Gospel Story Finder

Many people were angry with Joseph Smith and the Church. They didn’t like what Joseph was teaching. Some even wanted to kill him.
Joseph had to go to the city of Carthage so a judge could decide if he had broken the law. Joseph blessed Emma and his children, kissed them goodbye, and left for Carthage
Joseph’s brother Hyrum and other friends went with him. As they left, Joseph looked back at Nauvoo. “This is the loveliest place and the best people under the heavens,” he said.
In Carthage the men were put in jail. Hyrum read to them from the Book of Mormon. Joseph told the guards that the Book of Mormon is true.
Later that day, angry men with guns rushed into the jail. They started shooting into the room where Joseph and his friends were. Hyrum and Joseph were killed.
The Saints were very sad when they found out that Joseph and Hyrum had died. But they knew that the Church would keep growing and blessing God’s children all over the world.

Youth in the Danville California Stake spent an entire summer getting to know more about the Restoration of the gospel when they performed Brother Joseph, a play about the life of Joseph Smith.
A few weeks prior to the performance, the youth took a three-part challenge to only say kind and positive things to others, to pray at least morning and night, and to keep the commandments and read their scriptures. This extra effort, in addition to their hours of rehearsals, made this a play to remember for both the audience and the cast.

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 am every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

Quest for the Eagle Feather Quiet Water—or John Butler? Several years before, a storm had caused the boy to be separated from his parents, who were going to seek gold in California. Now he had to decide whether to try to find them or stay with Tall Deer and Blue-Flower-Blooming, who considered him their son. Somehow he knew that his quest with Running Fox and Screaming Crow would end the turmoil he felt.John Duncklee8–12 years

I can remember when I was called as a bishop, my predecessor, Bishop Russell Johnson, warned me that I would have to be careful what I asked the members to do. He said, “Some will respond to every suggestion, even at great sacrifice.” He mentioned one widow in her 80s who had cared for both a husband and a son through long illnesses before they passed away. Bishop Johnson said that despite having small resources, she would always try to respond. I found this to be true. Every time I mentioned the need for contributions or service to bless others, Sarah was often the first to respond.
One Saturday another sister called me and said, “Bishop, come quick! Save Sarah!” This sister reported that 80-year-old Sarah was on top of a ladder cleaning out this neighbor’s rain gutters. This sister was terrified that Sarah would fall and wanted the bishop to intervene.
I am not suggesting that everyone can or should imitate Sarah. Some feel guilty because they cannot meet every need immediately. I love the quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell often used from Anne Morrow Lindbergh: “My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds.” King Benjamin taught, “See that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength.” But he added that we should be diligent.
My heart rejoices as I observe the Saints all over the Church doing everything they can to provide Christlike service wherever there is a need. Because of member contributions, the Church can quietly and quickly, without fanfare, respond to needs all over the world. The Church is already responding to the natural disasters in the Philippines, the Pacific Islands, and Indonesia.
Last year our members responded to Hurricane Gustav. The Church worked closely with a humanitarian organization led by Martin Luther King III. Mr. King subsequently visited Salt Lake City and said: “I originally came to express my appreciation to the Church for their humanitarian support, but I quickly learned that the essence of who you are is so much deeper and profound. Between the Humanitarian Center, Welfare Square, and the temple open house, I now have a greater appreciation for why you do what you do.”

I thought about Sister Shaw’s parting testimony at an earlier sacrament meeting. “This is my last Sunday here,” she had said. “Before I leave I feel impressed to share an experience with you.”
I thought about the story Sister Shaw told.
“I felt loved and secure in my home ward,” she had said. “I had lived there all my life. When my husband and I moved here, I was terrified to attend a strange ward, and didn’t want to go for several weeks. But soon I felt a great emptiness in my life and vowed to attend the next meeting.
“I entered the church with great fear. As people went to their classes, I hoped someone would introduce himself or herself and show me the way to go. I knew I should say something to someone, but my tongue wouldn’t work. People walked by, visiting with their friends. Some even smiled at me. It wasn’t long until the doors were closed and the halls were empty. Crying in despair, I turned and left.
“That night I turned to the one person I knew I could count on: Father in Heaven. ‘Dear Father,’ I pleaded. ‘I have always been active, but I’m afraid to go to a strange ward. I can’t do it alone.’
“The next morning I opened my door to a nervous stranger who said, ‘Hello. My name is Neva Gillman. I really don’t know why I’m here, but I had the strongest impression to come by and ask if you would like to come to Relief Society with me.’
“Smiling through my tears, I invited her in.”

Mary Elizabeth Rollins was also prepared for the truth the Prophet Joseph brought forth. She recalled that when she saw a copy of the Book of Mormon at the home of Isaac Morley, “I felt such a desire to read it, that I could not refrain from asking him to let me take it home and read it, while he attended meeting.” She asked so earnestly that Isaac gave her the book on the condition that she bring it back before breakfast the next morning.
Mary Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle stayed up very late reading the Book of Mormon, and Mary rose at daybreak so she could continue reading. True to her promise, she returned the book before Isaac Morley had had breakfast. When he told her, “I guess you did not read much in it,” she showed him how much she had read, recited the first verse, and outlined the story of Nephi. Surprised, he said, “Child, take this book home and finish it, I can wait.”12 Mary was one of the first to receive the witness of the Spirit promised in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]. Joseph had still another fellow witness!

Ann:
“I love medicine so much, I’d practice it even if I didn’t get paid,” says Dr. Ann Osborn, a four-year convert who graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Stanford School of Medicine in California. She has a list of many accomplishments, including the fact that she was the Most Outstanding Woman in her 1970 graduation class, completing her studies one year ahead of the rest of the students. She graduated in psychology from Harvard, earned her M.D., and served her internship at the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. She recently returned to Stanford, where she’s a resident in diagnostic radiology and is fulfilling a National Institute of Health traineeship.
Ann tells of her conversion with gratitude, joy, and the warmest smile:
“Four years ago I was in medical school. I had a Latter-day Saint professor whom I admired very much. He won the teaching award, which was presented by the student body, year after year. At that time I was very disappointed with what I saw in the religious world. I was a Methodist and saw that religion itself had very little effect on people’s lives. One day I asked this professor, who was also my aquatic school instructor, why he was so happy. He told me it was because of his religion, and then he began to tell me the Joseph Smith story. I discredited the golden plates, not knowing what they were, but knew that there had to be something beneath a religion that influenced a Mormon’s life. He promised me that if I’d go to a Latter-day Saint service, I’d find a faith with wonderful depth. I did go and found a beautiful spirit there. I was moved in a way I couldn’t understand, and I lost my control. Feeling tears in my eyes made me angry because I didn’t have a handkerchief, but most of all, I didn’t want to feel that way. I walked out of the meeting, but something told me to go back. I was baptized two weeks later, after having the discussions. In eight months, my sister Lucy was also baptized, and my brother and his wife joined in February 1971. Incidentally, before my brother knew anything about the Church, he asked a Mormon bishop to officiate at his garden wedding because he respected him so much.
“I found myself studying Church history more than medicine. I felt like an infant with so much to learn. For what other reason do we learn as much as we can if not to help the Lord with his work? We need humility about our knowledge to admit that we really need him and can call on him.
“I enjoyed my internship at the LDS hospital very much. I was thrilled to work with physicians who were elders. They work in the intensive care unit with a bottle of consecrated oil. It creates such a different doctor-patient relationship. I chose radiology as my field because it’s an eight-to-five job; there’s very little weekend work, and it leaves plenty of time for family and Church. I look forward to a temple marriage and a family of my own someday.”

Most of us probably think family togetherness is a good idea, and the Fa’oa family, from Ulladulla, New South Wales, is no exception. And it’s a good thing. The Fa’oas live in an area where the Church is exceedingly small. At one time they traveled about an hour each way to get to the nearest branch. Now the branch has been divided, and they go to church closer to home but with a much smaller group.
“The branch is pretty much our family and one other family with a few other people,” says 18-year-old Sunny.
Their dad, Paul, is in the branch presidency. Mom, Michelle, is the Young Women president. Add to that the fact the Fa’oas have regular family home evening on Mondays and seminary is held in 15-year-old Troy’s bedroom every morning, and that equals a lot of family togetherness.
“We see each other so much we have to get along,” says Sunny. “Sometimes you feel a little like everything—church, seminary, Young Women—is with just your family. We have to keep a sense of humor so we don’t fight.”
Sunny and Troy meet every morning at about 5:30 with their mother to study the day’s seminary lesson. That’s early, and the fact that seminary is held at home would probably make sleeping in a real temptation. But Sunny and Troy both say their mother’s determination to make seminary a good experience helps keep them going, even if it’s been a short night’s sleep.
“Finishing a year in seminary is a real accomplishment,” says Troy. “I feel so good knowing I’ve read the scriptures and understand them. I would never have made it through the year without my mom to keep me going.”

“It was a stake play, but it was a missionary play as well,” said Simon Noble, 17, of the Holywood Road Ward, explaining why youth in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake were so excited to be involved in their stake production. “It was all about the plan of salvation, and we invited non-LDS friends to come and enjoy a night of theatre and learn about what we believe,” he said.
“My own testimony was strengthened, too,” said Paul Curran, 15, of the Bangor Ward. “We kept rehearsing the lines, and as we did, I kept thinking about how much it means to know the truth.”
Ruby May Silcock, 18, also of the Bangor Ward, said the play helped her learn about teamwork. “We all had to cooperate and work together,” she said. “It took a lot of people skills.”
Saints and friends alike enjoyed the music, the acting, the jokes, and the message.

One day Julie’s younger sister, Maddie, was feeling very sad. She was not having a good day. Julie wondered how she could help Maddie feel better. Then she had an idea!
Julie sat down next to her sister and asked Maddie to play a game with her. They would take turns telling something they were grateful for—something they could see, touch, hear, taste, or smell. At first it took Maddie a while to think of something. But after a few turns, it was easier, and she began to look happier. Soon Maddie forgot all about her worries, and Julie felt more cheerful too.

When I returned home I felt much different inside. I was beginning to feel hope and was learning to pray for guidance and forgiveness. True repentance didn’t take place overnight; it took many months before I felt I had been forgiven. I made a decision to start attending church again, the most difficult part of which was finding the courage to actually walk to the doors and go in.
I become overwhelmed as I think of the meaning of the Savior’s Atonement: “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, number 193). It is also wonderful that two sister missionaries came into my life when they did and shared with me their love and example. I was filled with joy to have one of them be my escort when I finally attended the temple to receive my endowment.
Following years of wandering, I had come home at last.

By Mckenzi Ham
Growing up, I never felt any pressure to serve a mission. When I got to college, though, all of that changed. Suddenly I was in a whirlwind of young men and women whose entire futures revolved around serving a mission. Rather than a question of if, serving a mission became a when—even for me.
I wanted a mission to be right for me. I prayed. I talked to my bishop. I counseled with my parents. I read my scriptures. I received a father’s blessing. But I continued to feel anxious and overwhelmed about serving a mission. It wasn’t until I finally made the decision not to serve a mission that I found the peaceful feeling I had been searching for.
I had to just ignore all the voices and opinions around me trying to tell me what was best for me. The decision to serve or not was between me and Heavenly Father. Prayer was my greatest help in keeping the pressure off. As I turned to Him, all those voices seemed to fade away. Initially, I thought that my parents were pressuring me to serve, but when I really opened up and counseled with them, I realized that their love for me would always come first. They became one of my greatest supports.
At first, I absolutely felt judged for not serving a mission. But then I realized that a lot of that judgment was self-inflicted. As I prayed for peace and learned to be patient with myself, those insecurities slowly—so, so, so slowly—began to disappear. As I drew closer to Heavenly Father, I began to understand who I am and how much I’m worth in His eyes.
God put a lot of people in my path to help me grow. I started working and became really close with my coworkers. Most of them were a few years younger than me and were going through hard stuff at school and at home. I was able to be a friend to them, help them understand how much they mattered, and even uplift them spiritually. Even though I didn’t think I was doing much at the time—giving rides home, bringing treats to share—I see now how serving and loving them healed me spiritually.
The specifics of what Heavenly Father wanted me to do were fuzzy at first. But I knew that He loves me and wants me to be happy—to find joy and peace in life. I struggled for months with my decision because I didn’t want to decide. I wanted God to tell me what to do. But He loves me enough to let me choose for myself. To serve as a full-time missionary or continue serving right where I was were both righteous choices. Peace came after I prayerfully made my decision and presented it to Him.
The temple became my greatest source of comfort and peace. Eventually I even received my endowment. My temple experience brought me closer to my Savior and helped me to understand my divine self-worth. My temple covenants have blessed my life and made me feel His love even more. Ever since I received my endowment, I haven’t had any insecurities or felt any pressure about not having served a full-time mission.

Born in Ixelles, Belgium, 5 October 1935, Charles Didier recalls that his father, Andre, a Belgian Army officer, was captured at the beginning of World War II. After escaping, he stayed hidden and saw his family only during occasional surprise visits. Elder Didier looks back on a time after his own ninth birthday:
“Because the secret police were looking for him [his father], we were searched—and barely escaped. We went to where he was hiding in Antwerp Province, and from there to live with my great-grandmother in Flanders.” Then Belgium was liberated. “I vividly remember the soldiers trying to get away on bicycles, the airplanes coming, the shooting, and the Allied troops coming into the village.”

On several occasions I have heard versions of a story, presumably based on fact, that goes something like this: A guide or host at one of the Church’s visitors’ centers was one day approached by an old man. He acknowledged that he was a member of the Church but said that he had not been associated with the Church since his years as a youth. He told of one day being expelled from a Sunday School class—apparently for misconduct. He said he had never been inside a church building since that day, and he further explained that his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren numbered more than one hundred, and not one of them was a member of the Church.
When I have heard this story retold, it has generally been to illustrate the dreadful price that was paid because of the rash act of an angry Sunday School officer. But we do not hear the Sunday School officer’s side of the story. Nor do we take into account the responsibility of the young man for his own conduct and his years of unrelenting, unrepentant bitterness and animosity that have poisoned his own life as well as the lives of so many of his offspring.
The story is filled with tragedy. Who is responsible for the tragedy, and how could it have been avoided?

The flame in the kerosene lamp flickered and sputtered. Mrs. Sheridan looked anxiously to see if all the oil was gone. She knew that the jug in the cupboard contained only enough kerosene to fill the lamp one more time.
As the flame settled, Mrs. Sheridan went on with the inventory: the big sugar crock was empty, the cornmeal was gone, there was perhaps enough flour in the barrel for one more batch of bread. As Mrs. Sheridan replaced the lid on the flour barrel, a long, deep sigh escaped her lips.
Jed, who had just turned ten and who was supposed to be asleep, knew why his mother sighed. Just this afternoon he had brought the last of the carrots and potatoes up from the root cellar. He watched his mother as she turned the wick of the lamp lower and lower until the light was gone.
Jed waited for Mother to get into bed with Father. Instead, by the pale wisp of moonlight that slipped into the room under the lower edge of the window curtains, he could see Mother hunched over the table. He knew she was crying. It was not loud crying, because she wouldn’t want Father to know she was crying. She always smiled for Father and said funny things to make him laugh and think everything was going fine.
It hurt Jed to see his mother cry, although he knew she had many things to cry about. Father was too ill to get out of bed and he needed a doctor, and the winter food supply was gone. Father had told mother not to worry when they had given a large supply of flour, sugar, bacon, and potatoes to a hungry Indian family. He had said he’d hitch up the horses and wagon and take a day or two to go to the store at the crossroads for more supplies. But then Father had become ill, and though every day he said that in a day or two he’d be well enough to go for supplies, he seemed to be getting worse.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his two younger brothers, Jed slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and placed a hand gently on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, Mother,” he said encouragingly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Oh, Jed!” Mother whispered. “I didn’t know you were awake. Jed, maybe you and I could drive to the store for supplies. Do you think you could ride Bess at the head of the team and guide her across the river while I handle the reins?”
“Sure I could!” Jed replied bravely, though deep inside he was frightened. Even in the summer when the river was not so high—with Father riding Bess and Mother holding the reins for the team—it was scary. The river was wide and swift, and there were only a few places where it was safe to cross.
“Good,” said Mother. “I knew I could depend on you. We must make it there and back in a day. We’ll leave before sunup tomorrow. Come, now, we must get some sleep.”
Mother quietly tucked the covers more snugly around little Rachel as she slept in her cradle, then slipped into bed.
Just as quietly Jed crossed the room and climbed into bed beside his sleeping brothers.
Although Jed knew the day ahead would be a long, tiresome one, he could not sleep. He thought of the river with its splashing, whirling eddies and its swift undercurrents. He remembered how firm Father had to be with Bess as he directed her to lead the team to the opposite shore. Jed thought about how cold and icy the water would be when it splashed on his legs.
Then a different thought came into Jed’s mind: Why don’t I ask the Lord to help me? Why don’t I pray and ask for courage so that I won’t be afraid?
Once more Jed slid from the warmth of his bed and knelt on the cold floor to pray. He asked Heavenly Father to bless him that he would not be afraid of the river, that he could manage Bess as Father did, that he and Mother would have a safe trip to the crossroads and home again, and that Father and the little ones would be taken care of while he and Mother were gone. With a feeling of quiet peace, he crawled back into bed and slept.
It was still dark when Mother awakened Jed. He dressed quickly in the shivery cold, and he and Mother went outside together to hitch the horses. And together, with teeth chattering, they returned to the cabin. Mother kissed Father good-bye. Jed gathered up the bearskin robe for their feet, the quilts for their shoulders, and their meager lunch of bread and dried fruit.
It was midmorning when they drew up at the river crossing. Seeing the river again and listening to its angry rushing and splashing, Jed was afraid all over again.
Mother looked fondly at Jed. She knew the task ahead would be a hard one for him, but she knew of no other way to obtain the supplies. “Think we can make it?” she asked.
“Sure,” replied Jed, jumping from the wagon. “Sure we can.”
But as Jed stood on the sandy riverbank, the river noises suddenly became a mighty roar. His heart began to thud like a pounding hammer, and he had a difficult time climbing onto Bess’s back.
I can’t do it, he thought. I just can’t. But even as his courage seemed to fail, he remembered the sweet, peaceful feeling that had come to him in the night as he had prayed. And so, sitting on Bess at the edge of the river, he prayed again. “Please help me, Heavenly Father, not to be afraid. Please help us to cross the river safely.”
Again the fearful feeling left Jed, and his heart stopped pounding. The river no longer sounded like an angry beast. As the horses stepped into the river, it almost seemed that his father was with him—helping him, guiding him, telling him what to say and do. Though at times the water splashed against his feet and legs, Jed did not seem to feel the cold. Sooner than Jed expected, the wagon was being pulled onto the sand of the opposite shore.
“Good boy!” exclaimed Mother, as Jed climbed back onto the wagon seat. She tucked the bearskin robe around his feet and wrapped a quilt around him. “You did just as well as Father! Just as well!”
In a short time they pulled up in front of the store at the crossroads. Mr. Callihan, the storekeeper, came to the door. “If it isn’t the Sheridans!” he called. “How nice it is to see you. Haven’t seen any of you since last fall. With the river as rough as it is now, I didn’t expect to see any of you until later in the spring. By the way, where is Mr. Sheridan?”
When Mother explained, Mr. Callihan promised to get word to the doctor. Then he patted Jed on the back and said, “You’re a fine lad, Jed! I wouldn’t mind having a half dozen like you.”
“Nor would I,” replied Mother with shining eyes. “I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“Come in now,” continued the jovial Mr. Callihan. “Let’s tend to your needs. You’ll be wanting to hurry back to that sick husband of yours and the little ones.”
When at last the wagon was loaded with flour, sugar, beans, bacon, dried prunes, cornmeal, potatoes, carrots, apples, kerosene, medicine for Father, and a sackful of stick candy, the Sheridans headed home-ward. As they rode along, they talked about how good it was to have the wagon filled with good food and other necessities. How happy Father would be!
Soon Mother again stopped the wagon at the river crossing. For a moment she and Jed sat looking across the river, which seemed to be rushing along as though it were a racehorse urged on by an anxious rider.
Before Mother could say a word, Jed jumped from the wagon. As he climbed onto Bess, his body trembled and cold chills raced up and down his spine. But his fear lasted only a moment. With the help of Heavenly Father, he and his mother had crossed the river once, and they would do it again. Turning his head, he smiled at his mother. Then, after shouting “Giddap!” and giving Bess a smart spank, Jed headed the wagon for the opposite shore.
Soon the wagon was rolling up the road to the cabin. As they drew near, Jed could see Father standing in the doorway. The doctor had been there and had given Father medicine, and he was much better. He waved and smiled, and Mother cried with happiness as the wagon stopped.
Jed climbed down and ran to his father. “I did it, Father!” he said. “I took Mother across the river and back again.”
Father put his hand on Jed’s shoulder. “I knew you could do it,” he said. “The Lord helped you.”
And Jed knew it was true. He had prayed for courage and had been helped. He had prayed again at the river and had been helped again. Now he felt sure that Heavenly Father would help him whenever he needed it.

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.

Tyler loved having visitors. His family had signed up to help feed the missionaries, and tonight they were coming to dinner. Mom had promised that he could sit next to them.
At the table, Tyler felt shy and didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be a missionary someday, so he listened and watched carefully. He wanted to remember how missionaries act. He looked at their shiny shoes, white shirts, and straight ties. Then he noticed something on their shirt pockets. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Elder Snow’s pocket.
“My name tag,” Elder Snow replied, holding it up a little.
“‘Elder Snow,’” Tyler read. “‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Do all the missionaries have name tags?”
“I think so,” the other missionary, Elder Millburn, replied. “We want everyone to know that we are missionaries for the Church.”
“I always make sure to put my name tag on,” Elder Snow added. “I want everybody to know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
After the missionaries left, Tyler told Mom, “I’m going to make a name tag. I want to wear one so that people will know that I believe in Jesus Christ.”
Tyler cut a rectangle out of paper and carefully printed his name on it. Below his name, he wrote, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He taped a folded paper to the back of it to insert in his pocket to hold the name tag on. He went to the mirror to see how it looked.
First thing in the morning he thought about his name tag. Hurriedly he got dressed and put it on.
When Mom went grocery shopping, Tyler went too. He walked around, hoping that everyone saw his name tag. While they were going back to the car, it started to rain. He pushed the cart quickly and helped Mom load the car before they both got very wet. “Such a good helper!” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
At home he helped carry in the groceries. When he leaned over, he noticed that his name tag was torn and sagging. And rain had smeared the words. I need a better name tag, he told himself.
That afternoon, he cut a rectangle out of a plastic lid. He wrote his and the Church’s name on it with a marker so that the words wouldn’t wash away. He taped another piece of plastic to the back and stuck it in his pocket. He had a name tag again. Showing it to Dad, he said, “Just like the missionaries, I like to wear my name tag.”
Tyler went to show his big sister. She was studying at her desk and didn’t seem very happy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, forgetting about the name tag.
“I have too much homework,” she moaned, “and it’s my turn to do the dishes.” She started writing again.
Tyler watched for a minute. “I’ll do the dishes.”
His sister looked surprised.
“My homework is all done,” he said. “I have time to do them.”
She gave him a hug and exclaimed, “You’re a great brother!”
Tyler did the dishes, but his shirt got wet and dirty. Pulling it off, he threw it in the laundry.
Getting dressed the next morning, he remembered his name tag and ran to the laundry room. His mother had already washed the shirt. She was putting it in the dryer. “Wait!” he yelled, pulling the shirt out of the pile. The name tag fell to the floor, twisted and warped. Tyler couldn’t make it lie flat. He threw it away. I’ll have to make something better, he told himself.
In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”
A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

The noise of Harry rattling the door brought me back to the top of the World Trade Center. He was trying to gain access to the rooftop observation area, but it was locked and a sign said the wind was so strong no one would be allowed outside.
“Sorry,” he said. “That’s the best we can do.”
And I remembered again. I remembered his patience as he explained to me over and over the subway system the morning the group went to the Statue of Liberty, and finally how he said, “Just follow me and don’t get lost.”
I remembered the wind whipping over the bow of the ferry and the steamy cups of hot chocolate the young women shared back on the pier. I remembered stopping to read plaques at the statue and the young members’ feelings of pride in their country and in their hometown that were genuine and unpretentious.
And then I remembered interviewing some of the group in between meetings on Sunday. The young women’s lesson had been on developing a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The young men had discussed morality. All of them had commented afterward about the influence the lessons exerted throughout the week.
“These activities and lessons keep us together,” Mary said. “We share our testimonies and they grow. We treat each other like brothers and sisters because we are.”
Mary Ann nodded agreement. “From my friends’ testimonies, I can build my testimony. They are a great influence on me.”
“The lessons help me keep my mind off things I shouldn’t think about,” Harry said. “I have a strong testimony of the gospel, and I know it’s good to be together with my friends in church. I need the recharge I get from being with them.”
“As you can see, we have a lot of fun together. We like each other a lot. But the neatest thing is that when I leave, I feel the Spirit coming with me, helping me choose wisely and do what’s right,” Mary Ann said.
“I’m glad to have friends who help me honor my priesthood,” Frank said. “When I carry the sacrament, I feel proud.”
And that made me think of a comment one of the adults made that same Sunday. “I admire these kids tremendously,” he said. “New York is beautiful and fun, but it’s also a difficult place to live righteously. There’s a lot of pressure on these kids from their friends not to follow the teachings of the prophets. I think they’re real heroes to live the gospel as they do.”
The group walked to the south side of the tower for one last look at the Statue of Liberty. One thought lingered in my mind. I was in the company of heroes. Real heroes, with a mission—to live and share the gospel with all of New York City. Somehow, in my heart, I knew they would be equal to the task.

Later, Christopher’s Primary teacher, Sister Woolett, gave a lesson about the Holy Ghost. She told about when the still, small voice warned her to check on her sleeping baby. When she did, everything seemed all right.

But as she turned to leave, the voice again told her to check on her little boy. This time she went over to the crib and looked closely at him. There, next to him, was a large, jagged piece of glass. A framed picture that had been hanging above the crib had fallen. Most of the glass and the frame were behind the crib, but the large, jagged piece had fallen next to her sleeping son.
Sister Woolett also related an incident from the lesson manual about one of the prophets being warned of danger by the still, small voice.
Why can everyone hear the still, small voice but me? Christopher wondered again. He knew that after his baptism almost two years ago, he was given the gift of the Holy Ghost when he was confirmed. So why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me?
“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.
“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.
A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.
“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.
Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”
Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.
“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”
Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”
Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”
“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.
“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”
“It was?”
“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”
“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.
“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”
Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.