Gospel Story Finder

Pam Carpenter must be a storybook princess. She is pretty, petite, and always smiling. She reigns over a huge kingdom complete with castles, lakes, islands, ships, and spacespaces. And she is entertained by flights of fantasy from Peter Pan, rides with Alice in Wonderland and her friends and Captain Nemo, and pirate cruises. Her special friends include Dumbo, Goofy, Donald Duck, Chip and Dale, Mickey Mouse, and hosts of other delightful storybook characters.
Unlike most other storybook princesses, Pam works very hard at being a princess. She always looks nice, is always on the alert for people who need her special help, and graciously welcomes thousands of visitors to her kingdom each day. Such royal responsibilities seem to belong quite naturally to Pam Carpenter, a young Latter-day Saint convert from Orlando, Florida. This pretty young lady possesses a delightful combination of charm, wit, and an encyclopedic knowledge of her kingdom, and she is a person who loves helping others.
No wonder she was chosen to be the official ambassador for Walt Disney World in Florida, chosen for her special responsibilities from the more than 13,000 employees at Disney World. Because many people try out for this position, applying for it involved a series of taxing tests and interviews.
“I really wanted this, but it is so much more than just a job,” said Pam. “During the year you are an ambassador, you have to devote most of your time to it. I always come in early and stay late, and travel much of the time.
“I knew I wanted the job and felt I had something to offer and so I tried out four different years. At first I thought that if I had to try out more than once then maybe I should forget it. But then I realized that was my false pride talking, not me. I finally realized that I did not get the position to begin with because I was not ready for it—I did not know enough about what I was doing.
“The first time I tried out I felt knew all there was to know about Disney. I walked into that room and there were five managers there for the first interview. I was so scared I could hardly talk to them—my voice kind of squeaked out, I gave them all the wrong answers, and I didn’t say anything I wanted to say. I am basically a shy person, and I knew I would have to work harder at being able to get up and speak to groups and being able to present my thoughts in a clear way. So I studied and learned all the facts I could about Disney World. I learned how many acres there are in Bay Lake, how many beams were laid beneath the contemporary hotel, and how many leaves are growing on the Swiss Family tree house. And I tried to develop my poise. I transferred into tour guiding, and this helped me in talking to people and becoming more outgoing.
“I prepared in every way that I could, and then I gave it my big try. Now I am so glad that I did not give up earlier because I have had so many great experiences and met so many wonderful people. After I became ambassador, I even joined Toastmasters International where I learned more about addressing large audiences,” she added.
During the early part of her reign, Pam investigated and joined the Church.
“I had dated a Mormon, and was interested in his great family life. His family members are wonderful together, and I enjoyed spending time with them. I could see they had the key to something important that I wanted in my life. The gospel helps me to appreciate all the people I meet, but it really showed me the importance of the family unit. I love my own family even more since I joined the Church.
“I really feel that I was introduced to the Church for a reason. Meeting other Mormons reading, and talking to the missionaries all felt so right to me. I agreed with everything they taught me. It seemed so natural for me to be baptized. To me it was a very simple process; it wasn’t a big ‘do I or don’t I’ situation. I was learning things I already believed in before I ever heard of the Church. I hadn’t picked up any bad habits to overcome, so I feel like a very natural Mormon.”
Being an example for the Church comes naturally for Pam because of her experience as an ambassador. She was told when she became an ambassador that she represented all 13,000 employees and the whole Disney organization. She was chosen because she was the kind of person that her employer felt good about representing their image.
“To me there is a very specific tie-in between my job and the Church. For Disney I represent the clean, wholesome, all-American look. This is almost more of an attitude than a fashion style. You can’t really look one way and feel the other way inside. Clean, wholesome goodness is something that will never go out of style. That is one of the reasons there are strict dress codes for all of the employees here. We do not even allow men in the park without their shirts and women have to be in modest clothing. I think all young Latter-day Saints ought to try and set this kind of an example. We should be on our toes and demonstrate by the way we look and act what the gospel can do for our lives. It just is not that much trouble to be well-groomed. Combing your hair, dressing cleanly and neatly, and being generally pleasant is the kind of example I think we all should set. What a powerful influence we would be on the world if all members of the Church would be this way. And as long as I am ambassador here, it is expected that I be this kind of good example. I was always taught at home that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing right, and that is one reason I got this position in the first place. It is also one of the reasons I am having such a good year as an ambassador. I am sure not planning on changing my outlook after I leave,” she said.
Of course, Pam’s duties include more than walking around Disney World in a clean uniform. She travels widely in the U.S. and Canada, appears on many television shows and radio interviews, gives VIP tours through her kingdom, and in the company of Mickey and some of her other fantastic friends appears at children’s hospitals and schools for handicapped children.
“We take the Magic Kingdom to people who can’t get out to see it on their own. This is the most exciting and fulfilling part of my ambassador duties. There is a special warmth associated with our hospital visits because we know that many of the people we visit will never come to Disney World in person. You should see the delighted children’s faces when Mickey and the other characters walk into a hospital ward. It puts a very bright spot in the normal daily hospital routine where everything is sort of gray and white. I’ve seen patients smile who the nurses say hadn’t smiled for months. One little girl had been in a coma, and when she came out of it, they could get no response from her. She just lay there. We walked in, and she said, ‘Mickey Mouse.’ Then she smiled. The nurses thought this was incredible because they hadn’t got any kind of a response out of her for months,” Pam said.
In addition to heads of state, royalty, and entertainment and movie stars, Pam was able to show President and Sister Kimball through the Magic Kingdom.
“At the time I had only been a member of the Church for a few months, and I felt honored. I enjoyed being in the presence of this warm, wonderful, great man. Meeting President and Sister Kimball was a tremendous privilege for me because I realize how few people, some who have been in the Church all their lives, ever get this opportunity.
“I’ve had other great experiences this year as well. I met Great Britain’s Queen Mother in Toronto and many other special people who have taught me important things about life. On one of our programs in Washington, D.C., there was a young singer who was blind. He told how when he was young his parents thought he should be sheltered and kept apart from the rest of the world, so they fenced him into the backyard. He didn’t go to school; he didn’t have any friends. He was totally shut away. Yet he had learned to sing, and here he was on this program with national political figures and entertainers. This young man gave us all goosebumps with his singing. He sang ‘The Impossible Dream’ and showed us that being blind doesn’t need to be such a bad thing after all,” she said.
Pam’s work at hospitals and children’s schools has given her a special interest in the handicapped. She is learning sign language and now regularly assists the visitors to Disney World who are hearing impaired.
“I’ve been able to sign for our arts festival and recently at the Ohio and Pennsylvania schools for the deaf. You can’t imagine how excited these kids are when they learn that I am from Disney World and that I can communicate with them in sign language,” Pam said.
Before she got her job, Pam never realized how demanding or fulfilling the life of a storybook princess could be, but to her the rewards are more than worth the effort, for her job and her joys are in bringing happiness and laughter to others.
“Life is wonderful for me. I am having such a great year.* I joined the Church and I like doing all of the Church things—being around Mormons, attending meetings, and especially going to family home evenings. I love helping others, and get a special joy out of helping handicapped people. These experiences make me humble and give me a great appreciation for the things that I have, including the great privilege it is to be able to help make other people happy,” Pam said.

The last week with Stevo in our house passed quickly. The Saturday morning it was time for him to leave you’d have thought someone died. Tim said he was losing his best friend, and Mom dabbed her eyes and said it felt just like when Rodney went away to college, even though he was going only a few miles to his next host family.

As I drove Stevo to his new home, I realized there was something I wanted to say to him. I had been a jerk. Selfish. My own little room, my kingdom, where I could shut the world out and indulge in self-pity, had been so important. So important I almost shut out something that on some level seemed more important than I knew how to explain. I glanced over at Stevo. His large nose pointed straight ahead, serene, knowing exactly where he was going as he continued his journey through life.

I made my decision. I pulled over to the curb and parked under the bough of a large chestnut tree.

“Something is wrong, Matt?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I have a confession to make.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t like you at all when you came to live with us. And the first time I saw you I didn’t know what I was going to do with you for the next month. You seemed like trouble and a bother. I didn’t even try to hide it. I’m sorry. I was wrong, and I’m going to miss you and our talks.”

“I will miss our talks too, Matt.”

“Stevo, you have something. People always seem to want to be around you. Why? What is your secret?”

“I don’t know any secret, Matt. All I know is from the time I was tiny my mother told me often that if I treated other people as important as I wanted to be treated, then things would always work out. When we found the Church and discovered Christ, it was easy to see that all children of God deserve to be loved.”

“Even people who are trying to kill you?” I asked.

“Them especially. Easy to love those who treat us nice, my father says. Best part is to love those who hate us. That doesn’t mean we try to put ourselves in a place where they can hurt us. We try to understand so we don’t hate them back.”

Then I said, “I wish I had something to remember you by, Stevo. When I am with you, you make me want to be better. I want to change.”

“Matt, can I give you a gift?”

“I guess so.”

Stevo reached into his flight bag and pulled out the Book of Mormon he read nearly every night. He opened it and wrote in it.

I took the book and read what it said. To my best American friend, Matt: To want to change is the first step to be better. This book makes me want change to every day. Perhaps it can do the same for you. Your friend, Stevo.

I set the book down on the seat, put the car in gear, and headed down the street. We drove in silence. When we arrived at our destination, Stevo’s new host family was out front waiting. I helped him with his bags and then did something I had never done before in my life. I gave a guy a hug. Stevo was out of my room, but I knew he would never be out of my life.

I keep Stevo’s book by my bed and read from it often. Mom and Dad wonder why I treat everyone around here better. I even invited Tim to move in with me.

What shocked everyone most, though, was one Sunday several weeks ago I told them I wanted to go to church with Stevo before he returned to his home. That was, however, only part of the truth. The place Stevo goes every Sunday has a spirit of change, and that’s what I want to do. When I grow up, I want to be like Stevo.

Appreciating my ward sisters. For the first two years after my divorce, I was surrounded by supportive and loving friends in the Relief Society presidency. They cried with me, they laughed with me, and I felt close to them. Through my calling I became aware of some of the needs of my ward sisters, and giving service to them helped me keep my perspective and find healing within my own heart.
Other blessings came. My friends in the presidency, worried about my first Valentine’s Day without my husband, sent a beautifully wrapped gift, which was waiting for me when I arrived home from work. Another time they made me “queen for a day.” I was asked to attend an early-morning meeting. When I arrived, a sister was waiting to do my nails. A couple of friends came to do my hair. Then I was told we were going to lunch and out shopping. They purchased a new outfit for me, the first I’d had since the divorce. My heart overflowed, and I felt the Savior’s love through the actions of these sisters.

Early in 1957, two missionaries knocked on his mother’s door and she invited them in. This was the start of John Douglas Jeffrey’s learning about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he and his mother spent time with the missionaries, the Holy Ghost bore witness to him that the Church was true because the missionaries were able to answer all of his questions.
Later, John moved to Townsville, Queensland, where he met more missionaries who continued to teach him, and also his new wife, Lois. In September 1957 they became the first people to join the Church in Townsville. He was baptised in Bluewater Creek just north of Townsville. (Baptisms in creeks or swimming pools were common in the early days of the Church.)
“Learning about the true Church changed my life,” John reflects. “I have wondered what I would have done if my mother said ‘no’ when those missionaries knocked on her door!” With a new gospel perspective, John and Lois saved up to visit the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, where their family was sealed for time and all eternity. “It took us a good while because we had four children and of course we had to take them to be sealed to us!”
John taught at the Townsville Grammar School and witnessed the struggles of a growing small branch. In those days there were few chapels in Australia and members met in homes or in rented halls. After 15 years in Townsville, he received an invitation to teach at the relatively new police academy in Oxley, Brisbane. He had only been at the police academy two years when he was invited to join the Church Educational System as a coordinator in Brisbane.
The first stake in Queensland was organized in 1960 with William E Waters called as the stake president. He was followed by a man from Scotland called William E Proctor. It was during this time that John was called to be the bishop of the Inala Ward. His time as bishop was short because after two years he was called to serve on the high council.
In those days, the geographic area of the stake was huge, covering much of the southeast of Queensland around Brisbane — north to Nambour, south to the Gold Coast, and west to Toowoomba. In 1975, John was called as president of the Brisbane Australia Stake.
President Jeffrey noticed how far some members had to travel to get to church each week, so he took a map and drew an 8 km radius around each congregation. He then worked with Church physical facility authorities in Sydney to create branches in the areas lying within those circles. Those branches met in school halls until they were strong enough to qualify for a chapel. This meant that members didn’t have to drive as far to attend Church meetings. This direction paved the way for the future growth of membership in Queensland.
In 1978, just three years after his call as the Brisbane Stake president, John recommended the stake be divided. He then became the president of the new Brisbane Australia South Stake. Only three years after that, in 1981, another stake was created and called the Brisbane Australia West Stake.
Today there are 12 stakes in the greater Brisbane area.

An interesting way to practice what is preached about etiquette was discovered by the youth of the Murray Third Ward in Utah. An evening’s lesson on social awareness was given to Laurels and Explorers. A week later a full-scale formal dinner was hosted by MIA leaders and the bishopric. In a lovely home a long table was covered with fine linen, and crystal, silverware, and complete china settings were laid. Guests came in their party best. Boys had called the girls on the telephone properly for the date. Boys attended to the girls’ needs and even gave their “orders” to the waiters (members of the bishopric!). At the end of the evening each was warmly appreciative, seeking the hosts out to express thanks. (An extra touch of niceness is a note of thanks the following day.)

It was such a successful event that now everyone is wondering what they can learn next that they can put into practice with as much fun.

A few years ago, I was driving home from work when a large semitruck, traveling in the opposite direction, lost one of its dual tires. The tire flew over the median separating our lanes. It came bouncing down my side of the freeway. Cars were swerving in both directions, drivers not knowing which direction the tire would bounce next. I dodged left when I should have dodged right, and the tire took its final bounce right on the corner of my windshield.

A friend called my wife to inform her of the accident. She told me later that her first thought was of lacerations from shattered glass. Indeed, I was covered with beads of broken glass but did not suffer a single scratch. It was definitely not because of my driving skills; rather, it was because the windshield of my little car was made of tempered glass.

Several readers suggested that a good way to make friends is to become involved in activities, such as seminary or institute, where you can be with other young people who share your goals and standards. By attending seminary or institute classes and activities, you put yourself in a situation where you can meet new people. But don’t just attend. Get involved. Volunteer to help with activities—especially those that focus on service. Friendships will usually develop quite naturally.

Finally, don’t give up. If someone doesn’t want to be your friend, forgive any unkindness, keep smiling, and try again. There are plenty of others—at school, at church, at seminary or institute, in your neighborhood—who would be delighted to have a friend like you.

Readers’ Answers
Pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help you. Participate in your ward or branch activities. As you interact with others, soon you will see that you have left shyness behind.
Irene Marinho Mendes,Arsenal Branch, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Niterói Stake
Being timid is not a defect. You need only to be yourself and to be honest. Only in this way are others able to become aware of you and of your good example.
Francesco Pezzoli,Bergamo First Ward, Milan Italy Stake
Pray that you’ll be a better friend to others and ask Heavenly Father to help your weakness turn into a strength (see Ether 12:27). Involve yourself in Church activities. Be true to your friends; respect them for who they are, not what they have. Treat people with kindness and learn about them and their interests.
Cristina G. Dungan,Agoo Third Ward, Agoo Philippines Stake
When I joined the Church, I didn’t know anyone, and everything was new. In seminary, I was able to make true, sincere friends who helped me prepare for my mission.
Elder Eduardo Moreira,Brazil Goiânia Mission
Before going anywhere where there are lots of people, we need to offer a prayer. The Spirit can help us overcome our shyness and make it easier for other people to approach us. We’re never alone when we have the Spirit with us.
Sofía Beatriz Rioja Pantoja,Sarco Ward, Cochabamba Bolivia Cobija Stake
When we try to live the principles of the gospel, it becomes easier to talk to others. After accepting the gospel, I overcame my shyness and made good friendships through reading the scriptures and attending institute. Reading good books, magazines, and especially the scriptures and the words of the living prophets makes us feel good. Attending institute gives us the opportunity to meet other wonderful people.
Darmeli Soares Rech,Fátima Ward, Joinville Brazil Stake
At first I was a bit uncomfortable and felt out of place at Church activities. But as I met other people, I started feeling more a part of things. I realized I wasn’t as shy as I thought. When I showed I was sincerely interested in others, they were interested in me, and we had lots of fun together.
Mauro Germán Soldán,Lanús Second Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Avellaneda Stake
Shyness may spring from the fear of not being accepted or from a low sense of self-worth. We need to remember that we are children of God and that He loves us—even with all our flaws. We need to pray and seek guidance in overcoming our weaknesses.
Take the first step and show a genuine interest in someone by starting a conversation. And don’t forget to learn people’s names. Help them feel important.
Rosibel Valle de Ochoa,Tegucigalpa Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake
If you are shy and need good friendships, the first thing you should do is pray and fast and let God know your needs so you can be comforted. Pray that bashfulness and shyness be removed from you. Remember, Luke 1:37 says, “With God nothing shall be impossible.”
Periah Sefulu Sauvao,Lemoli First Ward, Upolu Samoa Faleasiu Stake
It was always difficult for me to interact with others. But when I returned from my mission, I was inspired by the knowledge that I am a child of God and thus can become like Him. I set the following goals: (1) I will always look people in the eye and greet them with a firm handshake, and (2) anytime I feel insecure about interacting with someone, I will stop, pray, approach that person, and strike up a conversation. I know I can overcome my shyness, because the Lord has promised He will “go before [my] face. [He] will be on [my] right hand and on [my] left” and will bear me up (D&C 84:88).
Aguinaldo Alves,Alvorada Ward, Maringá Brazil Stake
The Savior is our best example. Thinking about what He would do has really helped me make friends and has given me unforgettable memories. He was sensitive to the feelings of others and showed His love abundantly.
Carla Sofía Leal Saravia,Arturo Prat Ward, Santiago Chile Lo Prado Stake
I used to be shy, so I know how it feels when nobody talks to you. Since I’ve been a member of the Church, I’ve developed a desire to make everybody at church—member or not—feel welcome. I try to talk to anyone I see at church for the first time and help him or her feel at ease. Because of this habit, I have overcome my shyness and made a lot of friends, both young and old.
Haydee B. Sebastian,Santiago Second Ward, Santiago Philippines Stake

When I was in third grade, my best friend’s name was Dave. He lived next door to me and was a member of the Church. One day I was playing in Dave’s yard with our friend Doug when my mother called out from next door that it was time for me to go to Primary. This was in the days when Primary was on a weekday.
Doug was not a member of the Church. He asked, “What’s Primary?”
I told him that this was something we did in our church and that it was kind of like a class.
“Well, we do something like that in our church too,” Doug said.
I whispered to Dave, “But our church is the true Church.”
Doug asked me, “What did you say?”
I didn’t respond at first. He asked me again, and I said, “I told Dave that our church is the true Church.”
Then Doug said something I had never before imagined in my eight-year-old mind. He said, “Well, I think that my church is the true church.”
I was stunned. I thought, “He thinks his church is the true church. What makes me right and him wrong? Or, what makes him right and me wrong?”
I walked across Dave’s yard and down his driveway. I turned left and walked along the street because we didn’t have sidewalks in our neighborhood. I watched the gravel between my feet as I walked—my head was down. I crossed the front of our fence and turned left. I remember every detail of that slow walk home. The whole time I was saying to myself, “He thinks his church is true. How do I know that my church is true?” I got to my front porch, sat down, and put my head in my hands. As I sat there thinking about my question, my thoughts turned into a prayer.
A voice came into my mind. It was a kind voice. It said, “Now, Marc, you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, don’t you?”
I silently responded, “Yes.” I felt that I knew that to be true.
“Well you know the Church is true then, don’t you?” the voice whispered to my mind. I had never heard anyone tell me that before. It was like the clouds parted and suddenly I realized that I did know that, yes, the Church is true. I got up and went to Primary, comfortable in the knowledge that I had a testimony.

Many, many years ago, woodcutters went deep into the jungle of Chiapas, Mexico, in search of precious wood. Because of the difficult terrain, they could not take their families with them. When they finally reached their work site, the men raised temporary rustic huts of thick branches, roofed with palm leaves.
Night after night, after long days of woodcutting, the men would sit around the fire and talk or sing. The songs they had learned from their ancestors floated away on the night wind. But the men were lonely, and there was sadness and even bitterness in their voices. There was a great need for some cheerful music to accompany the sad choruses that penetrated the jungle.
Among the woodcutters was a handsome young boy named Quetzal Feather. This boy loved the murmur of the jungle more than anything or anyone in the whole world.
One evening as the sun was about to set, Quetzal Feather went deep into the jungle. He was guided by the music of the wind in the foliage. Suddenly he stopped. He thought he heard the sound of voices high in the branches. He went forward cautiously until he was almost at the foot of a tasseled palm. The palm was speaking sadly to a majestic-looking silk-cotton tree.
Quetzal Feather hardly breathed as he listened to what the trees were saying.
“My friend,” said the palm, “because of my great height, I can see the place from where those heartrending songs come. Just before nightfall, I saw the woodcutters with their eyes fixed upon the jungle. How sadly they sang!”
The robust silk-cotton tree shook its branches in protest. “Man should not live sunken in sadness!” it declared.
“We should do something,” responded the palm tree.
Quetzal Feather, hidden in the underbrush, listened in wonderment to the conversation. Then, he heard another voice, shy and nervous. It sent a shiver through him as he strained to catch every word.
“Friends and companions,” said the voice humbly, “the sad songs of the woodcutters have moved me to my very roots. But—perhaps I can do something to help.”
Quetzal Feather poked his head out of the underbrush and saw the tree that had just spoken. It was an hormiguillo tree that stood not far from the stately palm.
The great silk-cotton tree answered first, a little doubtfully. “If you can help, please do so!” it begged.
“Yes,” agreed the palm, “but what can you do? How can you lift the sadness from the woodcutters’ hearts?”
“For a long time now,” began the hormiguillo tree with more self-assurance, “I have been storing under my bark the torrent of nature’s harmony. For a long time I have held the songs of the birds and the cricket, the murmur of wind and rain, and the sound of water cascading over rocks. I have treasured up in me the soft sound of doves in flight and the roar of the tempest.”
Suddenly, before Quetzal Feather had time to realize what the tree had said, beautiful chords began to come from the hormiguillo tree.
“What music is this?” Quetzal Feather asked himself in amazement. “Even the jungle trembles in delight!”
The branches of the palm and the silk-cotton tree swayed in surprised and happy approval.
Trembling with excitement, Quetzal Feather fled from the underbrush. He wished to tell the woodcutters all that he had heard.
But the woodcutters did not believe him, judging him to be a strange and imaginative boy. Wearily they entered their huts for a night’s rest. And Quetzal Feather was left by the dying fire, alone and confused. Then just before sunrise he arose and ran straight as an arrow to the place where he had hidden in the underbrush the night before. The hormiguillo tree was silent now, yet in spite of its silence, some strange love kept Quetzal Feather beside the tree.
Days and nights passed, but the youth, hugging the hormiguillo tree, heard not a single happy note of the heavenly music he had heard before.
The woodcutters were very fond of Quetzal Feather, in spite of what they thought were the boy’s strange imaginings, and they tried to persuade him to leave the tree. But it was of no use. “The tree has bewitched him,” the Old Ones said sadly.
At last, Quetzal Feather became so weak and tired that he fell asleep at the foot of the tree.
“Now,” said the oldest woodcutter, “we can help him. While he sleeps deeply, we will cut the tree down and free him from his bewitchment.”
With their sharpened axes, the woodcutters began to chop at the hormiguillo tree. But to their great surprise and fear, beautiful musical sounds came from the tree at each stroke of their axes.
Quetzal Feather, hearing the music, awoke and clung to the wounded tree that seemed to be moaning with pain.
“Finish cutting me down at once!” begged the hormiguillo tree. “Take my wood. It is full of harmony!”
The next day when Quetzal Feather gathered up the pieces of the fallen tree, he discovered to his great delight that the sticks of wood when tapped by other sticks sent out beautiful happy chords.
Day and night he worked without rest until he had arranged the small pieces of the hormiguillo tree into a rustic instrument.
Thus the noble forest of Chiapas had furnished a lively and happy accompaniment to the tired and sad voices of the woodcutters. The marimba was born, and to this day men search the jungles of Chiapas and Guatemala for the musical wood of the hormiguillo tree.

The Romneys shared their love of the scriptures with their boys. On one occasion, when Elder Romney and one of his young sons were reading alternate verses in the Book of Mormon, he heard the child’s voice breaking and assumed he had a cold. After a while the boy asked his dad if he ever cried when he read the Book of Mormon.
“Yes, Son,” he answered. “Sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” the boy said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”
“I know not all of [your children] will respond like that,” he later said in general conference, “but I know that some of them will, and I tell you this book was given to us of God to read and to live by, and it will hold us as close to the Spirit of the Lord as anything I know. Won’t you please read it?” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1949, p. 41.)

Several years ago, Amy Stohl didn’t know exactly why she accepted a position as an au pair (similar to a nanny) with an LDS military family living in Belgium. She just felt right about it. She enjoyed her time with the Robert McBride family, and they became close friends.
Soon, however, Amy was back at BYU, where she continued work on her pre-med requirements. But she became convinced that medical school just wouldn’t be right for her, and she switched to a humanities major.
A couple of years later, the McBrides, now assigned to the U.S. Military Academy, called to tell Amy about a cadet named Shaun Greene. He’d been a student at BYU before, but was now at West Point. He was going to be at BYU for a couple of days in the fall to watch a football game, and they’d like her to meet him. Shaun and Amy got acquainted and began writing to each other.
By January, Amy was close to graduation, but was planning to stay at BYU for one more semester. “But I became restless,” she says. “I prayed for guidance, and I felt something important was coming up.”
She talked to the McBrides and decided to move to Manhattan. “I found a place to live, had a job lined up, even arranged to finish my degree by correspondence,” Amy says. “Everything seemed to be working out.

“But when I visited West Point, I had a strong impression that I had to stay, isolated as it was, so that I could understand Shaun and what he had been through. I don’t know that anyone can fully understand a cadet’s thinking without spending time at West Point.”
The understanding grew. In fact, now Shaun and Amy see each other every evening.
It’s graduation day at West Point. Time for the final parade. And even though rain will soak cadets and spectators alike, it won’t matter. Tomorrow the sun will shine, bright and hot, and the graduates, dressed in white because their gray uniforms were ruined by the storm, will receive their diplomas and commissions from the President of the United States.
A few days later, Shaun and Amy will enter the Washington D.C. Temple to be married for time and eternity. Oh, sure, by July Shaun has to report for additional training. But before that, there’s a honeymoon to attend to. It’s a matter of putting first things first.

When we were first married, my wife and I decided that we would accept the children that would be born to us with the responsibility attending their birth and growth. In due time they have formed families of their own.
Twice in our marriage, at the time of the births of two of our little boys, we have had a doctor say, “I do not think you are going to keep this one.”
Both times this brought the response from us that we would give our lives if our tiny son could keep his. In the course of that offer, it dawned on us that this same devotion is akin to what Heavenly Father feels about each of us. What a supernal thought.

It was September when they moved in. I remember because summer heat clung to the apartment house like honey to a spoon. I was watering my African violets and the sudden noise—feet racing, doors slamming, voices shouting—came through my open window. I slammed it down loudly and suffered with the lack of ventilation, hoping they’d heard the sound of my displeasure. If so, it had little effect on the noise level.
I stumped around the apartment, fuming as I thumped needlepoint pillows and moved china figurines away from the edges of shelves. This had been a quiet apartment house, mostly older folks who kept to themselves. Old Mrs. Sakovich had been the perfect upstairs neighbor—quiet, with hardly any visitors. When the family who’d never come to visit put her in the nursing home I’d held my breath, wondering what my new upstairs neighbor would be like. I’d never expected an invasion.
As the month went on I gradually sorted out the noises. The O’Meara family (their name was on the mailbox) had four children. Imagine—four children! And in a two-bedroom apartment! I tried complaining to the management, but they said I’d soon get used to the noise.
I didn’t.
Luckily three of the children were in school. Lucy, the teenager, escorted Brian and Todd down the stairs every morning at 8:00, loaded with backpacks, lunches, and (horrors) musical instrument cases. Their father followed at 8:30. A blessed silence was mine then, except when the baby was cross, until 3:10 when they’d all come roaring up the stairs, seemingly recharged by their encounter with education.
Then Lucy would be practicing the flute, or playing tapes of … well, I suppose she thought it was music. Sometimes the ceiling would shake over my kitchen, and I’d know she was dancing. Todd and Brian raced cars, making the appropriate sounds, and the baby screamed. Then pots and pans banged as Mrs. O’Meara encouraged family participation in preparing dinner. Even when Mr. O’Meara returned to the hubbub, the noise remained steady until bedtime.
When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I’d bring out the broom and thump on the ceiling. This usually earned me about 15 minutes of unfamiliar silence before the noise began to build again. Sometimes I’d tromp upstairs and pound on their door. Mrs. O’Meara would promise to keep the noise down, but I could see the doubt in my eyes reflected in her own.
I’m sure her children thought I was the wicked witch of the West, especially with the broom thumpings. Still, they always smiled when I met them in the hallway or on the stairs. It didn’t make any sense.
Mr. O’Meara smiled too. He insisted on bringing my garbage down to the dumpster every morning on his way to work. Lucy opened doors for me and helped me upstairs with my groceries whenever she got the chance. I suspect she was the one that left the cookies on my doorstep the morning after what must have been a teenage birthday party (or a demolition derby). Still, I would have given anything for a little peace and quiet.
Then came Christmas. Now, instead of one child at home there were four. So much for my peaceful mornings. The family bellowed carols at any opportunity, and when I met them in the hallway they giggled with Christmas secrets.
Bringing my mail up one day, I met Todd on the landing.
“Look!” he said, proudly. He was holding some unknown childish creation. “We made it in kindergarten!”
It was a lopsided thing of egg carton and foil, hanging on a long string.
“It’s the star of Bethlehem,” he explained earnestly. “For Christmas.”
“It’s very nice,” I said insincerely, stepping around him.
“Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed as I closed the door behind me.
I made my traditional sweet bread to give to neighbors. I even hauled two loaves upstairs to the O’Meara apartment on the day before Christmas.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, in a grudging display of holiday cheer as Lucy opened the door, letting a blast of sound and cinnamon loose in the hallway. I thrust out the loaves.
“Why, Mrs. Johnson, how kind! Mother’s bathing the baby, but I know she’d like to thank you herself. Won’t you come in?”
Hardly, I thought, looking past her at the whirlwind of activity going on. “No, thank you. I need to get back downstairs. Nice wreath.” I turned to go.
“Don’t you have a wreath?”
It was Todd, peeking under Lucy’s elbow. Before I could answer, he was gone. Seconds later he returned dragging a piece of green construction paper that had been folded into a tube, clipped, flattened, and adorned with red construction paper holly berries.
“For you!” He thrust it into my hand and dived back into the holiday turmoil.
I looked at Lucy. She was smiling. “You’d better take it,” she advised. “Todd thinks Christmas isn’t Christmas without sharing. He must really like you—that wreath is one of his prized possessions. He was going to hang it on the tree as part of our Christmas program tonight.”
A sudden idea seemed to occur to her. “Mrs. Johnson, how would you like to spend Christmas Eve with us? We always have a family program, and I know Mother would want to invite you.”
I made my excuses—too old, too tired—then, clutching my “wreath” I headed downstairs again.
Christmas program! It seemed that even on Christmas Eve I wasn’t going to get any rest!
My own family was grown and far away. They’d call tomorrow, but tonight they were busy with their own families. I usually went to bed early on Christmas Eve. Memories were depressing when there was no one to share them with.
Darkness fell and I looked out on streets abuzz with Christmas cheer. Everyone, it seemed, had a place to go. I longed for the oblivion of sleep, but from upstairs I could hear the sound of chairs being rearranged and children giggling.
Oh no. Now we’ll hear those noisy Santa Claus songs and the sound of over-stimulated children preparing for the next day’s toy frenzy. I got out the broom and braced for the worst.
When it began, I hardly recognized it—the silver sound of a single flute playing “Silent Night.” I stood, transfixed. On the second verse the flute was joined by soft voices, young and old.
The sound was so gentle. I pushed up the window, hearing it squeak in protest, and leaned out, looking up. I was afraid the sound would silence them. After all, I’d yelled up from the window often enough. But the singing continued.
Then the flute led them into “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” and suddenly I knew how the shepherds felt that night long ago when unexpected joy came from above. I was startled to hear my own rusty voice joining in.
Then the star appeared. Yes, really. It was lopsided, made of egg cartons and foil, and dangling on a long string. Something was attached to the string.
I reached out and drew it in, removing the note. I read it and smiled.
Why choose the loneliness of old memories when there are new ones to be made?
I listened a moment longer to the angel voices from on high; then I released the star and saw it drawn gently upward.
Grabbing my wreath, I hurried out the door and followed the star.

Maya and Cade raced to the chicken coop.
“Is anything there?” Maya asked.
“Not yet,” Cade said.
Maya and Cade took care of the chickens every day. They gave them food and water. And they checked for eggs. But there were no eggs yet.
“My chicken will lay the first egg,” Cade said.
“No,” Maya said. “Mine will.”
A few days later Cade ran into the house. “I found an egg!” The egg was white with brown speckles.
“That’s from Cade’s chicken,” Mom said. “My chicken’s eggs will be brown. Maya, your chicken’s eggs will be blue.”
Cade pumped his fist. “My chicken laid the first egg!” he said.
Maya thought about the blue egg. She could wait for that.
But waiting was hard! The next egg didn’t come for days. And it was brown. “Your blue egg will come,” Mom said. “Sometimes we have to wait for good things.” So Maya kept waiting.
Every day Cade and Maya filled the water. Every day, they scattered seeds for the chickens to eat. And they kept checking for eggs. Sometimes there was a speckled egg. Sometimes there was a brown egg. But never a blue one. So Maya kept waiting.
One day Maya checked for eggs again. This time she found two. One was speckled. One was brown. Then something caught her eye. Another egg, hidden under the straw. A blue egg!
Maya picked it up. It was beautiful. Waiting was worth it.

Nor did the early Saints forget it either. In 1913, with the aid of Elder Sellers from Vernal, Utah, and Elder Joseph E. Ward from Parowan, Utah, the Magnolia chapel was built. It stands now as the oldest LDS chapel in Alabama.
Before construction began, a mob gathered to drive the elders out. Mrs. Willie Autrey, a nonmember, stepped out with her gun and turned the mob away. So the Magnolia chapel was built and has stood through the years as a monument to the dedication of area Saints, early and modern.

I had just finished a round of cancer treatment in San Diego, California, USA, and needed to drive home, more than 600 (965 km) miles away. I was tired and lonely, and I prayed for help and guidance.
I had already made more than 50 weekly trips to San Diego for treatment at the cancer center there, but this trip was harder because of the COVID-19 pandemic. Pandemic restrictions prevented my wife from traveling with me, and I could not fly in an airplane because my doctors worried that I might catch the virus. If I got sick, I likely would not survive. Driving by myself was the only option.
My wife and mother called. They were both worried about me. It was going to be a long night.
When my ministering brother, Brother Brough, found out I was in San Diego and was about to drive home, he also became worried. He called to check on me and then organized a phone brigade. He asked several members of our elders quorum to take turns calling and talking to me for an hour. Their calls would keep me company, awake, and alert.
During my 10-hour drive, I enjoyed the companionship of these good brothers as they talked to me. As soon as each hour call ended, we would say our goodbyes. Then my phone would ring again, and I would happily put the new caller on my car speaker phone.
As I thanked each of the callers, they often said, “I am glad I could help. We are here for you, Brother.”
Remembering the kindness of these good brothers who took an hour out of their night to guide me safely home still brings tears to my eyes. It was indeed a long night, but I will always remember our conversations and the love these brothers showed me.

Sig Verano had emigrated from his native Colombia, South America, to California, in 1963. Ana, the girl he was growing to love, was temporarily left behind while he began preparing to support himself, and possibly a family, in his new country.
He had received only three years of formal schooling in Colombia and spoke little English. In Los Angeles, California, his first job was making hats at the minimum legal wage, so he studied newspaper advertisements looking for something that would pay more. He spotted a training course for a “machinist.” The pay looked good, and in South America, a maquinista—train engineer—had regular employment, so he enrolled.
Sig did well in the course, but inquired after some time when they were going to get to the “big machines.” Be patient, he was told—that would come after the training. Toward the end of the training, he still had not seen a train engine. One day, he asked a co-worker how much they would travel in their future jobs. “What does travel have to do with this work?” the co-worker replied. After some confusing discussion, Sig finally asked, exasperated, “Will you please tell me exactly what we are learning?”
But Sig’s new job as a machinist was enough to provide the support he and Ana would need. They had continued their courtship by mail and were married by proxy in 1964. She emigrated to the United States in 1965. Edison, the first of their children, was born in 1966, followed by Julie in 1968 and Marbell in 1972.

After sacrament meeting, Jake followed his mother out of the chapel. “Oh no,” she said. “I forgot my scriptures.” Struggling to hold his squirming sister, she turned to Jake. “Would you please get them for me?”
Jake went back into the chapel. Everywhere he looked, papers littered the floor and the benches. “What a mess!” he muttered, picking up the book and hurrying to his mother.
In Primary, he forgot all about the litter until Sharing Time, when Sister Ranzenberger talked about feeling reverence for the Savior. “Love for the Savior includes respect for Him and His house,” she said.
Jake knew that the litter in the chapel showed a lack of respect for Jesus Christ. As he walked to class, he thought about what he could do to help. An idea came into his mind that made him smile. “Brother Vargas,” he said as the class sat down. “I’d like to call a special Blazer Patrol meeting for just a few minutes after class. Is that all right with you?”
Brother Vargas looked at him curiously. “Sure—you’re the Patrol Leader. I guess I can stay a few minutes.”
“Good,” Jake said. “We’ll meet in the chapel.”
After the lesson, the boys eagerly walked down the hall to the chapel. Bud shoved Jeff, knocking him into a picture of the Savior. Tim bounced a small rubber ball off the ceiling, and John ran his hand along the wall.
Inside the chapel, the boys formed a circle around Jake.
“What’s up?” Bud asked, casually dropping a gum wrapper on the floor.
Jake motioned with his hand as he said, “Look around you.” The patrol noisily looked around.
“It’s the chapel,” Tim said. “So what?”
“Look again. Really look.”
The boys quieted down and looked around the room.
“It’s kind of messy,” Bud said softly, stepping on his gum wrapper to hide it.
“That’s right,” Jake said. “So the Blazer Cobra Patrol is going to take five minutes now to pick it all up. Then it’ll be neat when the First Ward comes in.”
Tim headed for the door. “My mom’s waiting for me. I have to go.”
Jeff grabbed his arm. “She’s talking to Sister Williams, and you know how long that takes.”
The boys set to work picking up paper and straightening books. With Brother Vargas’s help, the job was finished in a few minutes. Afterward they stood in the back of the chapel, looking it over.
“It looks a lot cleaner,” John said.
“It looks good,” Jake agreed. “So good that I think we ought to do it every week.”
Brother Vargas smiled at him. “I think that sounds like a great idea—and though I need to clear this with the bishop, I’m sure that he’ll be delighted.”
Tim groaned. Some of the other boys rolled their eyes, but no one said anything. As they walked out the chapel doors, Jeff noticed the picture of the Savior and straightened it.
For the next few weeks, the Cobra Patrol tidied the chapel after class. One Sunday as they worked, Tod Tapu from the First Ward walked in. “What’s this?” he sneered. “The mighty Cobra Patrol picking up paper?” He laughed. “Maybe we ought to call you the Paper Patrol.”
“You’re just sore because we won all the awards at Blazer Camp,” Jake answered.
“Sure—keep thinking that. But you won’t catch our Wolf Patrol picking up paper.”
Brother Vargas picked up a tissue lying at Tod’s feet. “That’s too bad. I’ve seen the chapel after your ward’s finished, and it could use some picking up too.”
After Tod left, Tim muttered, “Paper Patrol! It’ll be all over the stake. Everybody’s going to call us the Paper Patrol.”
Jake started laughing. “What’s wrong with that? Let’s be the Paper Patrol. This is our chance to make a difference.”
As word of the Paper Patrol spread through the ward, something unusual began to happen. Children and adults started picking up paper as they left the chapel for their classes. Each Sunday there was less and less clutter for the boys to pick up. The halls and classrooms were cleaner too. Even the reverence in the chapel seemed better.
People stopped them in the halls to thank them. “Good job, Blazers,” Sister Ranzenberger said, beaming at them. “You’ve made a difference to the whole ward.”
One Sunday the bishop came in and gave them a hand straightening up. “Everybody needs to do his part in showing respect for our church buildings,” he said as they worked. “If everyone followed your example, the whole ward would be more reverent.”
Two weeks later, Jake had an interview with the bishop after church. When he arrived at the building, the First Ward was just leaving. He decided to see if the chapel was as messy as Brother Vargas had said. He opened the door and peeked in, then quickly shut it. Inside, Tod Tapu and the Wolf Patrol were picking up paper.
He stood in front of the closed doors for a moment, just smiling. Looks like there’s a Paper Patrol Two in the stake! he thought.

Since I now listened to special music with no din of radio and not even a newspaper, I decided to go a step further. I’d try no television on the Lord’s day. In my early days I would have cried, “Fanatic!” or other such things. I mean, what is really wrong with television on Sunday? Nothing. But this step seemed logical to me, and I know the Spirit was guiding me. After I, who had supported Sunday TV for so many years, had taken the giant step, I noticed that without fail the “cream of the crop,” yes, only the most wonderful movies, were shown on Sunday. But I had decided, and I stuck by my guns. Those movies couldn’t uplift me. A whole new world unfolded in my life. Some of the most special moments I have enjoyed have occurred on Sunday evening as I have basked in the spirit of the day and shared my feelings with friends and loved ones instead of rushing home from sacrament meeting to watch my favorite western. Maybe there’s not really a definite commandment about not watching television on Sunday, but what choice experiences I’d have missed by going along with the crowd.

Sam Stewart builds temples. Their spires do not rise majestically above busy freeways or green hilltops, but above the floor of the Stewart family room in Henderson, Nevada. Their walls are not hewn from fine granite but cut from plain brown cardboard boxes. Yet these knee-high models somehow capture the majesty of real temples.
Sam (11) hopes to design real temples someday. Architects (people who design buildings) must have an artistic flair, and Sam does. His mom first discovered his talent when he was just three years old. She walked into his room and was astonished to see pictures of dinosaurs all over the walls. On the one hand, she didn’t feel that bedroom walls were quite the right place for drawing dinosaurs. On the other hand, they were drawn so well! She suggested that Sam use paper next time, but the already-hatched reptiles were left to roam the walls.
Cardboard replaced paper as the young artist’s favorite surface when he was nine years old. The family was reading about putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). There were cardboard boxes lying around because the Stewarts were sending packages to Sam’s brothers who were on missions. The boxes and the armor collided in Sam’s mind, and he began constructing a cardboard “shield of faith.” After he finished it, he shaped a “sword of the Spirit” out of wood.
About this time, Sam began to feel a strong attachment to the nearby Las Vegas Nevada Temple. At first he appreciated it simply because it was beautiful. But as he learned more about the purpose of temples, he came to love it for the blessings it brings to people’s lives. This interest soon grew to include all the temples of the Church. Sam began filling a binder with pictures of the world’s temples and a file with diagrams and information about their design, history, and construction. By the time he had filled the binder, he knew that he wanted to build temples of stone someday. In the meantime, he would build temples of cardboard.
With boxes, a pair of scissors, a hot-glue gun, and a ruler, he created a faithful scale model of the Las Vegas Temple. It was astonishingly good. No one taught him how to build cardboard temples. He invented the craft as he went along.
Next came his version of the historic Nauvoo Illinois Temple, which was then being rebuilt. The family read all they could find about the project as Sam raised his cardboard walls. He drew the sunstones and other carvings onto the surface with a pen. The Manti Temple and the Preston England Temple followed. Then Sam started working on his masterpiece—the Salt Lake Temple, crafted in far greater detail than the others. This project has taken a year so far and is not yet finished. Once it’s completed, he plans to build models of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the Portland Oregon Temple.
Sam doesn’t just build temples; he studies them, too. He learned so much about the stone carvings on the Nauvoo Temple that his dad invited him to explain their meaning to the temple preparation class he teaches. Sam has also given family home evening lessons on temple architecture to several families in the ward.
He is not shy about sharing his love of temples with his friends from other religions. They like to watch him build, and as he works he quizzes them about temple facts. By now they know all the answers.
Working on temples doesn’t fill all of Sam’s time. He is an excellent student who studies hard because he knows that to be an architect he must be good at math and get good grades. He enjoys sports, including skiing, baseball, and soccer. He especially loves the outdoors and the beauties of nature. He is always eager to visit his family’s cabin in the mountains of Utah.
Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”
“Sam wants to understand things spiritually,” his dad comments. “He prays. He reads the scriptures. He asks a lot of difficult questions—the kind that parents don’t always know how to answer. He’s made me a better person just being around him.”
His mom adds, “He has a clear vision of what’s right and wrong, and he’s strong in doing what’s right. He wants to make people happy. If I’m down, he knows it, and he’ll cheer me up.”
This builder of temples is also helping to build a happy family.