Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes it’s easy to look past the poverty and problems in your own backyard. That’s what youth from the Roanoke Virginia Stake wanted to avoid when they decided to help out some people right nearby, at the Roanoke Area Rescue Mission, a faith-based homeless shelter, which also runs a separate facility for needy women and their children.
Young men and women from the stake joined in with young adults and a few missionaries to participate in “Clean Sweep Day.” The volunteers did everything from picking up trash off the streets of the neighborhoods surrounding the rescue mission, to serving food, washing dishes, setting tables, refilling water glasses, and emptying the garbage.
Before the youth went to the rescue mission for the service project, they collected sugar and napkins in their various wards and branches for several months. They donated these items to the rescue mission, which serves around 900 people every day.
For these youth, it was a very real example of what King Benjamin taught in the Book of Mormon: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

“That old man’s a regular puzzlement, isn’t he?” Nathan blurted out to his six-year-old brother, B. J., who walked beside him down the dirt road toward home.
“What old man?” B. J. asked without looking up as he stomped his already muddy feet in the December rain puddles along the wagon-rutted road.
“You know,” Nathan returned, “the one who moved into the Kelsay place six months back. Josiah Potts. It’s less than three weeks until Christmas, and he’s just as ornery as ever.”
“You mean because he never smiles?” B. J. asked, jumping like a frog over a dirty puddle.
Nathan stopped to stare at the sod house nestled in a tangle of dogwood trees just off the road. He leaned against the rickety fence that bordered the little yard. “I guess so,” he said barely loud enough to hear. Thunder boomed and jagged flashes of lightning rent the damp air like the sights and sounds of the war his pa had gone to fight and had never come home from.
A frigid wind tugged at B. J., and he squinted up impatiently at his twelve-year-old brother. “Don’t fret about it, Nathan. Mr. Potts is just a grumpy old man.”
Nathan nodded, still gazing intently at the house.
“Maybe Mr. Potts lost somebody in the war, too, B. J. Maybe that’s why—”
Nathan stopped abruptly as Josiah Potts appeared on the little warped porch in front of his house. His long, ghostly white beard whipped every which way in the stiff wind, and his deep-set eyes seemed every bit as dark and foreboding as the sky above.
Nathan jumped back from the fence, his sleeve catching on a rotting picket and breaking it loose.
“Well,” the old man barked, “just what’re you staring at?”
Nathan swallowed hard. “Nothing in particular, sir.”
“Since when am I ‘nothing in particular,’ boy?”
“Didn’t mean no spite, sir,” Nathan uttered meekly.
“Then get away from my fence,” Mr. Potts growled. “I lost enough in Atlanta during the war without some young scalawag coming by here and busting up my fence.”
Nathan couldn’t keep from asking, “Did you lose anything besides property, Mr. Potts? Kinfolk, maybe?”
Gray, wiry brows buckled over Josiah’s eyes in tired pain. “My wife and boy, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t!”
Nathan fidgeted uneasily. “My brother and I lost our pa at Shiloh.”
“You two had best get on home before you get caught in the rain,” Mr. Potts muttered, adding, “The heavens have a way of dropping a heavy load on a fellow’s shoulders without warning and of leaving him in the lurch.”
Nathan sensed the old man’s despair. Maybe Mr. Potts doesn’t know what B. J. and I know, Nathan speculated, about how families can be forever. He doesn’t know about —
“Well?” Josiah’s voice interrupted Nathan’s thoughts. “What are you dawdling for?”
As soon as Nathan had hauled wood and taken the lids off the rain barrels under the eaves to catch the runoff so his ma would have water for the next washday, he hurried into the dugout. He stuffed something under his arm and was on his way out the door when his mother stopped him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Son?” she asked.
“I just want to give something to Mr. Potts, Ma.”
Nathan revealed a little worn Bible under his arm.
“Your Bible? What on earth for, honey?” his mother asked.
“I’ve read it twice,” Nathan explained. “Maybe it will help Mr. Potts as much as it did me. Besides, I still have the Book of Mormon Pa gave me when he got home from his mission before the war, and we have our family Bible that I can use.” Nathan eyed the scriptures in his hands. “There’s something in here I want Mr. Potts to read. See, I marked the pages.”
B. J. looked skeptical. “He’ll probably just throw it away.”
Nathan sighed. “Maybe. But it’ll give me some peace of mind. I’ll be able to walk by that old man’s place and say that at least I tried to mend his hurt, and it won’t weigh on me so much any more.”
Ma looked at him a long moment, her eyes misting. “I’m seeing more and more of your pa in you every day, Nathan. We could use another good Mormon missionary right here in Mapleton.”
When Nathan reached the sod house, he paused, talked himself into going up the steps, and almost knocked on the door. Instead he decided to write a note on the inside of the Bible’s cover. When he had finished, he placed the book on a chair on the stoop and left as quietly as he had come.
Two days later, as Nathan was passing Josiah’s house on his way to the gristmill, he heard Mr. Potts call, “Hey, boy!” The old man was standing just behind the screen door. “Why’d you give me the Bible, boy?” He stepped out onto the porch for an answer.
Nathan took a deep breath. “It’s … it’s almost Christmas, Mr. Potts. It’s … a gift.”
The old man stared at Nathan, a ragged smile starting to push at the edges of his melancholy. “Why would you want to give me a gift?”
“I figured you could use one,” Nathan answered.
Josiah’s knotty, leathery hand brushed a wad of unshorn hair from his unblinking gaze. “You marked a place in it that says, ‘He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’
“I take it that means that a body’s loved ones who have passed on are waiting somewhere for those still alive in the flesh?”
Nathan nodded. “That’s right, Mr. Potts.”
Tears spilled in streamlets down the old man’s face. “I’d give anything in the world to believe like you do, boy. Anything.”
Nathan thought he would burst inside as he said, “Well, for a start, Mr. Potts, how about an hour of your time this Sunday? Would you come to church with us—with Ma, B. J., and me?”
“I think I’d like that,” Josiah answered slowly. “Yes, I do believe I would.”
A few minutes later as Nathan continued on his way to the mill, rain started splintering down. Funny, Nathan thought as he walked along, it sure feels warm.
That year, on Christmas day, Josiah Potts was baptized in Cold Water Creek by Bishop Nephi Cole. When he came up out of the water, Nathan saw him gaze toward the heavens in a way he never had before.

In the beloved children’s story Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the mysterious candy maker Willy Wonka hides a golden ticket in five of his candy bars and announces that whoever finds one of the tickets wins a tour of his factory and a lifetime supply of chocolate.
Written on each golden ticket is this message: “Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket … ! Tremendous things are in store for you! Many wonderful surprises await you! … Mystic and marvelous surprises … will … delight, … astonish, and perplex you.”3
In this classic children’s story, people all over the world desperately yearn to find a golden ticket. Some feel that their entire future happiness depends on whether or not a golden ticket falls into their hands. In their anxiousness, people begin to forget the simple joy they used to find in a candy bar. The candy bar itself becomes an utter disappointment if it does not contain a golden ticket.

Francine walked slowly through the deep green alfalfa field, the soft, cool plants brushing her bare legs pleasantly. The summer sun felt warm on her head and shoulders, and bees darted here and there among the blossoms. It had been only a month since Francine’s family loaded all their belongings onto the wagon behind her father’s workhorse and had moved up from town to this beautiful valley. She still liked to walk through the fields and just look at everything. But she would like it even better if she had a horse.
Looking out across the field, she saw a man riding a horse up the lane that separated her family’s fields from the neighbor’s fields. The man turned the horse into his alfalfa field and rode to the top of it where the irrigation ditch ran. Francine was startled to see him suddenly tumble off the horse into the alfalfa. Maybe he’s sick, she thought. She ran quickly to the fence, ducked under it, and raced across the field. She could see water splashing where the man had fallen and great drops flying into the air, catching the sunlight. He must have fallen into the ditch, Francine surmised. She ran as fast as she could over the rough ground.
“I’m coming!” she shouted, hoping he wouldn’t give up till she got there. At that moment the man raised his head and looked at her calmly. Francine stopped abruptly, her face hot from running and her breath coming in gasps. She could see that he was not in the ditch at all but beside it. He held the board for damming the ditch in his hands.
“What are you shouting about?” he asked gruffly. His streaked gray hair stood up wildly, and his blue eyes were piercing under his shaggy eyebrows.
“I thought you needed help,” she replied, “and that you had fallen into the ditch.” She suddenly felt awkward and embarrassed and looked at the ground. Only then did she see that the man had no legs. His pants were cut off at the middle of his thighs and pinned securely. Both his pants and flannel shirt were quite wet.
“I definitely don’t need help from a little girl,” he rasped. He turned away from her and began pushing the stopper board into the cement headgate, but it jammed in the slots. Then he pulled himself closer, oblivious of the water spilling around him.
“Could I help you get the board in?” Francine asked, moving closer.
He turned to her, his face red with exertion and anger. “Can’t a man do his irrigating without pesky little girls coming around?” he stormed. “Now go play!”
Francine turned away quickly and found herself face-to-face with the man’s horse. It was a rather short, strongly built horse with a gleaming reddish brown coat and a shiny black mane. Francine looked into the animal’s face and thought it had the kindest, most intelligent eyes she had ever seen. The horse lowered its head to her, sniffed briefly, and then stepped back as though to let her pass. How Francine would love a horse like that for her own.
“You have a beautiful horse,” she said, looking back again at the man. He was just pushing the board securely into its place when he glanced at Francine. She thought she saw the barest flicker of gentleness in his eyes before he said gruffly again, “Go and play, little girl.”
Francine walked past the horse and back across the field to the canal, where large shady cottonwoods grew along the bank. Sitting down in the cool, prickly grass, she watched the man from a distance. She wondered why she wasn’t more afraid of him. He’s been mean to me, she thought. Maybe its because of the odd way he had to get off the horse. She watched as he worked himself away from the ditch. The horse took a few steps toward him, then stood still and stiff, its head lowered while the man grasped the horse’s leg and pulled himself upright. Then he reached up and knotted his hand into its mane. In a quick motion he was on the horse’s back. He rode back through the field and down the lane as Francine watched, fascinated.
That night at dinner she told her family about the experience.
“I’ve heard about our neighbor, Mr. Lewis,” her father said. “He runs his whole farm without any help except from his wife.”
“He certainly didn’t want any help from me,” Francine said.
“They say he’s very proud,” her mother added as she passed the food around. “He won’t let anyone help him.”
“I’ve heard he’s very mean and grouchy,” her little brother, Stephen, put in, looking up from his potatoes.
“I don’t think he’s really mean, just grouchy,” Francine said, remembering how his eyes had softened a little when she mentioned the horse.
“Doesn’t he have a wheelchair or something?” Stephen asked.
“I don’t know, but I think he finds his horse the most help for getting around his farm,” his father said.
Francine’s eyes lit up. “His horse is wonderful, Daddy. You should have seen the way it stood so still while he climbed onto it. And it was beautiful, all shiny in the sun.”
Her father looked at her kindly. “You’d really like a horse, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, Yes!” Francine said. “And I have five dollars saved for one. How much is it going to take?”
“I don’t know,” her father replied. “It depends on what you’re willing to settle for. You might find an old retired workhorse for ten dollars or so. It would give you something to ride around on.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I want a good horse … like Mr. Lewis’s.”
“Then you’ll have to wait quite a while, because we don’t have the money for it,” her father said.
“I know that, and I’ll wait.” Francine ate her potatoes resolutely, seeing in her mind Mr. Lewis’s shining red horse standing still and strong in the sunlight.
The next afternoon Francine wandered through the fields again. She came to the top of the small hill that looked down on the Lewis farm. Their house was white and neat, with roses in front and various sheds and coops sprawled out behind it. Francine hesitated and then walked down the hill, skirted around the house, and slipped quietly into the barnyard. She walked past the chicken coops where white hens cackled and pecked behind the wire, and then she saw the horse standing outside a cinder-block milking barn. He was not tied but stood quietly waiting, the reins over his mane. Francine approached very slowly and silently. The horse turned its head and regarded her calmly, so she put out her hand and stroked its neck. The warm coat twitched deliciously under her hand.
She could hear the clanging of milk pails in the barn. The double doors stood open, and she could see the backsides of the large holstein cows, their tails switching and flicking at the files. After petting the horse and talking to it for a few minutes, she stepped quietly through the door so as not to startle the cows.
Mr. Lewis sat on a small wooden platform mounted on what looked to Francine like roller skate wheels. He leaned his head against the cow’s flank as the milk squirted rhythmically into the bucket. When the bucket was full, he put it beside him on the cart and took two thick rubber rings from his pockets with which he pushed himself so that his hands did not touch the floor. As he approached the milk can, he saw Francine standing in the doorway.
“You again,” he said. He raised the bucket of milk above his head and poured it into the can.
“I came to see your horse,” she said.
He peered at her from under his shaggy eyebrows as he placed the empty bucket beside him. “Her name is Pilar,” he said.
“I’m saving my money to buy a horse,” she said. “I have five dollars.”
“That won’t buy much of a horse,” Mr. Lewis snorted.
“I know,” Francine said, a little hurt that he would think her so stupid about what a horse cost. “I’ll have to save a lot more before I can get one.”
“Well, Missy …”
“My name is Francine.”
“Well, Francine, as you can see, I have work to do, so you’d better run along.”
“I could help you,” Francine said. “I could curry Pilar for you.”
Mr. Lewis sighed. “All right,” he said. “The currycomb is there on the wall.” He turned back toward his cows.
Francine got the currycomb quickly. She curried the horse until her coat glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. At first Pilar looked suspiciously at the girl, but then she appeared to relax and enjoy the brushing. Through the open door Francine saw Mr. Lewis return several times to the milk can and lift the bucket to pour the warm milk in.
When she had finished with Pilar, she went back into the dim barn and watched him. “I could do that for you,” she said as he returned again to the milk can. “It would save you a lot of time.”
“Look,” he said impatiently, “I have managed quite well here for five years without your help.” He turned away from her and said gruffly over his shoulder. “You’re a busybody.”
Francine felt crushed. She knew she should go home, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She liked Mr. Lewis somehow, and she liked Pilar even more.
When he came back again, she said, “How about if you paid me so I could save for my horse—say five cents a night? I’d empty all the milk buckets, too, and help you clean up the barn.”
Mr. Lewis looked up at her, and the warmth she had seen before crept into his eyes.
“Francine,” he said, “we have very little cash. We just barely make it on this farm. I don’t think I could afford to pay you even that small amount.”
“I’d really be glad to do it without pay if I could see Pilar … maybe even ride her sometime.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not,” he said.
Francine turned and went outside. She stopped by Pilar and stroked the horse’s neck again and then started through the barnyard.
“Francine!”
She turned and saw Mr. Lewis framed in the doorway of the barn.
“Come back here a second.” When she reached him he looked at her a minute. “I do get pretty tired emptying those buckets.” He smiled slightly. “Pilar is going to foal in a couple of months. If you turned out to be worth anything as a worker, I might consider her colt as payment.”
Francine’s heart leaped at the thought! “I’d come for morning milking too,” she said.
“You’ll have to ask your folks,” Mr. Lewis said. “And I’ll expect you to go on working after the colt is born.”
“Oh, I will!” Francine promised.
“Well, don’t just stand around, girl,” he directed. “Get the bucket emptied.” Then his face creased into a big smile as Francine rushed past him into the barn.

I learned recently of loving service given to a mother when her children were very young. Frequently she would be up in the middle of the night tending to the needs of her little ones, as mothers do. Often her friend and neighbor across the street would come over the next day and say, “I saw your lights on in the middle of the night and know you were up with the children. I’m going to take them to my house for a couple of hours while you take a nap.”

Said this grateful mother: “I was so thankful for her welcome offer, it wasn’t until this had happened many times that I realized if she had seen my lights on in the middle of the night, she was up with one of her children as well and needed a nap just as much as I did. She taught me a great lesson, and I’ve since tried to be as observant as she was in looking for opportunities to serve others.”

Upon authorization by the First Presidency, I was privileged to dedicate the land of Hungary on Mt. Gellért in Budapest, Easter Sunday, 19 April 1987. Two days later, Elder Ringger and I met with the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs, Imre Miklos. Our reception at first was a bit tense. It was clear that we were neither welcome nor wanted. Things were not going particularly well. But then I felt impressed to let this leader know that two days prior to this meeting, I had offered a special apostolic prayer for his country and for its people. As this was mentioned, his countenance changed. Now he was listening. A meeting planned for thirty minutes lasted an hour and a half. From that point forward, he became our friend and advocate. Several subsequent meetings were successfully held. Fourteen months later, Elder Ringger and I returned to Budapest for formal ceremonies with Mr. Miklos on 14 June 1988 that confirmed official recognition for the Church in Hungary.

In October 1989, the annual seminar for all European mission presidents and their partners was held in Budapest. President Thomas S. Monson and Sister Frances J. Monson joined us. On the very date of that seminar, October 17, the Hungarian Parliament changed the name of their country from the Hungarian People’s Republic to the Republic of Hungary. That country had now become a democracy.

A new mission was opened 1 July 1990, with James L. Wilde serving as president. Our chapel in Budapest was dedicated by President Monson, and several congregations are developing there and in other centers of strength.

Certainly family concerns are real and should not be considered lightly. But we cannot meet our family challenges without the blessings of the Lord; and when we sacrifice to serve as full-time missionary couples, those blessings will flow. For example, one couple worried about leaving their youngest daughter, who was no longer active in the Church. Her faithful father wrote: “We prayed for her continually and fasted regularly. Then, during general conference, the Spirit whispered to me, ‘If you will serve, you will not have to worry about your daughter anymore.’ So we met with our bishop. The week after we received our call, she and her boyfriend announced they were engaged. Before we left for Africa, we had a wedding in our home. [Then we gathered our family together and] held a family council. … I bore testimony of the Lord and Joseph Smith … and told them I would like to give each of them a father’s blessing. I started with the oldest son and then his wife and proceeded to the youngest … [including our new son-in-law].”

As we consider couple missionary service, it is appropriate to involve our families in the same way. In family council meetings, we can give our children the opportunity to express their support, offer special assistance we may need, and receive priesthood blessings to sustain them in our absence. Where appropriate, we may be able to receive priesthood blessings from them as well. As the faithful father in this story blessed his family members, his son-in-law felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. The father wrote: “By the end of our first year [the] heart [of our son-in-law] began to soften toward the Church. Just before we returned home from our mission, he and our daughter came to visit us. In his suitcase was the first set of Sunday clothes he had ever owned. They came to church with us, and after we returned home he was baptized. A year later they were sealed in the temple.”

I wanted to write to tell you how much I enjoy your magazine. It is a blessing in my life. It helps me understand who I am. I get a feeling of peace every time I read it. Your magazine is funny, touching, and encouraging. I have been searching for an answer to know if the church is true. Your magazine helped me find that answer, and I am truly grateful. I don’t have a subscription, but I still get it at the bookstore. Thank you for the influence it is on my life.
Kara OatesDallas, Texas

During World War II, on my first Sunday as a Marine, I ran into a very special missionary companion of mine at a Church service. Both of us had volunteered for the Marine Corps! When we completed boot camp, we were both assigned to the Second Marine Division.
After the battle was over on the island to which our division was assigned, we were able to obtain a tent for Church services. We made benches, a pulpit, and a sacrament table out of any pieces of lumber we could find. Under the sacrament table we placed a special green footlocker. We carried that footlocker with us from island to island as our division completed its orders. The contents of the green footlocker represented all we held dear: a wooden plate, a wooden sacrament tray, a card containing the sacrament prayers, and several boxes of small paper cups.
As President David O. McKay has reminded us, partaking of the sacrament is a renewal of the covenants we made at the time of baptism, which are that “We are willing to take upon ourselves the name of the Son. In so doing we choose him as our leader and our ideal. … We will always remember him. Not just on Sunday, but on Monday [and the other days of the week]. … We promise to ‘… keep his commandments. …’—tithing, fast offerings, the Word of Wisdom, kindness, forgiveness, love.” (Gospel Ideals, page 146.)
As we gathered each week on the Lord’s day, we opened our footlocker and used the contents to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament. It was a spiritual and uplifting experience that renewed our faith and gave us hope for the days ahead.
Eventually our tent chapel was filled with many holes caused by shrapnel tearing through it. When frequent tropical rains made it uncomfortable to sit in a tent with so many holes in it, we determined that our meetings deserved better quarters. We finally obtained enough material to construct a chapel. Now the green footlocker was placed beneath the table in a dedicated house of worship.
When our duties on the island were completed, we boarded a ship and moved out. Our footlocker remained in the chapel for others to use. I don’t know its final destination, but that old green footlocker will always have a special place in my heart because even in one of the most trying periods of my life, I was able to receive spiritual renewal for the days ahead as I partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

As we look at Brigham Young and reflect upon the inspiration and direction that came to that most unusual man, we recall how he was able to fill the tragic void caused by the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, how he was able under inspiration and revelation to guide and direct the closing of Nauvoo and the planning of the trip west. We remember the continued work there at that time on the Nauvoo Temple and the way that was organized to move forward, with the wagon trains crossing the West and into the Salt Lake Valley into what would become Zion.

There is a living God who loves us and is constantly nearby and available. Doubt need not be part of our lives. The reality of God’s influence is felt by all Church members who comply with divine laws. It can also be tangibly felt by non-members, when it is his will. This is evidenced by the following experience in the Sao Paulo Temple.

The temple was opened to the public during the month of September 1978 before being closed in preparation for the dedication. Among the many visitors who felt the influence of this special temple was a certain nonmember newspaper reporter.

During the tour he eventually arrived at the door of the celestial room. Those few people who were accompanying him saw him abruptly stop and bow his head. He remained in that position for some time, with his eyes closed and head bowed. Then he slowly moved his head from side to side and at the same time opened his eyes, as if to inquire by this gesture “who is there?” or “Is anyone there?”

After some time his head was raised and his eyes opened. His expression indicated that he knew something holy was there, and those about him witnessed the tears streaming down his face. He had felt the beautiful influence of the Spirit found so often in the temples. He knew something good was there and felt joy inside. It was a real, tangible feeling.

From the time I was a small boy in Lima, Perú, I had an inclination to seek the things of God. In my childhood, I faithfully attended my family’s church. I spent part of my youth singing in the church choir.
But when I was 17 years old, as I was praying in church, a feeling of uncertainty came into my mind. A particular point of doctrine caused me to wonder if I was in the right place.
That very night, I looked through much of the New Testament. I also went to see a neighbor who was a member of another church, and together we read from the Bible and found answers to some of the doctrinal questions that had begun troubling me.
It wasn’t hard for me to see that I had been on the wrong road. But it wasn’t easy to find the truth. I attended various religious meetings. I read several articles that discussed God, but none of them aroused any great interest in me. Meanwhile I continued to read the New Testament. I was very interested in finding out about the sheep “not of this fold” that Jesus mentioned in John 10:16.
For almost a year I identified myself as a Christian but did not affiliate with any specific denomination. I was studying at a technology center, and religion was a frequent topic of conversation. One day I overheard a discussion between a young Latter-day Saint and a member of another church. The assurance in the Latter-day Saint’s voice and the power of his words made an impression on me. The only thing I had heard about Mormons was that they were a group of cowboys. I didn’t know any Mormons well, and there was no LDS Church building nearby.

When Mrs. Johnson’s poodle, Ricky, died, all the children in the neighborhood were sad. Ricky had been a nice dog, and the children loved to pet him and play with him. They thought that the man who ran over him must have been very mean, and they wanted to help Mrs. Johnson get even with him.
One day when Julie and Sandy were on their way home from school, they saw Mrs. Johnson sitting in the swing on her porch. They thought about passing by her house without talking to her because they didn’t know what to say. But Mrs. Johnson called to them, and they knew that it wouldn’t be very nice to just ignore her.
“I guess you heard about what happened to Ricky,” Mrs. Johnson said. Her voice was very sad.
“Yes,” said Julie, “and if we ever find out who did it, we’ll help you get even.”
“We’ll make him sorry that he ever ran over a nice dog like Ricky,” Sandy chimed in.
Mrs. Johnson moved to one side of her swing and asked them to sit next to her. “I don’t want you to get even for me,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Wouldn’t be right?” Julie asked.
“After what he did to you,” Sandy said, “I thought that you would want to get even.”
“Oh no,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “I miss Ricky very much. But getting even with the man who hit him won’t bring him back to me.”
“Well, that’s true,” Julie said, “but it should make you feel better to know that you made him feel as bad as you do.”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Johnson said quickly. Then she asked, “How would you feel if you had been the one who ran over Ricky?”
“I would feel awful,” the children said together.
“Well,” Mrs. Johnson told them, “I think that the man who hit Ricky felt very bad too.”
“You mean you talked to him?” Julie asked.
“Oh yes,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “He came to my door right after it happened and told me that he was sorry. I could tell that he really meant what he said.”
Just then a car pulled up in front of Mrs. Johnson’s house, and a young man got out. He was carrying something small wrapped in a blanket. “Mrs. Johnson,” he said softly, “I have something for you. I know that he won’t take Ricky’s place, but I hope that you’ll like him.”
When the young man opened the blanket, the children saw a small black puppy. It did not look like Ricky, but its tail was wagging and it had big brown eyes.
Mrs. Johnson smiled as she picked the puppy up and gave it a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very nice of you.”
“I’m glad that you like him,” said the young man. Then he went back to his car and drove away.
Sandy and Julie stayed to play with the new puppy while Mrs. Johnson went to the store to buy dog food. They were very happy that Mrs. Johnson had a new friend to stay with her now. They were also surprised that the man who had run over Ricky was so nice.
“You know, there is one thing that I’m glad we didn’t do,” said Sandy to Julie after a while.
“What’s that?” asked Julie as she rolled a small rubber ball across the porch for the puppy to chase.
“I’m really glad that we never had a chance to get even,” Sandy replied.

President Hinckley said in a worldwide leadership training meeting: “I am convinced there is no other organization anywhere to match the Relief Society of this Church. It has a membership of more than five million women across the earth. If they will be united and speak with one voice, their strength will be incalculable. … It is so tremendously important that the women of the Church stand strong and immovable for that which is correct and proper under the plan of the Lord.”
I have pondered and studied this inspiring charge, and I have sought answers regarding how the women of this Church could fulfill President Hinckley’s challenge and promise. How can they speak with one voice and stand strong and immovable for those things which are correct and proper? Within the plan of the Lord there are specific things Latter-day Saint women must do because they are daughters of God, chosen to come to the earth at a time which has been called “a very difficult season in the history of the world.”
In order to do our part as women under the Lord’s plan, we must stand strong and immovable in faith, strong and immovable in family, and strong and immovable in relief. We must excel in these three important areas which set us apart as the Lord’s disciples. Through Relief Society we practice being disciples of Christ. We learn what He would have us learn, we do what He would have us do, and we become what He would have us become. When we gather with this focus, the work of Relief Society is relevant whatever your circumstance—whether you are 18 or 88, single or married, have children or not, or whether you live in Bountiful, Utah, or Bangalore, India.

“I remember taking a plate of food each Sunday to the little Scandinavian lady who lived in a basement apartment on the corner of our street. She had no family or friends nearby. The dinner was sent on Mother’s nicest china with a cloth napkin over it.

Faith. When Elder Richards left his first mission to go home, the ship’s crossing proved to be rough. As they neared the American shore a terrible storm arose. Gigantic waves rolled about, and everything not attached to the deck was thrown around. A sister returning from Scandinavia said, “Brother Richards, you don’t seem a bit worried.”
He answered, “Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you and the rest of the passengers, but I feel just as much at ease as if I were sitting in my mother’s parlor. I had a promise that if I filled an honorable mission, I’d return home in safety, and I have had the assurance that my mission was acceptable to the Lord, so I am going home.”

One of the traditions many Samoan families keep is the lotu (a family prayer or devotional).
About dusk each day a drum sounds throughout the village, calling all the people to their homes for lotu. If you visit a Samoan village or just go through it, it would be courteous and proper for you to stop your car and wait quietly during lotu time. You are also welcome to join any family for lotu in their fale (house).
Some villages have their aumaga (young men’s club) along the road in their uniforms to stop the cars. They ask the drivers to pull off the road and either park or drive through the village slowly and quietly.
During lotu you can hear the sounds of hymns, scriptures, and prayers floating from each fale. Inside, the family circle is surrounded by the glow of the setting sun.
After lotu the little children play games near the fale. The young men and women gather in their groups to visit or plan what they will do the next day. The older people may visit as drowsy little ones drift off to sleep.
When the aiga has been gathered in, the father and mother know everyone is home and all is well.

A great number of you are still single, and many of you are married. To those who are married, I would like to testify, based on my personal experience, that a loving, supportive wife at home is a great source of strength. You probably have heard the saying, “Behind every great man stands a great woman.” In the Church we have changed that adage somewhat by saying, “Behind every great man in the Church stands a surprised mother-in-law,” because she may say, “Is this the boy who married my daughter? Is he a bishop now? I can’t believe it.” Yes, Mother, that boy has matured, has gained experience by taking upon himself greater responsibilities and has learned to serve the Lord while serving others. In short, he has changed!

On Tuesday, April 26, members of the Coalinga Ward welfare committee met with other welfare leaders of the Hanford Stake in an emergency preparedness training seminar. Each ward was given a hypothetical disaster and assigned to come up with a plan of action for dealing with that situation. The scenario for the Coalinga Ward read: “A severe earthquake has caused major damage to the city of Coalinga and surrounding area. Power and communication by telephone are out. Fires are burning in some areas of the city. Many homes and public buildings are partially or totally destroyed.”
As Coalinga Ward leaders discussed their plan of action that Tuesday night, no one suspected that in less than a week they would actually be putting it into effect. Bishop Fowkes, a geology professor, conducted the session. “It’s not very likely that we’ll see a major earthquake in Coalinga,” he began. (Coalinga’s location in relation to the San Andreas fault made a large earthquake seem unlikely.) “But we’ll go ahead with this exercise and come up with a plan anyway,” the bishop continued.
The following Monday, May 2, at 4:43 P.M., an earthquake measuring 6.5 on the Richter scale hit just outside of Coalinga on an unknown fault. The downtown area was devastated, buildings caught fire, power was disrupted, and several homes were knocked off their foundations. Nearly every home sustained damage of some kind. It was time to implement the plan.

One thing that keeps the Sereni family standing strong in the gospel is their baptismal covenants. Christopher was recently baptized and confirmed, and something that made it extra special was “when my dad and a friend sang together,” he says.
Now Christopher and Judy work on keeping their baptismal covenants all the time and doing what Jesus Christ would like them to do. “When I have friends who get hurt, I try to help out,” Christopher says. Judy also likes to serve: “I help out at home. I help Christopher with his studies, and I serve my friends.”
Dad adds, “When they’re asked to set the table or wash the dishes after a meal, they’re willing. Just of their own free will, they help out.”