I suggest that you check out the "All The Stories app", if you have not already done so. It is a FREE partner app that accesses the stories in the FamilySearch Family Tree. (I would love to see a similar app that would also access other formats of Memories.)
It will only find the Stories that are attached to the individual in question and their close ancestors, but it can be very handy when you are researching someone's life.
As we get older, we find that there are fewer and fewer people left with personal memories of our deceased family members. One way to preserve these memories is a life sketch or story in the FamilySearch Family Tree. An issue is that our family members may not see them there.
Lately I have been writing-up a one-page life sketch of certain key individuals, and sending it to may family as an email attachment. I hope that they will hare it with their family in Family Home Evening or maybe at the supper table. It also provides a simple way to share my testimony.
I have found a PDF file as an excellent format, since it can be created from any word processor, and can be read on any electronic device. Here is an example of a life sketch, using information provided by his niece, now deceased for nearly 20 years.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Family History Moment – John Walter “Watt” Simpson
After the death of our father, Arthur Teale, in World War I, we were the
little orphans, but we were lucky. Uncle Watt was our father image.
He was christened John Walter Tucker Simpson, familiarly called Watt,
or J.W. by his friends and family. He had never married, and he
stayed with his mother all her life. He was her constant standby and
co-worker. He was a quiet, kindly man. He loved children, and they
loved him. And we loved him. We would run to him when he came home,
squealing with delight, and climb on his knee when he sat down. He
would sing to us, the old Scottish songs he had learned from his
father.. "In the Shadow of the Pines", "The Dark Eyed
Sailor Boy" and "Pinks and Daisies". To my everlasting
delight the last line always came unsung from his lips, in a rush of
words, and we would giggle companionably together. The other children
never seemed to share the fun of it. He did it just for me.
He
taught us little games of rhymes and hands, "This little pig
went to market,"... "This is the door and this is the
steeple, open the door and see all the people" ... "ring
the bell, knock at the door lift the latch, and walk in"... He
would give us a scotch kiss, tweaking our noses out of the way none
too gently while he kissed us, or he would give us a dry shave,
rubbing his whiskery stubble of beard across our cheeks. He taught us
tongue twisters like "Theantheus Theodore Themus, the famous
thistle sifter while sifting his thistles of unsifted thistles thrust
three thousand thistles in the thicker part of his thumb." and
another one, "Three gray geese on a green grazing grey were the
geese and green was the grazing." These are my happiest
childhood memories.
Much
later, Uncle Watt spent a winter in Saskatoon with the children and
me. He went to church with us and he studied the gospel. He accepted
it fully and easily. The time was set for his baptism three times
when other churches promised we could use their font. Each time they
heard anti-Mormon stories and each time they withdrew the offer. My
Uncle was discouraged. He thought the Lord didn’t want him in his
church. I knew that if he went back to the farm that time without
baptism that he might never come again. I was worried. We only had a
little branch and we met in the Odd Fellow's Hall. LeGrande Piepgrass
was stationed in Saskatoon in the air force. He was our Branch
President. He was inspired. He called the little Branch together,
mostly soldier's wives and their children. He asked them to
contribute what they could so he could hire a bus to take the little
branch out to Beaver Creek to have my Uncle baptized. I'm sure he
made up the difference from his own pocket. The creek was cold. My
Uncle was 72. LeGrande baptized him and held his breath for fear the
sudden chill could cause a heart attack, but my Uncle didn't even
catch a cold.
He
and Mother bought a small house in Raymond and about a year later he
moved to Raymond and built himself a house. That was about 1946,
after the war. He advanced quite rapidly in the priesthood and in ten
years after his baptism he was a High Priest. We had five children
here and some of them got the mumps. And Uncle Watt became very sick.
As I sat by his bedside he said, "I don't want you to think I
am being morbid, but I want you to promise me something. If I should
happen to die on the farm, I want you to make sure that I am buried
in my own church and in my temple clothes. We both knew that might be
a hard promise to keep. His sister, my Aunt Jean, could be a problem
there. She was not a Mormon and would not understand. I said, "You
had better tell her then." I wondered if he could - and he
didn't.
Of
course he did die on the farm. When Aunt Jean phoned to tell us he
had died suddenly of a heart attack, she had already arranged for his
burial in Tisdale. I told her of Uncle Watt's wish and of my promise
to him, but she was adamant. I pleaded desperately but she said it
was all arranged. Just then a knock came at the door and mother
answered it. It was Bishop Dahl, and hope surged through me. I said,
"Just a minute. Bishop Dahl would like to talk to you." I
knew she had a high opinion of our Bishop. I motioned to him and he
took the phone, no questions asked. He told her that he had heard
Brother Simpson say many times that he wanted to be buried in his own
church and in his temple clothes -- and she gave in. She had his
casket put on the train and she came with him.
After
the service in Raymond Aunt Jean said he couldn't have had such a
nice funeral in Tisdale. She felt the love of the ward members for
him and she, too, was at peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was fortunate in this case, that I had been given the information I needed, I just needed to edit it to fit the page. For other people, I had to compose the life sketch myself.
