Gospel Story Finder

For three and one-half years after the First Vision, Joseph Smith continued the routine of life as a New York farm worker. At times, he later explained, he associated with jovial company and allowed his youthful exuberance to express itself with levity. Though not guilty of any act except the mischievousness which his native cheery temperament led him into, he began to feel that he had not acted consistent with the solemn counsel received in the vision.

With that concern uppermost in his mind, Joseph Smith, now seventeen, retired to his room, on September 21, 1823, and began to pray. Suddenly the room filled with light and he was visited by a heavenly messenger. The messenger who proclaimed himself to be an angel of God introduced himself as Moroni, the last record keeper of the Nephites, a people who had lived on the American continent fourteen hundred years earlier. Moroni’s message stirred Joseph to a realization of his mission, for he was told that in a nearby hill were buried sacred plates containing a record of the ancient inhabitants of the Americas and of the Savior’s teachings among them. Moroni repeated the message in two additional visits that night and again the following morning. Joseph was instructed to visit the Hill Cumorah each year to receive instructions to prepare him for his mission. Finally, on September 22, 1827, he was entrusted with the plates.

Becki Jackson’s dream had come true. She had been chosen for one of the starring roles in her high school’s musical production—something she had hoped for since she was a little girl.
With the stress of auditions behind her, Becki looked forward to learning her part. She took the musical score home. But as she looked through the manuscript, she was uncomfortable with many of the songs that seemed to have suggestive lyrics and double meanings. And her role was the worst!
This was her senior year—the first year the high school had put on a musical production in a long time. Her one-time opportunity to perform could be spoiled.
Becki and her family, who live in Fisherville, Ontario, Canada, and attend the Simcoe Branch, had been members of the Church for two years. Becki’s standards had always been high, but she was more determined than ever to uphold them now that she was a member of the Church and the only Latter-day Saint in her school.
When she went to her first rehearsal for the play, “I told my teacher-director that I wouldn’t sing those songs,” she says. “He tried to convince me that the lyrics were only supposed to be funny. They didn’t want to lose me as a lead, he said, but if I felt that strongly they would give me different songs to sing.” And different songs she did get!
At the next rehearsal, Becki was assigned to the chorus. No explanation was given. Another girl was assigned Becki’s lead role and was asked to sing the songs.
However, Becki’s classmates were so supportive of her stand that the teachers finally modified the songs by completely removing the verses that Becki had refused to sing.
Becki’s father, Kel Jackson, says, “I knew the strength of Becki’s testimony when I asked her if she was going to continue in the musical or drop out. She answered, ‘I have waited a long time for this, and I have worked hard. They may have taken away my part, but they did remove the bad words, and I am going to be in this production.’ Through weeks of rehearsal, she never again mentioned the situation or complained in any way.”
When asked if she was bitter toward her teachers for their actions, Becki answers, “I didn’t like their attitude about the songs, but they were nice people, and they were working hard to make this a production the school could be proud of.”
On opening night, Becki showed great delight in participating in her limited role, which included a one-line solo. “Many people questioned why she had not played a larger part,” comments her father. “It was then that I fully understood that she had played a larger part than any role in the play. She had set aside personal desires to act in a manner pleasing to her Father in Heaven. Becki’s example is a reminder that sacrifice for gospel principles will always lead to a starring role.”

Originally from Fiji, Reena Naidu’s family moved to Sydney, Australia, when she was young.
She discovered her gift for art in high school when an assignment required her to submit a self-portrait. “At about the same time, I read a Church talk about developing our talents and I felt inspired to develop my artistic skills,” Reena says.
She followed that inspiration to the National Art School in Dalinghurst, Sydney, where she earned a master’s in fine arts. Today she is a manager for an art supplies company where she helps others select the right materials for their art projects.
For her own work, Reena prefers ink, watercolour and acrylic paints.
“My subject matter includes, but is not limited to, landscapes, seascapes, portraits and more. I also have a strong desire to create works that are inspired by my faith and look forward to creating more religious and spiritual art.”
Her selected work is called “The Sacred Grove.” It is based on a photo given to her by a missionary couple who had visited the Sacred Grove in New York. Reena began work on this piece in 2020 while watching a general conference talk about young Joseph Smith’s experiences there.
“As I listened, I got lost in the moment and I was drawn into the photo . . . I felt the Holy Spirit guiding my hand.”
For Reena, the grove is a reminder that God loves and hears His children. “The Restoration of the gospel, beginning with the appearance of Deity in that wood, provides a way for all of humanity to receive God’s blessings.”

A spy? Seven-year-old Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes. She traced her finger over Mosiah 9:1 again, just to make sure. “I, Zeniff, having been taught in all the language of the Nephites, and having had a knowledge of the land of Nephi, or of the land of our fathers’ first inheritance, and having been sent as a spy among the Lamanites …” A spy! There it was. Amanda closed her Book of Mormon. She knew she should have been listening to Brother Anderson’s talk during sacrament meeting, but she couldn’t help but giggle in surprise. She knew lots of Book of Mormon stories, but she never knew there was one with a spy in it.
She sank down in the pew and peeked at the page again. Zeniff the Spy. It sounded mysterious. And important.
I could be a spy! she thought excitedly. She knew all about spies. Spies noticed everything. Spies used secret codes. Spies wrote down important information with special pens.
Amanda knew some secret codes. And she had a special pen—well, a very special pencil. She rummaged through her scripture-carrying bag and pulled out the yellow pencil she’d earned in Sister Wooster’s class for perfect attendance.
Then, from her coat pocket, she pulled out her little purple notepad. It had pages and pages of straight lines just waiting to be filled with important information.
Amanda the Spy! she thought. It sounds mysterious and important!
The closing song and prayer captured her attention. She loved to sing the hymns, and she always wanted to mean it when she added her own “Amen.”
Normally Amanda would have hurried straight to Primary. This time she peered over the back of the bench and watched.
Brian Fisher tripped on his shoelaces. Three babies were crying. And … and … something small and gray was under the last bench.
It was an envelope. A heavy envelope that jingled.
It sounds like money, she thought. She peeked inside. It was money! Five dollars and twenty-five cents!
Amanda hugged it to her chest and spun around on her heel. Wow! she thought. I could buy a doll. Or a new book. Or tons of gummy bears! She pulled out her notepad and pencil and wrote, “Found $5.25.”
Then she wondered, It’s all right to keep it, isn’t it? After all, it isn’t that much money. If she’d found a million dollars, that would be different. But this was just a little over five dollars. Whoever had lost it probably wouldn’t even miss it.
Amanda gave the envelope a quick kiss—then gasped. The letters seemed to jump right off the paper: “Bishop Johansen, Creek Ward.”
It was a tithing envelope!
She plopped down on the bench, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t fair! She had already planned what she was going to buy.
It was hers! Wasn’t it?
She looked at her notepad. What would Zeniff do? she asked herself. Spies were supposed to be experts at staying out of trouble. Amanda thought she knew what he would do.
She glanced around. Brother Campbell was just leaving the chapel. He was a member of the bishopric.
Stuffing her notepad into her pocket and dashing toward the double doors, she called to him, “Brother Campbell, I found this envelope here in the chapel.”
Brother Campbell shook Amanda’s hand. “Thank you, Sister Pratt,” he said with a wink. “I’ll make sure that the bishop gets it.”
Turning toward the Primary room, she thought, Amanda the Spy knows how to stay out of trouble, too! She got out her notepad and wrote, “Turned money over to Brother Campbell.”
“Oh, no!”
Amanda looked up to see the bucket in Sister Kelly’s hand bounce onto the floor, spilling crayons over the carpet like colorful fireworks.
“What next?” Sister Kelly despaired as she hoisted her crying baby onto her hip and desperately grabbed at pictures slipping from her fingers.
Without even thinking, Amanda dashed down the hall toward her CTR teacher. “Don’t worry, Sister Kelly,” she said as she started to pick up crayons and drop them into the bucket. “I’ll help.”
“I can help, too,” said her friend Melanie, who’d been with her mom in the library.
Amanda and Melanie quickly refilled the bucket.
“Thanks so much,” Sister Kelly told them with a grateful smile. “Everything’s been going wrong today.”
“No problem,” they said together.
“Come on, girls,” Sister Kelly whispered, glancing towards the Primary door. “We’d better hurry.”
Amanda and Melanie slipped quietly into Primary and sat with their class. Amanda quickly wrote, “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” in her notepad.
“Sister Kelly,” the Primary President said, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts, “Randy could not come today. Would someone else in your class like to give the scripture and prayer?”
Sister Kelly glanced at the four children in her row.
Amanda did, too. She knew Jared wouldn’t do it. He was too shy. And she knew Wayne wouldn’t do it—he never volunteered for anything. That left Melanie and her. But Melanie was holding Sister Kelly’s baby.
“I’ll do it,” Amanda volunteered. She walked quietly to the podium. When she sat down again, she wrote in her notepad, “Said opening prayer for Primary,” and drew a smiling face.
“What’s that?” Melanie asked as they walked to class.
“It’s my spy book. I’m writing down important information.”
“Oh. I thought maybe it was a CTR book or something.”
Amanda read all the things she’d written. “Found $5.25,” “Turned money over to Brother Campbell,” “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” and “Said opening prayer for Primary.” It was like a CTR book. The entries showed that she had “Chosen The Right.”
She wrote “CTR” in large letters on the cover of her notepad. It’s like a secret code, too, she thought happily. Amanda the CTR Spy! Being this kind of spy really is wonderful and important.

In the summer when Spencer was five, his father gave to him and Alice [Spencer’s sister] a patch of planted potatoes. When Spencer had dug them with a garden fork and Alice had cleaned them, Spencer put on clean overalls, Alice a dress, and off they went with a box of potatoes in Spencer’s red wagon. The potatoes sold, Spencer and Alice returned home jubilant. Andrew [their father] listened to them count their money, then said: “That’s capital! Now what will you do with the money?” The children answered: ice cream, candy, Christmas presents. Andrew gently said: “… The Lord has been kind to us. We planted and cultivated and harvested, but the earth is the Lord’s. He sent the moisture and the sunshine. One-tenth we always give back to the Lord for His part.”

“Pa made no requirement.” Spencer remembered, “He merely explained it so convincingly that we felt it an honor and privilege to pay tithing.” (Page 32.)

I have seen it in my travels across the world. In a city of more than 10 million people, I spoke to the Latter-day Saints gathered by the thousands in conference. It was held in a large sports arena.
Before the meeting began, I noticed a handsome young man sitting on the front row. He was surrounded by others who, like him, were better dressed than most of those around them. I asked the General Authority of the Church near me who the men were. He whispered that it was the mayor of the city and his staff.
As I walked to my car after the meeting, I was surprised to see the mayor waiting to greet me, flanked by his staff. He stepped forward, extended his hand to me, and said, “I thank you for coming to our city and to our country. We are grateful for what you do to build up your people. With such people and such families, we could create the harmony and the prosperity we want for our people.”
I saw in that moment that he was one of the honest in heart placed by God in power among His children. We are a tiny minority among the citizens of that great city and nation. The mayor knew little of our doctrine and few of our people. Yet God had sent him the message that Latter-day Saints, under covenant to trust God and His authorized servants, would become a light to his people.

On May 1, 2016, the Dakar Branch was organized with Jacques Niambé as president. Under his leadership and with the help of Elder Gary and Sister Helen Parke, the branch grew steadily. In February 2018, eight members of the branch traveled to Accra, Ghana, to attend the temple. In April, less than two years after the Dakar Branch was organized, it was divided, and Alphonse Samadé was called as president of the newly organized Parcelles Branch. Just weeks later, during a visit to Dakar, Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles marveled at the potential he saw in the branches in Senegal. “The little branch I attended [in Brazil as a boy] became three stakes,” Elder Soares said after his visit. “I can see a similar future in Senegal.”

When I was a boy, at Christmastime my mother put out a picture of the Savior knocking at a door. We weren’t members of the Church yet, and I always asked myself, “Why is Jesus knocking on the door? Who is on the other side?”
A few years later I discovered there was no handle on the outside of the door the Savior was knocking on. The person on the inside needed to open the door. Now I know who is on the other side of the door. We are! The Savior is knocking, and we all have to open the door and invite Him to come into our lives.

When I was a young mother with my first baby, my husband was still in college. We both worked part time to make ends meet.
Looking forward to a day off work, I had planned to watch an old movie on television. This was before DVDs or streaming services.
The movie would begin at the perfect time—10:00 a.m.—when our son would be napping. It starred Cary Grant, one of my favorite American movie stars.
The night before my anticipated day off, the ward Relief Society president called. A sister in our ward had suffered a mild stroke and needed care the next day until her son returned from work.
“I would do this myself, but I have company,” the Relief Society president said. She explained that she had no one else to ask and offered to watch our son while I cared for the sister. I reluctantly agreed.
The next morning, I dropped off our son and went to visit the sister. Her name was Louise, and I felt a sudden rush of affection for her. She was old enough to be my grandmother, who had recently died.
I helped Louise dress and then prepared her breakfast. She eased into a chair and turned on the television. Soon it was 10:00 a.m. As she flipped through the channels with the remote, she said, “This television has nothing to offer.”
I hesitated and then said, “There’s a Cary Grant movie on channel 11.”
“Really?” she asked. “I love Cary Grant!”
We watched the movie and thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterward, she shared things about her life when she was my age. She told me about her son, and I told her about mine. She talked about the Church and how she missed it.
When her son returned, I promised to return. I told the Relief Society president to call me first if Louise ever needed anyone.
Sometime during the next two weeks, Louise suffered another stroke and passed away before I had a chance to see her again. We had shared only nine hours and a movie, but she became a dear friend. I think of her often.
I am thankful I didn’t lose the chance to help a sister who needed me—and whom I needed, though I didn’t realize it.

Recently I interviewed an exceptionally stalwart priesthood holder for a temple recommend. I asked him if he sustained his bishop, his stake president, and the president of the Church. Of course his reply to each question was sincere, humble, and strongly affirmative. Then I asked him if he sustained his wife in her calling. He paused to think about it for a minute before answering that he did.
Then he added, “President, this has been very hard for me. In the past I was the one who held important, executive positions in the Church, but now our roles are reversed. My wife is an auxiliary president; the phone calls are all for her, she goes to the leadership meetings, she is in the forefront of action. I’m the one now who stays home to take care of the children often while she’s doing Church work. I’m doing my best to support her, but this is a new experience.”
We counseled together about the eternal importance of husbands and wives working together as a team, sustaining and supporting each other in all aspects of their lives, and then concluded the interview.

You may know that I am the mother of seven sons. I know boys! It has been an exciting life at our house! I’ve learned a lot from them and from their friends, both boys and girls, and I could tell you a few of their secrets. Maybe I could just share one and hope that I won’t get in trouble. This is it: boys hate to be embarrassed. I remember the time a young man I know had a date for the prom. He brought her to our house before the dance so we could take pictures. When they got there he came into the kitchen, where I was looking for the camera, and said: “Wait until you see my date’s dress. She looks so beautiful!” This boy had never said anything like that before so I could hardly wait to see what he meant.
When I saw her I understood; she was lovely. The dress she was wearing was beautiful; I learned that she and her mother had searched everywhere for it. When they finally found this dress, they knew it would be perfect with some added fabric and finishing touches to meet their high standards.
All their efforts were rewarded because she was absolutely radiant this night, but it was more than the dress that made her shine. It was her quiet confidence. As I looked at her, I was reminded of the scripture, “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong.” Where did this confidence that she had come from? I noticed that this young woman could focus on others because she was not worried about how she looked. She had taken care of that detail weeks before. The young man she was with felt comfortable and safe and happy when he was with her because her dress was not revealing. It was modest in every way, and this made her confident and happy. And that’s appealing. He wasn’t embarrassed by her; he was proud of her.

The day after he received the plates, Joseph went to work repairing a well in a nearby town to raise money for a lockbox. That same morning, while on an errand just over the hill from the Smith home, Joseph Sr. overheard a group of men plotting to steal the gold plates. “We will have the plates,” one of them said, “in spite of Joe Smith or all the devils in hell.”
Alarmed, Joseph Sr. returned home and told Emma. She said she did not know where the plates were, but she was sure Joseph had protected them.
“Yes,” Joseph Sr. replied, “but remember that for a small thing Esau lost his blessing and birthright. It may be so with Joseph.”28
To be sure the plates were secure, Emma mounted a horse and rode for more than an hour to the farm where Joseph was working. She found him by the well, caked in dirt and sweat from the day’s work. Hearing of the danger, Joseph looked into the Urim and Thummim and saw that the plates were safe.
Back home, Joseph Sr. paced back and forth outside the house, glancing every minute down the road until he saw Joseph and Emma.
“Father,” Joseph said as they rode up, “all is perfectly safe—there is no cause of alarm.”29
But it was time to act.
Hurrying to the hill, Joseph found the log where the plates were hidden and carefully wrapped them in a shirt.30 He then ducked into the woods and headed for home, his eyes alert to danger. The forest concealed him from people on the main road, but it gave thieves plenty of places to hide.
Straining under the weight of the record, Joseph tramped through the woods as fast as he could. A fallen tree blocked the path ahead of him, and as he bounded over it, he felt something hard strike him from behind. Turning around, he saw a man coming at him, wielding a gun like a club.
Clutching the plates tightly with one arm, Joseph knocked the man to the ground and scrambled deeper into the thicket. He ran for about half a mile when another man sprang from behind a tree and struck him with the butt of his gun. Joseph fought the man off and darted away, desperate to be out of the woods. But before he could get very far a third man attacked, landing a heavy blow that sent him reeling. Gathering his strength, Joseph hit the man hard and ran for home.31
Back at the house, Joseph burst through the door with his heavy bundle tucked beneath one arm. “Father,” he cried, “I have got the plates.”
His 14-year-old sister, Katharine, helped him set the bundle on a table as the rest of the family gathered around him. Joseph could tell that his father and younger brother William wanted to unwrap the plates, but he stopped them.
“Can we not see them?” Joseph Sr. asked.
“No,” Joseph said. “I was disobedient the first time, but I intend to be faithful this time.”
He told them they could feel the plates through the cloth, and his brother William picked up the bundle. It was heavier than stone, and William could tell that it had leaves that moved like the pages of a book.32 Joseph also sent his youngest brother, Don Carlos, to get a lockbox from Hyrum, who lived down the road with his wife, Jerusha, and their newborn daughter.
Joseph borrowed a lockbox like this from his brother Hyrum to store the Book of Mormon plates.
Photograph by Jed Clark
Hyrum arrived soon after, and once the plates were securely in the box, Joseph collapsed onto a nearby bed and started telling his family about the men in the woods.
As he spoke, he realized his hand ached. Sometime during the attacks he had dislocated a thumb.
“I must stop talking, Father,” he said suddenly, “and get you to put my thumb back in place.”33

An experienced goal-setter and achiever, Becky is well-qualified to give advice. Before her wedding she was able to share her ideas, and show the results of her labors at a trousseau luncheon given by her visiting teachers and the wife of one of the members of the bishopric.
All the Young Women in Becky’s ward, as well as many other friends, were invited to attend the open house luncheon held at Sister Catherine Hogan’s home. As the guests arrived, windblown and flushed from the chill winter weather, Becky greeted them with punch and a variety of finger sandwiches. Downstairs were several display tables, accompanied by note cards that contained appropriate scriptures, thoughts, and notes of explanation.
The items in her trousseau reflected careful planning and selection as well as her love for her family and desire to keep her heritage alive. On one display was draped a blanket made from the wool of her grandfather’s sheep; on another chair was a baby afghan crocheted by her 90-year-old uncle. Becky is an accomplished seamstress, does embroidery work, and also crochets.
Another display contained her piano books, yearbooks, seminary and high school graduation certificates, hand-painted figurines, and scrapbooks—all mementos of activities and hobbies that have been meaningful in her life. Looking at them, and then observing the quilts hanging further down, the home-canned fruits and vegetables at the end of the room (which she likes to give as wedding gifts), and the sewing machine off to the side, it was apparent that Becky had prepared well for her future. And preparing well meant planning well. Some of the goals Becky set and achieved were (1) to learn to play the piano well, (2) to graduate from seminary, (3) to own a sewing machine and learn to sew most of her own clothing, (4) to have a nice set of dishes on which to serve her friends and later her family, and (5) to continue her education at the University of Utah. Perhaps one of the most valuable challenges she accepted was to enjoy the time of preparing, using as her motto something taught to her by her mother: “I want to grow, learn, and develop that I may give so much more.”

First is a story about my son, Michael, who did something wrong when he was six or seven years old. He’s my only son. I want him to be better than his dad was even as a boy, and so I expect a great deal of him. So I sent him to his bedroom with the instructions, “Don’t come out until I come and get you.”

And then I forgot. Some hours later, as I was watching television, I heard his door open and tentative footsteps come down the hall. I said, “Oh, no,” and ran to the hall to see him standing there with swollen eyes and tears on his cheeks. He looked up at me—he wasn’t quite sure he should have come out—and said, “Dad, can’t we ever be friends again?” Of course, I hugged him and expressed my love for him. He’s my boy, and I love him, despite anything he may have done.

Although my husband and I came from families with religious and moral principles, we were not satisfied with the way our own family of five was progressing spiritually. I attended the same church we had been reared in, accompanied by our three children—Beverly, Janice, and Ralph. My husband, Raúl, didn’t go to church because he thought that all churches were businesses. He thought they were highly commercialized and that many of the leaders profited from the members’ donations. He also believed religious literature should not be purchased but should be given to people who are interested in it.
In February 1986 my husband chanced to see two Latter-day Saint missionaries walk by our house, and he called them over. His intent was to ask them if the church they represented was interested in buying a lot to build a meetinghouse on. My husband is in the real estate business, so he saw this meeting as a sales opportunity.
The missionaries were not able to give him any information on that matter, but they didn’t miss this chance to ask him if they could set up an appointment for a discussion about the restored gospel. My husband was certain this was just another church like all the others he had come in contact with before, so he asked them to come back the next day. He intended to show them that their church just used God to do business.
We received the missionaries the next day with a bit of suspicion. But as they proceeded to talk to us about the Church and its history, we began to feel something very special in our hearts. When they left they gave us copies of the Book of Mormon, and my husband asked how much he owed for them. To his surprise, the books were free. His surprise was even greater when he realized that this Church was not a business. He became interested and started asking the missionaries all kind of questions.
We went to church every Sunday after that, and by 15 July 1987 our whole family had become converted. We were baptized and later were sealed for eternity as a family in the temple. Our son, Ralph, served as a full-time missionary and later married in the temple. Our two daughters have married returned missionaries in the temple, and we now have nine beautiful and healthy grandchildren.
My husband and I have served in many callings in the Church and have continued to grow spiritually and to help the gospel grow in our branch, located in the southern part of our beautiful isle of enchantment, Puerto Rico. My husband has presided over the Salinas Branch twice. The work has been hard, but we know that our example as a branch has left many seeds scattered over our little town.
What more could we ask of our Heavenly Father? Our gratitude is eternal. What started as a simple sales conversation and an effort to prove the Church was a business came to be the greatest possible celestial transaction for our family—the opportunity to be united with each other, with our Savior Jesus Christ, and with our Heavenly Father.

I had been thinking about your genealogy for several weeks, and I felt that I should go to the address of your great-grandfather’s home to check the area.
After two hours on the high-speed train, I bussed to the city of Chi Kan, a place I had never been before. I fell asleep, and at the final stop the driver woke me up. I got off, looked around, and saw I was in a fishing village. I asked a young shop owner across the street for directions. He called a taxi for me and directed the driver to a place where an old man lived. When I arrived and asked that man where I could find the town’s genealogy record, he told me to walk a few blocks to a temple by the seashore.
At the temple, I saw a group of men having tea and chatting. They said that they were just starting an annual meeting of the Liu Shi family genealogy to prepare for a big conference in October. I explained that I was there to find family names for my friend.
“Usually no one is at this temple,” they said. “The door is locked except for the two to three hours when we hold the annual meeting. You are very lucky to meet us here.”
When I told the men I was looking for the name Liu Bei, they told me they had been collecting the Liu family genealogy for years and didn’t recall that name. One of the men kindly offered his genealogy records for me to take a look. They continued their meeting while I searched the records. After about 10–15 minutes, I shouted, “I found it!”
Shocked, they stopped talking and grabbed the book. I showed them the name, and they told me that it came from the family line of Mr. Liu Qiu Shan, who was attending their meeting that day. I purchased a copy of the genealogy book, which contained records going back 26 generations and 2,460 years of ancestors’ names on extended family lines.
Mr. Liu Qiu Shan later gave me a ride to the train station. He told me if I had come an hour earlier or the next day, I wouldn’t have found anyone or anything there. He said, “This place is always locked. It must be the ancestors’ blessing. It is truly a miracle.”

Now it’s a few days after the grubbing—Saturday morning to be exact—and the Young Women of the ward are under London Bridge. They could be in the middle of an old English village, except that every gabled house is full of tourists buying trinkets. It’s the kind of place where there are no shops but plenty of shoppes. In the cool shadows of the water under an arch of the bridge, panhandler carp rise for handouts. Along the river quay there are paddleboats and canoes and aqua jets and motorboats for rent. For a half dollar a man will stamp a likeness of London Bridge on your penny. Art and clothing and curios are for sale. You can get snow cones and hamburgers and hot dogs and pretzels and nachos and pizzas, and just about anything else your heartburn desires. Houseboats and speedboats nose up to the docks. Swallows dart in and out under the bridge. The bridge itself is beautiful, arching away across the channel in great gray sweeps, solid as merry old England. It refuses to look out of place anywhere, even here where its out of placeness is beyond doubt.
But the girls have not come to sightsee. They’ve come to help a friend wash a bus. And this isn’t just any old bus. It’s an authentic London doubledecker, living out its latest incarnation as a fast-food stand. It belongs to a member of the Church, and washing it can be quite a chore for one person. So the girls have decided to help, especially since they plan on having some fun afterward. They do the work, and they do it well. They get each other wet, and they do that well too.
Meanwhile, the deacons and teachers are down the quay digging out grass from between cracks in the cement. It’s their way of helping to beautify their city’s most famous landmark.
When both jobs are finished, the whole group, joined by the priests, tries out the pedal boats. In and out under the bridge from sunshine to shadow to sunshine again they go, their orange life jackets shining in the spray of their pedaling like some frozen citrus treat.
But this is all just an appetizer for the beach party in the afternoon. They meet at State Beach on the island. There, amid palm trees, they play frisbee and volleyball and football and toss-the-leader-in-the-water. Jeff and Shaun and John even team up to recreate the original “Mormon connection” pass. Once again, the football slips through Shaun’s fingers. But just as before, there is a friend handy to back him up. John takes the pass and turns upfield.
He jukes a palm tree, sidesteps a picnic table, and outruns a garbage can. Sand spraying behind him, he sprints, free and strong, toward an unseen goal line.

I was recently looking through some back issues of the New Era, and in the March 1985 issue I found an article about Bruce Drennan that was of great interest to me. You see, I once knew him when I lived in California. I was only six when we moved there, and so my memories of him are somewhat limited, but they are crystal clear.
I don’t remember many people from our Ukiah Ward, but Bruce stands out in my mind the most. He loved kids, and we loved him. I guess it was because he always treated everyone like they were someone special. On Sundays he was always there, telling jokes and smiling his special smile. It was always fun to see Bruce, because he would say hi and make you feel welcome and loved. My sister always had a crush on him and followed him everywhere. He didn’t really seem to mind, and called her his girlfriend. It was something to see a young man and a four-year-old together. The four-year-old would be trying to teach him to do “itsy bitsy spider” without getting his fingers tangled up.
Three years later we moved to Utah. My last memory of Bruce was after he had come to BYU. A group of kids from our ward came to dinner. I was practicing the piano, and he listened for a while. Then he started to sing along with my playing. He didn’t notice the mistakes, but just kept singing. When we were done, he said, “You play the piano very well, Jennifer” and gave me a hug. That was the last time I saw him alive, and it is the best memory of him that I have.
Your article was very well done. I’m sure I speak for anyone who was touched by this young man when I say that the article captured him well. Thank you for bringing back some wonderful memories.
Jennifer HillPayson, Utah

I was 16 when I took my first typing class. It was 1963 and I was a sophomore at Samoana High School in Pagopago, American Samoa. I had dreamed of one day becoming a stenographer for the courts, so I was excited to learn how to use the Underwood model typewriters in my new class.
You had to have strong fingers to push down the keys of the Underwood. Learning to type without looking at my hands was tough, and when my fingers slipped and got caught between the type levers—ouch! But typing was fun, and I continued to take it throughout high school. I had no idea back then just how well my typing skills would serve me for the rest of my life.

While visiting the country of Sierra Leone in West Africa, I participated in a meeting conducted by a stake Primary leader. Mariama led with such love, grace, and confidence that it was easy to assume she had long been a member of the Church. Mariama, however, was a fairly recent convert.
Her younger sister joined the Church and invited Mariama to attend a Church class with her. Mariama was deeply impressed by the message. The lesson was on the law of chastity. She asked to have the missionaries teach her more and soon received a testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. She was baptized in 2014, and her daughter was baptized last month. Imagine, the two fundamental teachings that led to Mariama’s conversion were the law of chastity and the Prophet Joseph Smith, two points the world often sees as irrelevant, outdated, or inconvenient. But Mariama testified that she was like a moth attracted to the light. She said, “When I found the gospel, I found myself.” She discovered her worth through divine principles. Her value as a daughter of God was revealed to her through the Holy Ghost.