Gospel Story Finder

Imagine strolling down the streets of your neighborhood, only something looks different. Looking around, you may ask yourself, “Wasn’t that house white before? When did they find time to plant all these flowers?”
Many of the homes, which only two days before looked old and worn down, are now spruced up and polished. Is it a miracle? According to teens in northern Utah, it’s all in a day’s—well, make that two-days’—work.
The Layton Utah Kays Creek Stake hosted a fun, service-filled youth conference. For two days teens and leaders alike sacrificed their time and energy to fix up several homes in a nearby city.
And they weren’t just any homes. Through fasting and prayer co-chair Neil Wall and his committee carefully selected those people (some members of the Church and some not) they thought could really use the help—mostly single mothers, the elderly, and the disabled.
And then, with 16 homes in mind, donated supplies, and multiple prayers of faith, the youth set out to offer service in life-sized proportions.
These teens quickly learned that this degree of service (it was approximately 100 degrees both days) was not for the faint of heart.
But despite the heat, what was initially a good-sized service project grew even bigger when more hands—attached to energetic teens—showed up than expected. On Friday afternoon approximately 240 teens participated, but by Saturday Brother Wall estimated there were closer to 270.
“We really thought we would lose some because it was hard work and it was very hot and the days were long,” he says. “We thought, ‘On Saturday we won’t get as many.’ And we ended up with more. It really surprised us.”
And many hands made light work. With handfuls of help, the stake restored more than 24 homes—not just the original 16. They finished all their contingency projects and then some.
“I know without a doubt they will never forget it,” Brother Wall says. “They admit, it was hard, it was hot, and it wasn’t fun in one way because it was work, but it was rewarding. They could sense that they were doing something good.”
And these Utah teens proved themselves quite handy. Working under the direction of volunteer contractors, teens spent the bulk of their time doing all kinds of odd jobs: mowing lawns, hauling away garbage, painting, pouring cement for ramps for the disabled, roofing, and so on. At one house they planted flowers in a yard where previously trees had been growing wild, sending branches through windows.
“Even though I was tired, I didn’t want to stop. I never realized how good it feels to give all your strength to help better someone else’s life,” says 17-year-old Ashlee Karpowitz.
Many of the youth agreed with Ashlee. They found that working outside in hot weather turned out to be surprisingly fun—plus a few added activity breaks didn’t hurt either. The event kicked off on Thursday evening with a dinner, music from a local band, and a movie under the stars. On Friday evening every last ounce of energy was spent slipping down a plastic water slide. Hearty meals also helped to break up the workdays.
Sixteen-year-old Taylor Merrill had only good things to say about it. “My favorite part of youth conference was using the spray-paint gun and eating the food. We had sub sandwiches for lunch every day. I always tried to eat as much as I could before we went back to work.”
But fun, sun, food, and spray-paint guns were only the beginning. In addition to the fresh paint and new leak-proof roofs, testimonies were refurbished as well.
“I feel like I accomplished something in my heart,” says 14-year-old Sarah Loock. “I made myself stronger, raised my feelings of self-worth, and strengthened my testimony.”
Like Sarah, many of these youth didn’t realize until later that service has spiritual side effects: when you forget about yourself and serve others, you can’t help but find happiness.
“I feel like I gained stronger friendships, a stronger testimony of the Church, and a closer relationship with my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” says Kelly Smith, 14.
“While we worked on people’s houses I felt the Spirit of the Lord,” says 15-year-old Katie Stout.
The youth and leaders alike found the whole experience to be gratifying, but the homeowners were also blessed.
“Almost without exception, they were so excited, with tears in their eyes, just grateful that someone would consider doing it for them,” Brother Wall explains. “We had a fireside to conclude the event, and one of the sisters whose home we worked on came and spoke. It was just wonderful. The kids were just beaming.”
Today more than 270 kids may walk down the streets of this same neighborhood and see something different. Sure, anyone might notice the shiny paint, the newly made ramps, or the vibrant flowers. But when teens from the Layton Utah Kays Creek Stake walk down these streets, they will remember how good it felt when they served people who really needed help. These teens witnessed firsthand that, when it comes to serving, a handful of help goes a long way.

President Wilford Woodruff learned why people on the other side are so busy through a vision he received of the spirit world in which he spoke with the Prophet Joseph Smith.
I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith [Joseph Sr.]; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again, and I got the privilege to ask him a question. “Now,” said I, “I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all through my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.” Joseph said: “I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the Priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom, has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when He goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.” [“Discourse Delivered at the Weber Stake Conference, Ogden, Monday, October 19th, 1896,” Deseret Weekly, 7 November 1896, 642–43; also The Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946), 288–89]
Hurry is the operative word. Urgency would describe the work on the other side of the veil. We know what that work is in which the righteous spirits are so busily engaged. It is the preaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ—proclaiming, as Isaiah described it, “liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound” (Isaiah 61:1).

I recently set up a service activity in my ward so the young women could serve the Relief Society sisters. We sent a clipboard around to the sisters in Relief Society and asked what acts of service they needed. So far we’ve vacuumed stairs, babysat, and done yard work. We love it because it gives us a chance to come together as friends, unite as young women, help our ward sisters, and ultimately serve the Lord. Service helps me feel God’s love for those we help and also for me individually!
Danielle F., Utah, USA

A man in Ecuador met some missionaries on the street near his home and invited them in. They left tracts, pamphlets, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. He read them and liked them and later said of the missionaries:
“I liked their teachings. They taught me things my own church had never taught. I realized I had to live the commandments they told me about. The Word of Wisdom has given me a new life. I know it is of the Lord not to use tobacco, tea, coffee, or liquor. When the elders were teaching me, I knew I had to live it if I were to have a good life. The elders told me to pray about it; then they had to teach me how to pray.”

In Finland a woman, lost and lonely following the death of her husband, was found by missionaries who answered some of her questions. She said:
“I was amazed at their answers. They talked about a reunion with my husband. We had had a wonderful marriage, and I just couldn’t think that it would end just like that. My minister had given me no answers, but those young missionaries told me a beautiful concept of eternal life. I listened in tears and wanted to hear more.”
She studied and read the Book of Mormon, received a testimony, and was baptized.
A convert in England tells his story. Bitter over the death of an infant who had died without baptism and was therefore denied burial in the church cemetery, he was ready for the missionaries his wife had invited to his home. His first question was about the Church’s teaching on infant baptism.
The elders cited a passage from the Book of Mormon which teaches that infants are incapable of sin and that they have no need of baptism because they are saved.
Then he made this comment: “It was the kind of doctrine Christ would teach. I simply couldn’t see how a loving God could feel any other way about children. Then the elders gave me a lesson in obtaining a witness to gain a testimony. I put it to the test, prayed, and received a witness. I felt the burning in my bosom just as the scriptures described. I knew it was true.”
He made this further comment: “One of the most joyous principles to me is celestial marriage. I feel that if people could understand this and really love their husband or wife, they would join the Church on this alone. It’s a wonderful principle.”
Finally, I will deal briefly with the conversion of a Protestant minister, who after much tribulation and persecution by ministers and friends when he decided to convert, gave the following testimony:
“I have written this in order to show that as in the Bible, when a man finds a ‘pearl of great price,’ he will sell all that he has if necessary in order to obtain it [see Matt. 13:46]. I have found that peace and truth within the Mormon church for which I had been seeking for over twelve years.
“I have not quite completed my first reading of the Book of Mormon, but already the riches of its truths as set down by the Prophet Joseph Smith have become a vital part of our family’s spiritual life. No man could have written this book except through the power of God. We accept the test of hatred through which we have passed as God’s test of our sincerity in our seeking.
“My prayer is that others will not continue to willfully blind their eyes, refusing even to read the Book of Mormon in order to learn. No man can read this book and not have his life changed. I have not overnight become an expert on the Mormon faith, but I am an eager student and am not afraid to learn what the Holy Spirit would teach through those to whom He has given the authority.
“My personal tragedy as a Protestant minister was that I wasted a good deal of valuable time trying to keep going an organization and institution which no longer, with any stretch of imagination, can be shown to be doing Christ’s work.”
May I invite you all to study the scriptures, wherein are found the words of eternal life and the way to exaltation.
Jesus said, “This is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39).
This is so important, that he gave his life for us that we may be resurrected, and he gave us the plan of life and salvation by which this may be accomplished. Read the Bible and the Book of Mormon, which testify of the things which I have told you this day.
If you are searching for happiness in this life and eternal life with God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ hereafter, then I would exhort all of you to find the way, the truth, and the life, which is in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

ELDER JAGGI: The temple is a sanctuary of healing and a haven of rejoicing. Our son Stewart was born on November 5, 2001, in Henderson, Nevada. He lived just a few minutes. As Sister Jaggi and I prepared our little one in white clothes, placed him in his casket, and prepared for his transportation to his resting place on a family plot in Salt Lake City, our souls were ailing.

Sister Jaggi and I yearned for spirit and light. While I waited, she went into the St. George Utah Temple, needing additional power that only the Savior can provide. She was able to participate in an initiatory session. President Boyd K. Packer taught, “The ordinances of washing and anointing are referred to often in the temple as initiatory ordinances [because they begin the endowment]. . . . Associated with the endowment are washings and anointings—mostly symbolic in nature, but promising definite, immediate blessings as well as future blessings.” [8] She experienced definite and immediate blessings that day. We rejoiced together as she came out of the temple renewed, edified, and strengthened.

He soon revived and was on his way with 500 of the Saints under the care of Captain Daniel Thompson of Fillmore, Utah. William’s journal paints a vivid picture of the means of transporting travelers across the plains in those days:
“Eighty-four sturdy wagons pulled by ox-teams met us there on the Missouri. They were accompanied by splendid teamsters and a very fine captain dedicated to his calling. When all was loaded up, including my own things, we departed for The Valley, but not before we knelt and prayed to the Almighty. The days, weeks, and months to follow were filled with events the heart and mind shall never forget. The evenings were filled with singing and dancing which caused the mind and body to forget the hardships of the day. There was also sickness and death of the fragile which grieved us.”
William chose not to dwell on the subjects of sickness and death; nor did he choose to mention much about the “walking blisters” he doctored every night by the light of the campfires. He certainly had found a good use for the healing salve he’d brought all the way from England. He would remove his “foot soldier boots,” wash out his socks, and soak his feet in a bucket one of the good sisters loaned him. His soaking bucket was not exclusively his, however, as there were others who needed it too. After the soaking process, the bucket was gratefully returned to its place in the back of a wagon until the next evening. William took pity on another young fellow with the party whose shoes were in much worse shape than his own. One evening he took his dress shoes from his bag and gave them to his friend. He would get another pair when he reached his destination, after he had worked and earned enough to buy them. Slits had to be made in the sides as they were too narrow for the boy’s feet, but they were a welcomed gift, nonetheless. Not long after that incident and near the end of the journey, someone noticed blood oozing from William’s boots, leaving a marked trail on the sand and rocks behind him. He was ushered to the back of one of the wagons and made to ride for the remainder of the day. It was his first ride, and he felt guilty and uncomfortable for accepting it. He knew the oxen were already pulling their limit and hated to add to their burden. The soles of his boots were gone, but they had served him well as his father had said they would. He would finish the journey with gunny sacks wrapped around his swollen, bruised feet.
He was not one to complain. Instead he wrote: “I was among the best of company. I was treated like a son and brother, which indeed we were brothers and sisters in the gospel. When tragedy or discomfort struck one, and it did many times, it struck us all.”
Emmigration Canyon was ablaze with her fall attire of reds and golds as the weary but rejoicing Saints descended her well-cut and marked paths that first day of October in 1866. The travelers were warmly received by others who fully understood all that had transpired over the past three months for they, too, had endured and conquered the obstacles that arose between the point of departure and the scene of arrival. Now they stood together in the winners’ circle, ready for the next challenge. William must write home to his family who were anxiously awaiting the news that “Zion had been reached!” Little did he know that they had heard his ship had gone down and were grieving his loss. Oh, how welcome his letter would be! It would inspire new faith and hope.

Last year one of my grandsons took his wife to New York City with their parents to attend the beautiful new Manhattan temple. The hustle and bustle and noise of the thousands of people outside was deafening. As the taxi pulled up in front of the temple, Katherine, my grandson’s wife, began to cry. Even on the outside of the temple she felt its sacredness. They entered, left the noisome world, and worshiped in the house of the Lord. It was a sacred and unforgettable experience for them.

A few years ago our stake youth went on a pioneer trek to Martin’s Cove, an area in Wyoming where the stranded handcart pioneers took shelter from the storms and waited for help to arrive. As a stake we had planned and prepared for this experience for months. On the second morning of the trek, around 4 a.m., I awoke suddenly with terrible stomach pains from food poisoning.
In the early morning hours I slowly paced back and forth in significant discomfort. I sat for a while on a wooden bench and watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon. I knew that it was very unlikely that in just a couple of hours I would be able to walk with the youth from our campground to the cove.
All morning I had had a prayer in my heart that I would be able to accompany the youth. However, at one point I stopped and specifically prayed that I would be healthy and able to go to Martin’s Cove. I told Heavenly Father that after all the months of planning and effort, I really wanted to go and have that experience.
At approximately 6 a.m. I received a message that a member of the stake presidency wanted to give me a priesthood blessing. To be honest, I had not thought about asking for a blessing, but I readily accepted the offer. In that blessing President Smith told me that Heavenly Father was mindful of me. He blessed me that my body would rid itself of what was making me sick and that I would be able to fulfill my responsibilities with the youth.
By 10:30 a.m. I was able to leave camp, meet the youth at the cove, and fulfill my responsibilities as promised. I then walked back to camp, a distance of about four miles. I had the strength to do this despite the fact that I had been sick, had slept only a few hours, and had eaten very little food.
I had often wondered why the Lord allowed those faithful handcart Saints to suffer so much. Surely he could have intervened and tempered the storms. As I stood in Martin’s Cove and pondered the pioneers who lived and died there, the Spirit whispered to me that just as the Lord was mindful of me that day, He was mindful of those pioneers in 1856. He knew of their suffering and pain. Just as those pioneers came to know the Savior in their extremities, I too have a testimony that when we have trials and challenges, we can, if we are willing, draw close to the Lord and that He will strengthen and bless us by the power of His almighty hand.

A true story from the USA.
We started getting ready for Easter a week early! Dad said the week before Easter is called Holy Week. Mom said there would be a little surprise on the kitchen table each day. Each one would help us remember Jesus Christ. I’m going to write about it all here in my journal!
Mom and Dad read the story of Palm Sunday in the scriptures. When Jesus Christ went to Jerusalem, the people waved palm branches and cried, “Hosanna!”
My sister Lucy held a picture of Jesus riding a donkey. The rest of us waved our paper branches. I felt happy imagining I was welcoming Jesus.
Jesus was upset that people were selling things in the temple, so He threw them out. We picked trash out of the bushes around the church. I’m glad we could help care for God’s house!
Mom read stories that Jesus Christ had told to people. We listened and used the clay to make things from the stories. Lucy made a sheep because Jesus is the Good Shepherd. I made a little oil lamp. It helped me remember to keep my heart full of faith.
Dad told us about how Mary gave Jesus Christ a special oil for His feet. Its smell filled the whole house.
We didn’t have this special oil. Instead, we used cinnamon to make a treat. Mom said that when we smelled the cinnamon as the treat was baking, we should think of what we could give to Jesus.
We lit the candles and sang a song, just like Jesus Christ and His disciples sang at the Last Supper. We ate pita bread and drank grape juice to remember the first sacrament. We also had pomegranates to remind us of Jesus’s blood, and olives for the garden of Gethsemane.
As we ate, thunder rumbled outside. I felt safe and thankful knowing Jesus has already faced the darkest storm.
We read about how Jesus Christ died for us. Then we took the empty flowerpot into the garden and tipped it on its side, like a tomb. We put soil and rocks around it but left the opening uncovered. Mom gave us a figure to represent Jesus’s body. We reverently wrapped it in a white cloth and placed it inside the flowerpot.
Even though it was just a flowerpot, I still felt sad covering the door with a stone.
Mom said that after Jesus Christ died, He set up missionary work in the spirit world. That way people who hadn’t learned His gospel on earth could still learn about Him. In temples, we can be baptized for people who didn’t get baptized before they died.
Lucy and I aren’t old enough to go inside the temple yet, but we helped cut out the printed name cards. Mom and Dad took turns doing temple work for the people on the cards and walking around the grounds with us. Even from the outside, the temple felt a little like heaven.
On Easter morning the stone in front of the flowerpot was gone and the cloth was empty. There was a card that said, He is risen!
I already knew that Jesus Christ is the reason for Easter. After celebrating Holy Week, I feel like I know Him a little better too.

Albert Frehner and Matilda Reber were married in 1888, in the St. George Utah Temple. They then established their humble home in Arizona. To provide for his family, Brother Frehner hauled freight between El Dorado Canyon and Bonelli’s Ferry. Sister Frehner nurtured their growing family and took care of the household chores.
Albert and Matilda had been married for 10 years when Albert was called in 1898 by President Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) to serve as a missionary in Switzerland, his native land. At the time Albert received the call to serve, Matilda was expecting their fifth child. However, it never entered their hearts or minds to refuse the call. Both gladly accepted the challenge.
Matilda assumed the total responsibility for the care of her young family, for their cotton farm, and for running the post office out of a small room in her home. Five months after Albert left on his mission, Matilda gave birth to twin girls, Edith and Ethel.
One day Matilda was attending to her duties in the post office. A man, as he was ready to depart after completing his postal business, gave her 25 cents to send to Albert in the mission field. I know 25 cents does not sound like much today, but to Matilda it meant a great deal! Matilda thanked the good brother, and then asked him if she could use 2 cents of the money to buy a stamp. She explained that she had written a letter to Albert a week or two earlier but did not have the 2 cents to purchase the necessary postage. The man agreed, and the letter was mailed.
Matilda was the manager of the post office. She easily could have borrowed and used a stamp—fully intending to repay the two cents when she was in a position to do so. And no one would have known. In her dire financial situation, it would have seemed reasonable to go ahead and mail her letter at the time she wrote it. But Matilda would have known! And she was a woman of integrity and honesty. She simply refused to use, in any way, something for which she could not pay. She also was careful to seek the man’s permission to use a portion of the money for a purpose other than that which he had intended.
The integrity and honesty of Matilda, my great-grandmother, have had a profound and lasting impact upon my life. She is an example of integrity and honesty with God, of integrity and honesty with herself, and of integrity and honesty with other people.

Elder Kikuchi’s background hardly made him a likely candidate for conversion to the Church. Born in 1941, he was raised in the rural “snow country” of Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost island. Latter-day Saint missionaries had left Japan more than a decade before his birth, finding little success in a country steeped in tradition. During the 1930s, as Japan grew increasingly militaristic and anti-American, the last traces of Church organization virtually vanished.
Then, five months after Yoshihiko was born, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, was bombed. And shortly before the end of the war, Yoshihiko’s father—serving in the Japanese military—died in an American bombing raid over Japan. Not many would have expected a boy in Yoshihiko’s situation ever to join an “American” church.
“I was prejudiced toward Americans because of my father’s death,” says Elder Kikuchi. “When I answered the door that day (in 1958) and saw two Americans—all bundled up in their hats and overcoats—I naturally told them, ‘No, thank you.’”
Even meeting the elders when he did would not normally have been a possibility because Yoshihiko should have been in school. But he was recuperating from an illness. A hardworking boy, he had been going to school at night and rising at 4 A.M. to work so he could help his mother support the family. This rigorous schedule completely exhausted him, and he collapsed one day on the job. After his release from the hospital, he was staying with his uncle, and was home alone when Elder Law and Elder Porter knocked on the door.
Just as Yoshihiko would have normally been elsewhere that day—either in school or at work—the elders normally would have been taking the day off because it was their preparation day. But they had not found many investigators in recent weeks, and were out going door-to-door because Elder Law had felt inspired to do so.
Elder Law persisted when Yoshihiko declined to talk to them, saying he and Elder Porter had an important message that would only take a few minutes. “My health crisis had put me in a position of seeking God,” Elder Kikuchi reminisces, “and I decided to let them come in. They told me the Joseph Smith story. I was very impressed.”
“Yoshihiko struck me as an exceptional young man,” says Brother Law, who now lives in Mapleton, Utah. “I knew he was ready for the gospel.”
“I’m grateful the elders went the extra mile,” Elder Kikuchi comments. Today, his appreciation for the work of the missionaries is often expressed. “I want to tell American Saints how much I appreciate my testimony,” he says. “I especially want the older brothers and sisters to know that I deeply appreciate the legacy—and heritage—they have preserved. I have met members of the Church in Bend, Oregon; Salmon, Idaho; Tooele, Utah; and many other places. These wonderful people live ‘common’ lives, attending church each week faithfully. They may wonder if they are really contributing to the kingdom of God. I want to assure them that they are. They are faithful individuals who raise their righteous sons and daughters and send them on missions. I want them to know they are doing a marvelous, marvelous work for the Lord.”
After his own contact with the missionaries, Elder Kikuchi turned out to be a “golden investigator,” eagerly receiving lessons and even coming to the meetinghouse when he did not have an appointment. In the spring of 1958, just a few weeks after meeting the elders, he was baptized by Elder Law. The date was April 6—the anniversary of the organization of the Church.

Christophe and Isabelle are both from France, the children of converts to the Church whose conversion stories are similar. In 1968, Isabelle’s family (the Mauclairs) was living in Bordeaux, France, when two missionaries from the Church knocked on the door. They were invited in and told their story. The visit resulted in membership in Heavenly Father’s kingdom on earth.
Christophe was born on January 21, 1966, the first of seven children born to Gerard and Annie Giraud-Carrier. When he was two, his parents met missionaries on the streets of Toulouse, France, and provided their phone number to the missionaries. Those missionaries misplaced the number and never called. Subsequent missionaries found the number, called, visited, taught and baptized the Giraud-Carriers.
Both couples were devoted to the gospel of Jesus Christ, teaching their children and serving wherever called. They served in significant ways, including in branch and ward leadership and in district and stake leadership callings.
Isabelle’s father was a physician in the French armed forces, which gave him opportunities to serve in foreign lands. Consequently, several of Isabelle’s childhood years were spent in Djibouti, New Caledonia and Algeria. The Church was not established in some of those countries. Worship and gospel living were thus family centered with no supporting Church organization. Family prayer and family scripture study were regular practices in the home, as were weekly sacrament meetings.
In the late 1970s the Mauclairs moved back to metropolitan France, first to Auch (pronounced Osh) near Toulouse. In 1978, they moved to the Versailles ward, where the Mauclair and Giraud-Carrier families became good friends, and a young Christophe met an even younger Isabelle. That childhood friendship grew into dating, courtship, engagement, and marriage. After some time in the same ward and stake, the families moved apart, but Christophe’s and Isabelle’s developing romance continued to grow as they courted by regular letters, occasional phone calls and quarterly in-person connections.
In July 1986 Christophe commenced full-time missionary service in the Canada Montreal Mission. While he was in Canada, Isabelle’s father was her district president in Cholet, France. Her father called her as a district missionary, fulfilling a promise in her patriarchal blessing. She arranged her work schedule to work three days a week and all evenings with the full-time missionaries. During her service, she became a key part of bringing about 20 new converts into the Church.
Just weeks after Christophe returned from the Canada Montreal Mission, the two, who had met as children 10 years before, became husband and wife on July 16, 1988 in Cholet, France. Three days later, at the Bern Switzerland Temple, they became a forever union. Christophe was 22 and Isabelle was 21.
Shortly after their marriage, Christophe was drafted into the French military. He served in the air force for one year. After his military service, Christophe transferred two years of college credit to Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. There he earned a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree, and a PhD in computer science.
After earning his PhD, the family moved to Bristol, England, where Christophe worked as a computer science professor for six years. He left academia for a time to accept a manager position at ELCA Informatique in Lausanne, Switzerland. In Switzerland, they were just two hours from family for the first time in nearly 13 years. They loved living in Switzerland.
BYU had regularly asked Dr. Giraud-Carrier if he would consider accepting a professorship at the Provo campus. The answer was always no. When the Giraud-Carriers traveled to Utah in 2004, the Computer Science department chair asked them again, “What would make you stay in Utah?” Both Christophe and Isabelle had a strong impression that they should accept a professorship at BYU. They said yes and moved resolutely forward with the direction the Lord was revealing to them.
The Giraud-Carriers have eight children, four sons and four daughters. Four of the children were born after they left Provo. Today, six of their children are married. And they are grandparents to 18 beautiful grandchildren.
Throughout their lives, they have accepted and magnified each of their Church callings. Elder Giraud-Carrier has served as a bishop, ward and stake Young Men president, stake mission president, high councilor, stake president, and mission president. Sister Giraud-Carrier has been the president of her ward Primary, Young Women, and Relief Society, and served as Primary teacher, district missionary, mission leader, and an exceptional ministering sister. Of her, Elder Patrick Kearon has said: “If I had to cross the plains, I would want to be in her wagon.”

Years ago, near the time of that sacrament meeting, it occurred to me that I would sometime perhaps have a family. I even joked about them, calling them “the red heads.” My mother’s hair had been red when she was young. I certainly didn’t think the idea of red heads was inspiration, just an idea. But more than once that picture was enough to make me work, and wait.

If all my four sons were here tonight, you would see two blond heads and two red ones. In a kitchen chat one evening, one of them said to me he’d not mind exchanging red hair for beach-boy blond. I just smiled. All dads may think their sons are handsome, but I would not exchange his red hair, nor my early vision of it, for spun gold.

I had the good fortune of marrying into such a family. I have marveled as relatives have traveled great distances to support a family activity, a missionary farewell, or a wedding. An elderly aunt still invites cousins of four generations, who are attending Brigham Young University, into her home for family home evenings. Through this association, the cousins strengthen each other in keeping the covenants of the gospel.

If the kindred family system were working as it could, our hearts would encompass each family member in time of need. Shared resources would make the family self-reliant. Children would consider it a blessing, not a burden, to care for aged parents.

I know of a widowed father who was reluctant to live with his daughter who resided in another state. She thanked him for the privilege of taking him into her home, insisting that she now would be able to demonstrate her love for all she had received from her parents. She felt selfish in finally having him to herself. Upon his death, she told me how blessed she was to have had those last precious years with her father.

During Primary opening exercises, Sister Ashbourne, the Primary president, held up a painting of Jesus Christ.
Dustin liked that picture of Jesus. His family had the same picture in their home. It had a special place over the piano.
A white cardboard mat surrounded the picture. “We’d like everyone to sign his or her name on the mat,” Sister Ashbourne said. “That way we’ll frame Jesus with our love. We’ll take it to each classroom so all the children and teachers can sign it.”
Dustin struggled with his handwriting. A third grader, he was learning cursive writing, but a learning disability slowed his progress. His hand shook each time he had to write in cursive. He was nervous about the idea of signing the mat.
The Primary presidency brought the picture to Dustin’s class. Sister Beeker, his teacher, passed the mat to the children. Each one took a turn signing it. When it was Dustin’s turn, he hesitated.
“I don’t write very well,” he whispered to Sister Beeker.
“You can print your name if you feel more comfortable,” she said.
Dustin looked down at his feet. He didn’t want to admit that his printing was not much better than his cursive writing.
“Do you think Jesus cares how good your handwriting is?” Sister Beeker asked gently.
Dustin thought about it. He knew that Jesus loved everyone. “No,” he admitted.
His teacher nodded encouragingly. “That’s right. Do you know what Jesus does care about?”
Dustin shook his head.
“He cares that you’re here in church. He cares that you love Him and honor Him. He cares that you treat others kindly.” She handed the pen to Dustin.
Dustin smiled at Sister Beeker. “Thank you,” he said. He wrote his name the best he could and gave the mat back to his teacher.
The following week, Sister Ashbourne showed the painting in the mat and frame to the entire Primary. “We’ll hang it right here,” she said, pointing to the front wall of the room, “where we can see it every week.”
Dustin looked at Jesus’s face, which seemed to shine with love, and he felt a warm glow in his own heart.

As a young dancer I studied with a distinguished teacher in California, Rozelle Frey. She had been a member of the Anna Pavlova Dance Company in her youth. Her story and influence had remarkable lessons and impact for me. Initially she had trained to become a concert pianist, but when she was taken to see a classical ballet concert, she knew immediately what she wanted to do with her life. There, in her native Sweden, her family, having means, took her to study with a great ballet master teacher. After looking at her work in her audition, he told her that she should continue her career in her piano work, that she had little hope of becoming a dancer. She had a problem that in those days was called “banana legs.” Her legs curved outward like bananas. This simply was not compatible with the turnout or rotation of the legs required in the positions of ballet. She pleaded with this teacher to give her a chance to study, to prove herself. She was told that his time was simply too important to work with students who had no potential. However, she could come to the classes, stand back by the piano, and satisfy herself, but she would receive no help or criticism from him and would be completely on her own. She accepted with great enthusiasm.

This was before the time of seriously practiced physical therapy, so the result was unexpected. For seven years she worked diligently—pulling, strengthening, stretching, working. At first she went unnoticed, and then gradually she was accepted into the class and finally placed as an example at the front of the class where the students had to pass the teacher’s review.

Through the continued, repeated effort of working the muscles correctly and placing on them certain demands, the body responded by adapting to those demands. Because she was young and some bone was not yet solidified but cartilaginous, her legs became straight and tall. Remember I said she became a member of the Anna Pavlova Dance Company eventually. That is remarkable in itself; but even more startling to me was the fact that of the group of dancers she trained with for seven years, she was the only one who was ever chosen to dance in a professional company. Why? Perhaps the others did not have to try as hard or care so much. We all have stumbling blocks placed in our way—those are our growth-promoting experiences. If ever there was a stumbling block for a dancer, it was banana legs. But she made those stumbling blocks into stepping-stones. They caused her to have to try harder, to be more committed. So Miss Frey rose above those in the ordinary, easier paths, and she was able to reach greater heights.

Right after I was married, I was called as home teacher to four families. The father of one was active but not spiritually converted. The young husband in another wasn’t a member of the Church and wouldn’t attend with his new bride, who was a member. The third couple was inactive—even though the husband was formerly in a stake presidency and the wife had been a stake Primary president. The fourth family, the Smiths, was happily very active in the Church: the father was on the stake high council, and the mother was the ward Relief Society president.
As my home teaching companion and I considered our assignment, our immediate reaction was to concentrate on the three families that needed obvious encouragement and fellowshipping. The Smiths, we reasoned, would get along fine with just a short social visit from us once a month.
But after our initial visit with each family, and after praying about how to be effective home teachers, we began to realize that every family needs—and deserves—a great home teacher, and that the Smiths needed just as much attention, prayerful consideration, and love as any of the other families.
During the first year, we tried to develop a good rapport with the Smiths. Devoting part of every month’s visit directly to the three children, we became fully aware of their progress in Primary, Scouting, Aaronic Priesthood, and school. When the boy received his (highest award a boy can earn in scouting in the U.S.), I was asked to be the speaker at the meeting where he received his award.
Sometimes we went out for ice cream with them. At ward parties, we socialized with every member of the family.
The friendship worked both ways. For example, when our first baby was born no one was more excited than the Smiths. In fact, Sister Smith gave a party for my wife.
One day Brother Smith called to tell me that he was going to be operated on shortly: the doctor had just found a tumor. I helped administer to him.
The surgery was successful—the cancer was removed. We felt that our role was to encourage the family during their father’s recuperation.
About a year later, another tumor appeared. Again the Smiths needed spiritual strength and support, and again the cancer was removed.
However, several months later they found another tumor. We appreciated many times the comforting power of the Spirit as blessings were pronounced in Brother Smith’s behalf. As home teachers, we discussed with the family the importance of combining faith with submissiveness to the Lord’s will.
When this last tumor appeared, it was so extensive that the doctors couldn’t operate. We were all disheartened—yet we still hoped that Brother Smith would live.
I frequently stopped to spend some time with him on my way home from work. Many times he was in so much pain—his pain relievers were ineffective by then—that he would ask me for a blessing. Those experiences became a highlight of my life. Each day I tried to live so that I could receive inspiration that would encourage my ailing friend.
One Saturday morning, as my wife and I were leaving home to do some shopping, I said to her, “I have a feeling that we should go see how Brother Smith endured the night.” We had seen him the night before, and everything seemed fine.
“All right,” she said. “If you feel we should go over, let’s do it.”
We found him in bed—doing about the same as the night before; there had been no major decline in his strength during the past week. I couldn’t help wondering why I had felt impressed to visit them that morning. So I decided that maybe we should share some faith-promoting experiences with them. The children sat around the bed and listened, and the Spirit of the Lord was there in rich abundance. Suddenly, as we talked, Brother Smith died in the arms of his wife.
My wife took the children into another bedroom and spent the next little while talking to them and answering their questions. She indicated to them that their father would be a source of strength to them all their lives and that someday, because of the Savior’s atonement and resurrection, they could have a beautiful reunion with him.
I helped by calling the doctor, the bishop, and the mortician. Later during the day we ran errands for Sister Smith.
The funeral was the following Monday. When the bishop was making the arrangements, Sister Smith indicated that her husband had planned the funeral in great detail, and that I, his home teacher, was to give the spiritual message.
I was overwhelmed. Brother Smith was close to many stake and general leaders in the Church, but instead, he had asked for me to speak at his funeral. And the printed program was to indicate that I was his home teacher.
Afterward, we did what we could to help the family adjust. We arranged for an accountant in our ward to help set up a budget for them and to get the family finances back in order. We asked another ward member, a carpenter/handyman, to help us inspect the house to determine what needed to be done to maintain the value of the home. The priesthood quorums in the ward then came in and did the needed work to get the home back to its normal condition.
We also helped Sister Smith evaluate various job opportunities. And we tried to be even closer to the children.

Shortly after my daughter, the first of our three children, was born, my wife and I purchased a piano. We hoped she would have musical talent like her grandfather—a fine composer and pianist. I particularly liked to imagine her playing the piano at church, accompanying the congregation. This would please our Father in Heaven, I thought. And the gift of music would bless our family.
Several years passed, with the piano serving no purpose other than decorating our living room. One day my father-in-law offered to teach me to read music. At some point in the future, he said, I might even be able to play a few simple pieces. I considered the very idea a joke—and not a very good one. I had never even considered that I might have musical talent. Nevertheless, he began to work with me. Unfortunately, I found the study of music unpleasant and even painful, and I quit studying about six months later. In time, I forgot what little I had learned.
In 1983 our daughter turned eight, and my wife and I felt she was old enough to begin music lessons. Unfortunately, she did not enjoy the lessons any more than I had. Since we had already paid for a month of lessons, I decided to take the remaining lessons myself. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed the lessons, and after they ended, I continued to practice on my own. My progress was slow, but by the time the Christmas season came around, I could almost play six different hymns.
When the bishop visited us during the Christmas holidays, I played “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, number 206) and asked him to sing along. We had to start over several times because I made so many mistakes, but eventually we finished the carol. The bishop encouraged me to keep practicing and to learn a sacrament hymn. I began to practice very faithfully, and to my surprise, I found that practicing was no longer drudgery. I had a goal for myself—to be able to play at church.
On one occasion while I was practicing I distinctly heard a voice singing the melody of the hymn I was playing. A wave of emotion swept over me, and I felt that my Father in Heaven was pleased with my efforts.
Several months passed, and I continued to practice devotedly. One Sunday I went to church early to practice. The room was quite dark and I couldn’t see well, but I sensed that someone was watching me. Soon the bishop stepped forward. He told me he had been listening, and he felt I was ready to play for Church meetings. I played the piano for the Madrid Second Ward that very day. A few days later, I was officially set apart as the ward pianist.
By this time practicing was exciting, and I was surprised at how quickly I was able to learn the hymns. I worked hard, but I realized that my efforts were being magnified by the Holy Ghost. My Heavenly Father had prepared me little by little for this calling and was now helping me fulfill it.
Today, playing the piano continues to be a great joy. I play for priesthood meetings in the Madrid Third Branch, where I am the branch president. My daughter also eventually resumed her music studies and has served as branch pianist. She is now married and lives in Madrid, Spain.
Often as I play I think of the Lord’s words: “My soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). I am grateful that my Heavenly Father prepared me with a desire and blessed me with the ability to play the hymns of the Church. They are truly a prayer unto him.

My mother began teaching me at a young age this same important lesson, to forget my own problems by thinking of and helping others through theirs. On my first nervous day of kindergarten, my mother held my hand as we walked into the classroom. Across the room, sitting by herself was a little girl who was crying. “Oh Susie,” my mom said to me, “you must go and be her friend.” My mother let go of my hand and suddenly I forgot my own fears as I obediently set out to help someone else.

Carly sat beneath a big tree in front of her house. She was so absorbed in the book she was reading that she didn’t even look up when the fire trucks flew by, their sirens howling. She was reading a book called The Adventures of Justine. Justine was the heroine of the book, and she was just about to save the day for at least the third time. This time she was singlehandedly stopping a stampede of wild horses.
Carly thought that Justine was brave and daring. No matter what the danger, Justine always found a way out of it, not just for herself but for everyone else too.
“Come on, Carly!” called her brother Sam. He was already on his bike, ready to tear down the street after the fire truck. “Don’t you know that there’s a fire down at the Johnson house? Hurry or you’ll miss it!”
“I’m busy,” she said.
Sam gave her an exasperated look and took off on his bike.
If I were Justine, I’d be down there, Carly thought, and I’d probably be rescuing people—if there are peopleto rescue. But I’m too young to do any real good. They’d never even let me close enough to do anything brave. If only I were as old as Justine and as daring and as beautiful!
She tried to go back to her book, but it was hard to concentrate. Down the street, people were coming out of their houses and flocking toward the Johnson house. “Maybe I should go,” she said, closing her book and standing up. Taking the book with her, she started down the street. She fell into step beside Mrs. Haskins, an elderly neighbor. Mrs. Haskins’ hair was white and her skin was wrinkled, but she surely didn’t act old! She went bowling every Tuesday night, and last winter she’d gone skiing in Colorado. She taught a writing class for children once a week, and she also found time to teach Primary. Carly liked her a lot.
“Ah, Carly,” the woman said, noticing her book. “Doing a little reading, I see. The Adventures of Justine. That ought to be exciting.”
“Oh, it is!” Carly exclaimed, almost forgetting about the fire. “Someday I’m going to be just like her. Someday I’ll be a heroine.”
“Someday can take a long time to get here,” Mrs. Haskins told her. “How long do you suppose it will take?”
“I don’t know. But I have to grow up first. Nobody would let a kid do the things that Justine does in this book. A kid wouldn’t be strong enough, anyway.” After thinking a moment, she added, “Or brave enough.”
“So you think that Justine is brave?”
“Oh yes, she’s brave. Do you know that she saved a whole schoolroom full of children from being swept away in a flood?”
“Pretty impressive. Do you suppose that she was afraid?”
“Not Justine. She isn’t afraid of anything.” They were at the fire now, and suddenly Carly realized just how horrible it was. It wasn’t anything like she imagined a fire would be.
The Johnsons were gathered on the sidewalk, most of them crying. Some of their neighbors were crying too. The house was charred, and the smell of smoke was everywhere. The firemen were racing here and there, not looking the least bit dashing or handsome. They were dirty and sweating, and some of them looked worried and frightened—but they kept moving. Huge, surprisingly ugly flames were licking out of the broken second-story windows, and the roof was smoking.
Suddenly Carly felt like crying too. If only she could make it stop! If only things like this didn’t happen. Tommy Johnson, who was two years ahead of her at school and always trying to act tough, was standing with his arm around his mother, sobbing. Carly didn’t blame him. Everything that he owned was probably in the house. And from the looks of the gutted building, there wasn’t going to be much left when the fire was finally out.
Carly remembered the book in her hands, and now it seemed no more realistic than a comic book. “I’d like to see Justine save the day in this situation,” she muttered under her breath. What could Justine possibly do to help the Johnsons? Carly wondered. There’s no one left inside to rescue. There’s no way to stop the fire instantly and then undo the damage that’s been done. And there’s no quick, simple way to rebuild the Johnson’s home—and their lives.
Carly felt let down. If there weren’t heroines out in the real world to prevent this sort of thing from happening, what was the point in even trying to be a heroine?
“Everything!” Mrs. Johnson cried, suddenly breaking down. “Everything we own is in there—baby pictures, my purse, the dishes … And we don’t even have insurance!”
Carly had to turn away. She couldn’t bear the pain in Mrs. Johnson’s voice. She kept asking herself, What if it had been my house, and all my things were … ?
Turning to Mrs. Haskins, she asked through tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, “Isn’t there something we can do? Anything?”
“There’s always something to be done,” the woman said quietly. “And it’s up to ordinary people like you and me to figure out what it is and then do it. Do you have any suggestions?”
Carly only had to think for a moment. “They’ll be needing food and clothes and things. Maybe we could get started finding some.” She spotted her brother and his friend Mitch standing beside their bikes and staring in disbelief as the building burned. “Sam! Mitch! Over here!” she called.
When they had walked their bikes over, she said quickly, “We have to get busy. There’s a lot that we need to do, and fast. First, we have to go door-to-door and see if people have anything that they can donate to the Johnsons—clothes, food, blankets, money, whatever they can. Can you guys and some of your friends do that? You could each pick a street, then bring all the stuff you get to our house. Maybe tomorrow we can put up a note at school.”
“You’ve got it!” said Sam, and he and Mitch quickly rode off.
“Sorry to desert you, Mrs. H.,” Carly said, “But I have to get busy. It’s going to be dark pretty soon.”
“You know, Carly,” Mrs. Haskins said, “I have two guest rooms, now that I’m alone. Do you suppose that the Johnsons would care to keep an old lady company until they find another place to live?”
“That’s a terrific idea!” said Carly. “While you talk to Mrs. Johnson, I’m going to call Edna and Jerry. They’re friends of Tommy’s, and I know they’ll want to help.”
As she started up the street, Mrs. Haskins called to her. “Looks like your someday didn’t take so long in getting here, after all.”
“What?” asked Carly, turning.
“To be a heroine. I’d say that you’re getting a good start.”