Gospel Story Finder

A hailstorm had flattened Richard Ballantyne’s first wheat crop in the Salt Lake Valley, leaving just a few precious stalks to be gathered in the fall. He and his wife Huldah and their baby had come too late in the season the year before to plant any crops, so they were counting on this year’s wheat harvest to help them through the winter.
In the midst of his discouragement, Richard had an unusual impression. His mind drifted back to his homeland in Scotland where he was converted to the Church. He thought of the sooty ragamuffins who played on Sunday in the streets of the little village of Fawns. Richard had organized a small Sunday School there for these boys and girls and had taught them about Jesus.
Now, in this new land and in this desert country that had been so hard to tame, Richard thought of the pioneer children. He loved the gospel and he loved to teach boys and girls. In his own words Richard Ballantyne expressed his feelings this way:
“I felt that the gospel was too precious to myself to be withheld from the children; they ought to have the privileges of gospel teaching, and that was the main purpose: to teach them the gospel.”
Richard told his bishop that he would like to start a Sunday School. The bishop and the General Authorities of the Church all encouraged him in his plans. Loading everything they owned into two wagons, Richard and his family moved out of the Old Fort to a building lot one block west and three blocks south of the proposed Salt Lake Temple site. They built a single room to be used as a “summer kitchen” and lived in one covered wagon. Their other wagon was used for storage.
Any time that wasn’t needed to provide food and clothing for his family, Richard spent working on the addition to his little one-room home that was to be used for a meetinghouse. He went to Millcreek Canyon, cut down trees, and hauled the logs to a mill to be sawed into lumber. From a quarry in Red Butte Canyon, he brought sandstone for the foundation and sills. Adobe bricks for the walls were obtained from a brickyard west of the city.
The Sunday School room was twenty feet long and eighteen feet wide and had plastered walls inside and adobe walls outside, plank flooring, and a roof of logs and boards covered with several inches of dirt. The room was lighted by two windows in front and a window and half-glass door on the south side. Heat came from a large fireplace, and the benches were made of slabbed timber.
Sister Ballantyne chose the music for the Sunday School, made suggestions on the lessons, and helped give the room a cozy and welcome atmosphere.
Outside, Richard planted cottonwood trees for shade and attractive shrubs and vines. He also built a pole fence around the house. By the time winter came, the building was completed and the bearded Scotsman invited the children in the neighborhood to his new home for Sunday School.
At eight o’clock Sunday morning, December 9, 1849, about thirty children between the ages of eight and thirteen stamped the snow off their shoes and trooped into Sunday School where a warm fire and Richard Ballantyne greeted them. With shining eyes he called the class to order. After a song, he gave a sincere prayer and dedicated the room to teaching children the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Judy always seemed to be angry, but Raybell remembered one day last summer when she wasn’t. Raybell’s yellow kitten had disappeared. She had searched everywhere around their farm and finally had walked down the road calling it. Raybell was afraid a coyote had come down from the hills and eaten it. Tears were falling as she walked along the road. Suddenly she looked up, and through the blur of her tears, she saw Judy running across the field toward her with the yellow kitten in her arms. She held the kitten out to her. “Is this yours?”
Raybell gathered the soft kitten into her arms. It purred and rubbed its nose against her cheek. “Yes. Where did you find it?”
“When I cut through the field I heard a loud meow, and there it was, between the rows of wheat. I thought maybe it was yours.”
“Thanks for bringing her to me.” Raybell smiled, and Judy smiled back.

“You think you’re better than everyone else because you don’t swear,” Jared said at recess.
“That’s not true,” said Brock.
“Then why won’t you say one swear word? Just one? It’s not going to kill you. Everybody else swears.”
Brock shrugged. “I just don’t want to.”
Brock knew swearing is wrong and makes the Holy Ghost leave. Brock wanted the Holy Ghost with him. So he didn’t swear.
Brock was new at school, and so far, Jared was the only one in his class who wanted to be his friend. But Jared bugged him about swearing every single day. And every day Brock got a little more tired of saying no. Besides, Brock was afraid that Jared would stop being his friend, and then he’d really be lonely.
“Just say one swear word,” Jared said after school. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Finally Brock was so tired of being bothered that he said one swear word—one that wasn’t too bad.
Jared nodded. “Good. Now you’re one of us.”
After that, Jared’s other friends talked to Brock too. They ate lunch with him and played football with him at recess. But being in Jared’s group of friends was like walking into quicksand. The more Brock hung out with them, the more he talked and acted like them. And they all swore. A lot. They laughed at and insulted each other. They said rude things about their teachers. They got mad and acted mean a lot. Slowly Brock started feeling angry more often and found more and more reasons to swear.
One night when Mom and Dad were gone, Brock and his sister Katie got into an argument about what show to watch. Before Brock even thought about it, a swear word jumped out of his mouth.
Katie looked shocked. “I’m telling Mom.”
Brock ran to his bedroom and slammed the door. What was wrong with everyone? Why were they making him mad all the time? When his parents came home, Brock cracked open his door and heard Katie say, “Mom, Brock swore at me.”
“What?” Mom sounded surprised. “Brock would never swear.”
Brock closed the door and slumped down on his bed. He thought about how different he’d become since he started swearing. It had been a long time since he had felt the Holy Ghost.
Brock knelt down by his bed and prayed. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry I’ve been mean and angry. I’m sorry I started swearing. Please help me do better.”
As Brock prayed, a warm feeling filled his heart. For the first time since he started swearing, he felt really happy. He knew God loved him, and he could feel the Holy Ghost. He felt forgiven and knew he could change. Heavenly Father would help him.
After his prayer, he told Mom the truth and apologized to Katie. Brock felt better after that. It felt good to repent.
The next day at school, Brock didn’t eat lunch with Jared’s group. Instead he sat next to some kids he didn’t know. It would take time, but Brock knew he would find friends who were kind and happy and didn’t swear. Just like him.

While living and working in Alaska a number of years ago, I had occasion to go on a fishing trip with a group of young men that included one of my sons. The other adult leaders and I knew that the area we would be camping in was bear country, so prior to the trip, we gathered the boys together to discuss certain safety measures.
We talked about four basic rules to remember when fishing in bear country: First, don’t do things that would invite a bear into the camp. For example, don’t store food out in the open that would attract the bears. Second, keep the camp clean. Take care of all garbage. If you catch and clean fish, get rid of the entrails and slime. Third, if a bear does come, know how to defend yourself. Drop down, be still, and play dead. Fourth, if someone gets hurt or is attacked by a bear, know how to get help. Signal to others that you are in trouble, and keep a good orientation of your surroundings so that you know the fastest way to go for assistance.
I am confident that all would have gone well on that trip had we kept all those rules. But we didn’t! On our last day we cleaned fish in the center of the camp and didn’t properly dispose of the remains. That night a Kodiak bear wandered into camp. We had just settled inside our tents, when we heard its panting. We literally froze in fear. We couldn’t talk.
Luckily for us, the bear got what it was after and nothing more. It found and ate some of the fish we had cleaned, and it ran off with two buckets, which were filled with the day’s catch. But it left us alone and didn’t do more harm.

For some time, the large number of convert baptisms in the Campinas Brazil Castelo Stake had been challenging our ability as leaders to help our new members nourish the seed of truth and grow strong in the gospel. As a stake presidency, we felt an urgency to make sure new converts were being taught “the good word of God,” as President Gordon B. Hinckley has asked (see “Find the Lambs, Feed the Sheep,” Liahona, July 1999, 123).
About three years ago, as we discussed President Hinckley’s counsel as a stake presidency, we noticed an interesting thing: most of the members in our stake who were subscribing to the Liahona were longtime members; they knew the value of receiving the prophets’ words in their homes. However, most new members were not subscribing. We became convinced that an important part of our efforts to help new converts receive the spiritual sustenance they need was getting the Liahona into their homes.
This was no small task. Some 200 converts join our stake each year. How could we encourage these new members to subscribe without making them feel a subscription was obligatory? We didn’t want them to resent our encouragement, particularly if they were facing financial difficulties. And we didn’t want them to feel they had to subscribe to the Liahona to be good members of the Church.
Still, we recognized the power that flows into homes where people regularly read the words of the living prophets and other inspired Church members. We wanted each member of our stake to have access to that source of strength.
In considering the situation, we figured that the number of baptisms we had in a year corresponded to about 80 families. We asked ourselves, Why couldn’t we give a year’s subscription to the Liahona, free of charge, to these 80 families? We felt that after a year’s exposure to the magazine, they would want to continue their subscription on their own. But what of the cost to our meager stake resources? We decided that getting the First Presidency Message and the rest of the magazine into our new converts’ homes on a regular basis justified the cost.
As a stake presidency, we found a way to help new members receive a subscription for their first year in the Church. These new members received the Liahona gladly. Thelma de Paula Silva, a new member of the Rosolem Branch, reflects the feelings of many. “The Liahona has helped me set and achieve goals,” she says. “It has helped me strengthen my own testimony, and it helps my family members who still don’t belong to the Church. It brings joy and love to my home and helps me in my calling as Young Women president. The Liahona is a light for me in moments of darkness.”
As a stake presidency, we also pondered what we could do to help less-active members feel motivated to return to full activity in the Church. The year after our Liahona project began, we asked ourselves the questions, Now that the new members are being exposed to the Liahona, what about the less-active members of our stake? Why couldn’t we extend our Liahona program to them? We figured the number of subscriptions required for these members, and we felt we should order one-year subscriptions for them. Again we found a way to do so.
As our new and less-active members received their magazines, we began to notice an increase in attendance at our sacrament meetings. We felt better as a stake presidency, knowing that our brothers and sisters were being “nourished by the good word of God” (Moro. 6:4).
We began to wonder about active members of our stake who were not subscribing. During all this time, we had asked the bishops and branch presidents to make sure that every member household was given the opportunity to have the magazine. Active members were encouraged to obtain or renew their own subscriptions to the Liahona. We learned that some active members wanted to subscribe but didn’t have the financial means to do so. We decided to include these members in our stake subscription program as well.
As subscription levels among our active members increased, we received many favorable comments. Carla Virginia Soares de Oliveira of the Amarais Branch said: “I’ve been a member of the Church for five years. But I started receiving the Liahona only last year. The things I had not yet learned in Sunday School or Relief Society, I am now learning through the Church magazine.”
Leandro Domingos, a young member of the Amarais Branch, is the only Latter-day Saint in his family. “When I have doubts or questions,” he says, “I always get strength from the Liahona. I love the stories it contains. I usually can relate them to my own situation. Although my mother is not a member, she always compliments the articles.”
The missionaries of the Brazil Campinas Mission were a great support to our stake Liahona program. The missionaries took copies of the Liahona with them whenever they visited the members.
“The missionaries loved this project,” says former mission president Rodney Cuthbert. “The Liahona project gave them an opportunity to visit members who hadn’t been to church for a long time. A number of these people have become active again. The missionaries also used the Liahona to introduce the Church to investigators, and we had some conversions as a result.”
While it is difficult to measure all the benefits of this effort, we are gratified to see joy on the faces of members as they give talks, lessons, or testimonies about the influence of the Liahona in their lives. We have also seen an increased desire among our members to receive the counsel of the Lord through the magazine. Many people wait eagerly for it to arrive, anticipating that its messages will bless their lives.
Karen Pereira da Silva, a magazine representative in the Anhanguera Ward, expresses our sentiments exactly: “It is almost as if the magazine is made especially for me. Many times while reading its articles, especially the message from the First Presidency, I have felt through the Spirit that the counsel being given was what I needed to hear at that particular moment of my life.”
We are convinced our efforts to have a Liahona in every home in our stake have helped bring the joy and peace of the gospel of Jesus Christ into the lives of our brothers and sisters in greater abundance.

Forgive me for a personal conclusion, which does not represent the terrible burdens so many of you carry but it is meant to be encouraging. Thirty years ago last month, a little family set out to cross the United States to attend graduate school—no money, an old car, every earthly possession they owned packed into less than half the space of the smallest U-Haul trailer available. Bidding their apprehensive parents farewell, they drove exactly 34 miles up the highway, at which point their beleaguered car erupted.
Pulling off the freeway onto a frontage road, the young father surveyed the steam, matched it with his own, then left his trusting wife and two innocent children—the youngest just three months old—to wait in the car while he walked the three miles or so to the southern Utah metropolis of Kanarraville, population then, I suppose, 65. Some water was secured at the edge of town, and a very kind citizen offered a drive back to the stranded family. The car was attended to and slowly—very slowly—driven back to St. George for inspection—U-Haul trailer and all.
After more than two hours of checking and rechecking, no immediate problem could be detected, so once again the journey was begun. In exactly the same amount of elapsed time at exactly the same location on that highway with exactly the same pyrotechnics from under the hood, the car exploded again. It could not have been 15 feet from the earlier collapse, probably not 5 feet from it! Obviously the most precise laws of automotive physics were at work.
Now feeling more foolish than angry, the chagrined young father once more left his trusting loved ones and started the long walk for help once again. This time the man providing the water said, “Either you or that fellow who looks just like you ought to get a new radiator for that car.” For the second time a kind neighbor offered a lift back to the same automobile and its anxious little occupants. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the plight of this young family.
“How far have you come?” he said. “Thirty-four miles,” I answered. “How much farther do you have to go?” “Twenty-six hundred miles,” I said. “Well, you might make that trip, and your wife and those two little kiddies might make that trip, but none of you are going to make it in that car.” He proved to be prophetic on all counts.
Just two weeks ago this weekend, I drove by that exact spot where the freeway turnoff leads to a frontage road, just three miles or so west of Kanarraville, Utah. That same beautiful and loyal wife, my dearest friend and greatest supporter for all these years, was curled up asleep in the seat beside me. The two children in the story, and the little brother who later joined them, have long since grown up and served missions, married perfectly, and are now raising children of their own. The automobile we were driving this time was modest but very pleasant and very safe. In fact, except for me and my lovely Pat situated so peacefully at my side, nothing of that moment two weeks ago was even remotely like the distressing circumstances of three decades earlier.
Yet in my mind’s eye, for just an instant, I thought perhaps I saw on that side road an old car with a devoted young wife and two little children making the best of a bad situation there. Just ahead of them I imagined that I saw a young fellow walking toward Kanarraville, with plenty of distance still ahead of him. His shoulders seemed to be slumping a little, the weight of a young father’s fear evident in his pace. In the scriptural phrase his hands did seem to “hang down.” In that imaginary instant, I couldn’t help calling out to him: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

In the Nauvoo period, the Prophet was at least able to get a roof over his own head, with the help of his brethren, and that home became the crossroads. Visitors came, some prominent, some merely curious, and some of course intent upon his destruction. William H. Walker indicated how kind the Prophet tried to be in coping with this increasing flow.19 Josiah Quincy, later mayor of Boston, was one of those who came.20 Another, whose diaries we haven’t been equally eager to read (they were locked up in a vault for a century), was Charles Francis Adams, son of John Quincy Adams and grandson of John Adams, both United States Presidents. Charles Francis Adams was not as impressed with Joseph as was Josiah Quincy. He was full of prejudices. He was a little unhappy about having to pay a quarter to Mother Smith in order to see the Egyptian mummies upstairs in the Mansion House. Of the Prophet’s claim to be able to translate some of the inscriptions, he wrote merely, “The cool impudence of this imposture amused me.” He did, however, speak of the shame and injustice of the Saints’ being driven and persecuted in a country whose constitution guaranteed religious freedom. But to him, the Prophet was a lightweight and a deceiver.21 This confirmed Wilford Woodruff’s comment that “the Gentiles look upon him, and he is like a bed of gold concealed from human view.”22

In that same home there were meetings and other efforts on the Prophet’s part to strengthen his brethren and further prepare them. During the winter of 1843–44, for example, he met almost daily and sometimes twice a day with all the faithful members of the Council of the Twelve. Orson Pratt finally complained, “Why do you give us no rest?” and the Prophet replied, “The Spirit urges me.”23 Erastus Snow says of that period that he learned more in a few months in council with the Prophet than he had learned in all his life before.24 Others, Parley P. Pratt among them, tried to keep notes. In that period Joseph reviewed every restored principle, authority, and ordinance, completing it with a summary of the summary in a meeting in late March 1844 in which he said, in effect: “Brethren, I have conferred upon you now, every key and principle and power that has been bestowed upon me. Now you must round up your shoulders and bear off the kingdom or you will be damned.”25 In that same meeting the Prophet reconfirmed to the Twelve that Brigham Young, the presiding head of the Twelve (whom he had ordained thus at Quincy, Illinois, late in 1839), held the keys of the sealing power.26 They knew it then, they knew it later, and all that has been said about other leadership intentions of the Prophet is thus superseded.

It was in March of 1878 that Aurelia first thought seriously of an organization for children, especially so little boys could be taught “everything good and how to behave.” She wanted desperately to help them and prayed that she might be shown a way. “I had a strong motivation within me,” she wrote in her history.
A few weeks later Sister Eliza R. Snow went to Farmington to meet with the Relief Society. She and Sister Emmeline B. Wells, who accompanied her, stopped at Aurelia’s home for a brief visit on their way to the depot to board a train back to Salt Lake. Sister Rogers discussed with them her concern over many of the boys, who she felt were not being properly taught the gospel nor the manners that would help them become good men. She asked if an organization to help them would ever be possible. We are told that Sister Snow was “silent for a few moments, then said there might be such a thing and that she would speak to the First Presidency about it.”
At that time John Taylor was president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the acting president of the Church, since a president had not yet been sustained by the Church membership after the death of Brigham Young. Sister Rogers talked with President Taylor who discussed the matter with other members of the Quorum of the Twelve, and they were inspired to write to Bishop John W. Hess of Farmington, asking him to call some women to be leaders. Sister Rogers was chosen to be the president. “Up to this period,” she said, “the girls had not been mentioned; but my idea was that the meeting would not be complete without them …” And so it was agreed.
Louisa Haight and Helen M. Miller were selected as counselors of the new organization to be called “Primary,” a name suggested by Sister Eliza R. Snow. Bishop Hess urged these women to visit every home in the area to invite the children to attend and to obtain their parents’ permission. Sister Rogers reported that they enrolled about 112 boys and 112 girls! The children together with all members of the ward, were asked to attend a public meeting on Sunday, August 11, 1878, when these women, and others, were set apart by Bishop Hess and his counselors to preside over a Primary at Farmington.
Bishop Hess was most helpful, often attending Primary himself or delegating other priesthood holders to do so. In a letter written shortly after the organization of the First Primary, Sister Snow wrote encouragingly:
“I feel assured that the inspiration of heaven is directing you, and that a great and very important movement is being inaugurated for the future of Zion … The angels and all holy beings, especially the leaders of Israel on the other side of the veil, will be deeply interested.”
Sister Rogers’ records that were so miraculously saved from the fire report that the children were called together for the very first Primary on August 25, 1878. This is how she described the Primaries that followed:
“When the children came to understand the motives which prompted the calling of their little meetings, they seemed elated with what was being done for them. Obedience, faith in God, prayer, punctuality and good manners were subjects oft repeated. At these meetings, the whole association would generally take part in the exercises. The smaller children were seated on the front benches, the rest according to size. At the proper time the smallest would rise up and perhaps, recite a verse or two in concert, then sit down and the next bench-full take their turn in answering Bible questions. Another class would sing a song; another would repeat sentiments or verses, one at a time, and so on.
“… The next spring we rented a town lot and the Primary Association planted beans and popcorn to go with the Relief Society wheat in the time of famine which is to come.”

Sister Mabel Khumalo, a visiting teacher in Zimbabwe, Africa, was concerned when a sister she visited stopped attending church meetings because she was embarrassed by her inability to read the scriptures or Church manuals. Sister Khumalo and her companion helped the sister sign up for a literacy class available through the Church. “Sister Khumalo!” exclaimed the sister when she heard about the class, “A dream has come true!”

I remember one year when our Young Women camp had been almost perfect. Our camp, named Mirror of the Moon, took place at the foot of a mountain in central Chile. A special atmosphere prevailed, and our happiness and love highlighted the natural beauty of the place. Looking at the mountains, listening to the cascading waterfalls and the songs of birds, seeing the sun in the morning and the stars and moon at night all caused us to acknowledge the existence of our divine Creator. We appreciated more than ever Heavenly Father’s great love for us.
During the week, our testimonies had been strengthened as had our bonds of friendship. We had learned to do so many things—to build, to cook, to believe in our own abilities. Plus, we had been happy.
Now it was our fourth and final day, the one we had looked forward to. We were going to have a testimony meeting at sunrise. We had to get up very early, but we were eager for this experience. Before the testimony meeting, we received letters that our parents had written. Many of us cried as we read them, and we felt a spirit of gratitude for those moments.
Later as we shared our testimonies, the stars disappeared and the sun rose above the mountains. What a beautiful morning! The meeting ended, and we were preparing to go on with the day when the sky became clouded. A light drizzle began.
As the rain began to fall, we gathered together to pray and ask Heavenly Father to stop the bad weather so we could complete our camping experience. Of course, we prayed that His will would be done. If He felt the rain should continue, we would accept it cheerfully.
The rain began to fall harder, and it became much colder. We started to pack up the tents and put everything away.
Then the camp leader and I went down beside a waterfall, and there in the rain, we knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help us be all right. Rising from our knees, we felt a peace and confidence that everything would be fine.
A few minutes after we returned to camp, a man who lived a few miles away drove up. He had seen us as we traveled to our camp four days before. Now he had come to help us. He asked for a telephone number so he could call into the city to have our bus come and get us earlier than planned.
After getting the information he needed, he left, made the phone call, and returned to take us to his house and give us shelter. He had to make a lot of trips, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. Although not a member of the Church, he was truly an angel to us.
We realized that God really was watching over us and was concerned about us. He met our needs through this kind man. “God did hear our cries and did answer our prayers” (Mosiah 9:18).
For us, this was a great way to finish camp.

Last November, I traveled to Ghana on a Church assignment. While there, I had the blessing of visiting several Primaries. Don’t I have the best calling? I get to sing Primary songs with children all over the world, in many languages. On one occasion, I visited a wonderful class of young children. They were seated in chairs at a round table, coloring a picture. As one little boy tipped his chair forward to reach for a crayon, his plastic chair slipped and he fell on the floor. He got up, a bit shaken, and sat down. I was deeply touched as, without saying a word, his Primary friend put his arm around him as if to say, “It’s alright. I will help you. You won’t fall anymore.” That day I was a witness to true charity, the pure love of Christ.

One Sunday morning during a general session of stake conference, I was asked to visit Junior Sunday School and give the boys and girls an inspirational message. I wanted to tell them about the great Book of Mormon prophet Alma, and so I asked them if they knew who Alma was.
Much to my surprise the children started laughing and one of them, pointing, said, “Of course we know! Alma’s right there.”
Then the teacher asked four-year-old Alma to stand and say his full name. He had a real Dutch family name—van het Schip—and he came from the small Dutch village of Zoetermeer (Sweeter Lake).
To these Junior Sunday School children my message about Alma became much more meaningful when I told them that the great prophet Alma was once a boy like Alma van het Schip and that because he grew up in the light of the gospel, was obedient, and learned so much about our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, the Lord later called him to become a great teacher and a mighty prophet. I also told them that all of Heavenly Father’s children, whatever their names may be, have an opportunity to serve the Lord when they live righteously and obey His commandments.

A few years ago, I was in line to make a purchase at my local grocery store. Ahead of me stood a young woman, about 15 years old. She appeared confident and happy. I noticed her T-shirt and couldn’t resist talking to her. I began, “You’re from out of state, aren’t you?”
She was surprised by my question and replied, “Yes, I am. I’m from Colorado. How did you know?”
I explained, “Because of your T-shirt.” I made my accurate supposition after reading the words on her shirt, “I’m a Mormon. Are you?”
I continued, “I must tell you that I’m impressed by your confidence to stand out and wear such a bold declaration. I see a difference in you, and I wish every young woman and every member of the Church could have your same conviction and confidence.” Our purchases completed, we said good-bye and parted.
Yet for days and weeks after this random everyday moment, I found myself seriously reflecting upon this encounter. I wondered how this young girl from Colorado came to possess such confidence in her identity as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I couldn’t help but wonder what meaningful phrase I would figuratively choose to have printed on my T-shirt reflecting my belief and testimony. In my mind, I considered many possible sayings. Eventually, I came upon an ideal statement I would proudly wear: “I’m a Mormon. I know it. I live it. I love it.”
Today I’d like to focus my remarks around this bold, hopeful statement.

“You know what I wish, Mother?” Tina asked. “I wish I had a little house of my very own.”
“That’s a nice wish,” said Mother as she put on her oven mitts and set the casserole on the table. “Please tell Marlene and your dad it’s time for supper now, dear.”
Tina went down the hall. I’m going to make me a house of my own tomorrow, she decided.
The next day while helping her dad rake the dead leaves, Tina found the perfect place for a house. It was under the spruce trees that separated the yard from the neighbor’s.
Tina raked out all the dead grass from under the trees and all the spruce needles and bits of paper that had blown and caught there during the winter. She discovered that the branches came almost down to the ground and made a perfect house at the bottom of the tree.
Dad gave her an old rug to lay on the ground, and the space beneath the branches was even big enough for her table and chairs. Eating her lunch under the tree was great fun. But that evening the weatherman on television predicted rain, so Tina and her dad had to put all her things back into the garage.
In the morning it was too stormy to play outside in her house again. Tina decided to make a house under the dining room table out of blankets and chairs and the cushions from the den. She set out her little dishes under one chair. Her baby doll Amanda had a nursery under another chair. And there was even a bedroom for another doll.
But after a couple of days of having the blanket house in the dining room, the rest of the family began to complain.
“What’s the mess in there with all the blankets?” Tina’s big sister Marlene asked.
“It’s Tina’s house, dear,” replied her mother. “She’ll take it down before Sunday when Grandma comes to dinner.”
“Can’t you make her clean it up now? Shawn is coming over to do homework and it looks just awful.”
Then Dad asked, “Where are all the cushions from the den? I wanted to take a nap.”
It was always the same. Tina’s fun never lasted very long. She wanted a house she didn’t have to move because company was coming or because it was going to rain or just because she was in somebody’s way.
“Jim wonders if we would store his ice fishing shanty here for the summer,” Tina’s dad announced one day at lunch. Tina loved her dad’s youngest brother. He had no family of his own, and he often came to visit them. Uncle Jim was a big man with a light brown beard that tickled.
“I guess he misses not having a backyard since he moved into an apartment,” said Mother. “I’m sure we can find a place for his fish shanty.”
On Saturday Tina watched her uncle back his pickup truck into the yard. He slanted some planks from the back of the truck to the ground and Tina’s dad helped him slide the little wooden house down onto the grass in the corner of the yard.
Tina watched from her swing. It was a neat little house, smaller than the toolshed but tall enough in the center for a man to stand up. It was painted yellow and had brown shingles on the roof. There was a stovepipe with a cloth tied around it coming out of one wall.
Uncle Jim stopped to give Tina a hug and a tickle with his beard. “There you are, pumpkin,” he said, “a house for you to play in.”
“For me?” Tina asked.
“It’s all yours until next winter,” he promised.
Tina jumped out of the swing and ran to look inside the little house. It had one window in the back opposite the door, and there was a bench fastened to one wall. Across from the bench was a shelf. But the floor had two large round holes. Why would anyone build a house with holes in the floor? she wondered.
Tina ran into the big house and found Uncle Jim at the kitchen table. He grinned at his niece. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s a wonderful little house, Uncle Jim! Can I really play in it?”
“Sure you can. Your dad’s going to nail some plywood over the holes in the floor. Wouldn’t want you to catch your foot in one.”
“What are the holes for?”
“I fish through them. The lake is frozen when I put the shanty out each winter. I cut holes in the ice with a long drill called an ice auger and put my lines down through the holes into the water. The shanty protects me from the weather. It gets so warm inside that I have to take my parka off—almost forget how cold it is outside.”
“You’ll be Tina’s friend for life,” said Mother. “She’s been wanting a playhouse.”
“Well, about Christmastime I’ll have to borrow it for two or three months, if that’s OK with you.”
“Oh, yes!” said Tina. “Thank you, Uncle Jim.” She felt a smile spreading over her face and she put both arms around Uncle Jim’s neck and hugged him hard.
“You’re welcome, pumpkin. I needed a place to store it, so we’re helping each other.”
Tina went to the garage to get her table and chairs. She stopped on the way to admire the little house again. It was just what she had dreamed about, and she would never have to put it away—even when it rained.

President Gordon B. Hinckley is not only President of the Church, he is also an incredible personal leader. President Hinckley has had a lot of years to develop from when I first dealt with him in 1958. I was a student walking on a dusty gravel road where a speeding car passed several times and then skidded to a stop next to me. The driver rolled down his window. I recognized him as the newest General Authority, Elder Hinckley. He was obviously frustrated and said that he was lost, already late for a meeting, and that he needed directions. I told him where to go. He thanked me, spun gravel, and kicked up more dust that left me coughing as he hurried on his way.
Many years later I said to him, “President, you are doing a good job.” He said, “Well, I am doing my best.” He is an authentic, humble leader who has paid attention, caught on, and step by step built a record of accomplishments.

Heeding the call to gather to Zion, he and Martha emigrated to Utah in 1926. Martha found employment sewing men’s dress shirts at $7.50 a week, and Walter worked in a mattress manufacturing plant at $20 a week. In 1929 they founded the Stover Bedding and Mattress Company.
As his business flourished, Walter became known for his generosity and compassion. He gave freely of his worldly goods and of himself. He does not like these acts of kindness to be spoken of, but many burdens were lifted and many lives brightened by his caring.

My family moved to America from the Philippines when I was 11 years old. At first, I had a hard time fitting in. But once I learned how to speak English, I quickly adopted the popular culture. I loved listening to pop music, trying different hairstyles, and wearing faddish clothing. I did not have a testimony. Instead, I had a rebellious attitude.
My life turned around when I decided to accept the prophet’s challenge to seriously read and study the Book of Mormon. I read the book from cover to cover. It felt good and wonderful, but I still wasn’t sure whether it was true.
Nervously, I tried Moroni’s promise in Moroni 10:4–5. I expected angels to appear, but nothing happened. I thought, “That was it?”
In spite of my disappointment, I continued studying the book. One night I had a dream about the Book of Mormon. When I woke up, I felt a burning in my heart, peace of mind, and assurance. I thought, “This is it. This is my answer.”
After that experience, my confidence soared. I did better in my studies, attended more school activities, and, most importantly, became very active in the Church. I continue to study the Book of Mormon and apply its teachings to my life. The experiences I had while reading the Book of Mormon became anchors to me in my life.

Prophets have charge for the whole earth, not just for members of the Church. I can report from my own experience how personally and devotedly the First Presidency takes that charge. As needs grow, the First Presidency has charged us to increase our humanitarian outreach in a significant way. They are interested in the largest trends and the smallest details.
Recently, we brought to them one of the protective medical gowns that Beehive Clothing sewed for hospitals to use during the pandemic. As a medical doctor, President Russell M. Nelson was highly interested. He didn’t want to just see it. He wanted to try it on—check the cuffs and the length and the way it tied in the back. He told us later, with emotion in his voice, “When you meet with people on your assignments, thank them for their fasting, their offerings, and their ministering in the name of the Lord.”

The meaning of church to most people is a little different from what it means to me. Where I live, on a remote island of Alaska, church consists of only two LDS families. We meet together for an hour each week to partake of the sacrament and participate in talks, prayers, and questions. My dad is the branch president, and my family and the other family take turns hosting the Sunday meeting in our homes.
At first I didn’t like church. Maybe it was because I was the only teenage girl on the island who attended. Or maybe it was because I really didn’t understand the Church and had doubts about it. Was the Church true? Did God care? And most of all, What would happen to me when I died?
For a while, I read the Book of Mormon and never seemed to get anywhere. Satan seemed to be doing all he could to keep me from gaining a testimony.
One day I came home from school very upset. I had forgotten my lunch, and my best friend and I had had an argument. I ran to my room, flopped onto my bed, and started crying.
As my tears ceased, I noticed I had left my triple combination of the scriptures on my desk. As I picked it up to put it away, my eye caught a verse I had underlined. I read in Doctrine and Covenants 18:10–11: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God;
“For, behold, the Lord your Redeemer suffered death in the flesh; wherefore he suffered the pain of all men, that all men might repent and come unto him.” [D&C 18:10–11]
Suddenly I realized that Christ loved me and that I wanted to know him better. I had expected my testimony to be given to me. I know now that I’m not going to get my testimony from my parents or grandparents, or from my brothers and sisters. I have to search, ponder, and pray. But if I have faith, the Savior will help me, and together we will find my testimony.

On bright, sunny days, shadow tag was a perfect game to play. At the beginning of recess, Henry was chosen to be it. Henry chased the other boys and girls, trying to step on somebody’s shadow. He was just about to step on Laura’s shadow, when she cleverly hid it inside a tree’s shadow. But Laura couldn’t stay there; she had to count to ten, then leave the safety of the shadow. When she did, Henry quickly stomped on her shadow, and she became it.