Gospel Story Finder

I remember a woman who constantly nagged her husband (an inactive elder) about not paying his tithing, saying again and again, “When you don’t pay your tithing, you deny me and the children the blessings that are associated with this commandment … I want those blessings, even if you don’t.” She became so irate and her marriage became so disturbed over this issue that she went to the bishop trying to get his aid in forcing her husband to pay tithing. The bishop’s response was, “Overall your husband is basically a good and righteous man. If you sustain him in righteousness, even in his judgment not to pay tithing at this time, the Lord will sustain you, and you will be obeying God’s commandments and will not miss out on any of the blessings.” When the husband later learned of this bishop’s counsel, he was so deeply affected and impressed that his Church activity increased and the marital relationship was much improved.

Another new missionary was so shy and bashful he could not look at me without blushing. I discovered he had been reared on a pig farm and was much more comfortable with pigs than with people. It was very difficult for him to talk to anyone, yet he had a burning desire to be a great missionary. Later, when we attended zone conference in the zone to which he was assigned, the missionary stood to bear his testimony: “President, I have discovered that becoming a missionary is like playing football.” He told of his leaving the farm to attend high school. As he registered for school, he noticed the football team practicing and decided he would like to play, but he didn’t have any football shoes or the money to buy any. Then he remembered that his cousin had been a football star at the school. He visited his cousin, asking whether he could borrow his shoes. His cousin gave him the shoes but warned, “Don’t you disgrace them.”
Our missionary made the team as a defensive tackle. In the first game of the season, he found himself at the first line of scrimmage, hunkered down opposite a great, big, mean senior lineman. He took one look at that fearsome opponent, gulped, and said to himself, “‘I can’t knock him down! But my cousin could—and I’m wearing my cousin’s shoes.’ So I went ahead and knocked him down, and kept on knocking him down all through the game.”
What kind of a missionary do you think he became?

My new home was in Nakskov, on the island of Lolland. Unfortunately, the nearest ward was several hours away.
After two months in Denmark, however, I learned about a small group of Saints who met closer to my home. To get there, I would have to ride a private railway. The train fare was around 40 crowns, nearly all my spending allowance for the week. It was fast Sunday, and I scraped together all the money I had—about 43 Danish crowns. I figured it would be sufficient if I got the round-trip discount. There would not be any money left over for a fast offering, but I felt the Lord would understand why.
As the train moved away from the station, the conductor came by and said, “Two crowns.” My fledgling Danish had to be mistaken—I knew the trip cost more than two crowns. After offering him most of what I had, he took a bill and gave me change. The fare was only two crowns! I knew the Lord was watching out for me.
In a little attic apartment above a store was a tiny room containing a group of elderly women. One of them smiled, motioned me inside, and knocked on an adjoining door. I was greeted into priesthood meeting. There were about five older brethren and two young missionaries.
I couldn’t understand much of what went on, but some hymns were familiar. There were tears as testimonies were shared.
When I told the missionaries my train fare was only two crowns, they couldn’t believe it. I soon discovered the return trip was also just two crowns. I realized I could pay my fast offering after all. Later, I learned that in celebration of the centennial of the train system the fare had been reduced to two crowns for just that one day.

Where’s José Luis?
That’s what I wanted to know. I’d heard so much about the energetic 18-year-old, and I only had a few minutes to interview him on that hot Sunday in Seville, Spain.
“I think he’s in Sunday School with one of our investigators,” said a tall, North American missionary as he hurried his way through the crowd in the halls of the Nervion meetinghouse.
“He’s always with our investigators,” said the missionary’s shorter companion, trotting to keep up. “That guy is one sharp mission leader. He keeps all the full-time missionaries on the ball. He just goes crazy over missionary work.”
Before I could ask which class José Luis might be in, the missionaries had disappeared into the colorful throng. The church was packed, and everyone seemed excited to be there.
Across the foyer I spotted Marcos Camacho. Marcos is José Luis’s home teaching companion. “Marcos, where’s José Luis?” I called.
“He might be preparing our home teaching lesson,” Marcos told me as he threaded his way through the large group of people between us. “He’s very good about it. We always get our home teaching done, and the people we visit really like him. Oh look—here comes his mother. Maybe she knows where he is. Ask her,” he said as he ran off to teach the Young Men.
His mother? What was she doing here? I’d heard she was against his church activity and had prohibited him from coming to the chapel. Now here was this lady, all smiles, soft curls, and a perky pink dress, coming toward me.
“Hi there,” I said as she approached me. “I’m looking for your son, but I’m really happy to see you. I’d heard you were not excited about your son’s coming to church. It looks like your attitude has changed?”
“Of course,” she told me, kissing me on both cheeks, which is the Spanish custom. “You know, the first time I came to this church, I came to tell them that they couldn’t baptize José Luis. I wasn’t about to let them make a Mormon of him. But once I got here and talked to the people,” she said, waving a hand at all the smiling, laughing people milling about us, “I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad that he come after all.”
“And now you’re coming as well?” I asked. “How did that happen?”
“One night, very late, about one in the morning, my friend came running to me. Her son was very sick. José Luis and I went to help, but he called the elders to come and give a blessing first. I was very impressed that two young boys would get up at that hour to help us. So later, when José Luis introduced me to the missionaries, I was willing to listen to them. I was baptized three months after he was.”
“But it wasn’t quite that easy, Mom,” said José Luis, popping up behind her, seemingly out of nowhere and putting his arm around her shoulder.
So finally I got to meet this legendary guy. He’s taller than his mother, medium height, with thick, straight dark hair and a perpetual smile. You can tell he’s from southern Spain, Andalucia, by his accent and his vocabulary. Even though he’s famous here for being a gospel dynamo, there is absolutely nothing intimidating about him. He’s about as humble as you can get.
“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”
“But the story isn’t finished yet,” I said. “How would you write the rest?”
The foyer had cleared out by this time. Most of the people had gone into their classes. I was alone with José Luis and his mother, who was gazing at her son with admiration.
“I’ll go on a mission for sure, just as soon as I’m 19; then I’ll have to serve in the mili.” Every healthy Spanish male, when he turns 19, serves an obligatory nine months of military service. “After that, I’d like to study to be a teacher.”
“You already are,” I replied, thinking how much his enthusiasm, his faith, his warmth, his friendliness, had already taught me—how much it could teach New Era readers—how much it had taught his mother, the missionaries, and other members of the ward.
“I know that Christ lives and that Heavenly Father always listens to us and loves us,” José Luis said, simply and sincerely. “I want everyone else to know that too. Will you excuse me for just a minute? I’m supposed to be helping a friend with a lesson,” he said, and he was off.
So for all of about five minutes, I could have answered the question, “Where’s José Luis?” But if you asked me right now, I could probably make an educated guess.
“Where’s José Luis?”
He’s out doing what he can to build the kingdom. And that’s a great place to be.

One day I was playing with my friend at her house. When it was time for lunch, we were very hungry and thirsty. Lunch looked delicious. Then I looked in my cup. I asked my friend if it was apple juice, but she said it was tea. I was scared and knew I could not drink it, even though I was thirsty. Because I chose the right, I had a peaceful feeling come over me. The next time I was at my friend’s house, her mom served us tea again. This time I politely asked for water instead. I felt stronger this time because I had already chosen not to drink the tea, and the Holy Ghost strengthened me. I had a good feeling.

When I was a teenager, I developed faith that marriage could be a wonderful and eternal experience. It was difficult for me to always believe, however, because the examples of marriage I had growing up were not strong ones, and I kept a fear of marriage in my heart. But I determined that failure and unhappiness didn’t have to be the rule and that Heavenly Father would help me know how to have a happy marriage.

When I was 26 years old, I married Sidnei in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While we were still dating, we tried to prepare ourselves spiritually and emotionally for the most significant event of our lives. We decided what type of marriage we wanted, we established goals together, and we shared our thoughts—our testimonies of the gospel, our wishes and worries, and our dreams. We also read together the counsel of the prophets on marriage. We did everything we could to prepare, wishing to provide happiness and security to each other and our future children. We asked the Lord to give us wisdom to live a happy life.

Now we have been married for 18 years. During these years, we have continued to learn from the precepts of the gospel, the counsel of our leaders, and, of course, the Spirit. Some of the things we have done to have a strong, happy marriage are:
Pray together every day. When we pray at night, we thank Heavenly Father for our marriage, for the love we have for each other, and we ask that our feelings will be strengthened and that we can become strong individually in the face of the designs of the adversary, who works to destroy families.
Ask for forgiveness. We work to never allow pride to keep us from asking for forgiveness or admitting we are wrong. Love and unity are more important than who is right or who is wrong.
Never speak evil of each other. It is obvious that neither of us is perfect, but we don’t say bad things about each other, and when we’re with others, we speak positively about each other.
Defend the institution of marriage. Whenever we have a chance—and especially if we are around people who are criticizing the institution of marriage—we stand up for families and what we believe in.
Talk a lot and listen. We stop what we are doing to really listen when the other person is talking.
Treat each other with love and consideration. We do not insult, accuse, or criticize each other.
Continue to seek help and counsel about marriage from the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We do not know everything. We are imperfect and prone to forgetting and making mistakes. We prefer not to wait for problems to afflict us, but instead we work to build a strong marriage before a situation can hurt us.
These things have been instrumental in strengthening the relationship between my husband and me. I know that if we share our lives and our feelings with Heavenly Father and seek counsel from Him, the Holy Ghost will inspire us and we will be able to become an eternal family, overcoming all difficult times. We also know that Heavenly Father will help us as we seek to know and do His will.

“There, it’s all done!” Jeff said as he knotted the bridle line to his kite. Jeff felt proud as he held up the kite to check the glued tissue paper edges. He was sure he would win the Highest Flyer Award in the kite tournament to be held the next afternoon.
As Jeff picked up scraps of paper and sticks from the porch floor, he heard the creak of rusty hinges. “Oh, no,” he groaned. “Robin Hood has escaped again!”
With a sick feeling, Jeff remembered his father’s words, “If that dog steals something just once more, Jeff, he’ll have to go!”
Hurdling the porch steps in one leap, Jeff raced to the alley and whistled. He hoped that maybe this time Robin Hood hadn’t picked up anything belonging to someone else, but his hope faded as Robin Hood came around the corner dragging a big paper fish. With his tail wagging, the dog dropped his gift at Jeff’s feet.
“Bad dog!” Jeff scolded. Robin Hood retreated to the farthest corner of the yard. Jeff remembered to close the gate this time, but he felt guilty that he had let his dog get loose.
The paper fish was ripped, but Jeff could see that it had been skillfully painted with loops to look like fish scales. Turning it over, he saw the broken basswood and knew it had been a kite. Someone had probably made this strange-looking kite to enter in the tournament, and Robin Hood had stolen it.
Jeff knew what he had to do. He started walking toward Mr. Peterson’s fruit market, taking the broken fish kite with him. Mr. Peterson knew just about everybody, and many times before he had helped Jeff find the owner of Robin Hood’s other gifts.
“Has Robin Hood been at it again?” Mr. Peterson asked Jeff as he polished an apple. “That carp kite’s in pretty bad shape.”
“Do you know who it belongs to?” Jeff asked.
“Wouldn’t take much to figure out,” answered Mr. Peterson. “A new boy about your age has been coming into the store a lot lately. His name is Jimu, and he’s talked to me about carp kites. The carp stands for courage, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” said Jeff.
“Japanese boys fly carp kites every year on Boys’ Festival Day,” said Mr. Peterson. “It’s supposed to remind them to be courageous.”
“Do you know where Jimu lives?” Jeff asked.
“No,” said Mr. Peterson, “but he usually goes toward Miller Street.”
Jeff thanked Mr. Peterson and went back home. His shoulders drooped as he climbed the steps. Robin Hood, stretched out by the lilac bush, opened his eyes and watched.
“Come on,” Jeff called as he picked up both kites. “We have a job to do.”
Jeff and Robin Hood walked up and down Miller Street, but they couldn’t find anyone who knew of a boy named Jimu.
“Sorry I can’t help you,” said a lady who was watering her lawn. “Why don’t you ask your dog?” she joked.
“Why didn’t I think of that!” said Jeff. He gave the carp kite to Robin Hood to carry in his mouth.
“Take it back!” Jeff commanded.
Robin Hood seemed to understand. He held the kite tightly between his teeth and led Jeff to the corner, turned right, and then disappeared down an alley. Jeff followed the dog down the alley and through an opening in a high wooden fence, where Robin Hood stopped.
This must be the house, Jeff thought as he walked into a strange garden. There were dwarf trees in low vases sitting in raked white sand.
“Ohayo (good morning),” said a voice, and a short black-haired boy came around the corner of the house.
“You must be Jimu,” Jeff said. “I’m Jeff.”
The Japanese boy bowed. His dark eyes looked from Robin Hood to the carp kite and back to Jeff.
Jeff didn’t know what to say at first, but once he got started, the story came tumbling out.
“Sumimasen (very sorry),” Jimu said after Jeff finished. “Perhaps you should try a cardboard collar.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jeff.
“I have a friend who had a dog with a sore ear,” Jimu explained. “He cut a big wheel-shaped piece of cardboard and then cut a hole in the middle. He put it around the dog’s neck so the dog couldn’t scratch its ear. His dog also had difficulty picking up objects with his mouth.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Jeff said. “I’ll try it. But that won’t help you fix your kite, so I want you to have mine instead.”
Jeff held his kite out to Jimu, who took it and looked at it carefully.
“Very nice,” Jimu said at last. “But please come with me.”
He led Jeff to a sliding door at the back of the house. They both removed their shoes and went inside.
“Please sit on the tatami,” Jimu told Jeff as he pointed to the straw mat on the porch floor. He put Jeff’s kite on a low table covered with jars of paint and a brush.
Jimu picked up the brush and asked, “May I?”
Jeff nodded. He watched Jimu swiftly paint an outline of a fish on the kite Jeff had given him. Soon a carp filled the kite as Jimu painted half-hoop scales all over.
“Now you’ll have a kite to fly today,” said Jeff.
Jimu smiled mysteriously as he excused himself and disappeared behind a screen.
When Jimu returned, he said, “I already have a kite.” He held up a paper fish. “The first one I made broke, and Robin Hood must have found it in the trash.”
“But why did you paint this beautiful fish on my kite?” Jeff asked.
“Because it took much courage for you to come to me,” Jimu answered. “And the carp stands for courage. You would honor me to fly your kite with me today,” he added.
“That would be great,” Jeff answered. And the two boys, with Robin Hood tagging along behind, picked up their kites and ran out into the field together.

One man who had committed himself to do everything he could to share the gospel with others walked out of his office one day and saw a man running down the hall. He learned this man had stapled his finger. He reached into his big pocket, pulled out Merthiolate and a Band-Aid, and dressed the wound. The shocked individual asked in amazement why he did this. He responded: “I am a Mormon, and Mormons do these things.” This man was prepared to help another whenever possible.

One time the missionaries in our area gave a lesson in Primary. At the end of the lesson they gave us pass-along cards and invited us to give them to our friends. At school the next day I gave the cards to four of my friends. I was a little nervous, but afterward I felt really good. I was excited to spread the gospel! I know I don’t have to wait to go on a mission to be a good missionary!
Lincoln A., age 9, California

Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

Realizing what faults you had and taking steps to overcome them was something that each person experienced. Larry had participated in a perfect week campaign and also a perfect day experiment on his mission. “Like many returned missionaries, I had fallen down on my study habits. There just always seemed to be so many other things to do. So when I received this call from the bishop, I decided I needed to regain that closeness to the Lord I had felt on my mission.
“Things didn’t quite work out like I had planned them. I ended up having a painful wisdom tooth removed, but still I don’t feel my day was a failure. I was conscientiously trying to live perfectly—no matter what the circumstances. I was trying to upgrade myself in normal, everyday circumstances. And I relearned some very important things.”

Last July, 25 youth of the Bentonville First Ward, Rogers Arkansas Stake, got together to take the 48-hour Book of Mormon challenge. The goal was to read the entire book in two days. They started at 7:00 a.m. on Friday morning, taking turns reading for the entire group. At 11:00 p.m. the youth split up by classes and quorums to spend the night in members’ homes. Then the whole group got back together at 7:00 a.m. on Saturday for breakfast and to begin reading again. At 5:30 p.m. the group completed the challenge by reading aloud together the last three verses, Moroni 10:32–34.
Throughout the two days, the youth welcomed guest readers, or “prophets,” who came to reenact their parts in the Book of Mormon. There were visits from King Benjamin, Ammon, and Samuel the Lamanite.
Everyone had a list of scripture mastery verses, and whoever called out “scripture mastery” first when the group came to a scripture mastery verse was rewarded with a candy bar. Then the entire group would recite the scripture together.
“The Spirit I felt throughout the reading amazed me,” said Kara Barnes, 16. “The thing I loved most was how it all made sense. Everything fell perfectly into place. I love the Book of Mormon. The Spirit it brings is just wonderful.”
“What impressed me the most was the many times the Nephites and Lamanites switched off in righteousness,” said Carl Monson, 14. “It showed how the missionary work went through the whole land.”

“Are we going to make someone’s day today?” David asked as he fastened himself in his car seat.
“We’re going to try to make someone’s day,” Mother answered.
Mother buckled baby Jeffrey into his car seat. Jeffrey squealed his let’s-get-going squeal.
“Who are we going to surprise?” David asked.
“Remember Mrs. Martin?” Mother said. “She just got home from the hospital.”
“I can sing for her,” David said. “Singing helps people feel better.”
“Mrs. Martin will enjoy hearing your songs,” Mother said. The car stopped. Jeffrey squealed his get-me-out squeal.
“May I carry the cinnamon bread?” David asked.
“Sure.” Mother laid the loaf of bread in David’s arms, then unbuckled Jeffrey.
David breathed in the buttery, cinnamony smell. He felt the bread warm his arms and hands.
Knock, knock.
No answer.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” a quiet voice called. Mother opened the door.
Jeffrey tried to grab the bread. He squealed his let-me-have-it squeal.
“Well, look who’s here,” Mrs. Martin whispered from her chair.
“Hi, Mrs. Martin,” David said. “Here’s some cinnamon bread for you, and it’s swirly inside. I sprinkled on the cinnamon.”
“Thank you, young man,” Mrs. Martin said. “I love cinnamon bread.”
David put the bread in the kitchen so Jeffrey couldn’t get it.
“We came to help a bit,” Mother said. She held Mrs. Martin’s hand while they talked about hospitals and medicine.
Jeffrey pulled himself up to the low table by the couch and pushed off all the papers. David picked them up.
A few minutes later Mother started washing dishes. After David dried the knives and forks and spoons, he plunked them into the drawer bins. Jeffrey tugged on his mother’s pant leg.
Mother swept the floor, and David held the dustpan. Jeffrey squealed his let-me-do-it squeal. So she helped Jeffrey dump the dustpan.
Mother tied up the trash, and all three of them carried it outside. David and Mother put a new plastic bag in the wastebasket. Jeffrey pulled a long train of bags out of the box. He squealed his see-what-I-can-do squeal.
Mrs. Martin laughed.
“Is it time to sing now?” David asked.
“It’s always time to sing,” Mrs. Martin said.
David sang “Two Little Blackbirds” while Jeffrey’s thumbs helped with the actions.
Then David did the actions as he sang, “Eency weency spider went up the water spout.” Jeffrey made a pretend spider climb up his arm, too.
David, Mother, and Jeffrey danced in a circle and sang:
“Happy helpers sing a song,
Happy helping all day long.
Happy helpers help you, too.
(They pointed to Mrs. Martin.)
Happy helpers now are through.”
Then all three happy helpers fell to the floor and laughed.
Mrs. Martin clapped a clap so tiny that no sound came with it. But a big smile did. She opened her arms to hug all three helpers.
“You have made my day,” Mrs. Martin said. l

Because of the fire, two families that were already friends became even better friends sharing the same house as brothers and sisters in the gospel. “When we learned their house had burned down, we said, ‘Why don’t you come live with us in Chico?’” says Luke B., 11. “Sometimes it’s been a little crowded, but we’ve learned a lot about sharing and being kind,” Luke says.
Grady B., 14, says, “When we have home evening together, I always try to share a scripture that has helped me understand how faith can help us get through trials. I’ve learned that there’s a lot of comfort in the scriptures.” Just as there is comfort in helping each other.

Dr. Walker came one evening with a book under his arm and a flower in his hand. “Kari, I want you to have this book. I noticed you and your mother reading together, and I guess I wanted to get into the act. I think you of all people might understand a little of what this young boy went through. He was about your age.”
Kari reached for the book and smiled when she realized it was about the Prophet Joseph Smith. As she read she began to feel that Joseph was a good friend as they traveled together through pain, trials, endurance, and above all, loneliness.
A few weeks after the operation, Dr. Walker told Kari she would have to have radiation therapy. The first snowfall had covered the old oak tree when Kari’s mother drove her to the first treatment. Dr. Walker had prepared her for the aftereffects as best he could, but she soon learned to hate the radiation treatments, even though she knew they were probably saving her life. She wrote in her journal, “A radiation treatment is 100 stormy nights all mixed into one.”
Kari’s mother kept her promise. She was there every step of the way. She was a cheerleader in a house dress and apron, keeping up the faith and the fight.
Christmas came and went. The words “Kari, make it just one more day,” became Mother’s battle cry. Or if the fatigue or nausea was unbearable, the words were, “Kari, make it just one more hour.”
As winter dragged on, the hours and days merged into a gray landscape of pain and exhaustion. Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Kari gave up. She lay in bed looking at an unopened valentine from her mother. Finally, she let it fall to the floor, still unopened. She was tired beyond caring. Her leg burned and itched. She was on the verge of vomiting. She lay back and gave herself up to “What if?” and “Why me?”
Turning her head as if to hide the pointless tears, she saw through her window the ropes of her swing. They moved lazily with the wind, pale lines against the bare oak limbs and gray sky. She struggled to her elbow, then slid heavily from her bed and limped to the window. As she looked down at the swing, a memory stirred and grew strong. She knew what she had to do.
She had made it down the stairs somehow and was halfway out the door when her little brother John found her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said. “Please get back to bed. It’s cold out here. You’ll catch cold and …”
“Just help me get to the swing.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The swing? You want to swing? It’s freezing out here.”
Kari kept limping toward the swing. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get there myself.”
John put an arm around Kari’s waist, and she leaned on his shoulder. Together they moved on toward the swing. Each step took forever. Kari held her stomach to keep from retching, dragging her leg behind her.
Finally they reached the wooden seat. Kari sat down and John began pushing her. At first she could do nothing but hold on weakly, but then she felt a change. Her grip tightened. Her head felt less heavy on her shoulders. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, strength came flooding into her from some hidden reservoir. For the first time in weeks she felt fueled by a purpose. She began pulling hard on the rope and stretching her toes forward. She felt as if she were reaching with her legs for the height her soul required. With all the strength she possessed she struggled higher and higher, hanging at each summit in a weightless, timeless calm, then dropping back into a dizzy gulf. Soon she was higher than she had ever been before. Street on street opened to her. Suddenly the whole valley was before her, clear to the horizon. She could see to the edge of the world. Her toes touched oak twigs. She felt as if she had left her body behind while her spirit soared. With every swing the world looked new and different. The oak limbs blurring past were the color of Thomas’s new suit.
The pages of Dr. Walker’s book began to dance in circles through Kari’s mind. She thought of Joseph crying out to the Lord in the jail at Liberty, and she heard the answer:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity … shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes” (D&C 121:7–8).
She felt as if she were kneeling with the Prophet as he searched the heavens again for the height he needed, and again heard the voice. “If the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7).
Bells chimed somewhere in the valley, and Kari thought they were ringing in her soul.
All her newfound strength suddenly drained from her. She was barely able to hold on as the swing slowed. She went limp as John grabbed the ropes and stopped her.
He came around from behind the swing and faced Kari, steadying her as she slumped forward. He was surprised to see a calmness about her. And something that had been missing much too long seemed to have come back.
“John?”
“Kari, what is it? Do you need the doctor?”
Kari shook her head. “I was just wondering how long a woman lives. How old is a woman usually when she dies?”
John shivered in the 35-degree weather. “I had a teacher at school tell me the average life of a woman was 70 or so. She was about 50, and I think she told us that to take away our hopes of getting a different teacher in the near future.”
The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and the air felt less harsh. “John, Dr. Walker says I’ve got three more months of radiation treatments. Right now that looks like forever, but when I think of living 50 or 60 years after that, it’s really just an instant.”
John took his jacket off and put it over Kari’s shoulders. He glimpsed his mother at the kitchen window and knew that in a few moments she would be running out to bring Kari back to the safety of the house.
Kari made circles for a moment with her toe. “The surgeons think they got all the cancer, but they won’t be sure for at least five years, and even then there are no guarantees. But, John …” She took his hands and found that they were strong, like Thomas’s, like her father’s. “Even if they didn’t get it all—when I think of even the longest life compared to forever, it’s like sitting here on the swing and seeing just beyond the yard compared to being so high I can see the entire valley. It’s just a moment.”
John looked a little dubious. “I’d have to say it was a long moment, in my opinion.”
Kari smiled despite the churning of her stomach and the screaming of her leg. “Okay, a long moment, but still a moment.”
“Now let’s go in, Kari. Please? Mom’s coming out of the house, and she’s going to be madder than wet hornets.”
John lifted Kari from the swing. Her head began to swim, and her stomach lurched. He held her tight and started guiding her back to the house. Suddenly she stopped and turned around to look once more at the swing. She knew, as some things are just known, that she would swing again when the bluejays began to fly and the sun warmed the house once more.
“John, Thomas was right.”
John turned around and looked at the swing too. “Thomas is usually right, Kari. He’s the brains in this family.”
The swing began to move slightly as the wind picked up. Kari saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, running to help.
Kari turned her back to the swing, and at the same time she turned her back on giving up. Snow began to fall, but Kari’s thoughts were on the coming spring. She was thinking about the hours she would spend on the swing, and about how far she would learn to see.

My wife, Sister Birita, and I were called to serve as couple missionaries in Nabeina, a small island in the Pacific. The moment we arrived, we felt a profound sense of peace and purpose. After much prayer, we sought permission from our mission president, President Kendall, to spend our year-long mission in Nabeina. Our request was approved, beginning a journey of faith, service, and community building that would forever change our lives and the lives of those we served.
Nabeina has a predominantly Catholic and Protestant population, with very few Latter-day Saints. Sharing the gospel was a challenge, but we felt deeply called to serve the people. We observed their resilience and resourcefulness, particularly the men who were skilled fishermen. However, their ability to provide for their families was hindered by a lack of proper fishing equipment. Witnessing their struggles, we felt a strong desire to help.
One evening, while reflecting on the needs of the community, we felt inspired to seek assistance from the Church Humanitarian Fund. We envisioned a project that would empower the fishermen to provide for their families and support their children’s education. With guidance from Elder and Sister Redmond, we proposed the idea of supplying fishing gear, a wooden boat, and an outboard motor. To our joy, the proposal was approved, and funding was secured. This marked the beginning of a transformative project.
Working with the local branch president, President Mweea Mweea, we established a community-based fishing initiative, officially registered as Nabeina Green Market Incorporated. More than just an economic endeavor, this initiative fostered unity and self-reliance among the people of Nabeina.
The fishing nets arrived first, and the community immediately put them to use. While awaiting the wooden boat, I lent my personal fiberglass boat to the fishermen. On February 9, 2025, the wooden boat and engine finally arrived. A special dedication ceremony brought the community together in gratitude and prayer. The moment was deeply spiritual, reaffirming our testimony of the Lord’s hand in this work.
The success of the Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project relies on teamwork. Each week, fishermen retrieve and repair nets while holding meetings to discuss fishing activities and community well-being. During these gatherings, many expressed how the project had blessed their lives. One fisherman, with tears in his eyes, said, “This boat is not just a boat; it is a gift from God. It has given us hope and a future.”
The people of Nabeina are deeply grateful for the Church Humanitarian Fund’s support. The fishing gear and boat have answered prayers, providing families with the means to sustain themselves. During meetings, many shared testimonies of how the aid had strengthened their faith. One woman said, “We have always prayed for a way to provide for our children. Now, with this boat and these nets, we can see God’s hand in our lives. He has not forgotten us.”
Though most of the community is not of our faith, Sister Birita and I have always believed in serving all of God’s children. Our goal was not to impose our beliefs but to demonstrate Christlike love through action. This project brought people together regardless of religion, and we are grateful to have been instruments in the Lord’s hands.
The Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project is a testament to the power of faith, service, and community. Through the Lord’s guidance, humanitarian aid, and the dedication of the Nabeina people, a sustainable livelihood has been established. The blessings extend beyond economic opportunity, fostering unity and self-reliance.
Sister Birita and I have witnessed the Lord’s hand at every step, from the initial inspiration to the final dedication of the boat. We know this is just the beginning for Nabeina, and we look forward to seeing how the Lord will continue to bless them.
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:35).
The Nabeina Green Market Incorporated project embodies this scripture as the community unites to uplift one another through faith and service.

When I was about eleven, something wonderful happened to my family. My parents decided to start going to church. A few years later, my family traveled to Salt Lake City to be sealed in the temple. It was a very cold day in January, snowy and foggy. The temple was strikingly beautiful. For some reason, I remember its engraved doorknobs. I also remember walking into the beautiful sealing room and seeing my family, aunts, uncles, and family friends. It was so wonderful to have everyone there!

BARBARA: I have a friend I am really close to at school. We were both trying out for something. We worked together, and helped each other, and we even prayed for each other. Then talking with her the other day, I found out she isn’t a member of our church. She is a Buddhist! I was so surprised! The whole time I had been treating her like a Mormon. We had become really close; she came up to me one day, started crying, and told me how much she appreciated me. And I thought, if we could only treat everyone as if he were a member, then we’d have no problems.

Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect, the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.

“Now then, girls, as we visit the Art Institute, always carry your folding stool over your left arm, walk in pairs, and absolutely no gum chewing!” There were guilty looks as the gum quickly disappeared, and the Chicago Heights Illinois Stake Mia Maids grinned as they reminded each other that the stools were to be carried over left arms, not right. (Carrying them on the left arm avoids bumping valuable paintings as tour groups move down the right-hand side of narrow halls.)
Then the entire group hurried to keep up with the 81-year-old, but incredibly energetic, tour guide, Miss Marianne English. It was quickly becoming evident that this morning’s cultural activity at the Art Institute of Chicago was going to be as entertaining as it would be enlightening.
First stop: a valuable glazed pottery horse, a statue from the T’ang Dynasty, which ruled China in the seventh through ninth centuries. Eyebrows raised with new interest as the girls learned of the ancient Chinese custom that insisted a man be buried with not just his live horse, but with his wife as well! Then Miss English whisked the group on down the marble hallways lined with Roman vases and Greek statues. They paused at an Italian sculpture of Heracles wrestling Anteus.
“Does anyone remember the story of this myth?” the guide asked. One girl surprised even herself as she related most of the details. Anteus, a giant who received his strength by always touching the earth, was finally bested by Heracles in a battle of wits and strength.
The group moved on toward a collection of Buddha statues, but the guide slowed her pace to a stroll and chatted with a couple of the girls, who were on the tour as part of the first-ever Mia Maid conference in the stake.
“They tell me you girls are a religious group on some kind of a retreat. You’re the ones who don’t believe in Christ, right?” A girl with long, blond hair smiled as she reassured the guide that Latter-day Saints most assuredly do believe in Christ. She, like most of the other girls, seemed accustomed to such questions. After all, Chicago and its suburbs include 7 million people plus, and the missionaries haven’t reached all of them yet.
Other girls thought back to their morning’s activity. The first stop had been a 50-foot, metal Picasso sculpture that dominates the Civic Center Plaza in the heart of downtown Chicago. Elevators tunnel to the top of towering buildings around the courtyard, and of course, each girl clambered aboard one to rush with it up story after story for the reward of a look down. The Saturday-morning city was just beginning to allow slices of sunshine to sift through the skyscrapers.
The skyline was familiar to only a few of the Mia Maids, though some of them do occasionally shop downtown in enormous department stores with famous names like Marshall Fields, riding efficient commuter trains from their suburban homes many miles away. Members of the Chicago Heights Illinois Stake live anywhere from 50 blocks to 75 miles from the city’s “Loop,” the center downtown area encircled by elevated railways. In the cool early morning air on top of the building, Arlene and Carla had reminded each other about pigeons they had seen on Michigan Avenue and anticipated returning after the tour (when it would be warmer) to chase them. Then they had jumped back on the elevator, dropped back to the plaza, and gathered with the rest of the group.
“Put your stools down here, and we’ll look at Rembrandt’s painting Young Girl at the Open Half-door,” Miss English interrupted the young ladies’ reverie. “This painting is actually a design of circles. Look closely and you might see more than 20 circles.” Suddenly, for Pam and Brenda the painting became more than just a scene with a nice-looking girl. It became an intriguing puzzle.
Others were fascinated by the large brush strokes of El Greco or the loving smiles on portraits by Correggio, who reportedly learned his technique by studying the Mona Lisa.
The Art Institute’s collection is arranged chronologically, so a walk through the corridors is a walk through the centuries. The oldest painting dates about 1270 A.D., and the statues and other relics date centuries earlier still.
One of the highlights of the medieval collection was a series of paintings entitled The Ayala Altarpiece. The works were commissioned by a family of nobles in 14th-century Spain for the family tomb. Heavy with gold, the altarpiece depicts various scenes from the life of Christ, typical of the period when the major function of art was religious instruction (necessitated by the fact that only the priests could read).
“Medieval painters hadn’t yet learned to show distance,” Miss English explained. “The pictures look flat, with no sense of perspective, and the people have rigid, awkward bodies. Notice that it is essentially the position of the stiff hands that expresses the character’s surprise or sadness.”
Not far away, another Mia Maid was startled to meet the likeness of a young woman, cut in stone, atop a chiseled sarcophagus. “Actually,” Miss English confided, “the woman buried in this coffin was probably much older and not so beautiful as the lady you see lying here. It’s likely she had her likeness carved the way she wanted to be remembered.”
A short detour and the group jumped ahead to the 19th century, plopping down their stools in front of an impressionistic work by Claude Monet, The Beach at Sainte Adresse, one of his early paintings.
“Do you see here the careful shadings and detail we saw in Rembrandt?” the guide inquired. “Have the brush strokes melted into one realistic scene like the landscape of Venice we passed?”
A timid hand rose. “No. You see dabs of green and white in the ocean that aren’t blended in at all.”
“Right! The theory in impressionism is that the colors will mix in the mind. French artists like Monet, Renoir, and Degas broke the established rules and used less careful detail but lots of light, atmosphere, feeling, and color.” She described how the impressionists were at first rejected, but persisted in their scenes of rainbow colors without smooth shading. Details were lost, flowers became simply dots of paint, and reflections in water were favorite settings. American artist Mary Cassatt convinced many wealthy Americans to buy French paintings and bring them to the U.S. “I’m sure France wishes it had some of them back!” the guide said. “The people wouldn’t call them messy now, which is how they described them then.”
The girls didn’t realize how fast time was passing. They were amazed that art history could be so much fun. And the guide made it even more personal by pointing out things they could observe any time they went looking at art: “Learn to look for the color, shape, line, form, texture, and movement that always comprise a painting.”
—Colors may be bold, such as those in Delacroix’s The Lion Hunt, which underscore the deep emotions of the scene. Reds are fierce, dark clouds threatening. Or colors may be delicately shaded, as in the porcelainlike faces of Renoir’s women. Or they may be just flecks and spots, as in the “pointillism” of Seurat, who used tiny brush strokes of different colors to fill an entire picture. (For example, separate dots of blue and orange can be distinguished in the grass in Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, although when one takes a step back, the color appears as dark green.)
—Look for geometric shapes in the overall design. Are lines and forms sweeping or restful? The circles in Young Girl at the Open Half-door have already been described. In The Lion Hunt the oval arrangement of the characters ties together the animals and the hunters, intensifying the drama. In the Seurat painting just mentioned, the triangle shape of the island draws the audience back into the picture.
—The texture of the paint can be so smooth it is almost an unobservable part of the work or so heavy that it can’t be ignored. For example, in Picasso’s Place du Havre, Paris, there is such a heavy impasto (paint laid thickly on the canvas) that it’s almost like painting with candy. Especially in modern art, texture may be anything from smooth like a window pane to woolly like a sweater. The paint may not even cover all of the canvas.
—Some artists successfully create a sensation of movement. How? In On the Stage by Degas, skirts swirl, hair flies, and details in the foreground are blurred to give the illusion of captured motion.
“See what the artist is trying to tell you,” Miss English summarized. “Are the people realistic or only caricatures? Is he showing their character or only their costume? For example, look at the pitchfork-holding farmer and his wife portrayed in Grant Wood’s famous American Gothic, painted in 1930. What message about those two people do you find?
“Finally, if modern art baffles you, remember it encompasses all the elements of traditional art, except that the subject has been removed. Nature or the realistic scene serves merely as a jumping-off point. Some modern art, such as Picasso’s, is inspired by the medieval period. He has gone full circle back to the flat perspective.” Teenage heads nodded with new understanding, remembering the huge Picasso sculpture they had seen first thing that morning.
The tour was over. Later that night, traditional youth conference activities continued. There were workshops on dance, beauty, and grooming, and a spiritual discussion about testimonies, taught by Sister Jan Ryan, who joined the Church just 18 months ago. A court reporter, she compared witnessing the truth before a judge to testifying of the truth before one’s fellowman. There was also a testimony meeting.
The young ladies still recall the Friday evening group prayer, the games, the apple juice and doughnut refreshments, and the chatter before snoozing in sleeping bags. And, of course, the spiritual memories still linger, because they helped the girls see life through new eyes. In a different way, so did the art tour. By studying great artworks, the Mia Maids had, perhaps, gained some appreciation for the talent and love the Master Artist exhibited in creating the world, and they had learned to search for beauty where they hadn’t expected to find it before. That type of awareness may just be the true purpose of art.