant variety—games, contests, films, and puppet stories in class, visits out of class, and frequent personal letters mailed to the students’ homes—all helped. By mid-year they had learned to respect me; and more important, I had learned to love them.

Reese: “I’ve had trials in my life, but they all just started going away as this celebration started kicking it up. They all straightened out, and I found the strength to get rid of them.”

“I am now a complete man. I have an eternal family!” exclaimed Brother Vincent Quashigah. “There are no words to explain the joy that I feel,” added Sister Esinam Quashigah. It was Aug. 25, 2022, and they had just exited the temple, where the two of them had been endowed and sealed with their children as an eternal family.
Brother Quashigah joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on June 15, 2021, with Sister Quashigah and their four oldest children joining him in baptism two months later. They then patiently waited the required 12 months of church membership until they could travel to the Accra Ghana Temple for their temple work and sealing. However, they did not stand idly by during that time. Shortly after his baptism, Brother Quashigah was called as the first counselor in the elders quorum presidency. Three months later, he was called as the Aflao Branch president. Sister Quashigah served as a counselor in the Young Women’s presidency.
Now, after a beautiful experience in the temple, President Quashigah was grateful that he could finally testify to his branch members of the amazing blessings of temple ordinances and covenants.

Julie and Karen looked at the old clock and compared it with the other clocks on the wall. It looked about the same with its glass windows and ornately painted face, but it seemed to Julie that there was something special about this clock.
“Where did you get this one?” Karen asked.
“The Thompsons found it in the attic of the old house they just bought, and gave the clock to Mother. Isn’t it pretty?”
Karen looked at the old, old clock and reluctantly nodded her head. “I guess so,” she said.
“Someday I’m going to collect clocks too,” Julie explained.
Karen stepped a little closer. “I’d rather have something newer,” she said, still puzzled over Julie’s excitement.
“But just imagine the life this old clock must have had. It must be one hundred years old!”
Karen still couldn’t see why Julie was so excited. “It’s just an old clock,” she said.
“Oh, but listen to the music of the constant ticktock!”
“It’s just an old clock,” Karen repeated.
“Here,” Julie said, determined to make Karen see her point, “now listen to its beautiful chime.”
Carefully she opened the door and pulled the lever to sound the chimes. “Bong, bong, bong, thud!”
“Oh, no!” Julie cried. “What’s wrong?”
“Look!” Karen pointed to a paper caught in the bars.
Julie pulled the paper out and quickly unfolded it. The paper was old and greasy from the clock works. Mehn sind im kutschen haus was written there.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Karen said after trying to read it.
“Mother,” Julie called. “Look what we found in this clock.”
Mother took the paper. “This is written in German.”
“German? Do you think Dad could read it?” Julie asked.
“Well, he used to speak German.”
Julie waited impatiently for her father to come home.
“Dad,” she called, running out the door when his car pulled into the driveway, “can you translate this for me?”
“What is it?” her father asked as he took the paper.
“I found it in the clock Mother got from the Thompsons.”
“German, hmmmmm …” Father looked surprised. “It’s been a long time since I’ve used my German. Come in the house and I’ll see what I can do.”
Julie followed him into the house. “I just know it’s something exciting,” she said.
“Maybe it’s just a shopping list,” Father teased with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, Dad,” Julie sighed. “It’s more than that. Someone had to put that paper in the clock for a special reason.”
“Well, let’s see.” Father sat down at the kitchen table and smoothed out the paper. “Hmmmm, this is interesting.”
“What does it say?” Julie could hardly stand still.
“It says, ‘More are in the carriage house.’”
“More what?” Julie asked.
“Maybe more clocks. That’s all it says.”
“It doesn’t say what carriage house either?” Julie asked hopefully.
“No,” he answered. “Not even a clue.”
“More are in the carriage house!” Julie repeated. “It really is a mystery!”
All night Julie wondered about the strange message, and by morning she had an idea. Hurriedly she dressed, ate her breakfast, and did her chores; then she went to Karen’s house.
“Come on!” she shouted when Karen answered the door. “We have a mystery to solve today!” Quickly she tumbled out the words to explain.
Karen was soon ready and they both were off to the Thompsons. They knocked on the huge wooden door and impatiently waited for someone to answer. Finally Mrs. Thompson opened the door.
Julie pulled the paper from her pocket and explained, “Yesterday we found this note in the old clock you gave Mother, and we want to ask you about it.”
Mrs. Thompson took the paper. “What does it say?”
“It’s German, and it means, ‘More are in the carriage house.’”
Mrs. Thompson explained, “We bought this house from a man named Schiller. His mother immigrated to the United States from Germany when she was only twenty. She learned to speak English, but she never could read or write it.”
Julie listened intently to what Mrs. Thompson said. “Do you think she wrote this?”
“Could be,” Mrs. Thompson agreed.
“What about a carriage house?” Julie asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Thompson began; then she stopped. “Wait, I’ll bet it’s that old building out back. Mr. Schiller said it had been damaged in a windstorm ten years ago, and no one has bothered to restore it.”
Julie and Karen jumped with excitement. “Come on!” they shouted.
Mrs. Thompson led them down a hall and out the back door to a building with only two walls standing. A little piece of roof was stretched between them.
If there were anything stored in there, it’s probably ruined now! Karen thought.
Cautiously the girls climbed through the rubble looking for a clue. They removed some of the fallen roof and pulled away the huge weeds that had grown up through the wood.
“Look!” Karen shouted.
Julie and Mrs. Thompson ran to where Karen had picked up a piece of fallen roof that revealed a trap door in the floor of the old carriage house.
“If you’ll hold that a little higher,” Julie said, “I’ll see if I can open the door.”
Mrs. Thompson helped Karen hold the piece of roof as Julie climbed under and lifted the trap door.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Here’s a huge old trunk!”
“This must be it!” Karen whispered in amazement.
Cautiously Julie lowered herself into the hole and tried to open the trunk, but it was stuck.
“Dad’s home today. I’ll go get him to help us!” she said.
In a few minutes Julie was back with her father. Mrs. Thompson and Karen had moved the piece of roofing off the door. Julie’s father jumped into the hole and began to pry open the trunk with some tools he had brought with him.
Slowly the lid began to give, and then suddenly it flipped up. Julie’s eyes opened wide as she looked at four beautiful box clocks!
“Here’s another note in German,” her father said, pulling a yellowed paper from between the clocks.
“What does it say?” Julie asked excitedly.
Slowly Father translated. “When I came to this country, I brought many things that were strange to people here. My sons wanted me to throw them out, but I loved these old clocks far too much to throw away. They were my grandmother’s and my mother’s.
“I reasoned that whoever restored my brown box clock would find my message. It would undoubtedly be someone who loves clocks and will take care of them. So to whoever learns my secret, please give these clocks loving and tender care. Frau Schiller.”
“Well,” Mrs. Thompson said, “I guess this means you, Julie.”
“But it’s your …” Julie began.
“Oh,” Mrs. Thompson interrupted, “I never liked old clocks, and Karen has told me she doesn’t either. You are the one Frau Schiller meant.”
“Oh, thank you,” Julie almost shouted. “What a wonderful mystery this has turned out to be!”

“When I was about your age, my mom had a baby,” Aunt Karen explained. “And do you know who that baby was?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Your mom.”
“Really?” Sarah said.
“It’s true,” Aunt Karen said. “Most of the time I liked being a big sister, but sometimes I felt like the baby was getting all the attention, and I didn’t like that.”

The children of the Calderón family started a great transition for their family. Jared, age 15, was the first to join the Church, followed a year later by his sister, Angie, 13. Their parents joined the Church three years after Angie’s baptism.
At first this family from Costa Rica had no idea how much the gospel of Jesus Christ would change their lives. They were introduced to the Church by a family member in 2002, and for many months afterward the Calderóns regularly invited the missionaries to their home so they could learn more. As they did so, the family experienced a transformation—a true conversion.
Before the family joined the Church, the Calderóns were concerned that Jared and Angie were having a hard time getting a moral and spiritual education in a world that downplays religion.
The gospel, the Calderóns found, had answers to the problems they were facing. “When we came to understand the gospel and started applying its teachings, that knowledge changed the way we lived,” says Brother Calderón. “We learned who we are and how we can return to our Heavenly Father. Because of what we found, we have lived a richer spiritual life.”
It wasn’t always easy to accept readily what they were learning from the missionaries, but as they tested gospel principles, they gained a testimony of them. “As we learned about gospel standards,” says Sister Calderón, “we tried to stay within the boundaries of worthiness. I gave up drinking coffee. (And I drank plenty of coffee before then!) We made goals as a family to not swear, to speak kindly to each other, and to keep other good principles.
“The main sacrifice we made was our pride,” she continues. “We had to learn to be humble, but as we’ve tried to learn and live with humility, we’ve received many blessings and experienced great progress as individuals, as a couple, and as a family.”
Jared Calderón was the first of his family to join the Church; he was baptized in June 2003. Angie followed in July 2004. Their parents were baptized in April 2007. And finally, shortly after the youngest member of the Calderón family, James, turned eight in 2007, he was baptized.

“Dad was the bishop during the war years. He was very involved in community affairs, being a member of several community boards, and even running for mayor. I can remember Dad coming home one time during the war and saying, ‘Guess what I have? Some real butter!’ That was a big thing for us. Getting a new pair of shoes or a new pair of pants was a big thing too. We never felt that we were poor, though. We always seemed to have enough.

Matthew said goodnight to his mom and dad and started up the stairs. But before he closed the door to his room, he heard his father say, “I’m sure tired. It’s been a long day.”
Why does Dad always think it’s been such a long day? wondered Matthew. There just weren’t enough daylight hours to do all that he wanted. Darkness, quickly followed by bedtime, always came too soon.
The next morning his father greeted him at the breakfast table. “Son, how would you like to go with me on a business trip? You could ask your friend Jimmy to take your paper route for a week.”
A week, Matthew thought. He’d occasionally gone with his father before, but usually only for a day or two at the most. A whole week!
His father continued, “I have a convention in Helsinki, Finland. You could stay with your Uncle Jussi and Aunt Helvi.”
“You mean I’d get to see Matti?” asked Matthew excitedly. He and his Finnish cousin were both named after their great-uncle Matias. Both boys were almost twelve now, and had been writing to each other for several years.
After hours of anticipation, the flight to Helsinki seemed short to Matthew. Then, picking up their suitcases, the two of them were whisked to their hotel in a taxi.
Later Matthew was looking out the hotel window and watching the trolley cars below when his dad said, “You’d better get to bed, son. You have to leave early in the morning.”
Tomorrow Matthew would go by plane to Oulu, flying northward half the length of Finland. He would stay with his cousin Matti, while his father remained in Helsinki for meetings.
The hotel room was flooded with light when Matthew awoke the next morning. He shook his father. “Hey, Dad. Wake up. It’s late!”
His father rolled over and looked at his watch. “It’s only three-thirty, Matt. The plane doesn’t leave until eight. Go back to sleep,” he suggested and shut his eyes again.
But Matthew was awake now and too excited to sleep. He quietly walked over to the window and looked down at the sleeping city. The sun was shining brightly on the street below.
It’s strange to have the sun shining when it’s only a few hours after midnight, he thought.
Later that morning the fifty-five-minute plane ride took Matthew over the industrial section north of Helsinki. Dairy farms and grainfields broke up the blue and green pattern of the lakes and forests below. He’d never seen so many small lakes. He remembered something he had read about this pleasantly strange land: “Silvery lakes—55,000 of them—embroidering a carpeted forest and strung together with short … rivers make Finland a labyrinthine land.”
Uncle Jussi and Aunt Helvi greeted him warmly. He and Matti shook hands shyly but were soon laughing and talking together excitedly.
“I think you speak English better than I do,” said Matthew.
“We start learning it when we are seven and first enter school,” replied Matti. “Our school radio broadcasts lessons into our classrooms,” he added.
Matti showed his American cousin around their home. They stepped into a storage shed next to the house where several pairs of ice skates hung from the wall and skis were stored above the rafters.
“The countryside looks flat. Where do you ski?” asked Matthew. “I haven’t seen any mountains.”
“We don’t need mountains or steep slopes. We ski cross-country,” replied Matti. “Nearly everyone has a pair of skis. Those small ones belong to my sisters Tuula and Liisa.”
Back in the kitchen, Matti said, “Aiti (Mother), I’m going to take Matthew down to the harbor to see the fishing boats.”
“You’d better eat something first,” she suggested. “I’m sure Matthew must be hungry.” She placed a plate of sliced rye bread on the table along with some cheese and milk.
Matthew had never seen such dark bread before. “This is really good,” he said as he finished one slice and then reached for another.
The boys left for the harbor, but Matthew returned for a sweater. He wasn’t used to such cool summer weather. “I keep forgetting we’re so far north,” he told his cousin as he pulled on the sweater. “Say, I haven’t seen any reindeer yet.”
Matti replied, “Oh, most of them are farther north in Lapland. Many people think Finland is nothing but Laplanders and reindeer. But I’ll show you lots of other things about our country. Come on. Let’s go.”
Matthew was tired by suppertime—too tired to eat all of the potatoes, meatballs, and raspberry pudding placed before him. He yawned. “Doesn’t it ever get dark here?” he asked. “The sun seems as bright as ever.”
“The days are the longest of the year now,” said Matti. “The sun shines for over twenty hours. It won’t get dark until about midnight.”
At nine-thirty, with several hours of daylight left, Matthew excused himself and headed for bed. “It’s been a long day,” he said, yawning, “and I’ve some catching up to do!”

Sometimes, however, boats aren’t necessary. In one village on the island, for example, Sammyo L., Vanessa W., Desleen L., Carleen M., Emtalyn W., and Jemi A. simply walk to the meetinghouse, where Emtalyn’s mother, Tasiana, teaches seminary. One topic that comes up often in class is the temple.

Tasiana, Emtalyn, and their family of 12 are preparing to go to the temple to be sealed. Because their assigned temple is more than 2,100 miles (3,380 km) away in the Philippines and transportation is expensive, going there has been a lifelong goal. As they talk in seminary about their dream that’s about to come true, the other students reflect on how they’ve made it their own goal to be sealed in the house of the Lord someday.

I remember an occasion when I was hospitalized for an illness, and it was difficult for me to sleep. When I turned off the lights and the room became dark, I saw a reflective sign on the ceiling in front of me that said, “Call, don’t fall.” To my surprise, the next day I observed the same message repeated in several parts of the room.
Why was that message so important? When I asked the nurse about it, she said, “It is to prevent a blow that might increase the pain you already have.”

Even though I didn’t have a father as I grew up, I never felt deprived or cheated. My mother, Stella Harris Oaks, didn’t feel sorry for herself, so my brother and sister and I didn’t feel sorry for ourselves, either. One year at Thanksgiving, there was a knock on our door. A ward member handed my mother a basket of food “for the widows in the ward.” I didn’t even know what a widow was, so I had to ask Mother for an explanation!

Then Twain describes, with an eye single to humor, his visit to Brigham Young, a man who was “quiet, kindly, easy-mannered, dignified, [and] self-possessed,” who had “a gentle craft in his eye that probably belonged there.” Twain says he kept trying to draw out President Young on government, politics, and Congress, but the President ignored him, and Twain “subsided into an indignant silence.” At the end of the interview, claims Twain, Brigham “put his hand on [Twain’s] head, beamed down on [him] in an admiring way and said to [Twain’s] brother: ‘Ah—your child, I presume? Boy or girl?’” An excellent rejoinder—even if it isn’t true.

When enemies of the Church saw this increase in temple activity, they renewed their efforts to drive the Mormons away. They obtained a warrant for the arrest of Brigham Young and eight other Apostles. On 23 December, officials went to the temple to arrest Brigham Young. Knowing they were coming, Brigham asked the Lord for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.”

Soon afterward he noticed William Miller in the hall. He proposed a plan to Brother Miller, who fortunately was about the same height as President Young. Brother Miller put on President Young’s cloak and left the temple in his carriage. The waiting marshals thought he was Brigham Young and arrested him. He was taken to Carthage and held until someone who knew Brigham told them they had the wrong man. In the meantime, Brigham Young and the others had gone safely into hiding.