Gospel Story Finder

Lenae Crandall and her family didn’t realize how much the temple blessed their lives until their mom died.
“You don’t really think about being sealed until someone you love is gone,” says Lenae, 17. “But it’s okay my mom died, because we’ll be together again, thanks to the temple.”
Now Lenae, Brandallyn, Bethany, and Seth go to the Jordan River Utah Temple with their father almost every Friday—just like their mother did.
“After my mom died, we started doing baptisms for the dead,” says Lenae. “It’s nice. My mom taught us by example how going to the temple can bless your life.”

As we avoid sin and choose the right, we honor those who have come before us. When I was a young boy I heard a story about President George Albert Smith. He once dreamed he had passed away and was in the spirit world walking through a forest. Suddenly, he saw his grandfather coming toward him. He was so happy to see him! His grandfather stopped him and said, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President George Albert Smith, who had been named after his grandfather, paused to think about all the events of his life. Then he answered, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”*

A little red truck slowed to make the turn into the school yard of the Wyoming Indian High School on the Wind River Reservation. It kicked up a trail of dust as it crossed the parking lot. A young girl was driving.
Could she be the one I was waiting to meet?
All I knew was her name—Ann Abeita.
Ann’s brother James had called to tell me what great things she was doing her last year in high school—elected president of the student council; chosen by her teachers as Student of the Year; selected as Eastern Shoshone Powwow Queen and Ethete Powwow Queen; invited to testify before Congress; named by the other contestants as Miss Congeniality in the Miss Indian World competition; plus the usuals like playing varsity basketball and volleyball, attending seminary, and participating in most of the clubs at school.
The little truck pulled up beside me and the girl glanced over. She was very pretty with black hair cut in a style that enhanced the wave in her hair. Then came a smile. It was a smile fit for a Miss Congeniality. It was Ann.
Ann Abeita and her brother George are the two youngest in their family and live with their mother and stepfather in Fort Washakie on the Wind River Reservation in central Wyoming. Their brother James is serving a mission in the California Ventura Mission, and their sister Cornessa is attending Ricks College. Other older brothers and sister are married and living nearby.
Ann and her brothers and sisters are descendants of Chief Washakie, a great Shoshone chief who knew Brigham Young, joined the Church, and introduced the gospel to his people. Ann says, “A lot of our people still talk about him and how he led the Shoshone people, especially in the Church, because a lot of people were baptized.”
After we talked for a moment, Ann suggested that I follow her home, where we could talk. She jumped into the little red truck and drove out onto the long, straight road that traverses the valley. The Wind River Reservation is in a beautiful location. It is a valley ringed by purple mountains with a fringe of snow. There are fields of hay and horse pastures. Among the neat ranch houses, I saw one lodge, or teepee, set up in someone’s backyard. I had to smile. There was a satellite dish right next to it.
The little red truck slowed down and turned through the gates of a small cemetery. Ann pointed to a large headstone with the name Chief Washakie carved prominently in the granite. An additional phrase simply said, “Chief of the Shoshone.” This was Ann’s great-great-grandfather.
In addition to Chief Washakie, Ann’s family is also related to one of the most famous Indian women in history, Sacajawea, who helped guide Lewis and Clark in their explorations of the American Northwest.
Even with such illustrious ancestors, Ann and George are much like teenagers anywhere in the Church. They are concerned about doing well in school, staying close to Church teachings, and being with their friends.
But Ann, because of her school leadership responsibilities, has had to juggle her schedule to accommodate the demands on her time. She even has to find a way to turn down a date to go to the movies without hurting any feelings because she’s got a previous commitment to talk to a reporter—me. Whenever the phone rings, she races to answer it, and it is usually for her.
When George walked in with earphones on, I asked what he was listening to. He said, “Michael Jackson.” He has a set of barbells that he uses to try to build his muscles, and early in the morning the rhythmic thump, thump of the basketball on the driveway announces that George is taking a few shots before catching the bus for school.
Ann has learned the value of education from her older brother James and from her mother, Zedora. She maintains high grades and has been awarded a leadership scholarship to Brigham Young University, where she plans to major in business management. Great-great-grandfather Washakie would have been pleased.
In many ways, Ann and George are like most teenagers, but when they get dressed in their native costumes and participate in Indian dancing contests at local powwows, it’s like going back in time. Both Ann and George are skilled and often win or place in the dancing competitions. They move to the rhythm of the drums just as their ancestors did. They respect the old ways and are sensitive to the beauty of the land and the feeling of their people.
Ann loves her home valley. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.” The valley is a legacy given to the Shoshones by Chief Washakie. He has the distinction of being one of the few Indian chiefs that were allowed to choose the location of the reservation set aside for his tribe. He would like the fact that his great-great-granddaughter feels the same love for the valley as he did.
Even though the Wind River Reservation is beautiful, there are problems. One of the big problems facing Indian youth is a lack of summer jobs, but Ann has found a solution for herself. She gets involved and stays busy with worthwhile activities. “I really like summers. They are fun for me. I like going to the rodeos and the powwows where there is Indian dancing. But for those that don’t have an outfit or who aren’t interested in Indian dancing, there isn’t very much to do.”
Dressed in her traditional beaded buckskin dress, with its knee-length necklace and colorful shawl, her hair braided with fur strips, Ann tries to maintain a dignified, perhaps even somber expression that seems in keeping with the way she is dressed, but her natural exuberance is more than she can control. She can’t help but smile.
Yet there is nothing frivolous about Ann. She has faced some of the most powerful men in the country in a congressional hearing, has spoken freely about the problems youth on the reservations face, and has impressed many with her clear thinking and eloquent speech. Great-great-grandfather Washakie would have been proud.
Ann was chosen to go to Washington, D.C. to testify in a congressional hearing on the merits of an Indian Alcohol and Drug Prevention Act. She and another boy from the Wind River Reservation were asked to speak to the senators and congressmen. Ann said about that experience, “When I was in Washington, I was sitting there listening to the other representatives, who were all my age. They were prepared, but they didn’t really speak up. It was hard to hear them. When I got up there, I made sure I spoke up. I was honest, and I spoke from my heart. When they asked me if I had any more to say, I had a lot more. I was really honest. It was on television and on the news. A lot of the people saw it, and they were upset by some of the things I said. I think the parents know how bad the problems with drinking in my high school are, but they don’t want to face the truth.”
For Ann the problems faced by some of her fellow students are very real. “I bet if I wasn’t Mormon, it would be really hard. There is so much peer pressure. Sometimes they try to make the parties with drinking sound real fun, but to me it sounds childish. Being a member of the branch helps because we always have activities. With that and with student council and with other clubs, I really keep myself busy. I just wish other students would get involved because they always say it’s so boring, but they don’t get involved.”
As I sat talking with Ann about the things that mean the most to her, I sensed her strength of conviction. This girl really means what she says and has her mind made up to live what she believes. Ann is becoming the kind of leader her great-great-grandfather was. She sees clearly what is good for herself, her family, and her people.
Ann was a little worried about her graduation night. She and George and two of their friends were the only ones she knew of who were not going to a graduation party. They had chosen not to go because they were quite sure that there would be drinking at the parties. Even though Ann is president of the student body, she would not give up her principles for that night or any other.
Ann tries to teach her friends more about the Church. “My friends admire me for not drinking and would like to do the same, but they are afraid of being different. I’m not afraid of being different. When I try to teach my friends about the Book of Mormon, they know that it’s true. But when I ask if they want to be baptized, they say they would if there wasn’t the Word of Wisdom. It makes me mad.”
As I was leaving Fort Washakie, I stopped at the trading post to look at some of the beautiful beadwork that the Shoshones are known for. As I was trying to decide which of the colorful strings of beads I wanted to buy, the saleslady came over and asked if she could help me find something. I asked her if she knew Ann Abeita.
Her face lit up when she said what everyone I talked to on my visit seemed to say, “Oh, yes, I know Ann. She’s a wonderful girl.”

I was just a young child when my father died of pneumonia. My 14-year-old brother died just a few days later from an unrelated illness. It was the early 1930s, the middle of the Great Depression in the United States. Jobs were scarce and so was money. My mother, a nurse, struggled to provide a living for the five remaining children. It wasn’t an easy life for any of us, and I often wondered how it would all work out.
But one thing happened during those tough times that I remember as well as if it had happened yesterday, something that made me look forward with courage and hope.
About a year after my father’s passing, his cousin came to visit our home. Israel Bennion came, not just on a social call, but as the stake patriarch. Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed like we were going to church, waited in turn to have this dignified man place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings.
I was only seven, not old enough to understand the significance of all that was going on. (Today, the Church advises you to wait until you’re older to get your patriarchal blessing.) But I felt a great reverence, the same sort of feeling I felt during fast and testimony meetings. I remembered his instructions, although they were brief, that my blessing should be a guide to me, something I could use to chart my course through life.
Although I was young, I was impressed by the statements Brother Bennion made as he gave me my blessing. He told me that the Spirit of the Lord would be with me as I was growing up, that the gospel would be in my heart, that I would love the work of the Lord, and that the Lord would bless me.
He spoke of the future, that I would someday be a judge in Israel, that I would have children, that I would have a strong body and a sound mind.
But most of all, he stirred something in me. He helped me to begin to realize how literally I was a son of God. The Lord knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, the Lord would help me.
My patriarchal blessing is only 263 words long. But it has always made a deep impression on me. As I have read and reflected upon it through the years, that impression has never diminished.

Early in our marriage, my wife and I planted a garden. We knew little about gardening, but we thought the back corner of our yard looked fertile. And indeed it was. In one area we planted banana squash. The squash vines grew almost without any effort on our part until they stretched some 40 to 50 feet (10 to 15 m) along the top of a long fence. The squash were enormous. It was an incredible result for novices.
In the scriptures we often read about vineyards and grapevines. But growing grapes is not as easy as growing squash. It takes the right climate and skilled cultivation to maintain a fruitful vineyard.
Grapes were an important part of early Hebrew culture, and the tablelands and hills in the Holy Land provided an ideal place for grapevine cultivation. The land was groomed, the vines were planted along the hillsides, and the vineyards were carefully fenced to keep out unwanted animals or people. The vines were cultivated and pruned so that they would yield as much fruit as possible.
Pruning is probably the most important part of growing grapes. Branches not producing fruit are cut off. When a vine’s main branch reaches a certain size, it is cut back by taking off the tip to force the development of side shoots. Such pruning and shaping halt the growth at the tip of the branch and send nourishment into the new branches. Then, as these side branches develop, each produces as much fruit as the single vine had produced. The sturdy center stalk of the vine, rooted deep in the soil, provides the nourishment to all of these long, fruit-bearing spurs.
Vineyards have often been used symbolically in the scriptures. In the book of John, the Savior used the grapevine as a metaphor to explain the nature of His relationship with those who would be His disciples.
Prior to leaving for Gethsemane, the Savior taught the Apostles how they must live if they were to continue to be His disciples. Among the things He taught during that sacred hour was that their lives must be entirely grounded in Him and in His teachings:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.
“Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. …
“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.
“I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.
“If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.
“If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.
“Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples” (John 15:1–2, 4–8).
In this allegory are two important principles: First, we must be grounded in Christ. If we are not, we will not be fruitful (see John 15:4). If our lives are not in harmony with the teachings of the Savior, it is no more likely that we will bear good fruit than that a branch cut off from a vine will bear fruit. Second, even when we are living righteously, we still need the Gardener, who knows us so completely and sees beyond what we see, so that He can purge, or prune and purify, us (see John 15:2). While at times this pruning may seem hard to bear, it is only through this process that we will become more fruitful.
Our pruning comes in a variety of ways. We may develop an illness or physical limitation. We may find that our expectations are not fulfilled. We may find sorrow in relationships or experience personal loss. Yet what initially might seem to be a sad event can help us grow if it causes us to rely more on the Lord and to rethink our priorities. Such difficult experiences can make us more fruitful, or more like the Savior—our true vine.
Throughout my life I have had ample need for pruning. For example, a few years ago I expected to receive a company promotion. I felt I had the experience, skills, and longevity required, and I hoped the choice was obvious.
At that time there was a new top manager in our company who had different priorities and goals than I did. Among other things, he expected all senior managers to work weekends in addition to weekdays. I was a stake president then and knew that to best serve the members of my stake, I needed to spend a certain amount of time fulfilling my Church responsibilities.
When the hoped-for promotion never occurred, I had to struggle to keep myself from feeling bitter. What a disappointment! I determined just to keep going, to try to do things as well as I could, and to maintain a positive demeanor. Yet my sense of self-worth had been challenged. My abilities had been called into question. Other Church leaders I knew seemed to capably manage both demanding Church callings and time-consuming employment.
In a weak moment, I even wondered whether I had made the right choice to devote so much time to the Church. Then I decided I needed to focus on what was truly important. I began to look not only at my capabilities but also at my limitations. I could see that the time I was spending in Church service was necessary and that I probably wouldn’t have been able to manage both the employment position I had sought and my Church calling.
I think the Lord was telling me I had to choose and would have to keep choosing. To have chosen to devote extra time to my employment so I could get the promotion would have disengaged me from the Lord’s work. As I look back, I can see what a blessing it was for me to devote so much of my time to the Church. The ensuing years were some of the most rewarding of my life. I felt closer to the Lord. My testimony was strengthened. My relationship with fellow Saints in the area was a great blessing, and I am sure I became more fruitful than I would have been otherwise.
We can expect that we will be pruned throughout our lives. How wonderful it is to know that an all-wise Father is watching over our development and that He is nurturing us through His careful husbandry.
We must derive our spiritual nourishment from Jesus Christ. He is the source of all truth and of all goodness. Without Him we can do nothing (see John 15:5). When we focus on Christ and His gospel, we are filled with His light. Then the fruits of the Spirit are made manifest in us, and the blessings come (see John 15:7; Gal. 5:22–23). If we seek to achieve our full potential, let us daily think of Christ and emulate His example until we become firmly rooted to Him, the True Vine.

I have found happiness in doing as the prophets ask, so when President Ezra Taft Benson urged us to read the scriptures every day, I wanted to do so.
But I began making up excuses. I decided that I had too much homework to begin my scripture study that day. I did this for weeks, even months, while my conscience continued to bother me.
One night while I was frustrated over my math homework, I knelt in prayer to ask for strength. When I looked up, the first thing I saw was the Book of Mormon sitting on my dresser. I picked it up and began to read, not really knowing why since I had a lot of math left to do. I finished a chapter in 1 Nephi, then went back to my treacherous math problem. I found I could solve it.
I made a decision to be obedient. I would read the Book of Mormon each night. Then I would see if taking the time to study the scriptures had any effect on my grades. After several weeks, I found that this habit of reading every night, even though it took some time, helped me achieve more academically. I still had to do the work, but the reading gave me an extra push. It motivated me in ways that nothing else could. I was able to understand what I studied, and I had the patience to stick with my work. Not only did my grades improve, but I was easier to get along with and happier than I had ever been.

After his family joined the Church several years ago, 13-year-old Diogenes Gallegos of the Rio Kaw Branch, Lenexa Kansas Stake, was sealed to his parents and siblings in 1998 in the St. Louis Missouri Temple.
“My impression of the temple was fantastic,” says Diogenes. “When they did the sealing part, it was very spiritual and I started crying. My mom and my dad were crying, too. When it was over and they asked us to look at our eternal family in the double mirrors, even my eight-year-old brother started to cry. We were all so happy to be a family together for eternity.”

For a combined Mutual activity one Wednesday night, our youth leaders had prepared a service project with a fun twist. They divided the youth into four teams of about eight people. They gave everyone a sheet of paper with a list of service ideas we could do for people in our ward boundaries. The game was to get points by doing service. For example, washing a person’s car was worth 20 points, vacuuming a living room was worth 15 points, and so on. Everybody needed to be back to the church at a certain time. If a team was late, they lost all of their points.
Being very competitive by nature, I figured my team could get four times as much accomplished if we worked in pairs. I told the other three pairs to make sure they got back to the church on time so we would not get penalized. I paired myself up with a deacon, and we headed off to his neighborhood.
We were efficient and really racking up the points. With 10 minutes left, we stopped at a widow’s house. She was not a member of the Church but was a neighbor of the young man I was teamed up with. She was in her backyard trying to pull weeds along a canal bank. When we asked her if she needed help, she gladly let us help. Pulling weeds just happened to be on our list and was worth quite a few points!
We tried to hurry because we were racing the clock. If we came back to the church late, we would forfeit all the points our team had earned.
I will never forget what took place that night in a widow’s backyard while engaged in a service activity for Mutual. The deacon and I looked at each other, and one of us said, “If we don’t leave now, we won’t make it back in time.”
He could see in my eyes that I wanted to stay, and I could see in his eyes that he wanted to stay. So we stayed and helped with the weeding. It took us about a half hour to finish the job.
As we walked back to the church, we talked about how good we felt inside. We also talked about how appreciative the woman was for our efforts.
When we entered the church, members of our team were mad at us because we didn’t come back on time. The team that had tallied up the most points was beginning to rub it in about their victory. Our leaders asked us why we were so late, and we told them what had happened. They gathered everybody around and told our story. Then they told us we were the real winners.
But we had already earned our prize in the widow’s backyard. That experience gave me a greater appreciation for serving others and still influences my life today. I am ever grateful for those Mutual leaders who helped two young men gain a testimony of serving others.

This story took place in the USA.
Victoria watched in the mirror as Mom brushed her hair. It was almost time for church.
“Why do we go to church?” Victoria asked.
Mom set down the hairbrush. “We go to church to take the sacrament and learn about Jesus Christ.”
“But why?” Victoria asked.
“The bread and water help us remember how Jesus suffered and died for us,” Mom said. “When we take the sacrament, we remember all the good things He did. And we promise to try to do good things too.”
Victoria smiled. “So we can be like Jesus!”
“That’s right!” Mom helped Victoria put on her shoes. “Trying to be like Jesus makes us happy.”
At church Victoria sat quietly with Mom and Dad. Soon it was time for the sacrament. She bowed her head and listened to the prayer.
Then Mom pulled a book out of her bag. “This is a special book,” she whispered. “It can help you remember the Savior during the sacrament.”
Victoria opened the book. There were lots of pictures of Jesus Christ. One picture showed Him as a baby in a manger. Another showed Him getting baptized. Victoria remembered that story from Primary. She would get to be baptized one day too!
Mom held out the tray of bread. Victoria reverently took a piece. Then she looked back at her book. On the next page there was a picture of Jesus praying in a garden. Victoria knew that He suffered for everyone’s sins and felt their pain and sadness. He must love us a lot, she thought.
Victoria kept turning the pages. Many pictures showed Jesus helping others. In one picture, He was teaching people. In another one, He healed a blind man. There was even one of Him with children.
Next it was time for the water. Victoria bowed her head during the prayer. Then Mom passed her the tray.
Victoria took a little cup of water to drink. She thought about how Jesus loved others. A warm feeling filled her heart. She wanted to be kind and loving too.
“Mom, I want to be like Jesus,” Victoria whispered.
Mom smiled. “That makes me happy. And I know it makes Him happy too.”
Victoria smiled too. She loved Jesus Christ. She wanted to always remember Him.

The name Ceská Trebová brought to my mind Sister Lukasova, the sole member of the Church in that town in earlier years. In 1948, she requested that missionaries come to her area. My companion and I tracted in Ceská Trebová for many weeks, and Sister Lukasova helped us arrange several informal gatherings. When the police disrupted one of our meetings and subjected us to intense questioning, the mission president called us back to Prague. Sister Lukasova’s contact with the Church was cut off.

I was born in England in 1942 into a loving family of mother, father, and sister. When I was seven, we were blessed with another addition to our family—a baby boy. My mother loved the Savior but was not a member of any particular church. She would attend the nearest church and encourage my sister and me to attend with her. Consequently, I learned a great deal about Jesus Christ and hoped to find a church to strengthen my faith in Him.
One day there came into our house a large picture book called Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Annual. I do not know where it came from. At the time I thought that perhaps one of my friends had brought it over and forgotten to take it home. It had picture stories of Buffalo Bill and Billy the Kid, just the kind of information that was important to a boy who wanted to be a cowboy. It also told the story in pictures of a persecuted people who were expelled from a beautiful city by a lawless mob and forced to trek hundreds of miles and endure endless torment before they established a new home in a western wilderness. Each little picture told a dramatic story of suffering and faith, and the story included a few pictures of a miracle involving crickets eating crops and seagulls eating crickets.
I read the story several times before I realized that the poor, persecuted people were members of a church. Then it slowly dawned on me that this church was the one that I was looking for. I wanted to join that church. Unfortunately, I was presented with a problem. The last picture in the story described Salt Lake City, Utah. From another source I was able to learn that Utah was in the United States of America. Since I had no hope of traveling from England to Utah, I would have to give up my plan of joining the Church. It never occurred to me that the Church might be located anywhere other than the United States.
And so matters rested until 11 years later. By that time my family had immigrated to Australia and settled in Sydney. There my brother began investigating a new religion. He brought home a few pamphlets that interested me and said he would ask the elders to call. I agreed, thinking I would be visited by a couple of distinguished old men. I was quite surprised when two young men about my own age called and taught me the basics of the plan of salvation. I was intrigued and agreed to undertake a series of discussions.
I listened to the missionaries but had no intention of joining the Church, especially when I learned about tithing. One day, however, one of the missionaries started talking about some pioneers who had been forced to make a long march to a place called Salt Lake City. I pricked up my ears and started to ask questions. Was this the church with the crickets and seagulls? When he mentioned Brigham Young, I immediately recognized the name and realized I had arrived at a major crossroads in my life. If I was to join any church, this was the one.
The problem of tithing was solved when I learned about the Word of Wisdom. I calculated that I spent 10 percent of my income on cigarettes and alcohol. So by paying tithing I would not be any worse off financially, and the money would be put to a far better use than clogging my lungs with black tar and poisoning my liver.
In the meantime, my brother had also given the pamphlets to my mother. She agreed to read them on the train to work that day. When she came home in the evening, she was totally converted to the Church. She was disappointed to hear that she had to have a series of missionary lessons before she could be baptized!
So we all joined the Church—first my brother, then I joined a week later, and my mother was baptized and confirmed a week after that. My father held out for 21 years but finally joined in 1985. We were all sealed in the Sydney temple a year later.
I have been to Salt Lake City several times and have visited Church historic sites in Palmyra, Kirtland, and Nauvoo. In all the places I go, I am reminded of the story in the Buffalo Bill picture book and never cease to thank the Lord for bringing it into my life when I was a boy of 10.

Pornography pretends that it is no evil stranger—that it is not a problem and is not addictive. That is a lie. One 12-year-old boy recently wrote to the New Era, telling of his experience viewing pornography when he was alone at home. While initially it was exciting, he soon felt deep despair. He wrote: “I have been trying my best to forget those images. I would like to say to anyone reading the Friend or New Era that while porn might be pleasurable, it really wrecks your soul and is hard to recover from.”

Eighteen-year-old Lilian Fernanda Pereira Santos of the Tijuca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Andaraí Stake, is one of the young Brazilians trying to walk by faith.
Sometimes when she politely declines invitations to parties where she knows the activities will not meet gospel standards, her friends at school say sarcastically, “Yes, we know—you’re a little saint.” Recently there was a particular party she felt she might safely attend, but her mother’s counsel and a Sunday School lesson led her to reconsider taking a chance on it. The lesson quoted a scripture, Mosiah 2:41, that is cited in her patriarchal blessing: “Consider … the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. … If they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven.”
Fernanda says having friends she can associate with in her early-morning seminary class makes it easier to live the gospel and find wholesome activities. She used to be the only Latter-day Saint in her school, but now there is one more—a young woman, recently baptized, whom Fernanda introduced to the gospel by inviting her to seminary.

When a big storm called Hurricane Harvey hit Houston, Texas, USA, many people’s homes were flooded or destroyed. President M. Russell Ballard flew there to help!
As soon as his plane landed, he went straight to the command center where the Church collected supplies and sent out Helping Hands volunteers.
Then he visited neighborhoods where many homes were flooded. Some of the streets were blocked, so he walked from house to house. He listened to people and shared Heavenly Father’s love with them.
He met missionaries and other Church members who were helping.
He spoke in a devotional and three sacrament meetings so he could share Heavenly Father’s love with lots of people!
When he met an elderly man whose home was damaged, President Ballard said:
I’m one of the Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. … We want you to know we love you. And we’re here because Jesus Christ would want us to be here.
Ministering means serving and loving. Jesus Christ ministered to others, and so do His Apostles. How are the people below ministering?
How can you help someone today?

On the day before Easter I rode my bike to my great-grandpa’s house for an Easter egg hunt. I found 26 eggs. It was fun. After the hunt, I played army games with all my cousins and brothers. I climbed into the barn hayloft to spy. I walked across a beam and slipped off. I landed on the lawn mower below. It hurt, but I only got a few scratches. I know that Heavenly Father protected me from getting badly hurt because every morning my family prays that we will be safe. Heavenly Father answered our prayer, and I am thankful.Jayden K., age 9, Idaho

I too would like to give a special thanks to Jamie Glenn and Rayna Jones for being “in tune” with the Spirit when they composed the beautiful “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” which was published in the April 1979 New Era. This song contributed much happiness, serenity, and peace of mind to my dear friend Lorna Smith during the last year of her life.
In May of 1981 Lorna had her first operation for cancer. The family was told that life expectancy for this type of cancer was about four months. However, she was given chemotherapy and her health improved. One year later, in May 1982, she became very ill again. One Sunday morning before she was taken back to the hospital, I was visiting her when she told me about hearing this song at a Relief Society function. It had so touched her heart that she had asked Kris Taylor, the sister who had sung it, to record it for her so that she might listen to it at home. This had been done, and that Sunday the two of us listened to it and shed tears as we heard the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.” Lorna sent a copy of the tape to Nebraska to be played to her 92-year-old mother and aged aunt who are not members of the Church. She also shared the song with her daughters whom she wanted to realize that they are truly daughters of God.
She had another operation that May 1982, and the new growth was found to be inoperable. She was again given about four months to live. Her treatment was changed and she lived another 13 months, during which she had the privilege of enjoying the arrival of two new grandchildren. Throughout this last year of her life she often listened to “her song.” The words gave her strength, hope, and courage. Her display of these qualities touched the lives of many.
In May of 1983 she again became so ill that her digestive system could not tolerate even water. Another operation disclosed several cancerous blockages in her intestines. During this lengthy stay at the hospital I took a tape to her on which the Gunderson sisters had recorded some special songs for her. One of them was “Walk Tall.” As it was playing there in the hospital room, a nurse came in singing the words. She told us that this song was also special to her. She had heard it and sung it on her mission. This seemed to create an understanding between her and Lorna.
The cancer spread to Lorna’s liver, and she died at home on June 28, 1983. As I stood there by her, in my mind I could hear and feel the impact of the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”
Her special song was sung beautifully at her funeral by the Gunderson sisters, and on her headstone, as a reminder to her children and grandchildren, is engraved “WALK TALL, YOU‘RE A DAUGHTER OF GOD.”
Dorothy M. BolinderGrantsville, Utah

In my growing-up years in Germany, I attended church in many different locations and circumstances—in humble back rooms, in impressive villas, and in very functional, modern chapels. All of these buildings had one important factor in common: the Spirit of God was present; the love of the Savior could be felt as we assembled as a branch or ward family.
The Zwickau chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever that operated the bellows to make the organ work. Even before I was an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, I sometimes had the great privilege to assist in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns of the Restoration, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. The eyes of the organist unmistakably indicated whether I was doing fine or needed to increase my efforts quickly. I always felt honored by the importance of this duty and the trust that the organist had placed in me. It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment to have a responsibility and to be part of this great work.
There was an additional benefit that came from this assignment: the bellows operator sat in a seat that offered a great view of a stained-glass window that beautified the front part of the chapel. The stained glass portrayed the First Vision, with Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove, looking up toward heaven and into a pillar of light.
During the hymns of the congregation and even during talks and testimonies given by our members, I often looked at this depiction of a most sacred moment in world history. In my mind’s eye I saw Joseph receiving knowledge, witness, and divine instructions as he became a blessed instrument in the hand of our Heavenly Father.
I felt a special spirit while looking at the beautiful scene in this window picture of a believing young boy in a sacred grove who made a courageous decision to earnestly pray to our Heavenly Father, who listened and responded lovingly to him.
Here I was, a young boy in post–World War II Germany, living in a city in ruins, thousands of miles away from Palmyra in North America and more than a hundred years after the event actually took place. By the universal power of the Holy Ghost, I felt in my heart and in my mind that it was true, that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices. The Spirit of God comforted my soul at this young age with an assurance of the reality of this sacred moment that resulted in the beginning of a worldwide movement destined to “roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth” (D&C 65:2). I believed Joseph Smith’s testimony of that glorious experience in the Sacred Grove then, and I know it now. God has spoken to mankind again!

On another occasion the Spirit came to my assistance as I was editing a casebook on a legal subject. A casebook consists of several hundred court opinions, together with explanatory material and text written by the editor. My assistant and I had finished almost all of the work on the book, including the necessary research to assure that these court opinions had not been reversed or overruled. Just before sending it to the publisher, I was leafing through the manuscript and a particular court opinion caught my attention. As I looked at it, I had a profoundly uneasy feeling. I asked my assistant to check that opinion again to see if everything was in order. He reported that it was. In a subsequent check of the completed manuscript, I was again stopped at that case, again with great feelings of uneasiness. This time I went to the law library myself. There, in some newly received publications, I discovered that this case had just been reversed on appeal. If that opinion had been published in my casebook, it would have been a serious professional embarrassment. I was saved by the restraining power of revelation.

When it was time for Father to attend October conference, Mary Ann and Mark were excited. Father had promised they could visit Temple Square with Mother while he attended a special meeting in the Assembly Hall.
Mark and Mary Ann were surprised when Father announced, “Here we are at Temple Square.”
“That’s sure a high wall!” exclaimed Mark.
“Does it go all around the block?” asked Mary Ann.
“Let’s walk around and see,” answered Mother.
As the four of them walked, they discovered that the wall did go all around the block. In each of the four sides of the wall there were beautiful see-through iron gates.
“Oh, Mother!” said Mary Ann. “It’s so pretty. Look at all the beautiful flowers. Flowers are even in boxes on that wall, and the trees are so tall!”
“Look up,” Mark said excitedly. “You can see the angel Moroni on the very top of the temple.”
“While I’m in my meeting, why don’t you three go to the Visitors Center,” Father suggested. “There’s a very special statue there that you’ll want to see.”
Inside the Visitors Center Mother, Mark, and Mary Ann walked up a winding ramp. At the top against a dark blue background of sky and soft rose pink clouds was a beautiful statue of Christ. It was so lovely that Mark and Mary Ann had a quiet reverent feeling as they looked up at the statue and thought about Jesus.
After looking at the beautiful murals of the life of Christ, they stopped to talk about the scene of Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
Then they walked down the spiral ramp, and in a few minutes they were outside again.
Mother told them about a large bronze statue that was shaded by a lacy tree branch.
“The man in the center,” she explained, “is John the Baptist. The two young men kneeling are the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. John the Baptist is bestowing the Aaronic Priesthood upon these two men.”
Mother and the children walked down the path toward a large dome-shaped building. “This is the famous Tabernacle,” said Mother.
“It looks like a great big turtle,” said Mary Ann.
“Or half an eggshell,” said Mark.
“Yes, it does,” Mother agreed. “There’s a story about how President Brigham Young received his idea for the shape of the Tabernacle one morning when he was having boiled eggs for breakfast.”
Just then a guide came by with a group of people who were visiting Temple Square.
Mother and the children decided to join the group as they went into the Tabernacle.
The guide pointed out many interesting things about the Tabernacle. He told them that it was over a hundred years old. He showed them the famous organ that could make music soft as a tinkling wind bell or loud as the crash of booming thunder. He pointed out the balcony that formed a giant U shape as it curved around the building. Then he asked everyone to be quiet. A pin was dropped in the front of the big building and the group in the back could hear it hit the floor.
“Now let’s walk over to the campanile,” Mother suggested.
“What’s a campanile?” asked Mary Ann.
“A campanile is a bell tower that is built separate from a church,” replied Mother. “The bell in this campanile is the Nauvoo bell. It was made in England, shipped across the Atlantic Ocean, and hung in the Nauvoo Temple. It was carried across the plains by oxcart. The Relief Society sisters had the campanile built to protect the bell.”
Mother and the children walked past the Assembly Hall with its colorful stained glass windows and its many quaint spires reaching up toward the blue sky.
They stopped to look at the beautiful Sea Gull Monument. Around the base of the monument was a pool of clear water and eight fountains that sent sparkling water spraying into the air, curving umbrella-fashion and splashing back into the pool.
“Right over here is a statue of a handcart family,” Mother told the children as they walked away from the Seagull Monument.
Mark said he thought the father looked strong but tired.
“The mother looks strong too,” said Mary Ann, “but I think she looks worried. Maybe she’s afraid her children will get too tired in the hot sun.”
“It took brave boys and girls to walk across the plains,” said Mother. “But all of the pioneers loved our Heavenly Father and His gospel, so they pushed on and on until they arrived in Salt Lake City. We should always remember our pioneers and be proud of them.”
Past the Bureau of Information, Mark wanted to stop and look at a real pioneer cabin. He caught up with Mary Ann and Mother, who had circled back and were looking up at the beautiful white granite temple with its rounded windows and majestic spires.
They also paused to look at the statues of the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother, Patriarch Hyrum Smith.
“I’m glad we could come to Temple Square,” said Mary Ann. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
By now the sun had set and it was beginning to get dark. Although everyone was tired, they had a special quiet feeling of happiness because of the wonderful things they had seen and learned that day on Temple Square.

“Hi, Gweg!” Greg could feel his face getting hot even before he looked up to see Melissa standing on the roadside by her bike.
“My name’s not Gweg,” he said crossly, focusing intently again on the basketball hoop he was aiming at.
“What is it, then?” Melissa waited expectantly, her eyes already dancing with laughter.
“You know what it is.”
“Yep. It’s Gweg; that’s what you always say.” She started to giggle.
“My name’s not Gweg,” Greg yelled. “It’s Gweg!”
Melissa burst into laughter and hopped back on her bike. “I was right, then. Bye, Gweggy!”
Greg scowled at her braids streaming out behind her as she pedaled away. It wasn’t fair! He tried and tried to say his Rs, using the exercises that his speech therapist gave him every week. But even though she praised him at the end of each session and told him that he was doing better, he still couldn’t say the words quite right. Worst of all, he couldn’t even say his own name!
“Well, at least we didn’t name you Roger or Roderick,” Dad had chuckled, tousling Greg’s hair. “Don’t worry, Son. Lots of kids have trouble with their Rs, and sometimes other letters too. You’ll get over it.”
But Greg did worry. The Primary president had asked him to tell the story of Joshua in two weeks. He loved to hear about how the children of Israel were led into the Promised Land, and he wanted to do a good job telling it. But what if everyone laughed at him?
The next Sunday at dinner, Greg was quiet as he pushed the food around his plate with his fork. He usually loved Mom’s mashed potatoes; the rich gravy he poured over the top looked like brown lava sliding down a snowy volcano. But gravy lava seemed stupid now, and his food stuck in his throat.
“Is something wrong, Greg?” Mom asked.
Greg nodded soundlessly.
“Is it your Primary talk?” said Dad.
He nodded again.
“Well, I have something to show you.” Dad disappeared into the living room and returned with his Bible. “You know, Greg,” he said, flipping through the pages, “when I was your age, I didn’t like to give talks either, but for a different reason. All those people made me nervous! My mouth got as dry as sandpaper, and I felt like I couldn’t say anything. Then I read about Moses. Here.” He handed the open Bible to Greg. “When you’ve finished your dinner, why don’t you read about how Moses felt when the Lord told him to speak to the people and to Pharaoh. It might help.”
Later, Greg read in Exodus how the Lord appeared to Moses and told him to tell the children of Israel His words. In Exodus 4:10 [Ex. 4:10], Greg read that Moses had said, “But I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.”
Greg kept reading, using the footnotes. In Exodus 6:30 [Ex. 6:30], he saw that Moses was still protesting to the Lord: “Behold, I am of stammering lips, and slow of speech; how shall Pharaoh hearken unto me?”
Greg was astonished. So Moses, the mighty prophet, couldn’t speak very well, either! But the Lord didn’t find another prophet to replace him. He knew that Moses, whom He had called to serve as the Israelite leader, was a righteous man, and He made a way for Moses to do what he had been commanded by sending Aaron to help him. Well, I have lots of people to help me—people like Dad and Mom. A warm, peaceful feeling crept over him. They can help me learn to say my Rs right someday, and I know that the Lord will help me give my talk!
All the next week, Greg practiced and practiced until he knew the whole story by heart. When Sunday finally arrived, he was a little nervous, but he felt ready. He stood at the microphone, took a deep breath, and gave his talk. He still couldn’t say his Rs quite right, and he thought that he heard a giggle from the back of the room. When he sat down, though, he felt good inside. He knew that he had told the story well.
Dad and Mom had come to hear him, and when Primary was over, they both gave him a big hug. “We’re very proud of you,” Mom said, beaming; Dad said, “Way to go, sport.”
Suddenly Greg felt someone cuff his arm playfully. He looked around and saw Melissa standing there. “Good job, Greg,” she said, grinning.
“Thanks,” he said. And he couldn’t help grinning too.