Gospel Story Finder

The second experience is from a BYU graduate:
As a sophomore, I had a roommate named Krista. She ministered to me by just being a loyal and kind friend. She asked about my life and always listened. She noticed what my talents were and suggested a field of work I never would have considered—the next 15 years of my life were altered because she noticed my skills and abilities and I took her advice related to a career. She could have noticed my inabilities and weaknesses—maybe she did, but she never commented on them. She just helped me be the best person I could by believing in me.

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

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

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

I was only 15 when I first met the full-time missionaries—two nice young men with something unusual in their countenances. Although I didn’t remember much of what they said during the first missionary discussion, I couldn’t forget the good feeling I had when I talked with them.
I was president of my church’s local youth group, and I was not interested in changing religions. In fact, when my older brother and sister decided to be baptized, I felt betrayed. Even though I did not approve of what they were doing, I went to their baptismal service to support them. It was hard for me to admit, but at the baptism I felt that good feeling again.
As time passed, I became better and better friends with the missionaries. Finally, I resigned from my position as my church’s youth group president, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to be baptized.
Then one day one of the elders came to my home with a ward member. I said, “Elder, I would like to work with you sometime.” He replied, “I’m sorry, but you must be a member of the Church before you can be a missionary.”
Several days later I picked up the pamphlets the elders had left at my home. Reading them one by one, I looked up the Bible and Book of Mormon scriptures they referred to. Then, putting Moroni’s promise to the test, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon was true. The Spirit testified to me that it indeed was true, and six months after meeting the missionaries, I was baptized.
The first thing I did after my baptism was ask the missionaries if I could work with them now. “You must wait until you receive the Aaronic Priesthood,” they replied. Two weeks later I did receive the priesthood. That same day, I went out with the elders. And as I walked along with them, I decided that someday I too would be a full-time missionary.

I have discovered a profound and noteworthy fact. When girls hit high school age, fathers often hit bottom on daughters’ priority lists. It’s not that we stop loving our fathers; it’s that we have more important male individuals on our minds. Unfortunately, dad is sometimes forgotten for a while.
I was no exception to this phenomenon. During my senior year of high school, I met, dated, and was totally devoted to Mr. Wonderful. We attended most of the dances and other major school events together. But the summer after we graduated, Mike hit me with speech number 36. You know, the one that goes something like “We should date other people more often, but we can still be friends.”
I suppose this was Mike’s way of cutting the ties that bind and branching out a bit. After all, Mr. Wonderful should not hide his light under a bushel. He simply must sacrifice and share his wonderfulness with others. I know I sound bitter, but you see, the decision to part was one-sided (his), and the breakup shattered my little world. I cried my eyes into red puffiness.
Now parents are very perceptive people. Somehow they saw right through my heroic effort to carry on. (Maybe my chin dragging on the ground gave me away.)
“Is there anything wrong, dear?”
“No,” was my typical teenage answer.
Teenagers usually say no. They could be wounded and near death, and when you ask if anything is wrong, they will say no. Persistently and patiently, my parents got to the root of the problem.
They were reassuring and loving as they expressed their regret. Looking back now, I realize they were probably very happy, but they had the good sense to act woeful. My mother said something about these things happening to almost everyone at some time in their lives. She also said I would live through it. Dad added the old favorite, “Time heals all wounds.”
Now I knew all of this. I had said the same thing to girlfriends going through this same tragedy. But none of that lessens the pain at the time.
I went to work the next day feeling tired and dejected, and I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care. And every time the telephone rang, I pounced on it, hoping it would be Mike.
Around two that afternoon, a man in a uniform came up to the desk where I was working.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Are you Carol?” he said as he thumped a bouquet of beautiful flowers on the desk.
Oh, Mike, you’ve come to your senses, I thought as I grabbed the enclosed card and ripped it open.
“Can I be your new friend? Love, Dad.”
I will never forget the effect those simple words had on me. Each time I read that card, I felt love. My heart was full with the knowledge that my father loved me. He laughed and cried, hurt and rejoiced right along with me. He was concerned and interested in my life. But I had been too wrapped up in the hustle and bustle of my high school existence to include him, and that was my loss. My father climbed to the top of my priority list that day.

I would like to thank you very much for the article “Bowl ’em Over” in the September 1984 New Era. The eager anticipation shown in the photos of the youth brought back many fond and exciting memories from over a year ago when I was in my last year of seminary.
I remembered how our little seminary group studied for long hours almost every time we met (once each week) to be the best scripture chasers in our district (the Dubois District in the Pennsylvania Pittsburg Mission).
At the end of the year, Kelly, Amy, and Debbie Starner, Jody Johnson, my sister Dona, and I fulfilled our promise that we had made to our wonderful teacher, Sister Betty Adams. We won the championship blue ribbons as the best team. Amy and I were the top male-female chasers in the district.
The great love we shared at each Super Saturday, the competition, and the other activities brought us all a little bit closer to each other and the Lord. I’m very grateful for those special occasions that touched my spirit, helping me in a time when I was struggling for a real testimony of my own.

Recently our family visited with a dear friend, Sister Louise Lake, who has lived her gracious, sharing life in a wheelchair for more than a quarter of a century.
Perhaps because our 12-year-old son was with us, Sister Lake told us of another 12-year-old with whom she became acquainted in a rehabilitation center in New York where she was working. The boy had been blind and for most of his 12 years had lived a sad existence, thought to be uneducable, incapable of learning. Then he was given a chance, thank the Lord, and a marvelous spirit and fine mind were discovered. He told his friend that he had thought all his life that being blind was the worst thing that could happen to one—until he met Campy. Campy was Roy Campanella, great athlete, who at the height of his career was rendered physically helpless in an automobile accident. The blind boy said he had decided after meeting Campy that his condition was worse than not being able to see. “But there is something even worse than that,” he said. He talked of feeling his way down the hall at the hospital, hearing the scuff of feet as people passed him by. “There is something worse than being blind or crippled, and that is to have people not understand you,” he said. “I guess they think that because I am blind I can’t hear or speak either.”

Let me give you another example or two of what I would call unrighteous judgment. First, a bishop who needs additional officers sees a member of his ward who, though not active, seems to have ability, but he says to himself, “Oh, he wouldn’t be interested. He wouldn’t want to accept a position.” So he does not approach him, and the man remains inactive for years.
A new bishop is called to the ward, asks the man if he would be willing to accept a position, and finds that he is really ready and anxious to work.
Don’t prejudge, but give the person an opportunity. Let him decide for himself to accept or decline.

Several stakes chose to serve the older members of their areas. In the Salt Lake Holladay North Stake, each Young Women class adopted a “grandmother” or “grandfather” to help throughout the year. They took turns helping with transportation and home cleaning. As a special service, they made white handkerchiefs for their newfound friends to take to the Jordan River Temple dedication. In addition, the girls arranged to tape record the older members’ personal histories. They transcribed the tapes and made a typewritten copy for each grandmother or grandfather to keep, with enough extra copies to give to their children.

While I was at Duke University, I had the opportunity to play volleyball. On one of our trips I was in a discussion with two of our team members one of whom was in the Divinity School there and was in his last year and the other a younger student from Brazil. The divinity student had spent his last few summers doing student preaching (if that was what it was called.) He was a nice guy and everyone on the team got along great. The young man from Brazil was a fine player. As we traveled to a meet, the young Brazilian asked the "to be" minister a question. He stated that he was in love with a girl and wanted to know if it was wrong to have premarital relations with her. What did the future minister friend think? My friend said - "I think it is fine".

At that point I nearly scared them to death as I said in an agitated voice - what are you talking about? Haven't you read the Bible? I then quoted Matt 5:28 which reads, But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. I also pointed to counsel given by Paul to Timothy and Titus pointing out the sins of the flesh and commending them to be chaste. My friend agreed that indeed the scriptures said that and the discussion grew quiet. The young Brazilian had not gotten the permission slip he wanted and I may have embarrassed my divinity student friend. But in good conscience I could not let him give such bad counsel.

In contrast, seniority is honored among ordained Apostles—even when entering or leaving a room. President Benson related to us this account:
“Some [years] ago Elder Haight extended a special courtesy to President Romney while they were in the upper room in the temple. President Romney was lingering behind for some reason, and [Elder Haight] did not want to precede him out the door. When President Romney signaled [for him] to go first, Elder Haight replied, ‘No, President, you go first.’
“President Romney replied with his humor, ‘What’s the matter, David? Are you afraid I’m going to steal something?’”

More than 12 years ago while living in the Detroit area and employed in the auto industry I was asked to take a business trip to Las Vegas. Our firm developed fuel pumps and had contracted with a taxi company to test prototypes - a great way to accumulate high miles in a short amount of time. The pumps had been installed in several taxis and needed to be removed and brought back for analysis. I was to be accompanied by two other employees of our company whom I had never met. We would spend 3 days working from about midnight until 6 or 7 am -- the hours when the taxis were least likely to be on the road. As I prepared for this trip a coworker commented to me about the vulgar nature of the two I would be traveling with. The Holy Ghost made a deep impression on me that I should beware -- that satan would use this opportunity to tempt me. The feeling was so poignant that I considered refusing to take the trip. As the trip grew nearer I decided to talk to my bishop about it. He expressed confidence in me and advised me to take the trip but to follow promptings about precautions I should take. I told the Lord in prayer that I wanted to return with honor to my family and asked him to inspire and help me.

As the trip began it was clear that the individuals I was with were truly vulgar and immoral. Since we only had one rental car to share between us I decided not to accompany them to restaurants because I was certain they would go places that were inappropriate. Instead, I said "no thank you" to their invitations and stayed in the hotel and ordered room service. The maintenance bays at the cab company where we worked were littered with pornographic leaflets. I had previously committed to myself that I would not even glance at them. Since we were limited to working from midnight to 7 am we had a lot of free time. I even felt that I should not turn on the television in the hotel even though it appeared that the trip would result in 3 days of boredom. Instead I retreated to the haven of The Book of Mormon for hours each day. At the end of the trip my soul was soaring like an eagle and I returned to my family with honor.

Before my family first began investigating the Church, I had barely turned 12 and was thoroughly enjoying life as a sixth grader. I didn’t have any major problems or concerns. My family was in transition. My father was struggling to keep his small private school operating, and my two younger sisters were busy being kids. My mother was just adjusting to her new job as the manager of a dental office.
I’d grown up in the Congregational church, attending every Sunday. I’d never even stopped to think that there were other doctrines, other beliefs. One day in early spring my mother came home from work and we all sat down to dinner. Over dinner the conversation turned to the fact that the two dentists Mom worked for were Mormons. Nothing negative was said, but Mom and Dad explained that Mormonism was just another religion, like Congregationalism but with other beliefs. The subject of the Church wasn’t mentioned again for several weeks.
Over a period of several weeks, my parents became close friends with one of the two dentists that Mother worked with. Because of their close association with the Petersen family, my parents found that their family had something that we didn’t, something that we wanted. After careful thought, we concluded that that something was the Church.
The next Sunday, and for two months of Sundays after, we took on a tough schedule. We continued to attend our meetings at the Congregational church, which ended at 12:15 P.M. Immediately following, we raced across town to the LDS chapel, where we attended meetings from 1:00 P.M. to 4:00 P.M.
I remember the first LDS sacrament meeting I ever attended. It was a fast Sunday, and testimonies were borne. I remember sitting and listening to people say that they knew that the Church was true. Even at the age of 12, I could feel the Spirit manifest that we needed to find out more about the Church.
Two weeks later the stake missionaries, Sister Hoer and Sister Gibson, came to our home. They taught us about the plan of salvation and the First Vision. They came four times, and after the fourth discussion offered us the challenge of baptism. We told them that we would pray about it and call them with an answer.
That night I prayed my first real prayer. Upon my knees, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me know if the Church was really true. The missionaries had explained to us how Heavenly Father answers prayers, so when the answer came I recognized it. Heavenly Father wanted me to be baptized.
My mother and sisters had similar experiences. My father, however, needed an extra boost, and that boost came, but not for several weeks.
Following a tradition at his school, my father took his students on a trip that year. Funds were low so my father drew a circle around the state of Colorado. He asked his students where they wanted to go within that circle. Salt Lake City was selected.
While on that trip, my father and a few of his students toured Temple Square. It was in the north visitors’ center that the much needed answer came.
The tour group had come through the visitors’ center to the last area, a film depicting Joseph Smith and the First Vision. The guide, an elderly man, turned off the lights and pushed the button. The curtains opened but nothing happened. He tried again and achieved the same results. Discouraged he turned the lights back on and said, “If you don’t mind, I would like to bear my testimony.” He did, and it was just what my father needed to make up his mind. My father asked if anything technical had ever gone wrong before. Nothing had, and it continued to run flawlessly after. I believe it was a miracle.
From his hotel room, my father called to tell us of his decision. We immediately called the missionaries and set the date for our baptism.
We gathered in the chapel, all clothed in white. One by one we went into the font and were baptized by Brother Petersen. I remember coming out of the water feeling pure, clean, renewed.
We gathered again in the chapel and our family sang “The Love of God,” and Sister Runnels sang “Where Love Is.” Never before has music so touched my heart.
We were confirmed by Brother Brown, and this began our life in the Church.
Now, five years later, I look back upon that special time in our lives. I can’t help but wonder what life would be like without the Church. I am sure it couldn’t compare to the joy we’ve found.

I ran downstairs in my nightgown and robe. “Hey, everybody, I’m eight years old!” I whooped.
“Sure enough. Happy birthday, little chickie,” mother said, giving me a whirl and a kiss.
“It seemed like I’d never turn eight!” I declared.
The main thing about being seven was getting ready to be eight. Someone was always saying that he could tell by my new front teeth coming in that I was seven, and wasn’t that exciting, because on my next birthday I’d be old enough to be baptized.
And now it was my next birthday! I asked, “Can I ask Cindy to come see me being baptized? Can I, Mom?” Cindy isn’t a Mormon, but she likes to come to Primary with me.
“Of course you may. Invite her parents too,” my mother answered.
I ate breakfast in a hurry, then ran to Cindy’s house. She saw me coming and held the screen door open.
“Guess what!” I panted. “I’m getting baptized tonight, and I want you and your mother and father to come.”
Not only did Cindy and her folks come to my baptism, but they came to church the next day to see me confirmed!
The day after that Cindy came to our house to play dolls with me and my sisters, Katie and Shauna. Suddenly Cindy asked, “Janna Lynn, what is the Holy Ghost?”
Her question surprised me so much that I couldn’t think what to say. Katie is two years older than I am, and I looked at her for help, but she didn’t look up. She just went on brushing her doll’s hair.
I guess Cindy figured I didn’t understand her question, because she tried again. “In church yesterday your father put his hands on your head and said, ‘Receive the Holy Ghost.’ What is the Holy Ghost?”
I got real busy tying a bonnet on my doll. It gave me a minute to think. To me the Holy Ghost simply was, and He didn’t need explaining. But I knew Cindy would insist on an answer. Finally I said, “Well, the gift of the Holy Ghost is really good.”
“What does the Holy Ghost do?” Cindy asked.
“He’s a spirit person, and we can’t see Him. But He helps people to know the right thing to do.”
“Oh,” she said.
I was glad she didn’t ask any more questions.
After she went home, I sat on the front porch to think. I thought about being baptized. I thought about the blue tile font and about Dad’s hand holding mine as I went down the steps. I remembered how nice we both looked dressed in white. And I remembered feeling the swish of the water as Dad put me under. I thought about Sunday too. I’d worn the same ruffly white dress that Katie had worn two years ago when she was confirmed. Only she’d worn a wide red-ribbon sash and red ribbons in her dark hair. I’d worn a wide blue-ribbon sash, and I had blue ribbons in my hair. I thought about my uncles and our home teachers who stood with Dad when he confirmed me. Afterward they smiled at me and shook my hand.
As I thought about Cindy’s question, I remembered that Dad had once said that the feeling of warning we get when we’re tempted is from the Holy Ghost as He tries to keep us from doing wrong. I should have had a lot more of that feeling the day I thought I had to have a piece of licorice. I’d helped myself to a dime from Mom’s purse without asking, and I’d hardly felt guilty at all when I handed it to the clerk at the store.
The very next day Mom said, “Little chickie, if you’ll run and post Dad’s letter, I’ll put a peach pie into the oven for lunch.” Katie and Shauna had already gone to Aunt Shirley’s on an errand, so I was the only little chick left.
Then Mom looked in her purse and said, “Oh, oh. I was certain I had just the right change for a stamp, but there’s only a dime left.”
She took everything out of her purse and shook it. “Hmmmm,” she said, “it looks like I’ll have to write a check at the bank for some cash before I can mail this letter for your father. We’ll have to forget about the pie, because while I’m out I might as well run my other errands.”
“Oh, Mom, you’ve already made me hungry for pie. Can’t the letter wait until tomorrow?”
“No. Daddy said we must get it in the mail this morning.”
“What’re we having for lunch?” I asked.
“Tuna sandwiches. Please stay close to the telephone. Sister Heaton is going to call me. Tell her I’ll call her as soon as I get back.”
I felt awful as I watched her drive away.
That was last year. As I thought about it now that I was baptized, I knew it was important for me to tell Mom about it. I’d give her one of my birthday dimes, too, to help make things right.
I was still sitting on the porch when Scott Jenkins came clanking down the sidewalk past our front gate. He had tin cans clamped onto his shoes. “Hi, Janna Lynn,” he called. “Guess how I got so tall.”
“I already know, because I heard you coming,” I said.
“Want to come over to my house? I have two more cans that you can walk on,” he offered.
“I can’t. I’m barefoot,” I answered. “And besides, I’m trying to figure out something important.”
“Well, when you get through, put your shoes on and come on over,” he said, clanking down the sidewalk.
As I sat there on the porch, I continued thinking about Cindy’s question. In one of our Primary lessons we learned that the Holy Ghost is the Spirit of truth. Our teacher said that He would help us not to lie. I guessed I needed help with that too. I remembered the day Mom had come into the kitchen right after I had accidentally knocked the sugar bowl to the floor. Before she could even speak, I said, “Shauna made me do it.”
“Janna, look out the window,” she told me. “What do you see?”
I saw Shauna swinging on a rope hanging from the tree. I said, “That’s how she made me do it. I was thinking about hurrying out to swing with her, and it made me bump into the table.”
“Janna.” Mom tilted my face toward hers. “None of us breaks dishes on purpose. We all have accidents. It isn’t the sugar bowl that counts. It’s you. More important to me than all the dishes in the cupboard—even the crystal glasses—is a little girl who tells the truth.”
I looked down at the floor. I knew I should’ve said I was sorry, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked, “Don’t dishes sometimes get too close to the edge and fall off by themselves?”
“Oh, Janna Lynn,” Mom said, and I wished she’d spanked me instead of looking at me the way she did. It would have made me feel a lot better.
I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to the the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

Da Rock
As it is with most relationships, there is a period of time where you are trying to figure each other out. This band of brothers was no different. At this particular stage in our childhood, I think we were just trying to figure out which house would be best to play at, which house had the best food, and which house gave us the best opportunity to do whatever we wanted.
So, we planned a day to play at my house after school. I don’t remember what we did but I know I had a good time; and when my mother called me to come in, I didn’t want to listen. So, I told her no.
Have you ever told a Samoan mother no? Well, I’m about to explain what happens to you when you do.
She looked around for something to reprimand me with and finding nothing nearby, she picked up a rock. She raised her hand up behind her head and looked at me, waiting for a response.
So, I gave her one. I started dancing around like a boxer, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” and said to her, “Go ahead!”
Like a quarterback watching the tendency of a Defensive Back, she did a double-pump... and I bit. She got me in the air before she let the rock go. It hit me square on the ankle and I started howling.
I looked around for my band of brothers for help and they had disappeared.
Would it have been easier for me to listen? At that stage of my educational process, I would have to say no. So, the Lord sent me to the back of the “line upon line, upon line, upon line. . . until I learned.
Did the consequences of my actions teach me anything? At that stage of my educational process, I would have to say no. So, the Lord sent me to the back of the “line upon line, upon line, upon line. . . until I learned.

President George F. Richards of the Quorum of the Twelve was touched by the Lord’s love in a dream:

The Lord has revealed to me, by dreams, something more than I ever understood or felt before about the love for God and the love for fellow men . . . I had a dream, which I am sure was from the Lord. In this dream I was in the presence of my Savior as he stood in mid-air. He spoke no word to me, but my love for him was such that I have not words to explain. I know that no mortal man can love the Lord as I experienced that love for the Savior unless God reveals it unto him. . . . As a result of that dream I had this feeling, that no matter what might be required at my hands . . I would do what I should be asked to do, even to the laying down of my life . . . If only I can be with my Savior and have that same sense of love that I had in that dream, it will be the goal of my existence, the desire of my life.[24]

Like my friends in Rexburg, one nonmember couple in Florida focused on helping the community rather than laboring on their own property. When some Latter-day Saint neighbors offered help with the two large trees blocking their driveway, the couple explained that they had been overwhelmed and so had turned to helping others, having faith that the Lord would provide the aid they needed at their own home. The husband then shared that before our Church members arrived with offers of assistance, the couple had been praying. They had received an answer that help would come. It came within hours of that assurance.

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter the mandatory military service required of young men during World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, but first I needed to telephone my stake president, Paul C. Child, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures, and it was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. Having heard from some of my friends of his rather detailed and searching interviews, I desired minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge; therefore, when I called him I suggested we meet the following Sunday at a time I knew was just an hour before his sacrament meeting time.
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures.” He then suggested a time three hours before his sacrament meeting, and he instructed me to bring with me my personally marked and referenced set of scriptures.
When I arrived at his home on Sunday, I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. President Child said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Have you ever had angels minister to you?” I replied that I had not. When he asked if I knew I was entitled to such, I again replied that I had not known.
He instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “‘Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels—’”
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then, in a calm, kindly tone, he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels.”
It was almost as though an angel were in the room that day. I have never forgotten the interview. I yet feel the spirit of that solemn occasion as we together read of the responsibilities, the duties, and the blessings of the Aaronic Priesthood and the Melchizedek Priesthood—blessings which come not only to us but also to our families and to others we will have the privilege to serve.

When Mom read Grandma’s letter, my twin brother, Bryce, and I looked at each other with surprise. “How can Grandma take care of a garden?” I asked, reaching for my milk.
“Grandma has always had a garden, Peg,” Mom answered, smiling and pushing the plate of cookies toward us.
“But, before, Grandpa was there to do the hard work,” Bryce pointed out. “Since he died, Grandma’s been alone. She shouldn’t be out working in the garden.” “But Grandma loves having a garden,” Mom said. “I don’t think anybody could talk her out of it.”
“Then we ought to help her,” I said. “Bryce and I could help. We help Dad in the garden all the time.”
“She lives a long way from us—almost 700 miles. We can’t drive there every time she needs help.”
“So what are we going to do?” Bryce asked. “We can’t just let her do it alone.”
Mom thought for a long time. “You can remember her in your prayers. That’s probably all we can do right now. We’ll visit her this summer. You can help then.”
“But that will be after most of the hard work.”
Bryce and I couldn’t stop worrying about Grandma. The summer before, we had spent three weeks with her and Grandpa and had worked with him in the garden. We knew how hard it was to work in the sun hoeing weeds, keeping the ditches clean, and watering every week. When we said our prayers, we always remembered Grandma and her garden, but we still felt there was something else we ought to do.
The next Saturday, Mom sent us to the store for some milk. On our way home, we passed Mrs. Rogers working in her yard. She was on her hands and knees, digging in her flower bed. She greeted us with her usual big smile. “Out running errands?”
We nodded. “Isn’t it too hot for you to be out working, Mrs. Rogers?” Bryce asked.
“It is warm, but someone has to do the work. Since Mr. Rogers had his operation, he hasn’t been able to do much. In a month or so, he should be well enough to help some. But right now there’s work to do, and I’m the only one who can do it.”
Bryce and I started home. “She’s all alone doing that work,” Bryce muttered. “Maybe we should help her out.”
A few minutes later we were back at Mrs. Rogers’ place. “We came to help,” I announced. “What can we do?”
Mrs. Rogers was surprised. “I haven’t ever had young people stop by to help out. What would you like to do?”
“Anything you need. You tell us what to do, and we’ll get it done.”
“Usually, working in a garden or a yard is hard, boring work, but that Saturday Bryce and I had the best time. The sun was hot, the sweat ran down our faces, our backs ached from pulling weeds, and Bryce and I both got blisters. But we had fun working with Mrs. Rogers.
It was late afternoon when we finally quit. She tried to pay us. “No, thank you,” I told her. “We didn’t do this for money. Taking money would ruin everything. We just wanted to help you out.”
Before she let us go, though, she fixed a huge pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and put a pile of soft, chewy brownies on a plate for us. We rested and feasted on the goodies.
For the next three weeks, Bryce and I stopped by Mrs. Rogers’ place often. Sometimes the only thing Mrs. Rogers had for us to do was carry the trash can out to the curb, but we still checked on her. We kept her flower bed and garden weeded, mowed the lawn, and helped trim the shrubs along the front of the house.
“I don’t know what we would have done without your help this summer,” Mr. Rogers said one afternoon as we were getting ready to leave. He had hobbled out into the front yard and sat in a lawn chair. “After my operation, I told Mrs. Rogers that we ought to just forget the garden and yard this year.” He shook his head and smiled. “She wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Usually we’re not crazy about working in the yard and stuff,” Bryce admitted, shrugging, “but this reminds us of working for our grandma.”
That evening as we were finishing dinner, Morn announced, “A letter came from Grandma today.”
“What did she say?” I asked, excited.
“How’s her garden?” Bryce wanted to know.
Mom smiled. “I think your prayers have been answered.”
“How?” I questioned.
“A family down the street from her knew that she needed help, so they decided to make that a family project. At least once a week they go there and lend her a hand.”
Bryce looked across the table at me and grinned. “Maybe we prayed that family over to Grandma’s garden.”
“You could be right,” Mom said, nodding, “and I think that maybe someone someplace else has been praying for their Grandpa and Grandma Rogers. Maybe they prayed the two of you over to Mrs. Rogers’ garden.”
“Is that how Heavenly Father works?” I asked.
Mom smiled. “When he has work to do, he often sends people like the two of you to do it. Doesn’t it make you feel good to know that you could be an answer to a prayer?”
Bryce and I thought about that. “Well, Peg,” Bryce said with a grin, “we’d better get to bed early tonight so that maybe we can help someone else tomorrow.”

I really like living in Maine, especially in the fall. I like drawing, writing, and reading. You can’t punish me by sending me to my room, because I’m there all the time!
In December of 2017 I was diagnosed with depression. I’m seeing a therapist, and I take medication for it. At first I didn’t want anyone to know I was depressed. I thought that I was just sad and that I would get over it on my own. Since my mom found out I wasn’t OK, I have been getting the help and support I need.
Music has also really helped me. When I’m feeling down, I listen to music. One of the bands I like has a lead singer who deals with depression. Their songs are written to help their fans get through depression and other hard things. The hymn “I Stand All Amazed” has also helped me. It reminds me that there is someone out there that loves me, that I’m not alone, and that Jesus died for me. Music has a different and deeper meaning than words on their own.
If you are feeling depressed, talk to an adult you trust. You are not alone—you really aren’t.
Angelina O., 14, Maine, USA

As the Saints arrive in the Salt Lake Valley, they begin to find happiness in the fertile and untouched basin. They plant crops. They sing songs and dance. They have found a home where none will come to hurt or make afraid. Or have they?
The chipper of crickets comes from above and behind the audience, and then the pioneers on stage begin to stomp wildly, threshing their arms and feet to kill the two-inch black insects. Louder and louder the sounds come until the Saints fall on their knees and pray for deliverance. Finally the calling of sea gulls fills the air—relief is near and the balcony chorus changes the shushing and finger clicking of cricket sounds to a song of thanksgiving.