Gospel Story Finder

As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.

One of my esteemed colleagues told me of his efforts to aid a young college student who was feeling sorry for himself, who was lacking motivation and had no sense of responsibility. My friend made an attractive proposal to this young man. In a conversation that went something like this, he said, “Son, I’m going to take over full responsibility of your affairs from now on and relieve you of your worries. I’ll pay your tuition at college, buy your clothes, furnish you an automobile and a credit card for gasoline. When you get ready to marry, don’t worry about it; I’ll look for a wife for you, and I will supply you with a house that is furnished. I’ll support you and your family thereafter without any effort on your part. What do you think of my offer?”
After a moment of sobered thinking the young man replied, “Well, if you did that, what would there be for me to live for?”
Then my friend replied, “That is what I’m trying to make you see, my boy. That is the purpose of life—there is no joy without struggle and the exercise of one’s own natural abilities.”

Sometimes Janick’s enthusiasm for life carries him away. One day his mother, Esther, called his father at his office, which is near their home. She was having a hard time getting Janick to settle down; she asked her husband to come home and talk to him. His father came home. He told Janick that he needed to learn to help his mother in preparation for the day when he would hold the priesthood. “He really listened seriously to me,” his father said. “He behaved much better. He knew that we expected something of him.”

When she was 12 years old, her sense of security found deeper roots. While sitting in testimony meeting, she suddenly felt a strong desire to express her feelings about the Savior. “I stood up, and my love for Jesus just came gushing out,” Sister Wixom recalls. Her mother helped her understand that it was the Holy Ghost who had prompted her feelings.
“I had never known the Holy Ghost was so powerful and so real,” Sister Wixom says. Years later the Holy Ghost gave her an overwhelming feeling of peace while she was praying about one of her children. Her hope now is that parents and Primary leaders and teachers can help children learn to hear the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

Fourteen days is not very long. But two weeks was all we had as cast members of the Hill Cumorah Pageant to read the Book of Mormon cover to cover.
I knew that reading the 531-page script would make it easier to bear my testimony to the thousands of investigators that came to see the show. The reasons to read were obvious; however, the ways to find time to read were not so obvious.
The cast of 600 came to the Hill Cumorah from around the U.S. and Canada to perform this annual pageant. Not quite a vacation, daily practices started before sunrise and ended as late as 2:00 A.M. Every day was filled with learning our parts, attending classes, and having as many as four devotionals a day. There was no personal study time set aside. I snatched bites of the book during meals, on the bus rides, and during visits to the Sacred Grove.
The sacrifice to read became greater as each day and performance passed. Although I was tired and sore, my spirit was awake and eager to finish the sacred book. The characters were becoming my friends—partly because I was reading so much about them in such a short time, and partly because my friends literally were those characters in the pageant.
The couple playing Nephi and his wife, for example, made their characters real for me. I watched as she supported Nephi, making sure he arrived at rehearsal on time. I saw her straighten his headband and clothes, preparing him for his part. Laman, although a contentious character, was played by a sociable, popular guy. It made me wonder if perhaps the real Laman had a likable side—he just never caught on to the gospel message. Before the actors who played Jesus and his Twelve Apostles took their turn on stage, they gathered in prayer in a grove of trees near the stage. They took their parts seriously, as I’m sure the real men did. By having people dressed as these well-known characters, we realized that these scriptural people were human beings with individual personalities.
I headed for dinner just before our last performance. But then I saw Moroni walk by, which reminded me that I hadn’t finished the last few chapters of his book.
I wanted to meet the challenge and finish the Book of Mormon before our final performance. So I skipped dinner and climbed to the top of Hill Cumorah in my Nephite outfit. Although tourists and costumed cast members were on the hill, I found a private place away from the beaten path.
As I read the last words of Moroni, I looked into the woods and imagined what Moroni must have felt as he buried the plates. “I wander withersoever I can for the safety of mine own life” (Moro. 1:3).
I was getting to know Moroni as I read his words and sat where he may have been when he wrote them. It almost seemed as if he were reading aloud the last few chapters of the book.
“If ye have faith ye can do all things which are expedient unto me” (Moro. 10:23). I thought of all the hard things I had done, such as read the book in 14 days, and all of the hard things yet to come, such as standing up to peer pressure, fulfilling my church callings, and doing well in school. But Moroni reminded me that with faith we can accomplish what the Lord would have us do. He was becoming a real person to me.
I finished the last few verses of Moroni on his historic hill. I felt as if Moroni and I were sharing this moment together. I knew I wouldn’t forget the friendship I felt between us that night.

Permit me two illustrations. In the Transylvanian Alps of Romania, a man, with his wife and two children, was baptized into the Church. He became the leader of his branch; however, due to economic and family pressures, he became inactive for a time. Upon his return to activity, he reported that as he had stepped out of the water at the time of his baptism, someone whispered in his ear, “I love you.” No one had ever told him that before. His recollection of that expression of love, and the loving and charitable acts and expressions of members of his branch, brought him back.

Mom had had a really busy day, and lots of things had gone wrong for her. We were eating supper when the phone rang. Some neighbors were coming over, and my toys were all over the family room. One of the neighbors used a walker, so she might have tripped on a toy. I hurried and cleaned up really fast so that when they came in, it was looking nice. I felt happy that I had helped, and I help my mom more now.

“Personal Progress helps me become a better person and develop qualities and values that will be helpful when working with other people, looking for an eternal companion, raising a family, and fulfilling Church callings. One of my most special experiences with Personal Progress happened when I was working on my Good Works project.
“To complete the project, I served candies and drinks at a transportation business in Salt Lake City. This business shipped big pieces of the buildings that were destroyed in the September 11 attacks to California. The pieces were to be melted and shaped into a memorial for the firemen and officers who died while helping others.
“It was amazing how many people came to see the pieces of the buildings. People cried and stayed for hours. The pieces had been signed by people who had been to Ground Zero in New York City. I was touched by the people’s signatures and notes to loved ones on the metal. They wrote notes of encouragement to keep going, to live life to the fullest, and to always remember. Realizing how deeply the terrorist attacks had affected people’s lives gave me an appreciation and love for what I have.
“After finishing my Good Works project, I was even more determined to finish my Personal Progress.”Cassie Holbrook, 16Oak Woods Ward, Kaysville Utah Crestwood Stake

Forced by mob persecution to leave their homes in Nauvoo, Illinois, many members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints looked to the West to find a new Zion. The next year, 1847, under the direction of President Brigham Young, they migrated to the Great Salt Lake Valley. The first pioneer colony to arrive at the valley numbered one hundred forty-three men, three women, and two children. Among these first settlers was Green Flake, a former slave of a North Carolina planter, who had been converted earlier to the Church.
Born in Anson County, North Carolina, in 1825, Green was inherited by Madison Flake after his father’s death. As was the custom of the time, Green took the surname of his master. After Madison Flake joined the Church, he offered Green his freedom. However, Green chose to remain with Madison, and he moved to Nauvoo with the Flake family. In Nauvoo Green served for a short time as one of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s bodyguards.
Madison asked Green to go with the first wagon train of Saints to help prepare for the subsequent arrival of the Flake family. Life was hard for all of the pioneers. Green proved himself strong and reliable as the small band set up winter quarters in Nebraska; forged a trail along the Platte River to Ft. Laramie, Wyoming; in the spring, and conquered the Rocky Mountains.
President Young became ill with a fever when they arrived at Echo Canyon, which cut through the eastern slopes of the Wasatch Range fifty miles from the Great Salt Lake. He sent Orson Pratt ahead with a company of forty-two men, instructing them to build bridges and roads as they went. Green Flake was included in this group, which pushed on and reached the Great Salt Lake Valley on July 21, 1847. He rode in the first wagon to move through Emigration Canyon into the desert valley, later called by Brother Young a promised land.
Orson Pratt immediately dedicated the land to the Lord and blessed the seed that they had carried with them over a thousand miles. He then ordered the first crops to be planted. Green Flake plowed and sowed his seed before building a log house for the Flake family. He had chosen a site on the Amasa Survey in Cottonwood so that the Flakes could live near the Southern Saints who had come west with the Mississippi Company. It was they who established the first settlement in Utah outside of Salt Lake City.
When Madison Flake arrived a year later, he found a beautiful home ready for his family. At this time Green was only twenty-two years old. Shortly afterward Green married Martha Crosby, and they had two children. After his wife died in 1885, Green went to live near his son and daughter in Gray’s Lake, Idaho. He returned to Salt Lake City in 1897 to attend the Jubilee Pioneer Celebration and to receive a special certificate for being one of the first pioneers to enter the valley. He died six years later in Gray’s Lake at the age of seventy-eight.

I grew up in the high mountain town of Lake Tahoe, California. As kids, we spent magical winters navigating through four to six feet of snow, digging tunnels, and engineering impressive ice caves. Winter was a wonderland of fun and adventure.
In our neighborhood there were many cabins that people used only in the summertime, and another breathtaking snow sport, indulged in by some of the older kids, was climbing up onto the low roofs or porches of these empty cottages and jumping into the snow drifts far below. This roof-jumping excitement was a big no-no for me; a mom and dad rule that I found very restrictive.
The temptation grew to be too much. One day, at the age of nine, I climbed up a woodpile, monkeyed over an old ivy trellis, and scrambled onto the roof of the neighbor’s house. I sat triumphant for several minutes, surveying my domain. I felt free, and confident. It was glorious up here! I was absolutely sure my mom and dad didn’t know what they were talking about.
I remember so clearly that first jiggle of doubt as I moved to the edge of the roof and looked down at the snow. It seemed a long way down. “Aw, come on,” I chided myself. “You’ve seen the other kids do it, and they come out laughing, so it must be tons of fun.”
Temptation took hold of me, and I launched myself off the roof. Actually, everything seemed wonderful for the two seconds until my feet hit the snow. Then I remembered something important. The big kids always put their arms out, like bird wings, so that they’d only sink into the snow up to their armpits.
My thin little arms were straight down at my sides. The result of this was that I entered the snow like a rocket—sleek, smooth—and I got stuck. The snow pressed around me. I was in about 4 feet 4 inches (1.32 m) deep, and since I was only 4 feet 2 inches (1.27 m) tall, I was in trouble. I was wedged in tight, and it was a terrible feeling. I was not free anymore.
I shoved my head back, looked up into the brilliant blue sky, and yelled. I knew my mom was just inside our house. Sure that she would hear me and come running, I yelled again. No answer. The snow was absorbing my voice like cotton.
Five minutes went by; then 10. I was getting cold and very panicked. I tried to wiggle my way up. No good. I tried to kick my legs. I lost a boot. Fifteen minutes went by. I started to cry. I was so afraid I’d be stuck here forever.
Then I heard my mom’s voice calling. It sounded far away, but it was unmistakably her voice, and it was yelling my name.
I yelled out, “Mom, mom, I’m over here! I’m in the snow!”
It took some time, but eventually she found me. She dug me out and took me in to thaw by the fire. I’d been stuck only about 20 minutes, but it seemed like days. I was so glad to be free.
Mom didn’t say anything about jumping off roofs, or the loss of my boot. I guess she could tell by the look on my face that I was pondering the big issues of life: rules, foolish acts, and consequences.
Later that day my dad came to my room to have a little talk with me.
“Gale.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Your mom and I love you.”
I felt tears coming. “Yes, Dad.”
“We give you rules because we love you, and we want you to be safe. You may not always understand why there’s a rule, but you have to trust us.”
“Yes, Dad.”
That was it. He must have known that I’d already learned a big lesson from my snowbound mistake. He stopped at the door to smile at me, and I knew without a doubt I was precious to him. I also knew that he would be so sad if I did anything that brought pain into my life. I remember promising myself that I would try to be a better girl.
Junior high and high school brought their share of boundary pushing and challenges. There were times when I put my toes right on the edge of the roof and peered over. It was hard not to jump when so many of the other kids were rebelling. Whenever I thought about jumping, the memory of being stuck in the snow would come to me, and I’d feel again that fear, and cold, and loss of freedom. I’d remember my father’s voice of love and concern.
I know that Heavenly Father gives us rules to keep us safe. He does this out of love. I also know that He’s very sad when we make choices that bring pain into our lives.
The world may think they’re free as they go about breaking or flouting God’s laws, but true freedom, safety, and peace come by being obedient to the rules of a loving Heavenly Father.

My testimony continued to grow the next year as we read the Doctrine and Covenants. I obtained a testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I also decided to follow his example and ask God if the Church is true. Although I already had conviction in my heart, one afternoon I found myself alone and sincerely prayed. As I did, I realized that the testimony I was asking for had been developing as I studied the scriptures and attended seminary.
The Lord opened my mind and my heart that year, and I understood the Doctrine and Covenants as I never had before. I also learned of the great value of souls (see D&C 18:10–16) and began to share my growing testimony with those who did not know about the gospel, including my father.

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasonsin 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

My Grandma Chasty was the oldest of her Olsen brothers and sisters, and she often took care of them. In the summertime, they played in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah, USA. One day Chasty heard a voice. Get the children out of the riverbed. But Chasty didn’t listen. They were having fun.
Then she heard the voice again. Still, she kept playing. Then the voice spoke a third time. Get out of the riverbed!
This time Chasty hurried the children out. Suddenly, they heard a roaring sound. A great wall of water came down from the mountains. Because Chasty listened to the Holy Ghost, she saved all of their lives.

Catrina hurried home from school. The missionaries were coming today. She had promised her mamá that she would sweep the floor. Mamá was gone working as a housekeeper and would not be home until later that night.
Señor and Señora Klatzpan and their two-year-old son, Helmut, shared the house with Catrina’s family. Sharing houses was common in Colombia where many families could not afford homes of their own.
Señor Klatzpan and his little family had moved to Colombia from Germany a year ago. He spoke Spanish with difficulty. His wife spoke little of the language and communicated mostly with her hands. Helmut was learning Spanish as well as German.
Catrina occasionally tended Helmut. She liked his sweet baby smell.
Catrina’s papá worked long hours as did her mamá. Her abuela (grandma) spent many hours with Catrina and her brother, Ramón, telling them stories of their ancestors and the traditions of their family.
Catrina and her mamá kept the house as clean as possible, but it was difficult with so many people living in the four small rooms.
She remembered the day the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had knocked at their door.
The young men, in their white shirts and ties, spoke of Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. The words sounded strange. Though they spoke fluently, their accent made it difficult for Catrina to understand what they said.
She listened carefully to the Joseph Smith story, not wanting to miss a word. When Elder Todd bore his testimony of Joseph Smith and the living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, she knew she had heard the truth.
Señor and Señora Klatzpan accepted the gospel and were baptized members of the Church shortly after the elders challenged them to be baptized.
Catrina noticed a change in the Klatzpans. They seemed more content, though they still had little money. When she asked them about it, Señor Klatzpan said that the gospel had changed their lives.
“It brings us much joy,” Señor Klatzpan said. “My Gerta and I have never been happier. When you and your family are baptized, you will know the same blessings.”
Catrina didn’t know if her papá would ever allow their family to be baptized. His parents and their parents before them had belonged to another religion. Tradition was an important part of their family.
Today the elders spoke more about families. When they explained a father’s blessing, Señor Klatzpan leaned forward eagerly. “My Helmut. I want him to have this blessing. Will you do it?”
Elder Todd shook his head. “We could give him a priesthood blessing, but only you can give him a father’s blessing. You have received the Melchizedek Priesthood and have the authority to do so.”
Señor Klatzpan looked helplessly from one elder to the other. “I do not know how to do such a thing.”
“Listen to the Spirit,” Elder Todd said in his quiet way. “It will guide you and your words.”
Señor Klatzpan put his hand on his chest. “Is it that which makes my heart beat so rapidly?”
Elder Stevenson nodded. “The Spirit often touches our hearts in just that way.”
A smile of pure joy spread over Señor Klatzpan’s face. “I am ready.” Solemnly he placed his hands on Helmut’s head. Words poured forth as he blessed his child.
Catrina felt tears prick her eyes. She, too, felt the Spirit.
When the elders left, she turned to her papá. “Papá, I want to be baptized. With you and Mamá and Ramón. I want you to give me a blessing like Señor Klatzpan gave Helmut.”
“We have heard the truth,” he said slowly. “It would be wrong not to be baptized.”
“What about Abuela?” Catrina asked.
“She will understand,” he said. “Tradition is important. But truth is precious.”
Catrina brushed the tears from her eyes and hugged her papá.

Second, the wolf of their own imperfections will test them. One woman told me through her tears how her husband’s constant criticism finally destroyed not only their marriage but her entire sense of self-worth. He first complained about her cooking and housecleaning, and then about how she used her time, how she talked, looked, and reasoned. Eventually she felt utterly inept and dysfunctional. My heart ached for her, and for him.
Contrast her with a young woman who had little self-confidence when she first married. Then her husband found so much to praise in her that she gradually began to believe she was a good person and that her opinions mattered. His belief in her rekindled her innate self-worth.

Several years ago I attended a BYU football game with some of our young children. We lost the game. I really hate it when that happens. We listened to the coaches’ show on the ride back to our home in Bountiful. When it was over, my children had no alternative but to listen to my own postgame show. Just as I had completed my final analysis of what went wrong in the game, my seven-year-old daughter asked, “Dad, when you see the temple, do you get a good feeling inside?” I wondered, Where in the world did that come from? As I was trying to figure out what that comment had to do with the football game, I glanced over at her and could see she was looking out the window at the Salt Lake Temple. For some reason the game no longer mattered.
My whole life has been enriched by experiences of the temple. Our parents would take us to Temple Square in Salt Lake City on a regular basis. They would point to the temple and tell us that they were married there and because of that we would always be together as a family. What comfort that brought to a little boy whose biggest fear was that his parents might die. Now what comfort it brings to a grown man whose parents have passed on to the other side.
When I was 10 years old, in the shadows of the Salt Lake Temple I first read the Joseph Smith story and received a powerful testimony of the truthfulness of the Restoration.
I remember with thanksgiving going to the temple with my parents and receiving my endowments prior to departing for my mission.
My wife and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple about three years later. In subsequent years I have had the honor of performing the temple marriages of each of our six children.
We know many members of the Church have not had the luxury I have had of growing up around temples. Because of this knowledge we were all thrilled with the announcement made by President Hinckley in October of 1997 when he said, “We are determined … to take the temples to the people and afford them every opportunity for the very precious blessings that come of temple worship” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1997, 69; or Ensign, Nov. 1997, 50).
Since that time we have rejoiced and marveled as we have heard announcements of numerous temples and subsequently read of their open houses and dedications. We are witnessing a modern-day miracle and fulfillment of prophecy. What a wonderful time to be alive!
Our excitement over the building of temples is not shared by all. The adversary in particular is having a major temper tantrum as he sees his power threatened.
Over the last two years I have witnessed his wrath firsthand in West Africa. He has been very active, trying to prevent the building of a temple in that part of the world. Two years ago President Hinckley announced that there would be a temple in West Africa located in Accra, Ghana. Since then the adversary has been relentless in trying to prevent that from happening. Why is Lucifer so concerned?
We have 85,000 members in West Africa, and the Church is growing very rapidly. Sacrament meeting attendance is over 50 percent, but currently only 400 members have been endowed because of the prohibitive expense of traveling thousands of miles to Johannesburg or London. We have over 700 full-time African missionaries serving in the mission field, and very few of them have been endowed.
The African people have waited for centuries to receive the fulness of the gospel and have been through much pain and suffering. Now, at last, they can receive every blessing available to God’s children. Worthy members can receive the temple endowment and be able to have their families sealed together for time and for all eternity.
Faithfulness to temple covenants brings an acceleration of spiritual progress. As Elder John A. Widtsoe explained, “They will attain more readily to their place in the presence of the Lord; they will increase more rapidly in every divine power; they will approach more nearly to the likeness of God; they will more completely realize their divine destiny” (Evidences and Reconciliations [1960], 300).
That is why Lucifer is so concerned. In addition, he is aware of the large number of Africans who have accepted the gospel on the other side of the veil and are anxiously awaiting their proxy baptism and temple endowment as well as being sealed to their families. When a temple is dedicated, the dam in the spirit world will break and there will be a flood of humanity who have lived on the African continent flow into the temple of the Lord as their descendants do their work for them. We should not be surprised that Lucifer is using every means at his disposal to keep a temple from these people.
Through centuries of suffering, the people in general have not become bitter. They are humble, teachable, and God-fearing. They know the scriptures, and they recognize the Shepherd’s voice.
I have faith in their faith. I know the Savior loves the African people. Therefore, to paraphrase verse 33 of the 121st section of the Doctrine and Covenants, “As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the [Congo] river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from [building a temple for the African Latter-day Saints].”
As the Savior has said, “I will not suffer that [the enemy] shall destroy my work; yea, I will show unto them that my wisdom is greater than the cunning of the devil” (D&C 10:43).
It has been inspiring to see the Lord’s hand in bringing the forces together which will lead to an inevitable victory. There will be a temple in West Africa.
Last week we were driving from Provo to Bountiful again. As we left Provo we could see the temple up on the hill. Before it was out of sight, the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple came into view, and then the Jordan River Utah Temple appeared, followed by the Salt Lake Temple. And immediately thereafter we could see the Bountiful Utah Temple standing like a jewel above that city.
I thought back to my daughter’s question, “Dad, when you see the temple, do you get a good feeling inside?” I realized the overwhelming answer is, “Yes, when I see a temple I have a wonderful feeling inside.” However, my heart aches for our African brothers and sisters who have never seen a temple in their whole life.
It is my hope and prayer that we will never take temple blessings for granted. I also have a prayer in my heart for West Africa and any other place in the world where outside influences are preventing the Saints from enjoying the blessings of a temple.
I testify to the divinity of this work. Jesus is the Christ. He stands at the head of this Church, and He is orchestrating the building of His kingdom here on earth. We are witnessing miracles, and therefore I can testify they have not ceased. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In October 2004 the Young Women and Young Men organizations in our stake had an event called “Modesty in Dress,” based on the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth. It consisted of a fashion show divided into three parts: casual wear, sportswear, and formal wear. We asked each of the young men and young women to select three changes of clothing, and we helped them choose which clothes were suitable. We invited their leaders and parents to this activity. We emphasized scriptural verses about the body being a temple (see 1 Cor. 6:19–20) and the counsel of our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. The activity had a positive effect; the young people in our stake are more concerned now about grooming and dressing in an appropriate way.
Teresa de Jesús Contreras de Ramírez, Mexico

A few years ago while I was presiding over the mission in Minneapolis, Minnesota, an interesting event took place. I would like to use that experience to bear my testimony. A rather severe tornado hit the area. It was severe enough that it came to the attention of the nightly news broadcast over the national networks to California, Arizona, Utah, and Idaho. Before long, the telephone started ringing in our office there at the mission home. This went on for two or three hours, with parents calling from many areas wondering about their Johnny or Richard.
I recall later walking across the parking lot from the mission office to the mission home saying to myself, “You know these Mormon mothers. They just won’t undo the apron strings. They just won’t let their boys go.” As I walked into the mission home, the phone again was ringing. I picked up the phone and guess who? My mother! She was wondering how her missionary was doing under these circumstances.
I learned a great and deep lesson. A mother’s love and concern never ceases—nor should it.

It was in that moment that I remembered back to when I was six. We had opened our front door one December night and were completely overwhelmed by the bags of gifts so generously placed on our doorstep. Our house was much warmer than usual that night because my father had been given firewood earlier that day. As a family of nine, we were barely making ends meet. That year especially, I could sense my parents’ uneasiness about Christmas day. I was limited to requesting only one toy. I had carefully chosen to ask for a “Peaches and Cream” Barbie doll, and I placed a torn-out newspaper picture of the doll up on the refrigerator. With my six-year-old heart and mind, I knew my one wish would come true.
Before heading off to bed, we knelt as a family on our old green carpet and gave a prayer of thanks for the few things that we did have. I remember going to bed feeling hungry. Each day food was practically the same—Cream of Wheat, oatmeal, or biscuits. I prayed that tomorrow—Christmas—would be different.
I snuggled in my blankets, and just as my eyes were about to close, I heard a muffled knock at the door. I followed the members of my family downstairs. As the door opened, an overwhelming feeling took over my little body. There were big black bags of gifts and food placed at our doorstep. I was so happy that I couldn’t believe my eyes. I said a whispered prayer of thanks, and I knew that my prayers that night had been heard. We carried the gifts inside and placed the bags of gifts under the tree.
Sleep did not come easily that night, but I managed a few hours before my sister Mary woke me. We eagerly ran downstairs, and to my eyes, it was as if the gifts had multiplied overnight. They were scattered around our tree. I again thought to myself about the one wish I had made. I picked up a gift that had “Meg” written on it, and I opened it carefully. I pulled out the most beautiful “Peaches and Cream” Barbie that I had ever seen. I hugged her, and I knew that I had not been forgotten. I learned several years later that my prayers were answered through the loving hands of those who generously helped out needy families.

A desire to follow a prophet’s counsel of “fixing up and painting our property” helped a teacher in the Ontario Third Ward, Nyssa Oregon Stake, become the first Mormon ever elected student-body president at Ontario Junior High School. “President Kimball said we should paint and clean up and take more pride in our homes,” explained Phil Bartle, “and I thought the same thing would apply to our schools, so I used that as one issue in my election campaign.” Following his victory, Phil organized a group of students who cleaned and painted the junior high school bleachers, backstops, poles, entryways, and garbage cans. In addition, they erected “Spirit” and “Pride” signs on the grounds. Their efforts appeared to pay off in more than one way as the football team went undefeated for the first time ever last fall.