Gospel Story Finder

Retiring from a profession people often do not retire from, Elder Parmley, age 67, has had many opportunities to share the reason he is setting aside medicine. He recalls a man he recently met at an annual conference. He told attendees why after 39 years he would no longer be involved in the profession. The next day, a colleague approached him and said, “My wife and I couldn’t sleep last night because we were thinking about what you said. Tell us more about this mission.” Elder Parmley did, and the man simply said, “Can we go with you?”

There seem to be more families involved in the Church in Madrid than there are in other parts of Spain. Still, in Madrid, like anywhere else, you have to know for yourself what’s true.
Arturo and Alberto Recio saw their father join the Church first, but wanted to gain their own testimonies. “I was studying the Book of Mormon and I read Moroni 10; then I read it again and again,” said Arturo, 13. “Then I asked God if it was true, and he answered me, and here I am.”

Elder Franklin D. Richards
“A very wise bishop called several young people into his office and said to them, ‘I would like you to help me in an experiment. I would like to prove the impact and influence of one member on the spirit of the family. For one month I would like each one of you to be the peacemaker in your home. Now don’t say anything about this to your family, but be thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Be an example. Where there is quarreling or bickering among members of your family, do whatever you can to overcome these faults by creating an atmosphere of love, harmony, and happiness.’
“It was a challenge for these young people, and they met the challenge in a wonderful way. When they reported back to the bishop, remarks such as these were made:
“One young fellow said, ‘I had no idea I would have so much influence in my home. It’s really been different this last month. I’ve been wondering if much of the turmoil and strife we used to have was caused by me and my attitudes.’
“A young lady said, ‘I guess we were just the normal family, with our selfishness causing little daily conflicts, but as I have worked with my brothers and sisters, a lot of this has been eliminated and there has been a much sweeter spirit in our home. I believe you really have to work at it to have the spirit of peace in your home.’”

While going from a chapel to an airport in Central America, their vehicle was involved in an accident. Sister Nelson and I were traveling behind them and saw it occur. A truck loaded on top with unsecured metal rods approached them at an intersection. To avoid a collision, its driver suddenly stopped the truck, launching those iron rods like javelins to pierce the Hinckleys’ car. Windows were smashed; fenders and doors were dented. The accident could have been very serious. While shattered glass was being removed from their clothing and skin, President Hinckley said, “Thank the Lord for His blessing; now let’s continue on in another car.”

The audience cheered and clapped for Daniel King as he climbed the stairs to the stage in the high school auditorium. The friendly, outgoing teen turned and gave them a big smile. He had carefully outfitted himself in the handsome tuxedo loaned to him for the occasion. And he walked with confidence to the podium to give the speech he had practiced over and over again.
Daniel was the campaign manager for David Barlow, who was running for student-body president of Viewmont High School in Bountiful, Utah. However, there was something noticeably different about this blond, curly-haired boy. He wasn’t like the other campaign managers at the election convention that spring. Daniel is a mentally handicapped youth involved in the special education program at Viewmont High School.
When Daniel reached the podium, fear struck him. He had practiced his speech everywhere—at home, at school, to anyone who would listen—but he had not practiced in front of a microphone. Twice he pushed the microphone away and twice it was placed in front of him. The third time, he swung around and started to leave the stand. David stood up and took hold of him. He said, “Everybody came to hear you, Bud.”
“But I’m shaking,” Daniel said.
David walked with Daniel to the podium. The crowd clapped and chanted, “Come-on-Dan-iel, Come-on-Dan-iel!” Another big smile from Daniel. The microphone was turned away, and with David looking over Daniel’s right shoulder and gently but firmly holding him, Daniel finally gave his speech:
“Hi, my name is Daniel King, and I am David Barlow’s campaign manager. I think that David will be a good president because he is my Bud [a nickname they have for each other]. Besides that, he is also my friend. He does fun activities. He has a funny sense of humor. He is a really funny guy. I’m so glad he picked me to be his campaign manager. David really cares about the students. I would like to thank him for everything he taught me and for giving me a chance to come and speak today, because this is a big opportunity. I know I am going to vote for David and I think you should too.”
The crowd cheered and gave Daniel a standing ovation. He and David exchanged their special handshake and then gave each other a big hug. David comments about that tender moment, “The love was so real, I couldn’t help it. I just started crying.” Daniel sat down while David began his speech. But David could hardly talk. After giving 35–40 speeches in the past few days—tight, businesslike speeches—David said to the crowd in the auditorium, “This is real this time. Just seeing that right there made it worth it. Daniel, I want to thank you for everything you’ve taught me.” But he couldn’t go on.
After a few seconds, Daniel stood up from his chair and walked over to David, put his arm around him and, patting David’s left arm, softly said, “I just thought I should come up here. Come on, Bud, you can do it.” And then Daniel took his turn standing by David while David finished his speech.
With great emotion, David said, “I wish every one of you could know him like I know him.” David continued, “I’m not running for office to wear the student-body president’s sweater, and I’m not doing it to see what I can get out of it. I’m doing it to see what I can offer you. Most of all I want to thank Daniel.” Again the audience cheered and clapped.
A few days later David Barlow was elected student-body president of Viewmont High School for the 1989–90 term. Daniel comments, “And you won, huh?” David responds, “Yeah, because I had such a good campaign manager.” And with a big grin Daniel says, “Yep!”
Daniel’s panic on the stage at the election convention did not come from shyness. It stems from a fear of microphones and cameras developed when he was interviewed over and over again by television reporters featuring him on TV as an adoptable child.

Recently I talked to an old friend who has gone through two divorces due to the addictions and unfaithfulness of her husbands. She and her three children have suffered greatly. She pleaded, “I have tried so hard to live righteously. Why have I had so many trials? What have I done wrong? What does Heavenly Father want me to do? I pray and read my scriptures, help my children, and go to the temple often.”

As I listened to this sister, I felt like shouting out, “You are doing it! You are doing all that Heavenly Father wants and hopes you will do!”

Understandably, many have expressed that our Father’s promised blessings are just “way too far away,” particularly when our lives are overflowing with challenges. But Amulek taught that “this life is the time … to prepare to meet God.” It is not the time to receive all of our blessings. President Packer explained: “‘And they all lived happily ever after’ is never written into the second act. That line belongs in the third act, when the mysteries are solved and everything is put right.” However, a vision of our Father’s incredible promised blessings must be the central focus before our eyes every day—as well as an awareness “of the multitude of his tender mercies” that we experience on a daily basis.

Sisters, I do not know why we have the many trials that we have, but it is my personal feeling that the reward is so great, so eternal and everlasting, so joyful and beyond our understanding that in that day of reward, we may feel to say to our merciful, loving Father, “Was that all that was required?” I believe that if we could daily remember and recognize the depth of that love our Heavenly Father and our Savior have for us, we would be willing to do anything to be back in Their presence again, surrounded by Their love eternally. What will it matter, dear sisters, what we suffered here if, in the end, those trials are the very things which qualify us for eternal life and exaltation in the kingdom of God with our Father and Savior?

I testify that our bodies are sacred gifts from our Heavenly Father and that as we keep our lives pure and clean through the atoning sacrifice of our Savior and keep the vision of our Father’s promised rewards daily in front of us, we will one day receive “all that [our] Father hath.” In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

If you’re involved in sports, you’ve probably heard this: You can’t afford to take two years off for a mission. You’ll lose your scholarship, you’ll lose your skills, and you’ll lose your edge. You won’t have the fire for the sport anymore.
Nate Soelberg can tell you that those warnings are not true.
Nate was a standout in track and football while he was in high school. In college he not only ran, he also worked hard to eventually earn a spot on the football team—and then he left it behind so he could serve as a missionary in Norway for two years.
Some people wondered if he would be able to get back into form again when he came home. Nate wondered a bit too. But, he says, “I knew if I followed the Lord, He would bless me, that it wasn’t going to be a major setback.”
After his mission, he was able to earn a starting spot as cornerback on the Brigham Young University football team and a scholarship. On the track, the spring after he returned from his mission, he kept cutting his times in the 100 meters until he ended the season winning the conference championship. “Every single race I got better,” he says.
So was there some connection between the spiritual strength he gained while serving a mission and recapturing his physical ability? Nate thinks so: “I believe it was one of the blessings I had from going on a mission and serving the Lord.”
The successes came at a price, of course: hard work. Staying in shape for competitive sports “takes a toll on your body,” Nate says. After workouts, “it’s really hard to come home and do anything. You just want to rest.” He has developed the habit of doing his homework between classes during the day to keep up. “I’ve learned to manage my time wisely.”
Nate started in sports at age five when he played on a T-ball team. Later, he enjoyed playing basketball. He started track competition in junior high school and joined the football team his first year in high school.
He started preparing for his mission at a young age, too. “Sometimes in my life, I felt nervous about going, but I always knew I wanted to go.”
Norway was cold, in more than one way. He remembers looking at his reflection in a window and seeing frost in his eyebrows and ice on his eyelashes. He remembers serving for two years and having just one baptism, near the end. And he remembers how much he enjoyed it all.
“Most people think it’s just hard work, which it is.” But Nate was surprised at how good it made him feel to serve others. It made him happy to work with members. They “just embrace the missionaries,” he said. Their friendship was warm when it was cold everywhere else.
Did he ever get discouraged? “It’s hard not to,” Nate says. “I just kind of stuck it through. I don’t really hold on to things that discourage me. I put them in the past and move on.” And if a week was hard, he knew things would be better on Sunday when the missionaries could meet with members. “It was never a bad day at church.”
Nate’s dad, Steve Soelberg, says his son learned a lot about hard work from winning and losing when he was younger. “He knows that to get the wins you have to work for them.”
Nate also knows that you don’t win, no matter what the scoreboard says, if you’re not living the way the Lord wants you to. “If your mind isn’t in tune with the Lord, it is hard for the Lord to help you, and I know athletes need the help.”
Everyone needs help, he says. Nate prays often, for help in life, for help in doing his best on the field, for protection from injuries. He prays not just for himself, but for those around him too.
“I feel like I have help from the Lord. I just try to live so I’ll be worthy of it.”
Now Nate prays also for the family he is just beginning. He married Jessica Ashcroft in April this year.
Just because he prays, he doesn’t always win—at least not on the scoreboard. “There are things sometimes that don’t go my way, and I know I need to learn from those.” When that happens, he does what he did in the mission field: he learns, he puts the hard times behind him, and he moves on.

One day during home evening, my mom was talking about the Holy Ghost. She said that often the Holy Ghost speaks by giving you a thought in your mind.
When she said that, I was so surprised. Just earlier, I had prayed and asked my Heavenly Father to help me hear the Holy Ghost. But I didn’t know that the Holy Ghost could speak to me in my mind like that. All my life I’d had thoughts that guided me to choose the right. Now I knew that those thoughts came from the Holy Ghost!
Since then, I have noticed the Holy Ghost a lot more. Just last Sunday, we were having home evening again. This time it was about testimonies. I didn’t really know what a testimony was, so I asked my dad. He told me that a testimony is something you know or believe to be true. He said we get our testimonies from the Holy Ghost. I then thought of how I started noticing the Holy Ghost more, and BOOM! I also had a testimony!
Knowing this makes me feel much happier. I want to be a better follower of Jesus Christ and always listen to the Holy Ghost.
Illustration by Brenna Vaughan

After the service our Russian guide, a sister, and I walked to the elevator. During the meeting Tanya had sat quietly and perfectly attentive; she was still pensive. I hoped she had not been offended. She asked us if Mormons would dare speak from the heart in larger groups. (She wrongly assumed that our tour group consisted of longtime acquaintances and intimate friends.) Briefly I explained to her the purpose of monthly testimony meetings; I told her of men and women and boys and girls who would stand in front of two and three hundred people and bear their testimonies of the gospel with fervor and love. She marveled and stated with sobriety that her Soviet people were afraid to open their hearts with each other. Most masked their true feelings almost completely when in groups. She warmly thanked us for our sincerity. I believed she wished it for her people.

The sister standing with us asked Tanya if she would like a copy of the Book of Mormon. She quickly replied she would, but noted that a mailed copy would never reach her. Oh how I wished I had brought one with me! The sister’s eyes gleamed as she revealed that she had one packed in her suitcase for just such an occasion. We were all three delighted. Tanya only requested that we not give it to her where anyone might see her accept it. A couple of days later the sister deftly slipped the book, wrapped in a newspaper and signed by the members of the tour, into Tanya’s purse. Our guide acknowledged the gift with a quick smile and a knowing nod of the head.

Soon afterwards we left the USSR for Afghanistan, but we also left someone touched because we shared something dear to us with her. At best we planted a seed that will someday burgeon to bring one, or even many, into the Lord’s kingdom; at least we did not hide our light under a bushel simply because we were confronted on many sides by spiritual darkness.

“I always take the Book of Mormon with me on business trips,” says Pedro, who presides over the Praia Second Branch. Both well educated, he and his wife work at a state-run food-supply and construction company. Once, while on a business trip to the northern island of Santo Antão, Pedro went two and a half hours out of his way to introduce the Book of Mormon to someone who had accidentally dialed the Semedos’ phone number a week earlier.

In a country where the vast majority of the population is under 25 years old, youth and young adults make up a large proportion of Church membership. Evening classes in seminary and institute in each of the major cities help build momentum for the gospel and entourage many youths to prepare for missions. Under the leadership of energetic teachers like Milena Sa Nogueira, more than 400 students have participated in the gospel-study programs since those programs began in January 1993.

“I used to teach my children the gospel,” says Milena, a widow and mother of five who was baptized in May 1992. “Now, my children teach me.” Milena has held family home evening every week since her baptism, and today she serves as District Young Women president in Praia. Early in 1995 she helped organize shipments of food and clothing when a volcano exploded on the island of Fogo and displaced more than 1,000 people.

Because marriage has never been a strong religious or social tradition in Cape Verde, many mothers and fathers who want to join the Church must first get married. For example, Claudimire and Margarida Cardosa, merchants at Praia’s open-air market, lived together for 26 years before their oldest of eight children, 19-year-old KaiuKa, joined the Church. Three other siblings accepted the gospel before Claudimire and Margarida decided to join the Church in June 1993. Before they were baptized, they were joined as a couple in a marriage ceremony at Praia’s civil registry.

In July 1994 President Aníbal Moreira, who is a bank administrator and president of the Praia District, and his wife, Maria do Rosario (Zézá), traveled to the Washington Temple in Washington, D.C., and became the first Cape Verdean couple to be sealed in a temple. Other marriages, too, reflect a strong commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Citing more than 80 marriages and baptisms similar to the Cardosas’, President Antonio Mascarenhas, president of the Republic of Cape Verde, recently honored the Church for helping strengthen family life. Other government leaders have publicly admired Church members’ emphasis on self-reliance and caring for neighbors. As President Moreira puts it, “In the pages of the history of Cape Verde, historians will speak highly about the Latter-day Saints.”

A hundred-pound sack of rice landed on my back. If this was what Dad called “small odd jobs,” he had another letter coming from me. Tottering under the load, I almost fell over a chicken as I followed another moving rice bag. My uncle stood on a truck exuberantly shouting directions. But his sing-song Cantonese went right through me. The din of trucks, chickens, dogs, and babbling people clattered to the sky on this narrow Hong Kong street. I could make no sense of anything. All I could do was wonder why I was here when home was on the other side of the world?
“If you can’t make up your mind between going to college or finding a job,” Dad had said, “at least you can take a look at your roots.”
Roots? I had plenty of roots—all firmly implanted in American soil. After all, I was a second-generation American.
Dad had ignored my tirade. “Besides, Uncle Cheung is the only one left back in Hong Kong. Poor guy. No kids, lost his wife last year, and you could cheer him up. He probably gets awfully lonely, being retired and only doing a few jobs here and there,” Dad said.
Staggering under another rice sack, I watched a small shriveled man lithely carry his own enormous load.
“It was a very good day,” Uncle Cheung kept saying after finishing work. Were those the only English words he knew? I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying. I was busy thinking about getting rid of this Hong Kong sweat under a cool shower.
The minute we walked into his rectangular cinder-block room, I remembered. The bunk beds were still stacked against the stark walls. The lonely white rice cooker was still on the floor in a corner, and the television stood on its rickety wooden table. But no bathroom or kitchen facilities had magically appeared.
Grumbling, I sauntered down to the common washing facilities in the middle of this huge building called an H-block because it was shaped like the letter.
I continued grumbling. “I know there’s better housing near here. It’s not that Uncle Cheung can’t afford it.”
When I returned, Uncle Cheung was in front of his door happily talking to a neighbor. I couldn’t figure out why he needed any cheering up from me.
The H-block was coming alive now. Woks sizzled outside people’s doors. Oil, fish, bean curd, vegetables, pork, and chicken created an aroma my nose had never before encountered.
Dinner was rather loud, not because of our lively conversation but because several jets at Kai Tak Airport picked that time to take off. They drowned out everything. I thought they might take our building with them. I wouldn’t have minded if they had taken me too. In between roars, I kept repeating one of the few Cantonese phrases I knew: “Hou sihk.” If my sounds and tones were right, it meant “delicious.” Uncle Cheung nodded and smiled gratefully, shoveling rice and fish into his mouth with his chopsticks. I wished I was back in America eating pizza with my friends.
Dad’s last words to me when I got on the plane were: “Re-learn the language,” and now Uncle Cheung was waving his hands and talking excitedly to me. It was time to bring out my trusty Chinese-English dictionary. What did Dad mean, “Re-learn the language”? How do you re-learn something you’ve never learned in the first place?
After a series of facial expressions, gestures, and dictionary pointing, I figured out that Uncle Cheung was going someplace after dinner and he was wondering if I wanted to come. I declined, choosing instead to stay and watch TV.
Unfortunately, the one English-speaking station was as fuzzy as the Chinese stations were unintelligible. I took out some paper.
“Dear Mom and Dad,” I wrote. “Is there any chance I could grab a plane back a few weeks early?”
The first time I saw her we were pressed almost nose to nose on the Hong Kong subway. I didn’t mean to have such a close first encounter, but I had no other choice.
“You need the day off,” my uncle had said, his eyes showing concern for my aching back and my diminishing appetite for rice and strings of greasy green vegetables. I didn’t object. I didn’t seem to be cheering him up much, and I always turned down his offers to go out with him in the evenings. Even on Sundays—my favorite day to sleep in—he was out the door long before I woke up to another day in Hong Kong.
With no work to do, I happily headed to the subway. Each train car bulged with people, with hundreds more waiting to get on. After missing several trains, I realized my only hope was to shove with the rest of them. But my technique was less than graceful, and I bumped noses with the most beautiful girl in the world. Drawing back in embarrassment, I knocked five heads behind me. Our noses remained one inch apart.
I tried not to stare at the girl’s soft dark eyes, sleek black hair, and delicately shaped face. If only I could say something to her. The Cantonese equivalent of “How are you?” (Neih hou ma?) sounded too trite. And how could I ask her if she’d eaten yet, even if it was a typical Chinese greeting. I wanted to reach for my dictionary, but my arms were straitjacketed in. Besides, how would it look for a Chinese guy to be sounding out Chinese tones in front of all these other Chinese people. No one knew I was an American.
The conductor droned out the stops in both English and Chinese. It was so muffled I couldn’t tell the difference. Suddenly, the beautiful girl was politely pushing her way out. Dumbfounded, I watched her disappear through the jostling crowd. “She’s gone forever,” I mumbled. By the time I realized Tsim Sha Tsui had also been my stop, I had missed it and was speeding under the harbor to Hong Kong Island.
When I finally made it back to Tsim Sha Tsui, I didn’t shop much. I got sidetracked at McDonald’s and a pizza place instead.
Rushing to make the subway before rush hour, I took one of the last places on the long silver benches lining each side of the car. I was still thinking about that girl when she suddenly appeared. “Is this seat taken?” she was asking me. At least I assumed that’s what she was saying. I smiled, motioning nonchalantly for her to sit down.
I looked at her, disappointed she didn’t recognize me. I ruffled through my dictionary, hoping no one would notice. What could I say to her?
Suddenly, I had something to say as the train jolted forward and I slid into her.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out in English.
She looked up, smiling. “No problem.”
“You speak English too!” I gasped.
She giggled. “At least I like to practice English.”
She looked at me quizzically. “You must be from America.”
“How did you know?”
“Your English doesn’t sound so British,” she said.
“You speak English very well,” I said.
She smiled demurely. “Oh, not so well. My brother and I like to speak English together.”
“Do you ever practice English with anyone else?” I asked.
“Well, yes …” she said.
The train screeched to a stop. I skidded into her again. “This is my stop,” she said, leaping up.
“It’s mine too,” I said.
“It is?” she said with surprise. “I thought you’d be staying in a hotel.”
“No, I’m staying with my uncle in the H-blocks,” I said.
“We live there too,” she replied.
“Really?” I exclaimed, not expecting such a beautiful girl to live in a plain, rectangular room.
It was time to go our separate ways. I hadn’t mustered enough courage to ask her name, and now she was leaving.
Then she called back. “I’m sure my brother would like to talk to you about America. He wants to go there.”
Here was my chance. I stuttered, “My name is Tod. Do you have a name too?”
“Yes. It’s Ling Fa. My brother is Lai Jan. Maybe we could all get together at the park tonight and talk English.” Yes! We had made a connection.
I almost ran over my uncle as he tromped up the stairs loaded with vegetables and fruit. I hugged him, watermelon and all.
“You had a good day?” he asked with a grin.
“It’s been a great day.”
I met Ling Fa and her brother that night, and quickly became fast friends with them. We did a lot together, including going to a dragon boat race practice a few days later. Lai Jan was one of the boatmen in the race held each year during the Dragon Boat Festival, a Hong Kong celebration.
“Maybe you could help us out today,” Lai Jan said to me, as we headed to a small inlet on the harbor. “One of the guys in the other boat said he couldn’t make it today.”
“Who me?” I laughed. “Never seen a dragon boat in my life.”
Then a sleek dragon boat splashed into view. It looked like the longest canoe in the world, except its sides were painted with green dragon scales and a ferocious dragon head stuck out the front with a green tail flowing out the back. Forty paddling boatmen were almost lost in the spray. A drummer stood in the middle beating a large drum in a steady cadence.
“I’m just sure I can do that,” I joked. “But I don’t even speak Chinese.”
“No need to speak Chinese,” Ling Fa answered. “Just paddle with the beat of the drum.”
After being introduced, I stepped gingerly into the boat. I had never seen so many people in such a narrow boat. Gripping my paddle, I nodded to the guy next to me.
“Good luck,” shouted Lai Jan from the boat next to mine. I realized we would be racing each other.
Soon, we were gliding over the water. I concentrated on paddling to the beat of the drum. I was actually getting the hang of it. The faster the drum beat, the faster we paddled. On my right, I could see the menacing dragon head of Lai Jan’s boat. Lai Jan grinned at me.
When our drummer beat faster, my paddle responded. I wanted to win this race. We pulled ahead of Lai Jan’s boat, which began lagging way behind.
My strength melted the minute we rounded the buoy and headed toward shore. I knew something was wrong. It looked as if there had been a big traffic accident in the middle of the water. A limp body was being pulled into a boat. It was Lai Jan.
When I stepped to shore, Ling Fa ran to me sobbing, “Please, please. I don’t want it to be true.”
When I asked what had happened, Ling Fa said, “It was so strange. Suddenly he was spilling out of the boat when another boat hit him.”
Soon sirens were crying, and Lai Jan was loaded into an ambulance. He briefly opened his eyes and said something to Ling Fa.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He said he wanted a blessing from his home teacher.”
“Home teacher?” I said, perplexed.
“It’s someone in my brother’s church,” she answered, as she got in the ambulance with her brother. I ran to catch a bus that would take me to the hospital.
When I arrived at the hospital, I looked for Ling Fa’s beautiful face. But it wasn’t her I noticed first. Startled, I saw Uncle Cheung talking to Ling Fa.
“This is Lai Jan’s home teacher,” she said.
Home teacher? My uncle was a teacher in a church?
“He’s going to give my brother a blessing now.”
I watched in awe as my uncle placed his wrinkled hands on Lai Jan’s head. As I listened, I wish I could explain what happened to me. But I doubt even my best buddy back home could know what I felt. I understood everything. Not just individual words, but the meaning of all Uncle Cheung was saying. There was no need to speak English or Chinese. There was a calmness and peace like nothing I’d ever felt before. I knew some power beyond me—the power of God—would heal Lai Jan.
When I lifted my eyes, Ling Fa was quietly crying. I wondered if she understood how I felt.
Lai Jan’s eyes blinked open, focusing on Uncle Cheung. “I knew you would come.”
Ling Fa gently placed her small hand on my uncle’s arm. “My brother says you help everyone.”
Uncle Cheung shook his head modestly. But his eyes smiled. “I just love everyone.”
I wasn’t supposed to understand, but I did.

One way to recognize our self-worth is to recognize the self-worth of those around us. Focusing on others helps us feel good about ourselves because we are building others up. It’s a win-win! When I struggled with self-confidence, I decided I would serve someone around me who needed help. Every day for a month I gave a compliment to a friend who was struggling. Focusing on others helped me feel worthy and needed. When we strive to love others for who they are, it becomes easier to see how much God loves us. Helping others feel worthy of love will help us feel worthy of love ourselves.
Jayme W., 15, Minnesota, USA

He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.

“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”

“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the hard times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.

“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”

“Where was I?” asked Thomas.

“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”

“What are crickets?”

“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.

“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”

Louisa began her story again. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”

“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.

“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”

“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”

At Girl Scouts, we had to go horseback riding for a patch. I thought I’d be able to go, but then my leader said it was on a Sunday. I really wanted the patch, which was called “Horse Lovers,” but I knew that going on Sunday was not the right thing to do. I told my mom, and she told the leader. The leader said that Sunday was the only time they could schedule it. I decided not to go, and it felt right.
Ava Elefante, age 9Leavenworth, Kansas

The Book of Mormon is not just a history book, nor just a book of scripture, for the Wolfgramm kids, whose parents migrated from Tonga to Salt Lake City nearly 20 years ago. It’s the story of their family—their relatives. Its sacred pages help them trace their genealogy back to Adam, through their 88th great-grandfather, Nephi.
Their story parallels that of their ancestors in the Book of Mormon to some degree. Their parents, Mike and Vake, left their homeland and crossed the sea for religious reasons. Back then there were no temples in the South Pacific, and they came to Salt Lake City to be sealed together. They didn’t have the funds to make it back to Tonga, however, so they stayed in the States and began adding to their family.
Like the family of Lehi, the Wolfgramms had to work hard to carve a place for themselves in their new country. In addition to other jobs, the parents were involved in Polynesian performing groups in the Salt Lake area. As soon as the children were old enough to walk and talk, they were taught to play, sing, and dance in the Polynesian tradition. They eagerly took to the stage, and soon the family had a Polynesian group of their own.

My parents joined the Church when I was young. We were in a small branch in Australia. My mother played the piano at church. But she could play only a few of the hymns. I was learning the piano too. When I was seven, the branch president asked me to play at church.
When I played the piano, I made mistakes. And when I made a mistake, I used to cry. I was very shy and nervous. But I kept practicing. I wanted to play the hymns well. Now I love to play the piano! I can play all the hymns. On my mission in New Zealand, I served in another small branch. They didn’t have anyone to play the piano. So I played the organ and the piano for a year. Working through my fear was a blessing for me. It allowed me to bless others.

In the summer of 1885, almost one hundred years ago, Colenda Chrilla Rogers was living with her family in Pleasant Grove, Utah—the strawberry capital of pioneer Mormondom. During that summer Colenda sewed a dress for her mother, wrote letters for her Aunt Lizzie, helped with the farm work, did the family washing, walked to Provo to see a circus, went regularly to Sunday School, picked wild berries, cut and dried apples and peaches, went on outings with her chums, and in general helped out with the work of home and farm, village and church.
We know about Colenda’s work and fun that summer because she kept a diary. Nor was it uncommon for pioneer girls to keep diaries. A number of these are in the Church Archives in Salt Lake City, in university libraries, and in the possession of family descendants.

Recently I listened as a couple complained that they had few interests in common. She liked to read; he didn’t. He played racquetball, but physical problems kept her from doing so. The list of differences went on and on. I asked if there wasn’t just one interest they shared. They shook their heads. Finally I suggested they take a ceramics class together. Neither had tried anything like that, so it gave them a new, common interest. The effect was unbelievable. As they worked toward a common goal, the excitement of growing together helped them gradually forget their differences.

The leading association in French Polynesia to assist jobless people will be benefitting from a set of self-reliance courses developed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In a meeting earlier this year, Marshall Raihauti, project manager and educator for Te U-irau, met with Manea Tuahu, national director of self-reliance for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in French Polynesia, to talk about their partnership.
“The people we work with often lack confidence and really have no plans for the future,” said Marshall.
Showing his Church self-reliance course textbooks with some delight, he continued, “I had the opportunity to attend a Church-sponsored self-reliance course in Punaauia in 2018 and was impressed that the program first helps people to identify their personal issues through a spiritual process.
“My motivation is to create that same turning point in them, as I have experienced it. And you can achieve it with the Spirit; that is at the heart of your empowering programs.”
He continued, “We have the expertise, we have the material, the financial resources and the appropriate training. But we are missing something that only your programs can provide. You can touch them spiritually. The Latter-day Saints have the magic that we don’t have. This is the Spirit of the Lord. It is what triggers the change of heart. And that’s the most important.”
Averii Nollemberger, coordinator for Te U’irau in Pirae, Faaa and Moorea job and training centers, said: “I liked that the person is at the center of change and that the principle of individual responsibility prevails.”
Manea presented the resources of the Church with courses such as “Starting and Growing My Business” and “Personal Finances.”
He explained the concept of self-reliance: “In the Church, self-reliance is not just about having a good job, food reserves, or money in the bank. It is the ability to provide for the spiritual and temporal necessities of life. It is a complementary, inseparable whole.
“When people become independent, they have more capacity to help others, and serving others is at the heart of self-reliance.”
Marshall concluded, “Despite all the support that we in the government have put in place, a majority of our job seekers continue to be dependent, unable to get long-term employment. What’s missing is the change of heart. I know that when you put God first, the doors begin to open.”

We’ll be there, Linus. We’ll share your lonely vigil in that ever-so-sincere pumpkin patch. We’ll wait with you and hope with you and almost believe with you. But the Great Pumpkin won’t appear. He can’t. He always spends Halloween with the Hales family in Vestal, New York.
He doesn’t rise from among the vines though. He hides slyly in the mounds of orange-yellow globes at one of the several nearby pumpkin farms, and the Haleses have to come search for him.
Today they’re at Jackson’s Pumpkin Farm in Campville. The open-air pumpkin market is decorated with pumpkin animals, pumpkin people, pumpkin houses. Pumpkins lie all about in great glowing heaps.
Holly, age 14, rolls out a huge, round, golden pumpkin and looks at it critically. It’s beautiful, but it’s not the one. Stephen, age 11-going-on-deacon, studies an elongated pretender with a touch of green in its yellow skin. It would make a fine jack-o’-lantern, but it’s not the Hales family pumpkin.
Dad and Mom rummage about in the towering stacks of autumn gold. Lots of wonderful pumpkins here, but not the one-and-only-authentic-no-doubt-about-it-can’t-miss-right pumpkin.
They take their time. It’s not something they want to be wrong about. It is Kristin who finally finds it—Kristin Lehtinen and her brother Duane, ages 14 and 11. It’s hiding under an obese, presumptuous fruit that’s trying to pass itself off as the perfect pumpkin.
The judges gather around and confer. They examine the candidate from all angles. Yes, this is it! If it’s not the Great Pumpkin, it’s certainly a great pumpkin.
Kristin and Duane are the heroes of the day. They’ve saved the family from the unthinkable disaster of taking home the wrong official Halloween pumpkin.
If you’re wondering why the heroes are not Haleses, it’s because the Haleses and the Lehtinens are good friends who often do things together. Today, October 12, the Lehtinens have joined the Haleses for a Columbus Day family home evening activity. And thank heavens they have!
And that brings us back to the family home afternoon in October. After buying their pumpkins, the Haleses and the Lehtinens moved on to their favorite cider mill for a jug of fresh-pressed cider and a bag of crisp, juicy apples. The local apples are justly renowned, and cider squeezed from them is the sweetest, tangiest nectar this side of heaven. A frothy cider toast is one family tradition the Haleses will drink to at the drop of a cup.
Trailing the deep fragrance of apples, they next drove to the farm of Brother and Sister Hogan to get some cornstalks. Then they went home to make great jack-o’-lanterns out of their great pumpkins.
They decorated their front door and porch with pumpkins, gourds, and cornstalks. Up and down the streets around them, people were doing the same. It’s a tradition the whole town shares. Ghosts appeared in neighborhood windows, and monsters emerged from the shrubs.
It was starting to look like another traditional Hales Halloween, and that suited everyone just fine. Because in the Hales home, family traditions are a family tradition.