Gospel Story Finder

Two acclaimed British composers whose recent composition reached Classic FM’s top five selections have been commissioned to write the finale for the highly anticipated ‘Lamb of God’ concert at Manchester’s renowned Bridgewater Hall. The collaboration brings together Sam Petchey, from the Staines Stake, a distinguished military musician whose service included performing at Buckingham Palace, and Abby Twigger, from the Aberdeen Stake, a talented composer and vocalist, whose combined artistic vision will culminate in a powerful new piece titled ‘Awake My Soul’ for the 100-person choir and full orchestra.
The composers’ previous work, ‘The Lamb’, garnered national recognition when it was selected as one of five winners in the Making Music Classic FM carol competition and aired on Classic FM in December 2023. The carol also reached the semi-final of the UK Songwriting Contest and was shortlisted in the Sir David Willcocks Carol Composer Competition, demonstrating the duo’s exceptional musical talent.
Their collaboration came about after Abby started writing music again, following the birth of their fifth child, when she heard about Sam’s professional musical experience from a fellow member in his ward. Sam helped Abby record the songs she had written and they worked together on other compositions, even from opposite ends of the United Kingdom. They have since released a full CD of original Christmas songs, which has also been printed as sheet music for others to use.
In 2024 they were commissioned to arrange ‘The Lamb’ again – this time for a big charity fundraiser, featuring NHS Grampian Hospitals’ Choir, a string orchestra and brass quintet, for performance on 15th December at Music Hall Aberdeen. That same month the solo voice and piano recording of the carol was included on UCB 2, United Christian Broadcaster’s playlist and was played throughout the month.
"For me, music is a fast track to the spirit," shares Sister Twigger, whose background includes music studies at Brigham Young University and performances at Magdalene College, University of Cambridge. Abby is married to Ben, they have 5 children, and she is currently serving as stake Young Women president in the Aberdeen Stake. Her collaboration with Brother Petchey, who brings extensive experience from the Royal Corps of Army Music and the Royal Northern College of Music, has already produced numerous successful sacred works, including a cantata celebrating women of faith. Sam is married to Vicky, they have 4 children and he loves writing sacred music.
The performances of ‘Lamb of God’ at Bridgewater Hall, Manchester showcased their newest composition alongside other sacred music, continuing their commitment to creating uplifting, spiritually enriching musical experiences for audiences across the United Kingdom.

Julia Mavimbela’s life suddenly changed in 1955 when her husband, John, was killed in an automobile accident. Evidence at the scene suggested that the other person involved, a white man, had veered into John’s lane. Yet that man was not ruled at fault. Rather, white police officers said that blacks are poor drivers, so John was responsible for the crash.1

On her husband’s tombstone, Julia inscribed these words:
In loving memory of
John Phillip Corlie Mavimbela.
By his wife and relatives.
But the lump remains.
May his soul rest in peace.

Describing the fourth line, Julia said, “At the time of writing, the lump that remained was one of hatred and bitterness—for the man who caused the accident, for the policemen who lied, [and] for the court who deemed my husband responsible for the accident that took his life.”2 One of her greatest trials was to overcome this bitterness and anger.

I don’t like that George Bacon! Yesterday he dipped my braids in black ink, and today he pulled out my hair ribbon.
This evening George Bacon walked by my house, playing softly on his harmonica.
George came calling tonight. We had a lovely visit. After he left, I found his handkerchief in the corner of a chair. I wonder if he means for me to keep it.
George and I are to be married tomorrow! Mother will let me borrow her beautiful gold pin to wear.

I had often heard that home teachers may receive inspiration for the families to which they are assigned. But how real that blessing is became evident to me through an experience we had a few years ago.
The semester at the university had ended, and I was spending my summer hours at a part-time job painting homes. I was also teaching an evening class at the Institute of Religion. Our family had recently purchased a new car big enough to comfortably seat our family of seven—just the kind of automobile we had always wanted.
One evening as I was preparing to go to class, our two little daughters, then about three and five years old, came running into the house with white all over their arms. Not suspecting what they had been up to, I thought they had been playing with the flour. But suddenly I noticed that the white on their arms was dripping! In an instant I knew what had happened. I had left an unopened gallon of white oil-base paint out in the car—and a wide paintbrush conveniently next to it. Our little girls had pried open the can and painted the inside of the car. And they had been thorough! The ceiling, the floor, the seats. …
As I stood there looking at the horrible sight before me, one of my little daughters said with a smile on her face, “See Daddy, pretty car.” I picked up the two girls, trying with all my heart to control my emotions, carried them into the bathroom, and put them into the bathtub. I then called for my wife to come and help clean them up while I tried to take care of the car.
At that very moment our telephone rang. I picked up the phone and with some impatience said, “Hello.” A voice at the other end said, “Brother McIntosh, this is Brother Wilde, your home teacher. I was just sitting here wondering how you and your family were getting along.”
“Brother Wilde, you will not believe what our two little daughters have just done,” I moaned. “They have painted the inside of our new car—and I don’t even have an ounce of turpentine to clean it up with!”
My home teacher then gave a response which, to this day, is an inspiration to me: “Brother McIntosh, you may not believe this, but about a half an hour ago, I was walking through a department store. Something said to me, ‘Buy a gallon of turpentine.’ I bought it, not knowing why. It’s still sitting out in the car. I’ll be right over to help you clean up the mess.”
Within minutes, he arrived. About twenty minutes later, we had the entire mess in hand, and I was able to make it to my class on time.
As I walked in the door of the building, I looked up into the sky and said a short prayer: “Thank thee, Father, for a home teacher who cares, who thinks about my family, and who seeks inspiration about us.”

When I was 16, I didn’t get along with my twin brother at all. We fought about everything. One day he humiliated me at school with an intensely critical and personal attack in front of a group of friends. His actions and hurtful words left me devastated in a way my teenage self could not bear. Even when our parents confronted him about the incident, he never said he was sorry. For years I held onto the pain.
He was still on his mission when I received my own mission call. I was preparing to enter the temple and began to reflect on my life to find where I needed to change to feel prepared to go to the temple. I realized that even though I didn’t often think about what my brother did, I still needed to forgive him.
My brother had hurt me more than anyone else, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to forgive him. So I prayed for help from Heavenly Father.
With His help, I decided to start writing my brother regularly on his mission. Before that, I’m sorry to admit, I hardly wrote him at all. Then I sent him a package. When I left on my mission, he came with my parents to the missionary training center and gave me a hug. He even wrote me a few times.
I know that even though it may take time, with Heavenly Father’s help, we can let the past remain in the past.

The young men and women also spoke of activities they enjoy together—excursions to a nearby river, theater productions, costume parties, outings on the snowy slopes of the Sierra Nevadas, and jaunts over the mountains to sunny Mediterranean beaches. Sometimes they also visit the royal chapel of the cathedral where Ferdinand and Isabel lie in sumptuous tombs. Here also repose their daughter Juana the Crazy and her husband Felipe the Handsome. Theirs is one of the saddest and most bizarre tales in Spanish history. When Juana’s unfaithful husband died young, the grief-stricken queen became convinced that she was to be the recipient of a great miracle. If she had enough faith, her husband could be brought back to life. For three years she traveled around Spain with his coffin by her side, trying to find the holy spot where the miracle would happen. From time to time she would have the coffin opened to check Felipe’s progress, and every time the body was more hopelessly decomposed. Finally she allowed it to be buried, but hope was not yet dead in her. She shut herself up in a nearby monastery to await the wonderful event. She was later declared insane by her son Carlos V, who took the reigns of government from her and made her a permanent prisoner in the monastery. She died there many years later. Now Juana and Felipe and Ferdinand and Isabel all lie together in honored splendor under carven stone, enjoying the prerogatives of royalty to whatever extent the dead can enjoy them, while time rots their banners and tarnishes their splendid armor.

Before filming at the Mount of Beatitudes, the choir boarded two boats at Tiberias and crossed the Sea of Galilee. About halfway across the sea, which can give rise to sudden storms as it did the night Christ calmed the waters, the boats stopped, a prayer was offered, and the choir and others sang “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.”
“I really felt the Spirit when we stopped out on the Sea of Galilee,” says one choir member. “I’ve really never felt it that strongly before.”

President George Albert Smith’s mother knew the Lord’s will; he told this touching incident of being taught to pray: “I was trained at the knee of a Latter-day Saint mother. One of the first things I remember was when she took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom. In the room there were two beds, the bed in which my parents slept, and a little trundle bed over on the other side. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. When we got upstairs she sat down by my little trundle bed. She had me kneel in front of her. She folded my hands and took them in hers and taught me my first prayers. I shall never forget it. I do not want to forget it. It is one of the loveliest memories that I have in life: an angelic mother sitting down by my bedside and teaching me to pray … That prayer opened for me the window of heaven. That prayer extended to me the hand of my Father in Heaven, for she had explained to me what it all meant, as far as a little child could understand …” (Sharing the Gospel with Others (Deseret Book Co., 1950) pp. 147–48.)

Almost a decade ago, I read a letter from a returned missionary who described this process in his life. He had written to thank those who direct missionary work “for daring to send me where the Lord required rather than where I had deemed appropriate.” He had come, he said, “from a background of proud, competitive intellectualism.” Before his mission he was a student at a prestigious university in the eastern United States. Quote:
“I guess out of a sense of obligation and inertia, I filled out my [missionary] papers and sent them in, extremely careful to mark the column indicating greatest desire to serve abroad and in a foreign language. I was careful to make it apparent that I was an accomplished student of Russian and fully capable of spending two years among the Russian people. Confident that no committee could resist such qualifications, I rested confident that I would enjoy a wonderfully mind-expanding cultural adventure.”
He was shocked to receive a call to serve in a mission in the United States. He didn’t know anything about the state where he would serve, except that it was in his own country speaking English rather than abroad speaking the language he had learned, and, as he said, “The people I would work with would likely be academic incompetents.” He continued, “I almost refused to accept the call, feeling that I would be more fulfilled by enlisting in the Peace Corps or something else.”
Fortunately, this proud young man found the courage and faith to accept the call and to follow the direction and counsel of his fine mission president. Then the miracle of spiritual growth began. He described it thus:
“As I began to serve among the uneducated people of [this state], I struggled mightily for several months, but gradually the sweet workings of the Spirit began to tear down the walls of pride and disbelief that had wrapped themselves so tightly around my soul. The miracle of a conversion to Christ began. The sense of the reality of God and the eternal brotherhood of all men came more and more powerfully to my troubled mind.”
It was not easy, he admitted, but with the influence of his great mission president and with his growing love for the people he served, it was possible, and it occurred.
“My desire to love and serve these people who in the ultimate scale were at least my peers, almost definitely my superiors, waxed stronger and stronger. I learned humility for the first time in my life; I learned what it means to make our valuations of others [without relying on the] irrelevant details of life. I began to feel swelling within my heart a love of the spirits that came here to earth with me” (letter to General Authorities, Feb. 1994).

Photo illustration by David Stoker
When I was 12, the girls I thought were my four best friends decided they didn’t want to be friends with me. They began to say horrible and hateful things about me. I felt unloved, unwanted, unneeded, and worthless. I thought I would never feel happy again.
I tried and tried, but the happiness just never came. I didn’t want to do anything, and I stopped participating in school activities. After a few months of feeling like everything was falling apart, I started to hide my feelings and pretend to be happy.
I stopped praying, and I complained anytime I had to go to church or midweek activities. My former friends had constantly teased me about being a member of the Church. I told myself that if I stopped going to church and living the standards, I could get my friends back.
I tried and tried, but the happiness just never came.
But after a few months, I realized that I needed to rely more on the Savior when I was feeling hurt and lonely. Jesus Christ felt all of my pain. He died on the cross for me, and I was setting aside His sacrifice and His gospel. I started complaining less and less until, finally, Sunday was my favorite day of the week.
Even after going to church, something still didn’t feel right. I decided I needed to pray. I couldn’t remember the last time I had prayed. Before I could think twice about it, I knelt down and started to pray. I cried to Heavenly Father about everything that had happened. I apologized for forgetting Him when He was what I needed most.
After I finished my prayer, I had a very strong impression to go look at my scriptures. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just opened up to a random page and started reading. I came across Mosiah 26:31: “Ye shall also forgive one another your trespasses; … he that forgiveth not his neighbor’s trespasses when he says that he repents, the same hath brought himself under condemnation.”
After I finished my prayer, I had a very strong impression to go look at my scriptures.
I realized that my pain and unhappiness weren’t simply caused by what those girls had said or done to me. I was unhappy because I was holding a grudge against my former best friends, and I blamed myself for letting them hurt me. By not forgiving them or myself, I became my biggest bully.
I prayed that I would be able to forgive the girls who had hurt me and that I could forgive myself. Forgiving them was so hard for me, and it took a while. Forgiving them was like letting a piece of myself fall away. But after fully forgiving them, I felt that I could move on and learn from what happened to me by helping the people around me who might be struggling.
I don’t know why I let myself be sad for over a year, and I honestly have no idea why I thought being away from the Church would make me happier. Clearly, I was wrong. Even though it was still hard to feel happy and to forgive after that time, keeping an eternal perspective and focusing on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation really helped me. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were there for me the whole time I was struggling; I had just been too stubborn to turn to Them. I’m glad I eventually did.
I am grateful for what I learned from my experience. I am a stronger, more compassionate, all-around better person because of it. I have been able to help so many people through their hard times because of my own. I have a strong belief that trials really can lead to blessings when we turn to God.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

The branch president of the Kingston Branch of the Church wore his own identifying label. Gustav Wacker was from the old country. He spoke English with a thick accent. He never owned or drove a car. He plied the trade of a barber. The highlight of his day would be when he had the privilege of cutting the hair of a missionary. Never would there be a charge. Indeed, he would reach deep into his pockets and give the missionaries all of his tips for the day. If it were raining, as it often does in Kingston, President Wacker would call a taxi and send the missionaries to their apartment by taxi, while he himself, at day’s end, would lock the small shop and walk home—in the driving rain.
I first met Gustav Wacker when I noticed that his tithing paid was far in excess of that expected from his potential income. My efforts to explain that the Lord required no more than ten percent as tithing fell on attentive but unconvinced ears. He simply responded that he loved to pay all he could to the Lord. It amounted to about half his income. His dear wife felt exactly as he did. Their unique manner of tithing payment continued throughout their earning lives.
Gustav and Margarete Wacker established a home that was a heaven. They were not blessed with children but mothered and fathered their many Church visitors. A sophisticated and learned leader from Ottawa told me, “I like to visit President Wacker. I come away refreshed in spirit and determined to ever live close to the Lord.”
Did our Heavenly Father honor such abiding faith? The branch prospered. The membership outgrew the rented Slovakian Hall and moved into a modern and lovely chapel of their own. President and Sister Wacker had their prayers answered by serving a proselyting mission to their native Germany and later a temple mission to the beautiful temple in Washington, D.C. Then, just three months ago, his mission in mortality concluded, Gustav Wacker passed away peacefully while being held in the loving arms of his eternal companion. Only one label appears fitting for such an obedient and faithful servant: “Who honors God, God honors.” (See 1 Sam. 2:30.)

Except for the scriptures, I have never in my life read anything that has meant more to me than the July New Era, especially “Young Women Fireside 1980.” It truly brought tears to my eyes and strengthened my testimony of the gospel.
I am a 17-year-old girl who has been a member of the Church for just over two years. My parents are not members, and my family situation leaves a lot to be desired. During the past year I have spent time in the hospital because I was going to kill myself. I couldn’t handle things on my own anymore. With the help of the Church, I have been placed in a foster home and am doing great. I’ve come a long way in the past 4 1/2 months but still have a longer way to go. It really feels great to know that the Church is behind me 100 percent and that my brothers and sisters will always be there when I need them. When the Young Women fireside was broadcast, I was still very confused and didn’t go to it. I really wasn’t ready to hear it then. I’ve found that Heavenly Father only lets things occur when he knows we’re ready to handle them.
As I later read the talks in the New Era I felt as if every single speaker was talking to me personally, and I felt so full of the Spirit that I cried, as I am crying now. The youth of the Church don’t know how lucky they are to have the gospel in their lives and to have parents who love them very much. I’ve been on both sides of the street, and I know what it’s like. I know the Church is true with all that I am, and I thank my Heavenly Father every day for bringing it into my life.
Name Withheld

Life can sometimes become unsettled in Nairobi, capital of Kenya in East Africa. But as children of a middle-class factory manager, my two siblings and I had plenty to eat and a home with everything we needed.
Elections in 2008 quickly disrupted our comfortable lives, however, and threw the country into chaos. Rebel crowds roamed the streets and looted businesses. Going to work, my father required a police escort.
For safety, we left the city and moved to a home our father was building 450 km (280 miles) away, in Busia, Kenya. But even there, we locked our doors.
Without question, Christmastime in 2009 was our toughest time ever. Every day during that season, we feared for our lives. People lurked outside our home, eager and ready to steal. A gang of thugs once marched toward us with machetes. We were often afraid to open the door. I am convinced that my faithful mother’s prayers kept us safe.
By then, my father was without work. Food soon ran out. Our Christmas meal that year amounted to boiled leaves plucked from bean plants my mother had planted. Despite our afflictions, my father stood firm, though he also felt deeply pained.
We became overwhelmed with dread and almost lost hope. “Why was this happening?” we asked ourselves. “Why are we going through such hardships after just joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
One evening two senior missionaries who knew our dangers braved the area to bring us a message of peace. We took courage as they recited Nephi’s witness and promise in 1 Nephi 1:20: “The tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.”
We believed it.
The missionaries helped us understand that regardless of our afflictions, the Lord expected us to continue living faithfully. I vividly remember the peace and comfort that overwhelmed me that night. I knew, more than ever before, that the Lord was mindful of us and our plight. That night, and during trying times afterward, I learned that His tender mercies are magnificent.
When the time came for me to serve a mission, I felt a desire to bless the people in neighboring Uganda with the gospel, but I also wanted to teach the people in Zimbabwe, home of the missionary who had baptized me.
I prayed, but in my heart, I saw no way I could serve in two countries located far apart. Soon, I received my call to Zimbabwe, but while I was in the missionary training center in Johannesburg, South Africa, my visa was delayed. I was redirected to Uganda, where I served for eight months before receiving visa clearance for Zimbabwe.
“The Lord has His mysterious ways,” I thought to myself.
My first area in Zimbabwe was Chikanga Mutare. Eager to find the family of the missionary who had baptized me, I studied the area book with my companion. Many names matched his family name. We prayed, made our best decision on where to go, and ventured out.
At the first door we knocked we found my missionary’s family. Our joy was instant. We wept and hugged like family. While flipping through the family’s photo albums, I found pictures of my family at our baptism.
I returned home after my mission to discover that circumstances had not improved for my family. My father was still unemployed. Two cousins invited me to live with them in Kibera—the toughest area in Nairobi. There, I created a spot to call home.
Gangs ruled in Kibera, but I stayed clear of crime-ridden areas. I felt out of place, but my cousins helped protect me, making sure others knew I was religious and was to be respected.
Food in the slums amounted to water and a chocolate paste that formed something of a doughnut. I chose to eat at night. Every morning, I woke up hungry. In church, I did my best to smile and be happy so members would not know of my hunger.
During this time, I served as elders quorum president in the Langata Branch and attended school when possible. On Sunday afternoons, I walked with the branch president to visit members, aware that our white shirts made us easy targets for gangs. But we felt heaven as we served others, and my cousins watched over us as we walked the dusty streets.
Despite difficult times, says Brother Omondi, “with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.”
This was a difficult time, but with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.
A little later, I was granted an interview for a job. I competed for the position against a dozen others who were more qualified with degrees and certifications. But I had been on a mission, and I had faith and confidence the Lord would bless me. I said a prayer and then walked before a review panel.
At the end of my interview, I blurted out, “When do I start?” Two weeks later, I was one of two who were hired. I soon distinguished myself as a top salesman, which opened doors to advancement, including a call from a chief executive officer to join his large company. Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as the bishop of the Langata Ward.
“Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as a bishop.”
I look back on the Christmas of 2009 and subsequent struggles as a memorable lesson—a time when our struggles became our blessings and the Lord extended tender mercies to us in rich measure because of our faith.

Years ago, following a graduate school discussion on American religious history, a fellow student asked me, “Why have the Latter-day Saints not adopted the cross that other Christians use as a symbol of their faith?”
Inasmuch as such questions about the cross are often a question about our commitment to Christ, I immediately told him that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints considers the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ to be the central fact, the crucial foundation, the chief doctrine, and the ultimate expression of divine love in God’s grand plan for the salvation of His children. I explained that the saving grace inherent in that act was essential for and universally gifted to the entire human family from Adam and Eve to the end of the world. I quoted the Prophet Joseph Smith, who said, “All … things which pertain to our religion are only appendages” to the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Then I read him what Nephi had written 600 years before Jesus’s birth: “And … the angel spake unto me … , saying: Look! And I looked and beheld the Lamb of God, … [who] was lifted up upon the cross and slain for the sins of the world.”
With my “love, share, and invite” zeal now kicking into high gear, I kept reading! To the Nephites in the New World the resurrected Christ said, “My Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; … that I might draw all men unto me, … and for this cause have I been lifted up.”
I was about to quote the Apostle Paul when I noticed that my friend’s eyes were starting to glaze over. A quick look at his wristwatch apparently reminded him that he needed to be somewhere—anywhere—and he dashed off to his fictitious appointment. Thus ended our conversation.

When I hugged Ashley good-bye a day before graduation, I thought I would see her again before she set off on a yearlong journey across the nation to help children. But less than a month after graduation, Ashley died in a car accident.
At 17, I’d never experienced the loss of a loved one, and I didn’t know how to handle this tragedy. I had never met Ashley’s family, so I didn’t feel that I could share my grief with them. My other friends hadn’t been as close to her as I had.
So I mourned alone in my room at night, with tears trickling into my ears as I lay on my bed. “Okay,” I thought, “this is natural. I’ll have my cry and then go to sleep.” But to my surprise, the pain didn’t end. I was frightened to feel a great hole growing inside of me, and it felt bottomless.
In desperation, I pulled out my scriptures and read blindly until a measure of calm stopped the aching, and I slept. But the sadness continued. For about a week it was hard to sleep, and the tears kept falling.
I started to get angry. I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I knew that death was not the end and that Ashley was in a better and happier place. I was aware that I would see her again. I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time getting over her death while knowing these things were true. I’d always heard that members of the Church weren’t as sad at funerals because they know about our life after death, and I felt ashamed of my sorrow.
As time passed, so did the ache, but occasionally something would remind me of my friend, and I would have a hard time controlling my emotions.
It’s now been over three years since Ashley’s death, and I’ve finally come to a better understanding of my grief. Jesus Christ blesses those who mourn and commands us to “live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
My tears for the loss of my friend were not wrong. These tears did not indicate a lack of faith in God’s plan. Comfort can reach us. It will sit beside the grief, and while not replacing sorrow, will at least keep it from overpowering one’s heart entirely.
I still think of Ashley occasionally. I picture her in her favorite striped sweater and with the hundreds of friends she had from all areas of the high school. Many times I have thanked my Heavenly Father for not answering my prayer that first day of choir class to be seated by someone I knew. If He had, I never would have experienced the joy of knowing such an inspiring person before she left this earth.

Some years later I again visited the Grand Junction Stake. Again I met the same parents. Still the father had not qualified to have his large and beautiful family join mother and father in a sacred sealing ceremony, that this family might be a forever family. I suggested that if the family would earnestly pray, they could qualify. I indicated that I would be pleased to be with them on that sacred occasion in the temple of God. Mother pleaded, Father strived, children urged, all prayed. The result? Let me share with you a treasured letter that their young son placed under Daddy’s pillow on Father’s Day morning.
Dad:
I love you for what you are and not for what you aren’t. Why don’t you stop smoking? Millions of people have … why can’t you? It’s harmful to your health, your lungs, your heart. If you can’t keep the Word of Wisdom you can’t go to heaven with me, Skip, Brad, Marc, Jeff, Jeannie, Pam, and their families. Us kids keep the Word of Wisdom. Why can’t you? You are stronger, and you are a man. Dad, I want to see you in heaven. We all do. We want to be a whole family in heaven … not half of one.
Dad, you and Mom ought to get two old bikes and start riding around the park every night. You are probably laughing right now, but I wouldn’t be. You laugh at those old people jogging around the park and riding bikes and walking, but they are going to outlive you. Because they are exercising their lungs, their hearts, their muscles. They are going to have the last laughs.
Come on, Dad, be a good guy—don’t smoke, drink, or anything else against our religion. We want you at our graduation. If you do quit smoking and do good stuff like us, you and Mom can go with Brother Monson and get married and sealed to us in the temple.
Come on, Dad—Mom and us kids are just waiting for you. We want to live with you forever. We love you. You’re the greatest, Dad.
Love, Todd
P.S. And if the rest of us wrote one of these, they’d say the same thing.
P.P.S. Mr. Newton has quit smoking. So can you. You are closer to God than Mr. Newton!
That plea, that prayer of faith, was heard and answered. A night I shall ever treasure and long remember was when this entire family assembled in a sacred room in the beautiful temple that graces Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Father was there. Mother was there. Every child was there. Ordinances, eternal in their significance, were performed.
A united prayer of gratitude brought to a close this long-awaited evening.

Most of the men bore the burden of the march in faith, but some complained and caused contentions. Sylvester Smith—no relation to the Prophet—complained that Joseph’s watchdog kept him awake at night.

On May 17th, Joseph Smith asked the men to humble themselves and be peacefully united. He told them that if they didn’t, they would meet with misfortunes before they left that place.

The following morning the men woke up to find that nearly every horse was either sick or lame. Once more the Prophet told the men that if they would humble themselves and repent of their discord, the horses would be healed. Most of the men did, and by noon all but one of the horses were healthy again. That one horse, Sylvester Smith’s, died.

The Prophet Joseph Smith was a tall, strong man. He grew up on a farm and spent many hours clearing the land and planting crops with his father and brothers.
The Prophet loved spending time with young people. One of his favorite activities was wrestling. In those days, wrestling consisted mostly of trying to throw your opponent off balance.
One day Joseph noticed a crowd of enthusiastic young men and boys. When he got closer, he saw that they were wrestling. He decided to join them.
There was one especially large fellow who seemed to be the champion. He was proud of the fact that no one had thrown him, and he was eager to wrestle the Prophet.
The match had scarcely begun when the champion found himself being carried by his collar and the seat of his pants to a nearby ditch, where Joseph dropped him.
As the crowd yelled and cheered, Joseph helped the young man to his feet, patted him on his back, and said, “You must not mind this. When I am with the boys, I make all the fun I can for them.”
Although he was the first President of the Church and a very busy man, Joseph Smith knew that taking time to be friendly with others was important.

Thank you for the interesting articles about decorating your room without spending a lot of money. I have found the ideas very helpful—especially in fixing up a shabby wooden desk and bookcase. My sister and I got a pale color to match the walls and painted both pieces; then we got a darker color and put on the edges of the shelves and around the edge of the top of the desk. It looks great.
Kathy OkerlundOrem, Utah

All those Scouting activities really paid off for 14-year-old Jared Stokes of the Peachtree City Ward, Jonesboro Georgia Stake. The obstacle courses and athletic competitions gave him the experience it took to win the “Radical Outdoor Challenge,” Entertainment and Sports Programming Network’s (ESPN) outdoor game show. Jared reigns as grand champion.
Several times Jared wore his BYU hat on national television, so everyone would know what school and religion he supported. He had to participate in activities like scaling a rock wall, walking across a tight wire over swampy cold water with swamp water being sprayed on him, BMX bike racing, swimming, canoeing, and marksmanship, to name just a few of the events.
But Jared hasn’t let all this attention go to his head. He’s still an active seminary student, teacher, and Eagle Scout candidate. He hopes his athletic feats will set a positive example of what good, clean living can do for you.