Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago during a beautiful early fall evening, a young woman sat on a stone bench down by the Spori Building. At that time it was the original Spori Building. And as this young woman and a friend sat there talking and enjoying one another’s company (they had been dating for some time), the young man brought himself to the point of saying to this young women, “I have kept myself worthy my whole life so that I could ask a girl like you to be my wife.” He reached into his pocket and took out a ring, attempting to place it on her finger. At that moment, she became distraught. She jumped up, placing the ring that he had tried to put on her finger on the bench, and left him there. She anguished about that for days and finally did what we would understand to be the proper thing to do. She went to her bishop and began the repentance process. It is what she said to her bishop that I think is compelling: “What I could not bear to tell him is that I was not the girl he thought I was. But I wish to be.” A moment intended to be one of rejoicing had been robbed of its joy. She had wished at that point, more than anything else, to let the ring be placed on her finger. To her credit she had too much integrity to do that. It certainly was a moment where she desired to rejoice, but her heart groaned because of her past choices and decisions.

One time as we talked about good nutrition, a sweet mother from the Philippines spoke to me. “You know, Sister, I don’t have enough money to buy all the things I’d like. So before I go to the market, I kneel and ask Heavenly Father to help me spend my few pesos wisely and buy the things that will be best for my family. As I bring home my food, I again ask him to help me prepare it properly. And then, Sister, when it is time for us to eat, we know we can ask Heavenly Father to bless our food—to help us be strong and healthy with what we have been able to buy and fix.” And I thought of how many times a blessing on the food had been for me but a signal to eat. …
There was the group of Relief Society women in Central Java who would each save a spoonful of rice in the morning before they began cooking for the day. They’d put that spoonful, each day, in a plastic bag; then on Saturday they would bring their bags with them to Relief Society. If anyone was ill or had not been attending church for some time, all the sisters would walk together following the meeting to visit her. And they would take some of the rice to share. I’ve learned much about service and consecration from such examples.
I was serving in Indonesia when the Book of Mormon was first translated and printed in that language. During that time I had an inkling of what it must have been like for Joseph Smith and others when they were finally able to give so many others the privilege of reading the book. One of my local companions, an Indonesian sister from the city of Solo, slept with her copy right beside her.
The chance to share the gospel sometimes came in unexpected ways. This happened once in Taiwan. Without any previous language training, I was struggling daily to learn Mandarin Chinese. Tracting provided the thrill of a lifetime—having someone answer the door when it was my turn to talk! How amazing it was to me those first few times that someone could actually understand some of my sounds!
Then one morning an American woman answered—totally unexpected. Her husband was in the Navy. We were caught off guard and were speechless. Finally she said, “Oh, you must be Mormon missionaries! Come on in—I used to be a Mormon.” And thus began a miracle.
Her husband wasn’t a member and she wasn’t active. A teenage son and daughter had been baptized but weren’t active at the time either. We had the privilege of switching from Mandarin to English and sharing the gospel with this great family. The father was eventually baptized, both children served missions, and now the father and mother are working in a temple. Who would have believed we would meet that wonderful American family in Tainan, Taiwan!
Through these and many other experiences, I have learned one of the great lessons of missionary work: I gained as much from others as they did from me. We all grew spiritually—we were teaching each other. I realized there is a need for all of us to be open to every chance to lift, help, teach, and strengthen one another … no matter where or when.

One day when we were walking home from school, we saw a big black dog. We were afraid and tried to hide by the side of a neighbor’s house. The dog wouldn’t leave. We decided to say a prayer. As soon as we were finished, a lady came out of the house. She saw us and helped us get the dog away so we could hurry home. We had faith that Heavenly Father would hear and answer our prayer.Jared Curtis and Erin Rhodes, age 6, with help from Jared’s mom, American Fork, Utah

When I was a small boy, each December my father would take us all across the street to the home of Bishop Duncan for tithing settlement. The bishop did not have an office in the ward building, and so he had to conduct business in his home. We would all sit in his living room and, one by one, he would invite us into the dining room. Our tithing might be 25 cents, or maybe 50 cents, but it was a full tithing. He wrote out a receipt and recorded the amount in the ward record. The amount may have been so small that it cost more to record it than it was worth. But it established a habit which continued through all of these years. With the payment of tithing have come innumerable blessings as the Lord has promised.

I would like to use my own family as an illustration of what I have in mind. Mother and I were filling a mission together over in Holland when we had a little girl born to us, and after we had been home a few years she passed away. When she was born, my wife has told me over and over again that she felt she saw an angel bring that spirit to her. And yet she is gone. Then I think of her four sisters. You voted here today to sustain one of them as a counselor in the general presidency of the Relief Society. Her other three sisters are just as noble and wonderful, although their talents may be just a little different.

When I think of this little one that we laid away when she was three-and-a-half years old, I thank God I have the faith to believe that God reigns in the heavens above and in the earth beneath and that this little one will ultimately enter into her glory and be equal to any of her four sisters who have tarried here upon this earth and raised their families. I thank God for the statement of the apostle Paul when he said that “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” (1 Cor. 15:19.) In this brief period of mortality, it would not be possible for God to accomplish for all of his children all that he has in mind for them, the ones that are true and faithful.

I think of the statement of Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” (Moses 1:39.) I wonder sometimes if we ever stop to analyze that statement. I think we can understand what “to bring to pass immortality” is, that we will never die after we come forth in the resurrection, as President Romney pointed out this morning. But what about eternal life? As I interpret this, I find in it the feeling that all that God has ultimately planned for his children who are faithful and true shall come to them in his own due time.

We read in the Book of Mormon that we are not all born at the same time (and that doesn’t matter) and that we don’t all die at the same time. (See Alma 40:8.) I think of the words of Abraham when he saw the placing of the spirits here upon this earth, that the Lord would prove them to see if they would do all things whatsoever he had commanded them. Then he adds: “And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon.” (Abr. 3:26.) That was in the spirit life before we came to mortality. “They who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.” (Abr. 3:26.) This little girl of ours kept her second estate as far as she could at her age.

Then I think of the statement of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph Smith when he said: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught.” (D&C 3:1.) In other words, no one can stand in the way of God achieving what he has decreed for his children. Then a further statement in the Doctrine & Covenants where the Lord said: “His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand. From eternity to eternity he is the same.” (D&C 76:3–4.)

Then there are the words of the Lord to the prophet Nephi when he said: “For my work is not yet finished; neither shall it be until the end of man, neither from that time henceforth and forever.” (2 Ne. 29:9.) Now that should enable us to comprehend and realize that there will never be a time when God will cease to do his work to bring to pass, as we read in the Pearl of Great Price, the glory that will be added upon their heads forever and ever.

Coming back to our family, we had four daughters before we got a boy and he grew into beautiful young manhood; we lost him in an accident down at the beach in California while I was the president of the stake there. He was just turning 16 and he stood as tall as his father, and to think now of his own brothers who are here: they have their families, and one of them has just been serving as one of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I can’t believe that boy will come out any less exalted in the eternities that are to come than his brothers who have lived here in mortality. When he died, the principal of the high school came to our home (and he was not a member of the Church) and told Sister Richards that our son was the best boy he had ever had in his school, and we felt that, too, as he grew into manhood.

One such young man who became a casualty of this conflict was a respected husband and community member. Someone with whom he worked brought lurid bits of pornography and passed them around the office. At first it was treated as a joke, and those who viewed them kidded each other about such things of the world. This young man, however, mainly out of curiosity, thought he should study them carefully in case he might have occasion to help others combat such evils of the world. As he looked at the items more and more frequently, he was overcome by a spirit of the adversary that he did not recognize. Soon he sought more pornographic materials from his fellow employee, and the two of them began to spend more time discussing these evil things.

Still thinking he was becoming enlightened as to the ways of the world so that he could be a stronger influence for good among his friends, this young man became trapped by his own ignorance of the enemy’s ways. His associate convinced him that he should experiment with the actions portrayed in the materials he was viewing. With his spiritual sensitivity dulled, he agreed, and he approached his wife with the idea. She was surprised and shocked by his suggestions, and when he continued his insensitive pleas, she finally refused to have anything to do with him. In his distorted condition he sought gratification elsewhere, and in the end he lost her, his family, and his self-respect.

The first story is about someone I will call Ethan. He had recently started his job in a career he had longed for, and he wanted to make a good impression. He came early to work and stayed late. He picked up extra projects and did excellent work. He was well liked by many of his colleagues and was enjoying his job. One day at lunch with a couple of co-workers, he felt comfortable telling them he was gay. An awkward silence followed because no one knew how to respond. Ethan was disappointed by his colleagues’ cold response, and he felt hurt and rejected.

After that lunch meeting, things became increasingly awkward for Ethan at work. He began to feel vulnerable and less valued. He found himself excluded from large projects and social activities after work, and his productivity began to suffer because he felt he did not belong and was not wanted. After a few months he was let go because his boss felt he was not keeping up. Despite all the claims to the contrary, Ethan knew he had been fired for being gay.

At an Aaronic Priesthood encampment testimony meeting, the boys formed a long line waiting for a turn at the microphone. As they bore their testimonies, a nonmember boy, sitting by the Scoutmaster, kept saying, out loud: “How can they say that?” “They don’t know it’s true!”
About an hour later, caught up by the spirit of the meeting and the sincerity of the boys, the nonmember friend found himself in line, waiting to bear his testimony. When his turn came, he declared: “I’ve got to join this Church! I know the gospel is true!”

It happened in Japan some fifty years ago-almost fifty-four or -five. I, my dear brothers and sisters (four kids), mom and dad-[we] were happy. They [were a] Buddhist family. War broke out. Father was called to serve. Two weeks before the war ended, he became sick and came home. [He] found no food in his home. [All the] workers [were] gone. He took young people, and boys and also older people to catch fish. By two [o' clock], his engine boats [had] caught a lot of fish. And they [were] heading to harbor and on the way-two weeks prior to the war ending-Americans and Marines bombed and killed these eight people except for one. A fourteen-year-old boy helping [catch fish], caught the debris and spent a day and a half to reach to the seashore. He told everything that [had] happened. This father left behind the four kids and of course the faithful wife and mother, who became poor.

The family [of] four, the boy, [the] third child, when he graduated from his junior high, [there was] no money to send [him] to senior high school. So he found a little tiny shop, a bean curd shop made with soy beans, [and started] working from 4 o'clock in the morning, making tofu. And [he] started selling in the morning for the breakfast, which everyone wanted. Then he would rest a little while and then make the tofu for the evening and rest, looking up at the stars. After 6, he changed, ate, and biked [to] the evening school. He came home at 10:30, and jumped into bed by 11.

One day he was found in a hospital bed, critically ill. His doctor could not diagnose anything. Brothers and sisters, [his] mother called, his big brother called, they said that they cannot make it; they could not help. Brothers and sisters, that night that little boy as a Buddhist boy, prayed, "God are you there? Buddha are you there?" No spirit, no angel, no lights-nothing.He fell asleep and next morning was very fresh; after few days he left hospital.

It was a Monday. Monday, [which was] missionary p-day, knocking doors p-day. They [were] knocking all day, however, no success. Then finally they decided to go home, but somehow, a young missionary from St. Anthony, Idaho, turned to [his] companion, "Can we knock few more doors?" They decided to knock a few doors.

[They] came to the little boy [who] was staying in the grandmother's home. [He had] left that tofu shop because he got sick. He saw Americans. He was told they came from America. The boy said, "You just go, I no like you guys. Americans, you kill my father".The missionary took [off his] gentleman hat, [the] young man from St. Anthony.

"How old are you, young man?" the young man said.

"I said leave."

My dear brothers and sisters, this young missionary [said], "We have a message for you. A message that your Heavenly Father came to a boy just like you and your Savior came to a boy just like you. We want to tell [you] a story." The boy froze, "I give you 10 minutes then."

Missionary walked in and taught that little boy. That missionary taught so beautifully, "I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head above the brightness of the sun." The missionary started crying, telling about the brightness of the sun "which descended gradually until it fell upon me... When the light rest upon me, I saw two personages, whose brightness and glory defy all descriptions...One of them spake unto me, calling me by name pointing to the other-This is my beloved Son, hear Him."[1]

You know what? That Japanese boy believed them. Embarrassed, [he] asked them to come back. Somehow [the] missionaries came back every day, [though they] almost didn't know where to go. [They] taught that little boy, my dear brothers and sisters. He wanted to be baptized, but he was too young and needed permission. [He] called [his] mother, "Mother I found a wonderful church. I want to join and be baptized. Two young men came from America." She hung up.

That missionary fasted and prayed and the boy did also. [The] next day he called, "Mother don't hang up. I've found a wonderful church. Please give me permission." Almost ten minutes back and forth, he was begging and she was pleading [him] not to. Finally, [his] wise mother said, "Son, you're too young to make a decision, but one condition, if you [do] not quit right in the middle, I'll let you join. Remember, don't you ever quit in middle." Missionaries took him the next day to biggest baptismal font, which [is] called [the] Pacific Ocean.

That young boy, that young boy was affected by the Sacred Grove [story] of Joseph Smith by [the] missionaries. My dear brothers and sisters, I have to sit down.

You may wonder who is that boy? Is that little boy still active in the Church? My dear brothers and sisters, I am, I am that little boy who said, "No thank you, go away." Thank God [for] missionary work. Now, I want to make straight-[the] gospel changed my nature. I love you. I love you beautiful American people.

Many years ago, in a stake conference of the Salt Lake Valley View Stake, I heard a sister tell about her decision to attend the temple every week for the entire year. She testified of the marvelous experience it had been for her. As I listened, I realized that she had something I did not have: a spiritual witness of the temple. I desired such a witness and pondered how I could deepen my own testimony of the temple.

At that time Anne Marie and I had five children. We felt a desire to welcome more of our Father in Heaven’s children into our family, but that didn’t seem to be happening. So Anne Marie and I talked about what we could do or what we could sacrifice to be worthy of such a blessing.

We determined to make an appointment with the Lord to be in His temple every week for the next twelve months. We prayed and told the Lord of our commitment. We asked for the blessing of additional children in our family. If we were blessed with another baby, we would be very grateful. But if that blessing was not granted, we would accept the Lord’s will without murmuring. For our part, our commitment was to be in the house of the Lord every week for the next year.

That was a marvelous year for us. Often Anne Marie and I would go to the temple together; at other times we went separately. I frequently attended the 5:45 a.m. session in the Salt Lake Temple, which made it possible for me to get to work on time. After several months, Anne Marie was no longer able to attend regularly because she was pregnant and struggling with morning sickness. I think the Lord understood.

But I continued to go, week after week after week. I had made a commitment to the Lord, and I intended to keep my promise. I had to closely watch the Salt Lake and Jordan River temple closure schedules and attend a different temple when necessary. With effort I was able to keep my commitment. The only challenge was the week I was at Camp Steiner, in the High Uintas, while serving as Scoutmaster. On that occasion I went to the temple twice the week before.

In September 1992 I completed my one-year commitment of weekly temple attendance. It was a great experience, and it changed my life. My feelings for the house of the Lord and my devotion to the work performed there deepened in a profound way.

Now I am not suggesting that the Lord expects you to attend the temple every week, nor am I saying that doing so will mean you will be blessed with more children. What I am saying is that miracles come only after we exercise faith. I am saying that a love for the temple and sensitivity to the Spirit there comes from being in the temple. These blessings do not come by reading about the temple or thinking about the temple. They come from being in the temple.

Betsy Ward slid the pan of biscuits into the black castiron oven. She huddled for a moment in front of the warm fire. Then turning, she arranged the pewter mugs and plates on the massive oak table. It seemed strange to be setting two places instead of six. First they had stopped setting places for Pa and Dan. Lt. Ward had had to go with his men, but Dan was only sixteen and had done some fancy talking to convince Ma that he should go fight Redcoats too. Betsy sighed. Fighting Redcoats would be so exciting.
Then Grandma Clay began to ail. She became so sick that Ma left last week to go care for her. Ma said that Grandpa didn’t even know how to boil water! Even little Hannah, who went with Ma, knew how to boil water. Now just ten-year-old Betsy and twelve-year-old Nate were left on the farm.
Betsy heard Nate whistling “Yankee Doodle” as he slowly wandered back from the barn. Nate, Betsy thought, has no gumption at all. He doesn’t even want to fight Redcoats; he’s happy with his cows.
“Hey, Bet, someone’s coming.” Nate had stopped whistling and was standing in the middle of the yard.
Betsy pulled her cloak off the peg by the rocking chair and hurried out onto the worn stone steps of the farmhouse. Nate was looking down the snowy, winding road at a skinny, ragged boy trudging toward them. He was no older than Nate, but much thinner. Slung over his shoulder was a battered drum and an empty knapsack.
“This the Ward place?” he asked.
“Yep,” Nate replied.
The boy fumbled inside his torn jacket and pulled out a folded brown paper. “Lt. Ward sent this.”
Betsy snatched the letter out of the drummer boy’s fingers. Christmas wasn’t as exciting as one of Pa’s letters! Then she handed it to Nate. She hadn’t learned to read cursive before the schoolmaster joined the army. Nate didn’t open the letter. Instead, he invited the drummer boy in to eat, and it wasn’t until the dishes were cleared from the table that he carefully unfolded the paper.
“‘Dear Rhoda,’” Nate read aloud. Rhoda was Ma. “‘I pray that all is well and happy for you. How do the children fare, and how …’” It seemed to Betsy that Nate never would get to the interesting part.
“‘We are here in Morristown now. Food, especially meat, is scarce, and my men are in rags. As we marched into camp, our path could be traced by our bloody footprints in the snow! There is hardly a decent boot in camp and not one stocking in my whole company. Please send us stockings quickly, for we march again on Monday night.’”
The drummer boy coughed and said he’d best be moving along. After he’d gone, Nate looked at Betsy and shook his head. “Too bad Ma isn’t here. We can’t do much without her.”
Betsy stared at Nate. “Of course we can!” she exclaimed. “You go hitch the oxen to the wagon. I’ll be out in a moment.”
As Nate reluctantly ambled out, Betsy ran to the chest of drawers where Ma kept the knitting needles and neatly rolled balls of yarn. There were eight large balls, all previously destined for sweaters, scarves, or mittens. Betsy scooped them up along with a pair of needles. Then she slipped into her cloak and ran outside to prod Nate along. “Where is your red coat?” Betsy asked. “You move so slowly, I’d swear you were on their side and don’t want Pa’s men to get stockings.”
“It isn’t going to do any good,” Nate grumbled. “You can’t knit enough stockings with that little bit of yarn anyway, even if we do get to Morristown. Monday is just the day after tomorrow.”
“Who says I’m going to knit them all myself?” Betsy countered. “And we aren’t going to Morristown—not yet anyway. First, drive me to the Lawrences’. There are four girls there who’ll knit too.”
By the time Nate was ready to go, Betsy was seated comfortably among the brown, blue, and white balls of yarn, and her needles were clicking away steadily. Nate guided the oxen out of the yard and down the long road toward the home of their neighbors.
By the time they reached the Lawrence place, Betsy had her first stocking half finished. Mrs. Lawrence ran out to meet them as they pulled into the farmyard.
“Goodness, Betsy child,” exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, “you’re as blue as a berry! You, too, Nate. Come inside this minute.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. We can’t,” said Betsy, glaring at Nate who had started to climb down from the wagon. “Read her Pa’s letter, Nate.”
Nate settled back onto the wagon seat and read the wrinkled brown paper. He skipped the beginning and just read about the condition of Lt. Ward’s company and the request for stockings.
Mrs. Lawrence’s face paled—her two sons were there too. “They shall have all the stockings we can knit,” she promised.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. If the clear weather holds, the short road to Morristown will be open and we’ll go that way. Since we won’t come this way again, would you mind sending the stockings by on Sunday night? Thank you again.” Betsy nodded to Nate, and he clucked to the oxen. Soon they were on their way to the next farmhouse, the Pauls’.
Young Mrs. Paul lived alone. Her husband was with the company. She promised to knit until doomsday if it would help. Then Nate and Betsy turned toward the Dixons’. By the time the oxen pulled out onto the road again, Betsy’s first stocking was finished. After stopping at the Moon farm and the Tucker place in the valley, Nate pulled the wagon into their cousins’ farm, the last one in the parish. The sun had been down for an hour, and the children were numb with cold and weariness. They didn’t mind a bit being bustled into the warm, friendly kitchen and being coaxed into staying the night with their cousins.
The sun rose the next morning a little after Betsy had prodded Nate out of bed. It was a long, cold trip home, and the trip to Morristown the next day would be even longer and colder. But Betsy didn’t mind. By helping Pa, she was fighting Redcoats! As the wagon rolled toward the stoutly built farmhouse, she started humming “Yankee Doodle.” Before she had finished the first verse, Nate was humming too.
As Nate drove the oxen into their farmyard, he asked, “Bet, how many pairs of stockings do you think we’ll get?”
Betsy felt so good that she teased her brother. “I’ll not be surprised if we have enough for all of General Washington’s army and for a few of the British as well!”
After starting the fire in the kitchen and fixing a little dinner, Betsy relaxed in the rocker to knit and wait for the stockings to come. She had almost finished two pairs when Nate came in from the barn and lit the lamp. “I expect we’ll have company any minute now,” he said. “Should be quite a flock of stockings here tonight. You’ve done a good job.”
Betsy kept knitting and rocking, and Nate busied himself with his pocketknife and a chunk of pinewood. When he had whittled one piece into fine kindling, he went to the woodbox for another, then another. The only sounds were the scraping of his knife, the clicking of Betsy’s needles, and the howling of a fierce wind that had started up outside. No company came. When she finished her fourth stocking, Betsy’s knitting fell into her lap.
Nate said softly, “Why don’t you go to bed? When the stockings come, I’ll wake you up.”
Betsy nodded and trudged upstairs. When she awoke, it was day, but the sky was a blanket of gray. She pulled on her clothes and ran downstairs. Nate was sitting in the rocker, his head resting on his chest. “Nate.” Betsy shook his shoulder. “Where are all the stockings?”
Nate awoke scowling. “You can see them yourself.” He swung his arm toward the table. “Your two pairs.”
Betsy’s chin trembled, and her eyes started to burn. Blinking furiously to control her tears, she looked at the two lonely pairs of stockings. Her throat felt twisted and tight. “Well,” she finally managed to say, “get busy and hitch up the wagon. Pa and Dan will have stockings when they march tonight.”
“Betsy, we’ve been beaten. Two pairs of stockings aren’t worth the trip—haven’t you seen the new snow? We’ll have to go the long way.”
Nate’s voice was angry, but Betsy knew that he was just as disappointed as she was.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to come,” Betsy said with a gulp. “I’ll go by myself.”
Nate stamped out the door and hitched up the oxen. Then he called Betsy, and they rode down the bleak, snowy road. For miles the oxens’ muffled plodding and Betsy’s needles were the only sounds they heard.
Suddenly a figure ran awkwardly toward them from the Lawrences’ narrow side road. Nate stopped the wagon and lifted Mrs. Lawrence’s bundle into the wagon.
“We’ve been knitting all night,” Mrs. Lawrence told them. “We wanted to get the stockings to you, but the storm stopped us. We knew that it would force you to pass this way though. Anyway, here they are—twelve pairs!”
Betsy and Nate both thanked her. Betsy was elated. Fourteen pairs were better than two! Nate slapped the reins, and they were off again.
When they came to a fork in the road, there stood Mrs. Paul and one of the Dixon lads, laden with stockings. Farther down the road they met little Richie Moon with a basket of stockings almost bigger than he was. When they finally left the parish area, Nate pulled the wagon to the side of the road. They both scrambled into the wagon bed and started counting: 50 … 80 … 110 pairs of heavy woolen stockings! Enough for the whole company—and a few of the British too!
Nate winked at Betsy and started humming “Yankee Doodle.” Before he had finished the first verse, both their voices were ringing across the frozen New Jersey countryside.
Late that night, Lt. Ward’s company did march—with a warm stocking on every foot!

One particular performance I looked forward to was my hometown in Hilo. You may have read this story on the Jubilee website or read it in the community paper. It's my EAR story. I have never told this story publicly except at the "Showcase" reunion during the Jubilee celebration. So what you hear today is the first hand account of that experience. Of all the "Showcase" stories, this one is definitely at the top.

It was Hilo's annual carnival and "Showcase" was invited to perform besides doing shows at the local schools and local wards and stakes. I was really looking forward to seeing family, relatives, and friends that would be there to watch us. As we were getting ready for the show, some of us guys started getting the sound equipment out of the back of the Greyline Bus. Apparently the top of the door that opens down and up was not locked. The trunk fell on my head. It was a hard bump but my head's was pretty solid anyway and thought nothing of it. When I moved to the side of the bus the trunk door clipped the side of my head.

As we were dressing and getting ready for the show, the guys noticed blood on the side of my head. With my shorts in my hand, I began applying to the top of the head. The director Randy Boothe escorted me to the First Aid station and the nurse sat me down and looked at the top of my head. She looked confused because she couldn't find the open gash. When she looked towards my ear, she gasped. I asked if anything was wrong, she said no and proceeded to Randy who was standing at the door. She whispered in his ear and all I could see was Randy's face. He b-lined right out the door. In the meantime I sat there patiently waiting for the ambulance to take me to the hospital. When I got there, I received a blessing on the operating table. The doctor and I hit it off because he spoke Japanese and we were talking about my mission and why I went to Japan. I'm lying on my side and I see this piece of flesh swimming around in this light blue liquid. I ask the doctor, what was this? He looked at me shocked and said, "You really don't know what that is?" I chuckled and told him no. He said, "Didn't they tell you?" I said, "Tell me what, about my head?" He said as only one local can say to another local, "Braddah, that's your ear!" Well, you can imagine what I was thinking. Will I be able to perform without an ear? Who is going to want to marry an earless man? The doctor reassured me that he had done many plastic surgeries and chances were that the fallen ear would reattach. Well, I must say the surgeon did a wonderful job.

After the surgery I rejoined the group at the end of the performance and was told the other half the story.
Part II - Remember the nurse at the First Aid station, well she had gone to whisper in Randy Boothe's ear that I was missing part of my ear. That he needed to look for it immediately and get it to the hospital ASAP so they could reattach it. Well Randy and the "Showcase" members went to the bus in the dark, without flashlights, began searching for my ear. I can't remember who found it, but Randy did put it in a wet napkin. Because he was the director, he now had the difficult task to tell my mother who was anxiously waiting for her son to perform. He found my mother, and was so apologetic. He began to tell her, "Sister Akoi, I am so sorry, your son just got into an accident. This is ear, can you please take it to the hospital right now so they can reattach it?" When I asked my mother what her reaction was, she said, "Son, I had no time to react. I ran a quarter of a mile in my high heels looking for the car in the dark, just to get your ear to the hospital in time." Well the operation went well except they couldn't do a good fold. The one they did make made me feel like my ear was flapping around. I told the doctor that I could live without it.

Well, I will never forget this experience and many others that have allowed me to engage in doing good things. Whenever I look at the mirror my ear reminds me of the love I have for this school and sacrifices made by many that came before you and I, and it reminds me of those precious memories of "Showcase."

Wanting to carry on a family tradition, 17-year-old Amanda Keawe learned her Hawaiian music skills from her grandmother, Auntie Genoa Keawe, who is famous for falsetto voice singing. “Somebody told me one time, ‘Someone needs to carry on your grandmother’s tradition. Because when she goes on, all her songs will be lost and we’re only going to have records,’” explains Amanda. “I would like to carry on the tradition.”
As Amanda performs in prestigious concerts in Hawaii and Japan, her grandmother sometimes joins her. “Every time I sing with my grandmother, I’m always the happiest,” says Amanda, a Laurel in the Auwaiolimu Ward, Honolulu Hawaii Stake.

It was late on a Saturday night, and everyone in my family was tired after a long weekend. To make things worse, my dad was once again out of the country for his job. I was about to go to bed when I realized that my mom was cleaning! As she worked, she began to sing a song by the Beach Boys: “Help me, Rhonda; help, help me, Rhonda.” A bit puzzled, I asked my mom why she was singing that song. She explained that since no one else would help her clean our house, maybe Rhonda would.
I suddenly realized that I was being completely unfair to my tired and overworked mother. I dropped what I was doing and said, “Mom, what can I do?” She replied, “Well, if you could rinse and put the dishes in the dishwasher, I would really appreciate it.”
When I finished the dishes, I did a few other small jobs. By the time everything was done, it was about 11:00 p.m. My mom was sitting on the couch for a minute to get some energy back, so I walked over to her and asked if there was anything else I could do.
She shook her head. Then with a tired but grateful smile she said, “Thank you … Rhonda,” and gave me a hug. Though I had helped lift my mom’s burden that night, I knew that I had given her just an hour of my time, compared to the thousands she willingly gives to my family. It was one hour I wouldn’t have wanted to spend any other way.

When I was a boy, we lived on a fruit farm in the summer. We grew great quantities of peaches. Our father took us to tree pruning demonstrations put on by the agricultural college. Each Saturday during January and February, we would go out to the farm and prune the trees. We learned that by clipping and sawing in the right places, even when snow was on the ground and the wood appeared dead, we could shape a tree so that the sun would touch the fruit which was to come with spring and summer. We learned that in February we could pretty well determine the kind of fruit we would pick in September.

A few years ago, I was one of a few Church members in my grade. People thought I was weird because I was dedicated to living all of the standards of the Church. So one day I decided that I could compromise my standards a little bit. When I did, I noticed that I had more attention from others. But after just a few weeks, I felt guilty and turned to the Lord for repentance. He did help me, and I had to make a lot of sacrifices, but it was worth it! I truly got to see the blessings of living the gospel at school. I did lose friends and attention, but I gained respect and happiness.
Sutton K., age 15, Texas, USA

The Vershinin family from Nizhniy Novgorod first visited the Stockholm Sweden Temple in 2000. After traveling to St. Petersburg, Sergey, Vera, and their daughter, Irina, joined a group of Russian Latter-day Saints from various cities and traveled by bus and ferry to reach the temple. At the temple, Irina participated in baptisms for the dead and was sealed to her parents. “The trip gave us testimonies and many blessings,” she recalled. “They were small testimonies received individually by each person. But as a whole they helped us and gave momentum for further spiritual growth.”12

I’m having the same problem right now and I’m in the middle of solving it. My mom gave me some great advice. I don’t know about you, but I can sometimes get offended pretty easily. She told me to stop that. She also said that most people aren’t going to stay your friend if you do that sort of thing. I have made a few friends since that talk. It really helped me to understand a lot of things.
Leah Puckett, 12,Grand Junction, Colorado

Years ago, as a young missionary, I was assigned to a group of 17 small islands in the South Pacific. One day a member told me that if I would be at a certain harbor on a particular island at sunset the next day, a family would meet me there and listen to the discussions.
What joy that news brought! I was working alone at the time but quickly found four members who were experienced sailors and who agreed to take me to this island.
Early the next morning the five of us started out. A nice breeze moved us swiftly along the coast, through the opening in the reef, and out into the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
We made good progress for a few hours, but then the wind began to slow and soon quit, leaving us bobbing aimlessly on a smooth ocean. I suggested that we pray. We pleaded with the Lord three times to send some wind, but still the sails hung limp and listless.
I thought, All that stands between us and the family is a little wind. Why won’t the Lord send it? It’s a righteous desire.
A faithful older brother unlashed the tiny lifeboat and softly said, “Get in. I am going to row you to shore.”
I was astonished. It was miles to shore. The sun was hot, and this man was old. He said, “We have an assignment from the Lord. Before the sun sets this day, you will be teaching the gospel and bearing testimony to a family who wants to listen. Get in the boat.”
We got into the boat; the old man bent his back and began to row. He did not look up, rest, or talk. Hour after hour he rowed and rowed and rowed, fulfilling the calling he had from the Lord—to get a missionary to a family who wanted to hear the gospel. He was the Lord’s wind that day.
Just as the sun slipped below the horizon, the lifeboat touched shore. A family was waiting. I went to their home and taught them the gospel. The family believed and eventually was baptized.
How often do we quit because we pray for wind and none comes? Instead, we need to listen for the Lord’s answer when we pray and then act upon his answer. On the boat, five men prayed, but only one heard and acted. God gave him the strength to be His wind that day, and He will give us the strength to be His wind when we do what He asks.

I am very grateful to have had a father who did not overindulge his sons, except with love and moral support. I think I have a special appreciation for many things because of having worked in a canning factory and having caught the hot cans as they came from the capper, for the munificent sum of 25¢ per hour. One of the by-products of the job was to have the flesh of the hands peel off from the moisture and the heat of the cans. It also involved a 16-kilometer bicycle ride every day to and from work.