Gospel Story Finder

As young missionaries in England, my companion and I taught a man who had experienced terrible, life-threatening events during World War II. He had been engaged in armed conflict on land and then survived a devastating attack to the ship he was on before returning home to England. When he finally arrived in England, he was so overcome with emotion and gratitude for having returned home safely that he knelt, kissed the soil, and offered thanks.
When we taught him the Restoration and described Joseph Smith’s First Vision, he wept. With tears in his eyes, he described the overwhelming witness he had received. He explained that the Restoration message gave him feelings similar to what he had felt when he returned safely to English soil. He felt that he had an eternal destiny.

My wife likes to tell the story of a friend of hers who, when she was a little girl, was left an orphan. She scarcely knew her mother. As she grew, she wondered about her mother: what kind of a girl, what kind of a woman was she?

One day she came across her mother’s old report card. The teacher had noted on that card, “This student is excellent in every way.”

When she read that, her entire life changed. She recognized that her mother was a woman of excellence. Her whole attitude changed. She took on the aura of excellence herself and became a remarkable woman in her own right. She married a man who is recognized in many communities, and their children have distinguished themselves for their excellence.

What’s so unique about this game? It doesn’t seem that different. Looking around, you’d think it was just like any other junior college basketball game, played anywhere in the country on any given night.
The gym is about half full. Cheerleaders bounce and shout before a crowd that dosen’t pay much attention. Oh, the crowd cheers, but only when the player of their choice does something right or wrong. On the floor, two teams of average ability are racing up and down the court, exchanging the lead every now and then.
Is it the fact that football star Trevor Matich, fresh from the Super Bowl, has raced nonstop from Boston to Sacramento to catch this game? All right, maybe that makes it a little out of the ordinary. But there is something else unusual about the game. It’s a miracle that Dever Matich, Trevor’s 19-year-old brother, is playing at all tonight. Just a little over a year ago, Dever Matich was involved in a game accident that left the promising young basketball star blind.
Trevor went a few extra miles because of that game, too. It was near the end of his last season as star football center at BYU. The Cougars had been ranked number one in the nation and were practicing for the Holiday Bowl when he heard about his brother’s accident. Trevor, a returned missionary from Mexico, said adios to Provo, hopped in his car, and headed straight for Sacramento.
What he found when he got there broke his heart. In the first tournament game of Dever’s senior basketball season, Dever got jabbed in both eyes so hard that he fell to the floor in shock. He was lucky he made it to the hospital at all. His blood pressure had plunged so low he was very near death.
The doctors restored his heart rate, but they made no promises about his vision. Both retinas had been badly torn, and Dever’s family was told he would be lucky to ever see again, let alone play basketball.
Trevor was devastated. “Why couldn’t it be me?” he wondered. “I’ve already had my time in the spotlight. But Dever is just beginning. Why couldn’t it be me?”
The family’s home teachers came and gave a blessing to Dever, which offered considerable consolation to all of them—almost more consolation than they felt comfortable offering. They were inspired to say that Dever would recover completely, contrary to what the doctors had said.
The next morning Dever underwent laser surgery. The medical staff was delighted with the success but still gave Dever a good month before he could return to school and twice that amount of time before he could pick up a basketball.
His recovery, however, was incredible. Within a few days, Dever was up and around, being led by Trevor, to attend his team’s tournament championship game. Although Dever couldn’t see, Trevor gave him a play-by-play account, and Dever was more eager than ever to get back on the court.
When Trevor saw that Dever’s recovery was progressing so well, he returned to Provo, the Cougars, and a Holiday Bowl victory. It didn’t surprise him a bit to learn that less than three weeks after the accident, Dever was back in the game, his vision improved from 20/20 to 20/16.
It really does make this junior college basketball game a little out of the ordinary when you realize that if it weren’t for the power of the priesthood, one of the players would be listening from the bleachers. But there’s yet another unique aspect of the event.
That’s the unity that flows between these two brothers, who are about six years and an entire continent apart.
“He’s my best friend,” says Trevor of Dever.
“He’s so much more than just a brother,” says Dever of Trevor.
No matter what the scoreboard says when the final buzzer sounds, you’d have a hard time finding a closer game. Dever and Trevor Matich play the closest game in town.

As ceremonies were held throughout the world, the Cardiff Stake in Wales took the opportunity to turn their stake centre purple in support of Holocaust Memorial Day.
At 8 p.m. on the 27th of January, members across the stake lit candles and put them in their windows for the campaign “Light the Darkness”, to remember those who were murdered for who they were and to stand against prejudice and hatred today.
President Spragg, stake president, said, “Jesus Christ taught that we should love one another, that we should care for each other, respect each other, no matter our nationality, colour or creed; it didn’t matter to the Saviour. He encourages us to love and support all our fellow brothers and sisters.”

On the final night of the performance, one of the microphones wasn’t working. “With minutes to go until the start of the show, the directors still couldn’t get this person’s microphone to work. One of the backstage managers began to walk through the halls and ask everyone in sight to say a prayer, asking for help with the technical difficulty,” Brie recalls. “Before bowing my head, I looked around me to see every single cast member humbly bowing his or her head to pray in faith to our Father in Heaven. Sure enough, as we sang the opening number and started the show, all of the microphones were working perfectly.”

One hundred forty-eight years later, in June 1977, again in a print shop, another step in the coming together of these two sticks occurred.

James Mortimer, long experienced in publishing scriptures, and Dr. Ellis T. Rasmussen, recently dean of Religious Instruction at Brigham Young University, called at the Cambridge University Press in Cambridge, England. Bibles had been printed at this prestigious press for 293 years before Egbert Grandin opened his print shop in Palmyra.

They met with Mr. Roger Coleman, director of religious publishing, to discuss the publication of a most unusual edition of the King James Bible. The printers were quite as skeptical about this proposal as Egbert Grandin had been nearly 150 years before.

The Cambridge Press had been publishing the King James Bible since the first edition in 1611, but they had never been asked to do anything like this. The text was to remain exactly as it was, no changes, not one. But all footnoting, cross-references, chapter introductions, indexes, and so on, were to be replaced. Only the chapter and verse numbering for the sixty-six books would be retained.

And that was just the beginning. This edition of the Bible would be cross-referenced with three other books of scripture: the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. The printers had barely heard of them.

But there was more. A new, innovative system of footnoting was to be used. Instead of progressing from A to Z in each chapter, the letters would start over in every verse, for innumerable verses would have many footnotes in them.

The technical problems seemed insurmountable. Computers could help, but there was always the human factor. How could you cross-reference the Bible with any other book? To cross-reference it with the three volumes was to require tens of thousands of footnotes. Thereafter there would be hundreds of thousands of possible combinations of information. It was too big even to think about. The technical challenge alone was staggering, to say nothing of maintaining accuracy, harmony, and consistency with the biblical text itself. It could not be done!

But in that meeting also was Mr. Derek Bowen, editor, a most remarkable man. A World War II injury had left him unable to hear. Thereafter he devoted his remarkable compensating abilities to the editing, typesetting, and printing of Bibles. He was, perhaps, the one man in the world who could direct such a printing project.

All of the problems mentioned so far related only to the printing part of the project. The actual compiling and organizing of the tens of thousands of footnotes would require many hundreds of workers. This work had already been underway for several years. Without the computer it would be manifestly impossible!

That also was but a beginning. There would be a combined concordance and topical guide, listing hundreds of subjects; a Bible dictionary; maps; and a new format. New chapter headings would be written. All in harmony with the sacred message of the Old and the New Testaments.

Several years into the project we asked for a report. How were they progressing with the tedious, laborious listing of topics in alphabetical order? They responded, “We have been through Heaven and Hell, past Love and Lust, and now we’re working toward Repentance.”

The 750 headings for the Topical Guide were painfully rendered down from a list nearly twice that long. For there was a practical consideration: the book had to be of a size for everyday use.

There was a spirit of inspiration brooding over their work, and those working with the project talked often of how it was blessed. There were humbling spiritual experiences.

After more than seven years of quiet, intensive work, the Latter-day Saint edition of the King James Bible came off the press. Already work was well under way on the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. Over the years manuscripts had come into our hands which made possible the correction of printers’ errors which had crept into early editions.

The work would be seen by more than the sympathetic students and the devoted members of the Church. The cold, impartial eyes of the research scholars would study it, and the angry eyes of enemies and detractors would pore over it. It must be correct in every detail.

Finally, after two more years, the books came from the press, the most accurate we have ever had.

Three months later, Derek Bowen, master editor of Bibles, passed away in England.

Juan sat quietly in the flickering light of the fire. He watched his mother grinding corn on her metate (grinding stone) for the evening meal. Juan’s father was busy too. He was carving a wooden ball for Juan. The even, polished surface gleamed yellow in the firelight.
“Will it be ready for the race on Friday?” Juan asked.
“Yes. I will finish it tomorrow,” his father replied.
Juan smiled. He and his two teammates would run even better with such a well-made ball.
Juan was an Indian of the Tarahumara tribe. He lived high in the Sierra Madre Mountains in northern Mexico. His family home was near Barranca del Cobre (Copper Canyon).
Juan’s father, Dionisio, was a great man. He was the best runner in the village—maybe the best in all the mountains! Wearing his “lucky” belt of deer hooves, he’d won many races. For the Tarahumara people, running was one of the most important things in life. In fact, they called themselves Rama Mure (foot runners). Men and boys ran along the rocky mountain paths, kicking before them a wooden ball carved from an oak tree root.
Juan was fifteen now. He’d been running almost since he could walk, and on Friday he and his teammates would run a big race against a team from the village of Pilares. Juan wanted to run as well as his father ran.
All the Indians knew Dionisio. “¡Kawira-ba (hello)!” people called whenever Juan’s father passed them during a race. It was nothing for Dionisio and his team to run for two days and nights without stopping for anything except a drink.
Juan loved racing at night by torchlight, but right now the race he was most interested in was the race against the Pilares team. Although it would only be twelve miles, it was still important. To Juan and his friends, every race was important.
There were other important things in Juan and his father’s life besides running. They planted corn, beans, and squash. They also tended their seventeen goats, corraling them each night. Each of the goats was named and was well known by the family. To have so many goats to provide milk and cheese was good. Seldom would Juan’s father kill one of the animals, for they were too precious to use as meat. Meat was provided by the deer and chipmunks of the mountains.
At the end of each day Father would take the handmade violin from the pegs on the wall and draw the bow across the strings, bringing forth sweet, sad songs.
In all things Juan’s father was his ideal. He did everything well—running, hunting, growing crops, playing music, carving from wood. Sometimes Juan became discouraged. He could not carve well—except the flesh of his own fingers! He could beg only mournful cries from the violin. And running? Not yet. Maybe this race against the Pilares team would be a turning point for him. Not only would my winning the race make father proud, he daydreamed, but it would also mean that one day I might be a truly great runner!
Early the next morning Juan went with his father to move the corral. Juan knew that besides giving them cheese and milk, their goats also fed the earth. He knew that seeds planted in the place where a corral had stood grew into strong plants. Juan was glad for so much work that day, because he would have less time to think about the upcoming race.
Friday dawned, and Juan tried to quiet his excitement. His father had told him that too much fear or excitement could take the strength from his body.
Today was also a holiday. Juan’s people celebrated many holidays each year, and running was always part of the festivities. Mother had prepared cedar tea so that Juan could bathe his legs in it. All Tarahumara runners did this before running. They thought it kept away evil spirits.
On his left foot Juan wore a sandal, as did all the runners. The right foot—the kicking foot—was bare. A runner must be able to lift the ball and kick it with his toes and foot. Although the running must be swift, the ball must go ahead. A lost one meant a delay until another ball was put into play.
Finally the Pilares team arrived. The signal was given, and the two teams ran. Juan’s new ball was painted with a red stripe. First it was kicked by Juan, then by each teammate in turn. Up and down the steep, rocky path they went. The boys had run this trail many times. They knew when to send the ball swiftly ahead and when to slow down for curves in the path.
On and on they ran. Many of the villagers ran behind them to see the outcome of the race. Juan knew that his father was with them.
When at last they neared the end of the twelve-mile run, Juan found himself running side by side with a Pilares runner.
I must win! I must win! Juan told himself. He ran faster and faster. He felt power in his tired legs. He felt the wind of his own speed rushing through his hair. He felt he could fly! The runner from Pilares was no longer beside him. Juan ran alone.
Then the wind was gone.
Juan looked up from the rocky path where he had fallen. The runner from Pilares sped ahead.
It was Father who tended the deep cut in Juan’s knee.
“I lost! I will never be a great runner,” the boy declared mournfully.
Father stopped wrapping the cloth around Juan’s leg and looked at him. Then he spoke. “I don’t know how many races I lost when I was young, but I know I learned something each time I raced.”
“But you are the best! You are a winner. Everyone admires you.”
“Ahhh. It is because they do not remember the times I lost. They remember only the times I won. I remember both.”
Juan sat amazed. His father had once lost races!
“You are not a loser, my son. You are a winner learning how to win.”

In the Locality File, Rebecca found that Rebecca Burdick Winters had an article written about her in the July 19, 1958, Deseret News. It was on a microfilm and was titled Lonely Grave of a Pioneer Mother. Reading it, she learned that in August 1852, Rebecca Winters and her family were traveling by wagon train to Salt Lake City. When deadly cholera invaded the wagon train outside Scotts Bluff, Nebraska, Rebecca helped care for the sick, and she watched her friends die until she herself was stricken with it and died.
As the family prepared to bury Rebecca’s body, a band of starving Indians rode into the camp, demanding food. When told that there was no food to spare, they became desperate and threatened to kill the pioneers.
Hiram Winters explained to the Indians that there was a terrible sickness among the wagon train. When the Indians failed to believe him, he removed the blanket from Rebecca’s body. The Indians quickly fled, leaving the pioneers to bury their dead in peace.
Rebecca’s lonely grave was marked only by an old metal wagon tire inscribed Rebecca Burdick Winters, Age 50.
Years later a survey party for a railroad discovered the wagon tire that marked the grave. The railroad track was to have gone over it, but the officials decided to reroute it around the grave of the brave pioneer mother.
The article went on to tell about Gideon and his family. Then Rebecca found a paragraph about Rebecca Burdick Winters. It said that in 1902 her descendants, in loving memory, erected a monument made of Salt Lake granite beside Rebecca’s grave. In 1964 a national patriotic organization erected another monument by the grave, naming Rebecca Burdick Winters “The Pioneer Mother of America.”

This story happened in the USA.
“Are we there yet?” Aliya itched her leg where a mosquito had bitten her. They had been hiking over lava rock for so long! Aliya was getting tired.
“Almost,” said her teacher, Auntie Nikki. “And trust me. It will be worth it.”
Aliya wasn’t so sure. They were on a school trip to K?holo, a nature preserve on the Big Island of Hawaii. Aliya was excited to learn about the animals and plants on their island, but she felt nervous. She was new to the island, and she didn’t know very many people yet. All the other kids were older, and they laughed together the whole hike. Aliya walked quietly next to them. She wanted to make a friend, but she didn’t know how.
Finally they reached the cove. As they walked over a sandy hill, the fishponds came into view.
“Welcome to K?holo,” said Auntie Nikki.
Aliya looked around. It was beautiful here! Her teacher was right—the hike had been worth it.
For the next few hours, Aliya and her classmates learned all about the preserve. Aliya loved watching the fish swim through the water.
“The fishponds were made so that some fish can be caught and taken from the pond while others stay and grow big and strong. This way, everything stays in balance, and there are always enough fish,” explained Auntie Nikki.
After lunch, Auntie Nikki called the kids to one of the bigger ponds. “OK, everyone, put on a pair of gloves. We are here to help clean up the ponds.”
“Do we have to?” asked one of Aliya’s classmates.
“Yes! Part of visiting K?holo is working together to help keep it clean. It’s about what we can give,” said Auntie Nikki.
Aliya was excited to help. She put on some gloves and started picking up trash and tree branches from around the pond.
One of her classmates walked up next to her. Aliya had never talked to her before. She was wearing a bright pink shirt.
Aliya felt her heart beating fast. She wanted to say hi, but she was scared. What if the girl thought she was weird?
Then Aliya thought about what Auntie Nikki had said. It’s about what we can give. Aliya took a deep breath and smiled. “Hi,” she said. “I like your shirt.”
The girl smiled. “Thank you! I’m Zoe.”
“My name is Aliya.”
The girls spent the rest of the day talking and laughing as they gathered up pieces of plastic and paper that had been left behind in the ponds. The more Aliya got to know Zoe, the happier she felt. Zoe was so nice.
At the end of the day, the teacher made a fire for the kids to sit around. Aliya’s muscles were sore from cleaning up the ponds.
“Aliya, come here. You have to see this!” Zoe ran toward her, waving her arms for Aliya to follow. Aliya followed Zoe to a bridge that crossed over the ponds.
Under the bridge, a huge turtle sat in the clear water. Smaller turtles swam past.
Aliya smiled. It was beautiful! She and Zoe stood on the bridge, side by side, and Aliya felt peaceful. Cleaning the ponds had been hard, but now these animals could keep living safely in their home.
Aliya looked at Zoe. She had a new friend now too, all because she’d been brave enough to say hello. Aliya said a little prayer in her heart. Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for this beautiful world and for my new friend. Thank Thee for helping me focus on what I could give.
Illustration by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

Not only has the New Era built up my testimony, it has also made time fly. You see, I am waiting for a special missionary to come home. Thanks to “The Only Way to Be Happy” by Ardeth Kapp in the April New Era, I now know how to make a long wait seem short.
Wendi TruswellSalt Lake City, Utah

With a full schedule ahead of me, I dashed out the door early, my backpack full to bursting with the textbooks, self-defense uniform, dance shoes, sack lunch, and sack dinner I would need to survive yet another busy college day. I had two tests I didn’t feel prepared for, reading I hadn’t finished, and not enough time to get everywhere I needed to go that day.
Wearing the skirt I would need for my dance test, I felt ridiculous with my huge backpack and desperate that I wouldn’t be on time to my first class. When I tripped and fell in the middle of a busy intersection in front of dozens of students and cars, my embarrassment and frustration, along with the hole in my new nylons, pushed me to tears. Seven o’clock in the morning, and I was already crying.
As I picked myself up and hobbled to school, I prayed fervently for the Lord to send someone to cheer me up. It would have been nice to see my mom, but she was two states away. Maybe the Lord could answer my prayer through one of my roommates visiting one of my classes. Or maybe He would send that boy in the ward whom I liked so much.
I looked around expectantly as I hurried to my first class but didn’t see anyone I knew. I took my first test, still in tears, and rushed to my second class, arriving late. I was still upset as I ran to my third class and as I hurried to get ready for my next test. I did better on my test than I had expected and was calming down a little when I found a quiet hallway where I could eat my lunch while studying. I was bent over my books when I heard someone call my name.
I looked up to see my visiting teacher, whom I had never before seen on campus. She sat down next to me, and we talked for almost an hour—not about my frustrations that day but about things that were going well for me, our plans, and things that worried her.
It wasn’t until she left that I remembered my pleading prayer that morning. Of course the Lord would answer my prayer through the woman called to watch over me. I had wanted someone to cheer me up early that morning, but He knew I’d be ready to see a friend later in the day—when I had calmed down enough to be able to receive the comfort I needed and to extend comfort to another who had her own challenges.
The Lord knew me and sent me exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it.

One day, my whole perception of Church sports changed. It had seemed that competition drove each team. Everyone wants to win, and no one wants to lose. But on this particular day, every boy was going to play. That’s what the Young Men president told me. He said that my son Adam could play.
Adam is 12 and a very important part of our family and of his deacons quorum in the Brentwood Ward in the Portland Oregon Stake. Adam has been diagnosed as being borderline autistic. He also has a seizure disorder. With these conditions, he is developmentally delayed and is working on improving his motor skills.
Today, though, Adam knew he was going to play basketball on the deacons’ team. He was excited, and he kept asking about it all the way to the stake center. “Adam’s basketball game?” would be his question. My reply was, “Yes, your game.”
I had some concerns. How would the deacons respond with Adam on the court? Would they be careful with him out there? Would they let him handle the ball?
Everything began as church games should, with an opening prayer. Each team was receiving last-minute instructions from their coaches that when Adam was on the court there would be special concern for his safety. No overly aggressive moves would be tolerated.
The game began. With about two minutes to go in the first quarter, the coach called for Adam. With some coaxing Adam went to the scorer’s table and checked in. The official whistled him into the game.
At first, Adam played defense. Not knowing exactly what he should do, when everyone else ran to the other end of the floor, he did too, laughing all the way. Adam loves to run, especially when others are running with him.
At the two-minute mark of the second period, Adam again entered the game. With one minute left, our team had the ball out-of-bounds. Tyler received the ball from the referee to throw in. Adam, just a few feet away, was the only one open.
Tyler gently threw him the ball. Adam caught it, turned around, tucked the ball under his arm and ran. No one called traveling. He made his way through the players to the basket, took aim, and shot. The ball hit the rim and bounced off to one side. One of the opposing players picked it up and without hesitation handed the ball back to Adam.
Again Adam aimed and shot. Those watching used all the body language they could muster to help the ball go in. Another miss. The ball was given back to Adam. This time a basket. Everyone cheered the biggest cheer of the game. Adam exchanged high fives with his team and the opposing team and the half ended.
In the third quarter, with two minutes to play, Adam was in again. The ball was back in his hands, and Adam did what he knew how to do. He ran towards the basket, took aim, and shot, with young men standing and cheering him on. They rooted for him until he made the basket. Another round of cheers and high fives.
The score and point spread had no meaning that day. Everyone won. Those who watched, especially a grateful father, and those who played will always have this special game to remember forever.

Little is known about Margaret’s life after that seminal meeting in March 1842. In 1844, she married widower John Reid Blanchard, who had five living children; they then had four children together. The family had moved to Iowa, USA, by 1850 and then journeyed to the Salt Lake Valley, where the couple was sealed on February 6, 1853.8 The family lived in Farmington, Davis County, Utah Territory, by 1860.9

The youth of the Minnesota Region found a special way to say they care. As a part of their youth conference, they sponsored a special carnival for handicapped children.
The youth conference was held on the campus of Hamline University in St. Paul, Minnesota. Three hundred and sixty young people gathered for seminars, dances, and activities. One of the activities was finding a way to serve that would make a difference in someone’s life. They hit upon the idea of the carnival for handicapped children.
Every one of the youth conference participants was given an assignment to set up or run a booth, meet the children, or be their companion for the day. The carnival was complete with clowns, cotton candy, a pinewood derby, fish pond, and games, including a dunk tank that was everyone’s favorite.
The young people of the Minnesota Region made arrangements with residential homes for the handicapped. They helped with transportation and caring for the children. Whatever apprehensions any of the youth felt disappeared as soon as they became involved with the children.
One of the best memories of the youth conference was not just the dances and socializing. The young people in Minnesota also remembered a carnival that showed they cared.

When she paused between arithmetic problems to look out the schoolhouse window, Julia thought about how Billy Johnson would have sweet rolls in his lunch again. Resting her pencil eraser on the unfinished problem, she pictured the package of rolls as he always produced it from his jacket pocket at noon. He would lay it on his desk and look around at everyone else to make sure he had their full attention before unwrapping the wax paper and revealing two rolls in all their splendor, filled with apricot jam and crowned with white frosting.
Julia’s stomach rumbled. Although her family had not really been wanting for food since they’d moved five months ago, she seemed always to be hungry. Most of it was a hunger that the boiled navy beans in her pail wouldn’t satisfy.
Her brother flashed her a grin when she looked his way. “I’m hungry,” he mouthed.
She raised her eyebrows and looked toward the clock. Twenty more minutes.
The teacher was hearing third graders recite the multiplication tables: “Four times five is twenty.” “Four times six is twenty-four.” “Four times seven is twenty-eight. …”
Julia bit the end of her eraser and stared at her own problem: What is the simple interest on a loan for eighty-five dollars for eighteen months with an annual rate of eleven percent?
There’s no sense thinking about rolls, she told herself. But she couldn’t get the thought of them out of her mind. Had she ever eaten sweet rolls? She wondered. She couldn’t remember the taste—only the smell, buttery rich and fruity rising out of Billy’s wax paper every day.
Get back to the problem, she scolded herself. Multiply first. What next? She worked out the first part of the problem:
$85 x .11 ——– 85 850 ——– $9.35
Loans! That’s why they had had to move and didn’t have much money for food. When the drought had come, there had been loans against the farm to buy seed. Loans against the cattle and then the horses, until they had had to be sold. Loans for more seed and for a hospital bill. Everything had finally been forfeited to the bank—as had almost all the other farms in the area. What would a bank do with all those farms and all those thin cattle and hungry horses?
Next, eighteen months is a year and a half, so multiply nine dollars and thirty-five cents by one-point-five.
Seven years of crop failures and loans. The last time Dad made a wheat crop, I was five years old, Julia thought. No wonder I can’t remember the taste of sweet rolls.
The schoolhouse door and the windows were open to the filtered light that made the month of April so hopeful. Snow still filled the ditches beside the road, but at recess Julia had heard water running under the snow and had seen it through holes her brother made by poking a stick through the crusty snow. Perhaps this year there wouldn’t be a drought. Last year they had lived on wheat that Dad had scraped out of the granary of an abandoned farm. This year there were navy beans. Maybe next year her mother could make her sweet rolls to bring to school.
Julia’s stomach rumbled again as she pictured Billy Johnson licking the frosting from his fingers the way he did every day.
Two more arithmetic problems.
Julia touched the eraser to her lips, considering. A merchant makes fifteen percent profit on clothing he sells in his store. He sells $5,082 in clothing one year and $4,237 the next. What are his total profits for the two years?
Who makes profits? Billy Johnson’s dad. He must be a rich merchant to buy all those sweet rolls.
And all she had were beans. Cold beans. All cooked from the huge sacks of beans brought with them last November when Uncle Fred had moved them the six hundred sleety, wind-whipped miles to his home in Michigan.
Uncle Fred had been cutting and hauling cedar fence posts, expecting to trade them for wild horses to sell at a profit. But none of the ranchers were building fences. Why put up fences for dying cattle? None of them had horses to trade, either. If he had gotten horses, Julia and her family would still be in Dakota.
A Crookston garage owner had let them stay all night in his shop. It had a wood fire, so Uncle Fred stoked it with some fence posts and said that if he couldn’t use them for barter, he might as well burn them.
Since November Dad and Uncle Fred had been cutting more fence posts in the cedar swamp. Their whole family was cramped into one room at Uncle Fred’s—along with their three beat-up mattresses and Mom’s cookstove. Every day Mom cooked up a pot of beans and sent it and three bowls and three spoons to school with the children.
Julia was writing down the merchant’s two-year profit, $1397.85, when the teacher announced the lunch hour.
Julia stood in line with the other girls to wash her hands in the wash pan in the entryway. She watched Billy Johnson pull the package of sweet rolls from his jacket pocket and head back to the classroom. Her mouth watered as she saw the sweet jam oozing from the coils of golden bread. “Those look good,” she said to the girl next to her.
“They’re stale,” the girl said. “His dad buys them by the bushel to feed his hogs. He gets them really cheap from a bakery in Grand Rapids.”
Julia thought a bushel of sweet rolls, even stale ones, sounded pretty good. “How do you know?”
“My mother got a bushel there once,” the girl replied, rocking on her heels. “Some of them were moldy. Most of them were just powder-dry. But it’s easier for Billy to grab up a package of rolls than to make a sandwich. Besides, I doubt if they even have stuff for sandwiches. They’re having a hard time getting by.”
“If Mom only had the things to make some rolls, …” Julia began.
“It wouldn’t matter if Billy’s family did have the stuff to make rolls,” the other girl said. “His ma’s dead.”
Julia thought about that. She thought, too, about her mom, who loved her and who cooked beans for them. Today the beans would taste better than ever. Even better than a sweet roll.

Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather sober, and some of the boys made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

This month the Genealogical Society of Utah (now the Family History Department of the Church) is celebrating its one hundredth birthday. In 1894, President Wilford Woodruff received a revelation about the importance of eternal families. He knew that families must be sealed by priesthood authority in the temple if they are to be together for eternity. He also knew that many people had died without this opportunity. The Church needed an organization to help locate their records. And so, on November 13 of that year, the Society was formed.

Sariah is the first one to notice when her mom is sad, and she always gives her a big hug. “Helping people makes me happy,” she says. “Especially helping my family.”

Josh W.
As a new deacon, Josh W. of Utah, USA, was asked to teach a lesson about being a disciple of Christ. “I found scriptures about when Peter and others were fishing. They tried one side of the boat and didn’t catch anything,” Josh says. “Then the Savior told them to fish on the other side, and they caught lots of fish (see Luke 5:5–11 and John 21:6–11). So in my lesson, we read that. Then we talked about how it’s like that for us. When we go on our own, we can have trouble. But when we listen to the Lord, He helps us.”
Josh says that learning, teaching, and sharing are important in Young Men. “In Primary we learned a lot and had lots of activities,” he says. “Now we’re learning a lot and sharing. That means doing a lot with what we learn.” For example, after a priesthood lesson, Josh visited a friend who hadn’t been to church for a long time. “His parents work on Sundays, so they don’t come. But I told him he could come with me.”
Josh is learning the purpose of Young Men and Young Women. “It’s to show us how to become more like the Savior,” he says. He knows that the call to “come unto Christ” means moving along a path that started with baptism and confirmation, continues toward the temple, and leads to eternal life.
“I’m ready to move forward,” he says.

Everyone knew the house—the one on the corner across from the school, the one you avoided, the one you feared. Any careless child straying from the pavement in front of that house would get a rough and sudden rebuke from the old man who lived there: “Get off of my lawn!”
Some of the young men in the Hillcrest First Ward, Logan Utah East Stake, knew that house well. It belonged to Brother Jacobsen, a less-active member of the ward. After they moved on from elementary school, the boys no longer had to pass by his house every day. But they weren’t done with that house yet.
One day the deacons quorum adviser for these boys challenged the quorum president to select a service project—one that would require a long-term commitment from the quorum.
“We had prayed and fasted about it as a presidency,” says David Shirk, 18, who was deacons quorum president at the time. “One afternoon as we drove by that certain house, I just kind of had that thought pop into my head about who we could serve. And I thought, ‘It would be cool if we could mow a lawn or something.’”
As David and his father drove by the same area later, the thought struck David again, and he told his father about it. “My dad said, ‘That was the Spirit working,’” says David. “And he said, ‘Well, how about Brother Jacobsen here?’ And he pointed to the house.”
Brother Jacobsen had recently had some health problems, so the boys in the quorum decided to help him by mowing his lawn. But asking him wasn’t easy.
“We were pretty scared,” says Michael Althouse, now 18, one of the quorum members. “We had walked past his house every day on the way to school since we were young. The only time we saw him was when he was telling us to stay off his lawn. We never saw him other than in that context, yelling at us. So we were always scared to touch his lawn, and now we were going to be asking to mow it!”
When his wife answered the door, the boys felt some relief, but then they heard a gruff voice call from within, “Who’s at the door?” The fear returned. Though Brother Jacobsen was hesitant, his wife was willing to let them mow the lawn, so they made an appointment.
During the first few visits that summer, the boys still felt a little tension, but they soon felt more and more comfortable. Of course, going home laden with Sister Jacobsen’s homemade brownies or cookies didn’t hurt. After a time even Brother Jacobsen began warming to them, coming out to talk to them about his experiences in World War II or about his favorite hobby: remote-controlled model airplanes.
Eventually Brother Jacobsen asked the boys to do various other chores, all the while telling them stories from his life or talking about his interests. After the next summer the appointments became less regular, though they continued to visit and help where needed. They felt that they had made a friend rather than just performing a service project.
Then Sister Jacobsen died. She had been diagnosed with cancer not long before, and Brother Jacobsen had started worrying that he wouldn’t see her again, because they had never been sealed in the temple. He had just recently begun to reach out to his home teachers and other members of the ward, and he later began attending church for the first time since he was a boy.
Soon after Sister Jacobsen died, Brother Jacobsen was placed in an assisted living center, but he still attended the same ward, and the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood still played their part in helping him where they could.
“When he was at church, we always tried to talk to him,” says Jacob Harrison, 18. “He would recognize us at church and say hello to us. We were asked by the bishop to go to the center and teach him out of Preach My Gospel every Sunday. Two of us would go every week.”
On these visits the boys also learned some new things about Brother Jacobsen. “They had an organ down there at the center,” says Kody Klaassen, 17, “so he would play the organ for us every time. He had once owned a music shop, so he did that kind of stuff.”
“When he was young, he used to write and record a lot of music,” says Jared Larsen, 17. “He could play any instrument. It was pretty cool. I didn’t know that about him until later on when we’d go down to the center and he’d play for us.”
Brother Jacobsen even started serving others by sharing his musical talent at other rest homes for a couple of hours a week. But most importantly, he rekindled his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, received the Melchizedek Priesthood, and eventually went to the temple to receive sacred ordinances and be sealed to his wife for eternity.
As the young men prepare for missions and a lifetime of priesthood service, they know that small things, such as overcoming fear or performing simple service, can lead to something great. Their experiences have also taught them a number of other important lessons.
David says he now has a better understanding of the priesthood. “It’s God’s power. We have to use it righteously. And when we hold the right priesthood keys, He has entitled us to revelation for our responsibilities. I also realized the importance of service and sustaining our priesthood leaders. Without the quorum’s support, this would never have succeeded.”
Through Brother Jacobsen, Michael saw the power of the Atonement. “You could tell that he was making an effort to make a change. And then when we started seeing him at church, there really was a big change. He seemed to have a different light or countenance about him. I think that was when I first started to understand the power and effect of the Atonement and the way it can change a life.”
“I gained a greater testimony of service and how much it can affect somebody,” says Kody. “It was really neat to see how he opened up to us through service. I don’t think any of us really knew the effect that it had on him. When I was mowing his lawn, I never thought he would be sealed to his wife. It was cool to see him gradually open up through our just doing service and the power the Spirit had then.”
“We could see that week after week we were having an effect,” says Jacob. “Our leaders kept saying, ‘When you serve your fellowmen, you serve God’ [see Mosiah 2:17]. This showed me what service can do, because Brother Jacobsen started becoming my friend.”
Jared agrees. “Becoming friends with a man you first know as the scary guy that wants you to get off his lawn and yells at you to leave—you know, there’s always a friend in someone. It just takes time to become that friend.”
Less than a year after fulfilling his goal of being sealed to his wife, Brother Jacobsen died. The boys were asked to be pallbearers at his funeral, saying goodbye to their friend with one final act of service.