Gospel Story Finder

A few years following her husband’s untimely death, the mission president of Japan felt inspired to encourage the Japanese members to work toward attending the temple. The mission president was an American veteran of the Battle of Okinawa, in which the Okinawan sister and her family had suffered so much. Nonetheless, the humble sister said of him: “He was then one of our hated enemies, but now he was here with the gospel of love and peace. This, to me, was a miracle.”
Upon hearing the mission president’s message, the widowed sister desired to be sealed to her family in the temple someday. However, it was impossible for her, due to financial constraints and language barriers.
Then several innovative solutions emerged. The cost could be reduced by half if members in Japan chartered an entire plane to fly to Hawaii in the offseason. Members also recorded and sold vinyl records entitled Japanese Saints Sing. Some members even sold homes. Others quit their jobs to make the trip.
The other challenge for members was that the temple presentation was not available in Japanese. Church leaders called a Japanese brother to travel to the Hawaiian temple to translate the endowment ceremony. He was the first Japanese convert after the war, having been taught and baptized by faithful American soldiers.
When the endowed Japanese members living in Hawaii first heard the translation, they wept. One member recorded: “We’ve been to the temple many, many times. We’ve heard the ceremonies in English. [But] we have never felt the spirit of … temple work as we feel it now [hearing it] in our own native tongue.”
Later that same year, 161 adults and children embarked from Tokyo to make their way to the Hawaii Temple. One Japanese brother reflected on the journey: “As I looked out of the airplane and saw Pearl Harbor, and remembered what our country had done to these people on December 7, 1941, I feared in my heart. Will they accept us? But to my surprise they showed greater love and kindness than I had ever seen in my life.”
Upon the Japanese Saints’ arrival, the Hawaiian members welcomed them with countless strands of flower leis while exchanging hugs and kisses on the cheeks, a custom foreign to Japanese culture. After spending 10 transformative days in Hawaii, the Japanese Saints bid their farewells to the melody of “Aloha Oe” sung by the Hawaiian Saints.
The second temple trip organized for Japanese members included the widowed Okinawan sister. She made the 10,000-mile (16,000-km) journey thanks to a generous gift from missionaries who had served in her branch and had eaten many meals at her table. While in the temple, she shed tears of joy as she acted as a proxy for her mother’s baptism and was sealed to her deceased husband.
Temple excursions from Japan to Hawaii continued regularly until the Tokyo Japan Temple was dedicated in 1980, becoming the 18th temple in operation. In November of this year, the 186th temple will be dedicated in Okinawa, Japan. It is located not far from the cave in central Okinawa where this woman and her family sheltered.
Though I never met this wonderful sister from Okinawa, her legacy lives on through her faithful posterity, many of whom I know and love.

I often reflect on the wonderful mothers I have had in my life, especially when Mother’s Day gets close. Although many sons could say many good things about their mothers, I briefly offer my own experiences and circumstances—they may be a little different. I publicly declare my enormous appreciation for mothers, despite having experienced much motherly absence in my own life. I am also conscious that Heavenly Father was most likely involved in the positive aspects of my short account. He certainly was in later years when I was blessed by being baptised at the age of 33, along with my wife, Jenny.
My natural mother, Irene, was unknown to me; she died from a serious infection in 1946 caused by inadequately clean medical instruments. I was 8 months old at the time, so the key consequence for me was the loss of that physical bond so essential to an infant in their early years. I was the fourth child, so very fortunately there were older siblings who had some memories of Irene; and even more fortunate was the connection I made with Shirley, the dear lifetime friend of my oldest sibling, Gwen, who fondly recalled her memories of my mother.
Shirley would often visit our home in Hayes, within a stone’s throw of her own home. She always remembered the very kind lady that was my mother. This connection with Shirley was made when I was in my fifties, and fortunately well before Gwen passed away in her late 70s — this long-distance friendship between Shirley in England and Gwen in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, was crucial to me in becoming better acquainted with my early departed mother.
Following Irene’s death, my father, Joe, had to decide on his children’s care. My two oldest siblings (Gwen and Peter) were placed into an orphanage called Spurgeons, located in Reigate, Surrey (now the headquarters of the Surrey Fire Service). My immediately older sister, Sue, was taken in by Grandmother Ada, Irene’s mother. In my case, my father made an unusual arrangement by letting a young married couple, the Tappins, move into our house and become my foster parents. They cared for me while my father went to work in Nigeria for the next six years. (In later years I tried to find the Tappins, unfortunately without success.)
Then in 1950, my three siblings were shipped out to what was then, Southern Rhodesia under the Fairbridge scheme, set up to provide opportunities in the British colonies for fruitful lives for orphaned British children.
In my case, I escaped shipment by coming under the care of my stepmother, Hilda, in 1949, who moved into our house in Hayes with my half-brother John, when the Tappins moved away. Hilda was a marvellous lady and loved me as her own; she was in fact a good friend of Irene’s sister Molly. Hilda, John, and I, then spent 1951 and 1952 with Joe in Nigeria.
Among many very good deeds, Hilda was largely responsible for gathering the whole of Joe’s offspring as a family. In late 1952, Joe, Hilda, John, and I went to Southern Rhodesia, and siblings Gwen, Peter and Sue were taken out of the Fairbridge home, located near Bulawayo in the south, to join the rest of us now located in what was Salisbury, the capital. We were all together in the one home for a precious two years. Then, due to concerns about space in our three-bedroomed Rhodesia-Railways-provided house, Gwen left to live in a special establishment set up to house young single women.
Those years in colonial Rhodesia were wonderful, especially for John and me. As youngsters we lived a largely outdoor life, often running around barefoot and getting up to mischief, but mostly creatively (building platforms in trees; forming rowing boats from corrugated metal sheets — usually used for roofing purposes; fabricating catapults from carefully chosen branches of trees and rubber strips from old car-tyre inner tubes, and bows that we used to shoot arrows made from dried elephant grass with pins in their heads and chicken feathers as fletching). Hilda was always around to attend to our injuries, and provide as best she could for us, including repairing clothing.
Most significantly, Irene was a devoted Christian, of the Anglican order. She gave time to keeping the local church building clean and tidy. It was she who was responsible for bringing a knowledge of Christ into my life and helping me to prepare for confirmation in the Anglican faith when I was twelve (I also had to be baptised just before, as there was no record of this having been done when I was an infant). I remember many of those times.
But, tragically within a year, Hilda died from a bloodborne disease, probably arising from an insect bite, but never confirmed. So, the wonderful architect of our recovered life was taken away from the family that she had gathered, loved, and cared for during the 1950s.
Life thereafter was very much based on the children taking up various responsibilities, the greatest burden falling on Sue (Gwen married a year later in 1959). Gwen nevertheless became a confidant during my growing teenage years. My formal attachment to the Anglican faith quickly faded, my father being a declared atheist. However, I often wonder whether, in some way or another, the spirit of Hilda, in her post-mortal state, was influencing events when I became a member of the Church in 1979 (I do like to think so).
Now, onto my third ‘mother’, in fact my mother-in-law, Christine. Jenny’s parents Christine and Bill were a wonderful kindly couple — what examples they were to Jenny and me as we started our own family (eventually including six children). There came a time after some house moves during our early years of our marriage, that Jenny’s parents relocated a few miles away from our home in Tunbridge Wells. Christine was an ever-present support to Jenny in those days, and she was always very welcome to our home. I mostly remember the happy banter she and I would have. When she passed away in 2000, in her mid 80s, it took me years to come to terms with her absence; one always seems more appreciative of loss in later years. To say I had a soft spot for Christine would understate it. She was my adopted mother, whether she knew it or not. I remember, once so shocked and agitated by Jenny’s and my joining the Church, Christine in subsequent years became a staunch defender, while remaining wedded to her Anglican faith. Close to her death she occasionally expressed doubts, but I tried to reassure her that her faith in Christ was not misplaced.
Finally, I must add my love for my wife of 55 years — what a mother she has been to our children, someone who has been ever ready to serve them, and her grandchildren, as well as her slothful husband, without question or reservation. What a treasure!
What treasures are all our mothers.

Perhaps less visible than the Prophet’s father, but equally important in shaping and influencing his life, was his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. She gave birth to 11 children and endured faithfully as all but 4 preceded her in death. During her life, she watched six of her immediate family and one grandson die as a result of ruthless mob violence and persecution.

Early in her marriage, Lucy prepared herself to raise a prophet. On one occasion she became seriously ill, and the doctors said she would die. Lucy records that she “made a solemn covenant with God that if He would let me live I would endeavor to serve him according to the best of my abilities.” After a voice assured her that she would live, she told her mother, “The Lord will let me live, if I am faithful to the promise which I made to him, to be a comfort to my mother, my husband, and my children.”3

She gave continual encouragement, support, and strength to her son, Joseph the Prophet. His mother was the first person with whom young Joseph shared some of his momentous experiences of the Sacred Grove. Years later, he shared with her the joy and relief he felt when the Lord allowed others to view the sacred plates of gold.4

The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.

Like great parents of all ages, Lucy turned to prayer for divine help to sustain her family. During the march from Ohio to Missouri known as Zion’s Camp, Joseph and Hyrum were seriously ill with cholera, and their lives were almost taken. At one point, “Hyrum sprang to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Joseph, we shall return to our families. I have had an open vision, in which I saw mother kneeling under an apple tree; and she is even now asking God, in tears, to spare our lives. … The Spirit testifies, that her prayers … will be answered.’”5

Lucy’s sons Joseph and Hyrum ultimately sealed their testimonies with their blood. As the grieving mother looked upon their lifeless remains, she cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!” As a kind blessing to a faithful mother, the Lord softened her grief and granted to her the peace that only God can bestow. A voice spoke to her soul: “I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest.”6

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”

After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

Another young woman in the class recognized that her choices in clothing were affecting the way her little sister was dressing. A line in For the Strength of Youth states: “Your dress and grooming send messages about you to others and influence the way you and others act.” She decided to make some changes in her clothing, realizing that she had a responsibility to be a good example to her little sister. She drove her stake down more deeply and influenced her sister’s clothing choices.

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.

As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.

As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.

When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

Elder Patanía compared this tragedy to the Lord’s admonition when He said, “Ye [have] not strengthened, … [or] brought again that which was driven away, … [or] sought that which was lost; … and I will require my flock at [your] hand.”

Elder Patanía explained that, while we must be organized in our councils, quorums, auxiliaries, and even as individuals, we must not delay going to the rescue. Sometimes many weeks pass as we talk about how to help families or individuals who are in special need. We deliberate about who will visit them and the approach to take. Meanwhile, our lost brothers and sisters continue needing and sometimes even calling and pleading for help. We must not delay.

A few years ago, after attending the temple for the first time, a sister wrote:
“What a glorious blessing to be inside that house! My eyes, ears, and heart opened wide to absorb its teachings. I felt the reality of each covenant I made within every fiber and bone of my body. I felt I was standing right in front of the Lord each time I made covenants with him. The influence of the Lord was so great that I had no desire to leave the temple after the session was over. It became real to me then that I was surely in the world but not of it.”
Four weeks later, she went through the temple on behalf of her mother and wrote:
“This was another glorious experience. I felt my mother’s presence as I went through the endowment session, and when the marriage sealing was performed for my parents, I literally felt their presence at the altar. The influence of the Holy Spirit in the room was so strong that I broke down in tears while being sealed to my parents. I truly experienced a reunion with them. Ever since that day I have felt their presence so close that it doesn’t seem real that they are gone.”

I was one of only four Spanish-speaking missionaries in the New England Mission. We worked hard to learn the language and share the gospel, but we met mostly with rejection.
One day we knocked on the door of Hugo and Niza Diaz, a couple in Providence, Rhode Island. After they invited us into their apartment, I asked how long they had lived there.
“We just moved here from New York,” they said. “The Lord told us to move to Providence and He would send us messengers to teach us the truth. Are you the messengers?”
We responded assuredly, “Yes, we are the messengers.” We taught Hugo and Niza about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and they readily accepted our message and were soon baptized.

Our leaders have demonstrated that one can enjoy both faith and humor. It was said of President Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) that he prayed and conversed with God “as one man talketh with another” (Abr. 3:11). However, “on one occasion, while offering up an earnest appeal in behalf of certain of his fellow creatures, he startled the kneeling circle by bursting into a loud laugh in the very midst of his prayer. Quickly regaining his composure and solemn address, he remarked, apologetically: ‘Lord, it makes me laugh to pray about some people.’”5 This sense of humor was not lost on his grandson, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985).

Another man who had a great sense of humor and enthusiasm was Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. One day a stake president came to my office to see me. On the way out, he stopped to see Elder Richards, who would be coming to his stake in a week or two. He asked, “Brother Richards, how are you?” That great Apostle said: “Well, President, I will tell you. My body, the house I live in, is getting old and creaky.” Then he added, with all 95 years of his life testifying, “But the real LeGrand Richards is on fire.”

A good sense of humor will help us hone our talents. One of the talents that needs to be greatly magnified is sensitivity to others, and this involves reaching out and touching another heart. By learning not to be afraid ourselves, we are able to stir up kindred feelings for others. Under the cultivation of the Holy Ghost, our talents become greatly magnified.

Balance in large measure is knowing the things that can be changed, putting them in proper perspective, and recognizing the things that will not change. And balance also lies in attitude. May our attitude be one of achieving balance and wisdom and understanding in all that we do.

Maintaining a righteous balance in our lives is important for personal well-being.

When we make the right choices, it is much easier to yield “to the enticings of the Holy Spirit” (Mosiah 3:19), which will help us stay balanced.

In large measure, balance is knowing the things that can be changed and putting in proper perspective the things that will not change.

It is easier to ride the bumps of life if we cultivate a sense of humor and learn to laugh at ourselves.

Balance lies in our attitudes, which can be shaped by our righteous desires and by prayers to Heavenly Father.

Spencer Goble didn’t know what he was getting into when he started his Eagle Scout project.

“I decided to get pictures of all the bishops my ward has ever had and then put their pictures in nice frames to be put in the meetinghouse. I didn’t know my ward dated back to the earliest Utah settlement.”

To complete his task, Spencer had to dig into Utah history and rely on help from people in his hometown of Bountiful, Utah. Help came from many willing sources in the form of books, pictures, and money.

The result of Spencer’s efforts is now on display in the church building of the Bountiful First Ward, where Spencer is a teacher. After 92 hours of hard work and more than a little stress, pictures of bishops dating back to 1849 are on display for everyone to enjoy.

“My testimony has really been strengthened through this project,” says Spencer. “I think about how hard it would have been to be a bishop in the ‘wilderness’ when the Church was only 19 years old. It took strong men. But bishops today have to be strong men too.”

As I entered the chapel, I quickly realized that no one was wearing a T-shirt and cargo pants like I was. When my soon-to-be-missionary friend had invited me to hear him speak, I assumed he was talking about a party or an open house, not a sacrament service. The meeting I was observing was unlike any church meeting I’d ever attended, and I had attended quite a few.
A trip to Israel when I was 14 had sparked my interest in religion. Over the next few years, I visited many different churches and heard a variety of pastors and teachers express their views. As passionately as they spoke, I still felt like there were some basic answers I was not hearing, including who Jesus Christ really is.
After high school graduation, I worked with a young man who was a recently returned missionary. One day we began talking about religion, and I was amazed by how much he knew about the Savior. “Where did you learn all that?” I asked. A few days later, he presented me with a copy of Jesus the Christ by Elder James E. Talmage of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Not long after that, he changed jobs and I didn’t see him again.
I was almost finished reading the book when I heard that an LDS friend of mine was going on a mission. I called him and told him what I was reading. He was the one who had invited me to church on that Sunday when I showed up in a T-shirt.
So, there I was at the meeting, feeling out of place in my casual clothing. As I looked around, I noticed families sitting together. I had not seen many children in other churches. I also noticed that everyone, not just the choir, sang the hymns. Young men passed the sacrament. Regular members spoke instead of a pastor. I liked what I saw.
I began to feel a greater desire than ever to learn about Jesus. I enjoyed my friend’s talk and his excitement about serving as a missionary. Later I told my friend how jealous I was of him because he was going to be a missionary like Paul in the New Testament. I told him how much I would like to do something like that.
He said, “I have a book that will help you prepare, and I want you to have my copy.” It was a book by another Apostle in the Church called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder.
I studied that book along with the Bible. Through this study, I got answers to many questions, as well as a desire to pray. Based on what I’d read about Joseph Smith (see Joseph Smith—History 1:5–19), I felt sure that God would also answer my prayer.
I knelt by my bedside and called out to God with all my heart and soul. I told Him that I was seeking the truth, and then I waited for my heavenly messenger. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. Finally, I simply asked God if the things I was reading and studying were true.
After my prayer, I began thinking of all I had learned. While reading the two books my LDS friends had given me, I had discovered answers. That felt good. Ever since I went to Israel, I’d wanted to know more about Jesus. Now I did. That felt good, too. Suddenly I realized God was answering my prayer. He loved me enough to send friends and books to tell me about the Restoration of the gospel, and I felt good. How would I feel if the Lord had literally told me the same thing? I would feel the same way. That was my answer.
Full of excitement, I wanted to call my friend, but he was on his mission, so I called his mom instead. I awkwardly explained that I had read the book her son had given me and that I would like to find out how I could join their Church. She was silent for a long time, and then she started to cry. Through her joyful tears she told me how to contact the missionaries.
A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home. Four months later my twin was still asking questions. I told him that I was happy to talk to him about it but that ultimately he would have to ask God for himself. A few weeks later he came to me and said: “I asked, and now I know the Book of Mormon is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. How do I get in touch with the missionaries?”
Imagine my joy a month later when I had the opportunity of baptizing my twin brother. We both served missions; I was called to Chile and my brother to Mexico. Like Paul of old, we are trying to give back a little of what we received.

Vaha’i knelt by his bed to say his prayers. It was his first night at boarding school, and he shared a room with lots of other boys. None of them were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, like he was.
Dear Heavenly Father … Vaha’i started to pray in his heart. But it wasn’t easy. The other boys were talking and laughing loudly.
“Hey, look!” one of his roommates, Akau, shouted. “He’s praying!”
Vaha’i shifted uncomfortably. He knew Akau was making fun of him. But he pretended not to hear him. He just kept praying.
Now that Vaha’i was away at school, he was determined to do just that. So he kept praying. Even when the other boys made fun of him.
One night when Vaha’i knelt down, he heard something different.
“Hey, be quiet! Vaha’i is praying,” someone said.
Vaha’i finished his prayer and opened his eyes.
Akau was sitting on his bed. “It’s really important to you, isn’t it?”
Vaha’i nodded. “Yes, it is.”
After that, the other boys were quiet whenever Vaha’i prayed. Soon Akau started kneeling with him. Other boys joined too. Eventually, all the boys in the room knelt to pray with Vaha’i each night.
Vaha’i felt happy. He had never had family prayer at home. But now he could have family prayer with his schoolmates!
One day Vaha’i had an idea. A big Church meeting was coming up. He could invite his friends!
After prayer, Vaha’i told everyone about the meeting. “It’s called district conference,” he said. “People come to learn about Jesus. You can all come, if you want!”
Since they would have to leave the school to go to the meeting, each of the boys had to sign a paper to get permission. Vaha’i was amazed when he saw the paper. There were 77 names on the list!
Vaha’i’s heart felt warm as he sat with rows of his classmates and listened to the talks at the conference. Akau and some of the others must have felt warm inside too. By the end of the conference, seven of them wanted to be baptized!
That night after prayer with his friends, Vaha’i said a prayer of his own. Thank you for blessing me with good friends, he told Heavenly Father. And for helping me be a good example.

“I want to be a missionary now. I don’t want to wait until I’m grown. …”* Andrew Gibson understands the meaning of this Primary song—in fact, he lives it! Andrew, a nine-year-old who lives just outside of Erie, Pennsylvania, is an outgoing boy who likes to share the gospel with people he meets. Right now he is the only member of the Church in his school, so he has many missionary opportunities. He says, “I talk about the Church with my friends. If you tell people about the gospel, or invite your friends to church, you’re being a missionary.”
Andrew is preparing now to serve a mission when he is older. “I am trying to obey the commandments,” he says. “And I’m also trying to save money.” He knows that setting and working toward goals is important. In addition to serving a mission, he wants to attend college and earn a Ph.D. For now, he is working on some short-term goals. In the past year, he has learned the multiplication tables, and he is still working to improve his handwriting.
Andrew faces challenges in life, like a life-threatening peanut allergy. He has to be very careful to not eat any peanuts. “The hard part is that you have to read the labels for everything you eat,” he says. “I can’t eat things like birthday cake at parties, just to be safe. My mom brings another treat for me.” He has to carry medicine with him at all times in case he accidentally eats peanuts. But the challenge has helped to strengthen his faith. “Every year before school starts I receive a priesthood blessing, and we pray that I will be safe. I feel like the priesthood blessings have protected me.”
Andrew knows that being a good example is one of the best ways to be a missionary to others. He tries to be an example to his dad, who is not a member of the Church. Andrew and his dad have a lot of fun playing sports and spending time together. Dad, who is also Andrew’s den leader, is helping Andrew work toward his Bear badge in Scouting. One of Andrew’s favorite Scouting activities was going fishing in a parking lot! First the leaders made a “fishing hole” out of boxes and duct tape, then they taught the boys how to cast fishing poles with bait into the “hole.”
Andrew likes to spend time with his entire family, including his mom and his sisters Rachel and Sarah. The family enjoys outdoor activities like swimming. They also like traveling. One place they like to visit is Presque Isle State Park, located on a nearby peninsula that juts out into Lake Erie. The family likes to rollerblade and bike on the paths that wind along the beaches there.
Living in Pennsylvania puts Andrew’s family close to many of the Church history sites. A few years ago, the family visited the Palmyra New York Temple. While there, the family also visited the Sacred Grove. Andrew says, “I remember walking around and looking at the trees. I wondered where Joseph was praying when he saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” His family has also visited the Nauvoo area where he saw Carthage Jail and learned about how the Prophet Joseph was martyred. “It was sad,” he says softly.
Andrew’s testimony has grown in many ways. He says, “I know the Church is true, and that the Book of Mormon is true.” How does he know? “Our family reads the Book of Mormon together every night. I prayed about the Book of Mormon, and I got a happy feeling.” With this strong foundation, Andrew is working hard to be a good missionary now to prepare to serve a mission when he is older.

Sewing a quilt in my high school sewing class proved to be harder than I’d thought. For one thing, my thread kept getting jammed in my sewing machine, but that problem was easy enough to fix. The harder problem was the swear words. Three young women in my class were working together at the next machine over, and they’d been swearing loudly the entire class period.
The idea of asking them to stop swearing intimidated me. But I’d been taught by my parents and Church leaders that people will often respond well to our invitations to do good as long as we are kind. So I took a deep breath and asked the three young women as nicely as I knew how if they could stop swearing.
Unfortunately, they didn’t take it well. The tallest one gave me a rude answer, and before I knew it, we were arguing. Eventually I gave up and went back to my sewing. Now I was frustrated with the swear words, the three young women, and myself. The last thing I’d wanted to do was start an argument.
As I brooded over my mistake, I heard the three young women swearing again and saw them bent over their machine. I could tell that their machine was jammed the same way mine had been a few minutes earlier. I walked over to their machine and quickly showed them how to fix the problem.
I could feel their eyes on me as I went back to my seat. A moment later, the tallest young woman said, “Hey, sorry about the things we said earlier. Thanks for helping us with our machine.”
“No problem,” I said with a smile. My parents and leaders are right—kindness really works!

At that time, our town had only one barbershop, and it had a shoeshine stand in it. When I was 10 and 11, I reigned supreme as the best shoe shiner in town. Some Saturday nights, I got as much as 50 cents for shining a pair of shoes, although most of the time I received a quarter. I was elated with the feelings I experienced in earning my own money for spending and saving.
One lesson I learned from that barber in the town of Moro, Oregon, I have never forgotten. I came in late one day, and I started making up an excuse for my lateness. He got my attention and said, “Look, I’ve been in the army, and I’ve heard every possible excuse. Just tell me the truth, and we’ll get along fine.”
That counsel has stuck with me ever since. Every time I start to make an excuse for a mistake, I remember that nothing is gained with the excuse process. As a result, one of my mottoes is “Don’t make excuses. Either do the job or don’t do the job. When appropriate, express sorrow for not doing the job—but don’t make excuses.”

It took about two weeks to regain the strength I needed to leave the hospital, and another seven months passed before my first treatment on an artificial kidney machine. But it was time well spent, for I had decided to really find out what the gospel of Jesus Christ was all about.

My first project was to read the Book of Mormon. For hours at a time I studied that tremendous book of scripture, gaining a testimony of its truthfulness and a love for the book itself. Now life took on new meaning, as if a light had been turned on and I could see and understand as never before. I was uplifted, enlightened, instructed, and spiritually quickened. Today I look back on this period as perhaps the most significant period of my mortal life.

Why me? Why now? I had just gotten back from competing in a major horse show held in California and was at the height of my hunter-jumper equestrian riding abilities. I was busy with school, piano lessons, and Beehives. I was doing everything I had been taught to do, and I thought that my life was about as perfect as life can ever get. Then it changed.
I was now in a hospital bed, too sick to even open my eyes. I had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My illness came just four years after my mom died from a similar cancer. I was on heavy chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer, and the doctors were saying that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for two and a half years to make sure that all the cancer was gone. I couldn’t understand why me and why now.
I soon learned that being diagnosed with cancer was not the only challenge I would face. One of the drugs used to treat leukemia is a steroid given at extremely high doses. It is very effective at killing the leukemia cells, but there is a small risk that it can result in avascular necrosis (a condition in which bones die near the joints), particularly in teenage girls. My doctors thought that, at 12 years old, I was too young for that to happen. However, within one month of my starting chemotherapy, the steroids ended up destroying most of my major joints and parts of my spine. I was living in constant pain. Four months after I was diagnosed with leukemia, I had my first hip surgery to begin trying to repair the damage done by the steroids and to lessen the pain. The surgery did not go as well as I had hoped, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that I would probably never ride a horse again. All of a sudden, the future I had planned was gone.
I was a good student, and I really enjoyed school. Now I couldn’t go to school or even out in public because the chemotherapy had destroyed my immune system. Instead, I stayed home with my stepmother. At this point I thought things were pretty bad, but they got worse.
Six months after my hip surgery, I had to have another hip surgery because the first one hadn’t worked. I was in a wheelchair because it hurt too much to walk. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to ride horses again, and now I was worried if I would even be able to walk again. Living life sick, in constant pain, and confined to a wheelchair didn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.
I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.
Note: Elizabeth is in remission and recently passed her third anniversary of being off chemotherapy. Her joints are healing, and she is no longer in a wheelchair. While there is still a risk for a relapse, Elizabeth doesn’t think about it. Instead, as a freshman in college, she is focused on studying for tests and practicing the oboe and English horn.

October is a month to play tricks, but the youth of the Surrey Second Ward, Surrey British Columbia Stake, decided to give treats to a local hospital instead.
Dressed in their Halloween costumes, the youth delivered uncut jack-o’-lanterns that they had decorated with paints, marking pens, and hats (cut jack-o’-lanterns don’t last as long) to the nurses’ stations at a nearby medical center.
Making Halloween sweet instead of scary for the patients wasn’t just a great way for the youth to give service; they say it was also a lot of fun.

Not long ago I was pulling weeds in my garden and overheard my six-year-old son use a crude word he had learned on the school playground. In the past I have threatened, scolded, and lectured when I have heard such words slip from my children, but that day I had a new idea.
I called my son over to talk with me. I asked him if he had ever heard Daddy say words like that. He shook his head no. I told my son that many people use inappropriate language, but Daddy sets an example for our family by never using those words. Even at his work, where such language is common, most people have learned that Daddy doesn’t like foul language, and they use only polite words around him.
Together, my young son and I came up with a new family strategy. We call it the “Daddy test.” If there is any question about the propriety of a word, we just think about whether Daddy would use the word, and then we act accordingly.
Since that day in the garden, we have employed the Daddy test frequently in our home. It is now a rare occasion to hear an inappropriate word slip out. How grateful I am for a husband who sets the standard for the Daddy test!

When my friend and I were caught stealing, we both knew what big trouble we were in. I also knew that what I had tried to take was worth practically nothing, but I had still broken one of the Ten Commandments. Nobody could know how ashamed and sorry I was. I had the longest prayer with my Heavenly Father that I have ever had. When I went to see my bishop, I picked up the February 1996 copy of the New Era with the Mormonad about repentance. The funny thing is that of all the times I have looked through the magazine, I never noticed the Mormonad until then. When I saw it I just cried. This whole experience has taught me the true importance of repentance.
Name WithheldCalifornia

But Paul was born with something Phillip didn’t share—a disease called cerebral palsy. Although Phillip soon grew to be healthy, Paul had problems controlling his leg muscles. His brain would send too many signals to his legs, so the legs didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t sit up or walk. He had to have lots of physical therapy.
Then when Paul was five years old, a therapist recommended a new kind of surgery. Fewer than 100 people in the country had ever had such an operation, but doctors said chances were good it would help.
The operation was long. Surgeons cut nerves in Paul’s back and in one leg to reduce the nerve signals to his legs. After the surgery, the recovery was slow and painful, with six more months of therapy. “It was hard for Phillip to watch Paul struggle,” their father says. “They asked to be together, so sometimes we would let Phillip spend the night where Paul was recovering. He just wanted to be with his brother.”
Today the brothers are still together—and still sharing. Paul drags his foot a little, but he walks! That allows him to pass the football back and forth with Phillip. He can also hold the ball while Phillip kicks. They work on Cub Scout pins and badges, and go to their Primary class on Sundays. They earned their Faith in God Awards together. And they practice their trumpets while their older sister Avery, 12, plays clarinet and their younger sister Kaylene, 10, holds the music. All of the children love soccer, and Paul was asked to be the manager for Phillip’s team at school. All of the brothers and sisters read and study together and talk about their school assignments. And all of them play with Avery’s pet hedgehog, Pooka, which she shares with the entire family.