Gospel Story Finder

I remember my daughter as she was growing up had a constant feeling in her mind that the second coming was just around the corner and she would not live to adulthood or have the privilege of raising children. It was interesting as this feeling of insecurity constantly bothered her. We were unaware that in Family Night as we spoke of the Second Coming and as she listened to the daily news about the cold war and the A bomb, she was internalizing this in a way that she was afraid. She would even go to the extent of saving food and putting it in a drawer. This was her way of implementing the food storage program. It was not uncommon for her mother while cleaning her room to find a chicken leg or wing stuffed in one of the dresser drawers.

When my wife, Christiane, and I were young, these were the words of our living prophet, and we trusted and followed his advice. We knelt across the altar of the Bern Switzerland Temple, being only 20 and 22 years of age, respectively. We were worthy of the covenant, we had no real clue of what to expect, we had no work experience or finished education, and we were quite poor.
All we had in abundance was our love for each other and a lot of naïve enthusiasm. But we began building our world together. We did not postpone having children, and we needed to support each other in getting our education. We strongly believed in the Lord’s promise that “if ye do keep his commandments he doth bless you and prosper you” (Mosiah 2:22).
And He did. When we married, Christiane was in nursing school. Our vision included having her finish her degree, but at the same time we also made a conscious decision to begin fulfilling our dream of having a family. As a result, our first child was born about two weeks before Christiane passed her final exam as a certified nurse.
Now, nearly 40 years later, we are grateful that we could build our family together. Our faith in God and our relationship with each other have become unshaken as we have seen the hand of the Lord guiding us through the process of building our kingdom in mortality. This kingdom will continue to grow forever and ever.

I decided that it was important to my growth to fast again soon, and not wait for a whole month. This time I fasted and prayed about a decision I was having difficulty making. The pros and cons of the major alternatives seemed nearly equal, and I had been puzzling about it for several weeks. After fasting and praying about it, I suddenly knew what to do, and there was never another moment of wondering if it was the best choice.

Moira nodded. Heavenly Father had helped her before. Like when she and Mamá had joined the Church a year ago.
Moira had been excited to tell her best friend, Dorita, about her baptism. But when Dorita’s parents found out, they wouldn’t let Dorita play with Moira anymore. Moira had felt so lonely.
But Heavenly Father helped her make new friends. On her very first Sunday at church, she saw a girl standing by the door.
“Hi,” the girl said. “I’m Carmen. Do you want to sit with me?” Soon Carmen and Moira became good friends.

The priests of the Redondo Ward, Torrance California Stake, wanted to be prepared for their missions in all areas. They asked Sister Crook to teach a cooking class just for them. The results were tantalizing smells coming from the church kitchen every Wednesday night.
The purpose of the class was to help the young men learn to cook some quick and inexpensive meals which they could use on their missions and also learn some fun things to make like pizza and ice cream. As word spread about the class, more boys joined, including some inactive youth. The bishop and a member of the stake presidency got into the habit of stopping by each week to visit with the boys and to have a taste or two.
As their fame spread, the priests were asked to cook for the Relief Society sisters at homemaking meeting. Then the sisters prepared a recipe book with easy recipes for the boys to use on their missions. In fact, missions were often a topic of conversation during class. One of the highlights was when one inactive boy asked, “Do you know where I’d like to go on my mission?”
The cooking class was extended and expanded to include 13 priests. On the night of the final class, they cooked dinner for their mothers.

Nineteen-year-old Emily Rowland takes a deep breath. The task ahead of her seems nearly impossible. A trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down her face to drip off her chin, and her face becomes flushed, but she won’t give up.
Emily knows she must persevere, not only for herself, but for others who will follow. Her heart pounds and her muscles beg her to stop, but she knows it will be worth it.
This is Relief Society Homemaking meeting.
Of course, it’s not always this much of an ordeal—but this particular Homemaking night finds Emily and some of the other women in her ward—the University Ward near the University of Nevada at Las Vegas—working to improve their health and fitness, and that means working up a sweat doing aerobics. Other times Homemaking might mean learning about how to manage finances (not a bad skill for a college freshman like Emily), or how to look for a job, or maybe even how to change a flat tire.
What, no recipes, no baby quilts?
“Sure, cooking and sewing are important too,” says Emily. “It always amazes me how well Relief Society can adjust to individual needs. It’s a lot of fun.”
Emily and two of her friends, Aubrey VanDrimmelen and Charlotte Ballard, say that leaving Young Women behind was hard, and maybe even a little frightening. But it’s also something they all agree it was time to do.
“I really loved Young Women,” says Charlotte. “And Relief Society is different from Young Women. For one thing, there are a lot of people who are older than you. But after you’ve gone a few times, you realize how nice everyone is, how much they want to be your friend.”
Emily points out that going from Young Women to Relief Society happens at a time when most girls are headed off to college, entering the work force, preparing for missions, or getting married.
“Those are big changes,” she says. “Relief Society is a big change, too, but it helps you cope with all the other new things in life.”
Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”
Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”
“Last week, our lesson on Sunday was titled ‘Aging Is Part of God’s Plan,’” says Aubrey. “I looked at that and thought, How on earth is that going to apply to someone like me? I mean, no one in my ward is exactly getting old.”
Even though there is only one lesson in the Relief Society curriculum about aging, there are lots of lessons on family and social relationships. Does that mean that someone who is young and single can’t get anything from them?
“No way!” says Emily, who serves as a Spiritual Living teacher in her ward. “I work on my lesson all week, reading it so many times I practically know it by heart. Every lesson has something that is valuable, whether you’re 19, 29, or 79.”
Charlotte says that the age differences in Relief Society actually add to her experience.
“You can always learn things from people who are older than you,” she says. “You may not need to know those things right at the moment you learn them, but lots of them come in handy later on. There’s always a great spirit in Relief Society because people share their own experiences.”
Of course, one thing that doesn’t change whether you’re in Young Women or Relief Society is the chance to learn about the Savior and how to become more like him.
“I know with a surety that my Savior lives,” says Emily. “Sometimes you start to doubt things, but if you listen to the lessons in Relief Society you learn and grow so much because you’re doing the right thing. Relief Society helps you stay close to the gospel.”
And along with that closeness to the Savior and the gospel come a closeness and friendship with each other that the girls say is hard to duplicate anywhere else.
“There’s a lot of love in our Relief Society,” says Charlotte. “You can tell when you’re there that people are willing to help each other. There are opportunities to serve and teach everywhere.”
This year, young women all over the Church will be taking the plunge into Relief Society. With a little less than a year of Relief Society under their belts, Emily, Aubrey, and Charlotte know what that initial plunge feels like: exciting, scary, and possibly (for the newcomer) a little intimidating. They also know what it feels like to keep coming: rewarding, uplifting, and a smooth transition to a lot of fun, where age differences don’t matter much.
“Everyone in Relief Society wants you to know you are accepted and to make you feel good about being there. What could be better?” says Emily.
Aubrey agrees.
“It’s a little like reading the scriptures,” she says. “Every time you go, you learn something different. And the longer you do it, the more you learn.”
Friendship, love, skill training, and spiritual growth—it’s a good deal no matter what age you are and no matter what your needs are. And who knows? The first time you go, they might even serve a delicious, fancy dessert—with the recipe, of course. After all, this is Relief Society.
Feeling left out because there’s not a student or singles’ ward in your area? Well, whether you live hundreds of miles away from the nearest Church member your age, or just a few minutes from Church headquarters, your home ward is still a great place for you to be—including Relief Society!
Christy Pimper, another 19-year-old college student from Las Vegas, has chosen to attend her home ward. Here are some of her tips on finding a way to fit in:
Mentally prepare to make the move. “I really liked Young Women, but when I turned 18, I felt ready to leave. I was older than everyone and my needs were different. When it’s time to move on, don’t hesitate!”
Take the opportunity to develop your testimony. “The lessons in Relief Society are great. You learn things you never knew before, and you understand things you’ve known all your life much better than before.”
Make friends. “Even though everyone in my ward is older than me, I don’t feel left out. All the women go out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
Keep an open mind. “Relief Society is different from Young Women, but unless you give it a try, you’ll never really know for yourself what it’s like.”

“Mom, how can I find a friend?” Connor asked. He watched Mom put down her book.
“There are lots of ways,” she said. “Did you try what we talked about? Smiling at people and talking about your hobbies?”
“Nothing works.” Connor sat on the couch by Mom and twisted his hands together. “I just want a friend. Someone who understands me and will be kind to me.” Connor was feeling sad and lonely, more every day. He had autism, and it was hard finding a friend who was nice to him.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “I know it’s been hard without friends for so long, especially with the bullies at school. Did you try praying about it?”
“No.” Connor sighed.
Mom smiled. “Sometimes friends find us. And sometimes we have to find them.” She put her arm around Connor. “When I was younger, I was really lonely too. I prayed for two years, and then I found a very special friend.”
Connor’s back straightened. “Who did you find? Was it Jamie?”
Mom nodded. “I prayed and looked for someone and found Jamie.”
“She’s your best friend!” Connor felt happier inside. If Mom found a friend by praying, maybe he could too! When he said his prayers that night, he prayed to find someone who also needed a friend.
Connor looked for a friend at school. He looked at the grocery store. He looked at church. And he kept praying.
Connor was walking home one day and saw kids playing outside. They were his new neighbors, the ones who just moved in with their dad and stepmom. Connor didn’t know them very well. One of the boys, Seth, was deaf. He went to a sign language ward for church.
No one else in the neighborhood knew sign language. It must be hard for Seth to feel like he doesn’t have friends to talk to, Connor thought.
Wait! he thought. Seth needs a friend. Just like I do!
Connor found some books at the library about sign language. He practiced everywhere he could. He practiced in the bathroom mirror. He practiced in the car. Soon Connor could sign lots of words.
Then one day Connor knocked on Seth’s big front door. He held a notebook and a sign language book under his arm.
When Seth came to the door, Connor put his hand to his forehead. He kept his fingers close and then moved his hand out, like a salute. Connor had learned that was how to sign hello.
Seth made the sign too. He smiled a little bit. He pointed at the sign language book and raised his eyebrows.
Connor signed, I’m learning sign language. Then he opened the notebook and wrote, “Can you teach me more?”
Seth’s smile got bigger. He waved Connor inside, and they sat in the family room together. They signed back and forth for a few minutes. Connor wrote down questions on the notebook, and Seth wrote his answers below. Seth taught Connor a bunch of new signs. Pretty soon the notebook page was filled.
Connor couldn’t believe it. He was learning sign language with his new friend!
After a few weeks, Connor and Seth didn’t need books or papers anymore. They learned how to understand each other, and they both liked having a kind friend.
“Mom, I did what you told me to do,” Connor said one night after getting back from Seth’s house. “I prayed to find someone who needed a friend and would be mine too. Seth was the one I found!”

“Brethren and sisters, I know that this welfare program is inspired of God. I have witnessed with my own eyes the ravages of hunger and destitution as, under the direction of the president of the Church, I spent a year in war-torn Europe at the close of World War II, without my family, distributing food, clothing, and bedding to our needy members. I have looked into the sunken eyes of Saints, in almost the last stages of starvation. I have seen faithful mothers carrying their children, three and four years of age, who were unable to walk because of malnutrition. I have seen a hungry woman turn down food for a spool of thread. I have seen grown men weep as they ran their hands through the wheat and beans sent to them from Zion—America.”

For me, this first occurred through an experience I had as a young boy when my Mum asked me to go and pick up a loaf of bread from the dairy. Now a dairy in NZ is a small convenience store; think 7-Eleven but smaller. The store was just under half a mile from our house, and my Mum gave me 50 cents to go get bread and milk. This felt like a lot of money to entrust to a five to six-year-old boy. A pint of milk was only 8 cents at the time and a loaf of bread, about 20 cents. I’m not sure why, but I can only imagine it was because I was young, and I could, I ran - up the hill over the road and down the street to the Dairy as fast as I could. When I was in sight of the dairy I tripped and tumbled to the ground. As I gathered myself, I realized in a panic that the 50-cent coin which I had been holding tightly and safely in my hand was no longer there. I immediately began searching the ground where I had fallen, patting the grass and dirt in the hope of finding the coin. It was not to be found. Frantic and worried about returning home without bread or money, I knelt in the grass at the edge of the road, closed my eyes, and asked Heavenly Father to help me find the money so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I opened my eyes and immediately in my view was the coin which I proceeded to gather, and I finished my errand as fast as my legs would let me.

I share this as I have often reflected on the impact of this one event in my life. I had been taught that God existed, taught to pray, and taught God answers prayers; praying at that time was a completely natural response to my problem, and God providing the answer hoped for, was an expected outcome for a young boy.

When I was younger, I made a friend who wasn’t a Church member. She and her family had been invited to church before, but they weren’t interested. I prayed about it and felt that I should go to their house and give them a copy of the Book of Mormon.
The next day I gave the Book of Mormon to my friend and her family and asked if they’d be willing to read just one chapter. I went home and told my mom that I wasn’t sure if they would do it. After a while, my friend asked if I wanted to spend the night at her house. While there, her family said that they’d read a little bit from the Book of Mormon but didn’t feel like it was the right time to learn more about the Church.
At dinner, my friend’s dad asked what members of the Church usually did before eating. I explained that we pray over the food. He asked if I’d be willing to pray. I was surprised! But I was also excited to share what I believed in. They thanked me for my prayer, and my friend said that she’d felt something as I prayed that made her feel good inside. We talked for the rest of dinner about prayer and more of what I believe in.
The next morning at breakfast, my friend’s dad prayed for a blessing on the food. He then mentioned that he had also prayed before bed the night before.
Though they haven’t joined the Church, I still keep in touch with them and answer their questions about the Church and encourage them to read the Book of Mormon.
I am glad that I could be a missionary and help them feel the Spirit. I know that by ministering to them and helping them feel the Spirit, I’ve helped them come closer to Christ.

As I think of home teaching, I am reminded of a man by the name of Johann Denndorfer from Debrecen, Hungary. He had been converted to the Church years before in Germany, and now, following World War II, he found himself virtually a prisoner in his own land of Hungary. How he longed for contact with the Church. Then his home teachers visited. Brother Walter Krause and his companion went from the northeastern portion of Germany all the way to Hungary to fulfill their home teaching assignment. Before they left from their homes in Germany, Brother Krause had said to his companion, “Would you like to go home teaching with me this week?”
His companion asked, “When will we leave?”
Brother Krause’s response: “Tomorrow.”
Then came the question, “When will we come back?”
Brother Krause did not hesitate; he said, “Oh, in about a week.”
And away they went to visit Brother Denndorfer and others. Brother Denndorfer had not had home teachers since before the war. Now, when he saw the servants of the Lord, he was overwhelmed. He did not shake hands with them; rather, he went to his bedroom and took from a secret hiding place his tithing that he had saved for years. This tithing he gave to his home teachers, and then he said, “Now I can shake your hands.”

My admiration almost had no bounds one day when a young man from Murray came in to be interviewed for a mission. He’d saved $2,900 for his mission from his Marine pay in three years and nine months and fifteen days. By doing odd jobs which others wished to escape, he had $2,900 for his mission. Just a boy without a job, without a place, without a home, without somebody to keep him busy. But he caught the idea and went out and did other people’s work on the ship, and saved his money for this important thing.

As a youth, I had a strong desire to serve a mission. I knew that it would be difficult, but that the blessings would far outweigh the trials I would face both in my preparation and during my service. I knew that the Lord had a plan for me but looking back I did not know how different His plan would be.
After finishing school, I thought I was ready to serve. However, it was a long hard road of several years of trials and sufferings, especially from mental health issues. These prevented me from being ready to serve a mission, although I always had the desire and willingness as well as they assurance that the time would soon come.
Fast forward to about a year ago, when my bishop called me into his office and asked me, “Why do you want to serve a mission?” I had never truly pondered that question. I knew the textbook answers: I wanted to serve the Lord and those around me, and to share the joy that I have felt through the gospel of Jesus Christ with others. My bishop asked me to think about it and come back to him the next week. I came back and tearfully explained that as I am a perfectionist and find it hard to forgive myself for even the smallest of mistakes, I wanted to serve a mission because through that service I would give to those around me (and indeed to the Lord), I would come to love Him and each of God’s children more and, in turn, I would come to love myself more.
As I started my application, I could see the Lord’s hand in my life as I drew closer to serving my mission. I could see the love for others already growing within me, as I felt more sorrow and compassion for the welfare of the people that surrounded me. Then COVID-19 came, and I fell into despair—I felt so close to starting my mission, but now it seemed a distant goal. But the Lord had something incredible in mind for me that I would not have expected.
I knew that I might not have the opportunity to serve a proselyting mission due to my difficulties. However, I am eternally grateful to my Saviour Jesus Christ for delaying my mission until the time was right. A few months ago, I was contacted about the opportunity to serve a service mission for the Church. I was thrilled at the opportunity to serve in local communities and to volunteer for charities, to be an example of Jesus Christ and to serve just as He did (although I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be moving from home).
In retrospect, I am incredibly grateful, even tearful, to the Lord for the privilege it is to be a service missionary, and although it is still going to be a challenge, I know that the Lord loves me, and He will be there every step of the way!

Repeating the words of an Apostle, David said, “Fear is a chief weapon of Satan in making mankind unhappy.”1
David Ikegami, a deacon from Oahu, Hawaii, had an assignment to speak during a Sunday mission conference. Seven months ago he had lived through one of the worst Christmases ever—not just for his family, but for the whole country. He chose to speak out against fear.
He would know a thing or two about fear. The year was 1942. Months earlier, the scenic island where David’s family lived had been turned upside down with destruction as Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. The day after that devastating attack, the United States entered World War II.
Fear for the future still covered the land like a blanket. To make matters more difficult, Japanese-Americans, such as the Ikegami family, lived with serious racial prejudice after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Life was neither simple nor easy for this young man.
Seven months ago he had lived through one of the worst Christmases ever.
So how did he find peace? For one thing, he focused on serving. He joined a group who helped to build trails and clear thorny kiawe trees from trails for military camps. Meanwhile, his family joined fundraising efforts to help the U.S. soldiers. These funds were used for everything from buying books to movie screens and projectors to help raise morale.
David then said, again quoting the same Apostle, Elder John A Widtsoe, “There is safety wherever the people of the Lord live so worthily as to claim the sacred title of citizens of the Zion of our Lord.”2
David found peace by focusing on Jesus Christ.3

Soon after arriving home from World War II, I had “promises to keep” (Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”)—meaning going on a mission now. I grew tired of waiting for the bishop. And in some early ark-steadying, I went to the bishop’s home and said I had saved the money and wanted to go, so let’s “get this show on the road.” The good bishop hesitated and then said he’d been meaning to ask me about going.

Years later I would learn from that bishop’s devoted ward clerk that the bishop had felt I needed a little more time with my family after having been away so far and for a tenth of my life. Hearing this, I chastised myself for having been too judgmental. (See Bruce C. Hafen, A Disciple’s Life: The Biography of Neal A. Maxwell [2002], 129–30.)

I was 13 or 14 years old, living with my father and two of my older brothers. My oldest brother was living in a group home in Provo, Utah, and we were going to meet him at church. He was mentally disabled, and he was going to pass the sacrament that day. I was nervous. I was always nervous around the people in the group home. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know how to act. Arnol, my brother, was okay, because I grew up with him and he would make me laugh with his silly jokes. He always called me “dog eyes” because my eyes were brown and they looked like the eyes of our dog.
My dad was wearing his suit, and he looked very distinguished. We didn’t talk much in the car. It was a two-hour drive, and I think we were all a little nervous. We were all wondering how Arnol was going to handle this big responsibility.
The church was crowded, and we were sitting in the very back of the chapel in the overflow area. I could see Arnol sitting by the sacrament table. He kept looking around to see if he could spot us. He looked good. His hair was combed, his tie was on, and his jacket hid his stooped shoulders. I could tell he was nervous and hesitating, looking for reassuring nods from the other boys.
The boys stood up for the prayer, then took their trays and started down the aisles. Arnol tipped his tray as he shuffled along, but nothing fell off. He took it to the correct row, and he managed to pass it to the first person. People in the audience smiled at him and gave him encouraging nods. He was grinning. I could tell that he was pleased with himself. He was doing this all by himself. He was doing a good job. I heard a sigh of relief pass from my dad’s lips. Inwardly, I started to relax a little too. It was going to work out fine.
After the sacrament, the boys stood up to join their families. My dad stood up straight and tall in the back of the chapel so that Arnol could see him. Arnol looked around and saw Dad; then while half running down the aisle, he said, “Did you see me, Dad? Here I come, Dad; did you see me?”
I was embarrassed, and I could feel my face grow red. What would everyone think? But no one was frowning; they were smiling as they watched Arnol head towards his dad. And my dad stood tall and proud, ready to welcome his son after a job well done.
I think of this instance often. I reflect on the poise and pride in my dad’s stance and the love he felt for Arnol. Arnol accomplished what he was able to do. He would never be a football star or a great musician or an A student, but he could pass the sacrament and my dad was proud of that.
I think this must be similar to how our Heavenly Father is. He knows each of our capabilities and each of our limitations. He knows the burdens that we are called upon to bear. And whether we are physically disabled or have any other kind of disability, when we go to meet Him, He will greet us with love for accomplishing the things He knows we are capable of.

The seventh anniversary of our arrival in New Mexico was close, and we were becoming more and more excited about getting the title to the land.
Mr. Talbot from the homestead office came by to make sure everything was in order. “How do you want your name to be printed on the deed?” he asked Papa.
“Alfred Blaine Cookson,” he said. “And Betty Harding Cookson.”
Mr. Talbot wrote that down and Papa added, “I want all the kids’ names on it too.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Mr. Talbot said.
“I don’t care about necessary,” Papa said. “I care about wise. We worked too hard to get this piece of property to let it out of the family. I want them all on there in case something should happen to any of us.”
“It’d automatically go to the next of kin,” Mr. Talbot resisted.
“Don’t care about automatic either,” Papa insisted. “I just want their names on that deed.”
“How many more is that?” Mr. Talbot asked.
“Twelve,” Papa said.
“I don’t think there’s room.”
“Then make room. Every last one of them has worked along with me to get this land and I want them to look at that piece of paper and remember what it cost us and that it’s part theirs. And I want them to be proud of it.”
Mr. Talbot sighed. “How do you want them listed?”
“Oldest first,” Papa said. “That’s Caroline Catherine.”
Mr. Talbot wrote while Papa named us off in order. “I don’t know how I’ll get them all on the paper,” Mr. Talbot said. “But I’ll figure out a way and have the deed ready for you to pick up next Friday morning.”
The next Friday was a holiday at our house. We finished the chores early and dressed in our best clothes for the trip to Harmony. Mama packed a lunch to take so we could stop for a picnic on the way home, and we were parked in front of the homestead office when Mr. Talbot arrived. He had a special deed made up at the printing office that was long enough to list all our names. They were written in beautiful curly letters that twisted in spirals at the beginning and end. I never knew my name could look so beautiful. After everyone signed the paper, Mr. Talbot stamped it with a big seal to make it official, rolled it up, and handed it to Papa.
Papa gave it to Mama and kissed her on the mouth. “We’re landowners, honey,” he said. “Now let’s go celebrate.”
He took us to the general store and told us each to pick out a nickel’s worth of candy. While we were deciding what to get, he asked Mr. Younger for a picture frame for the deed. “And make it a gold one,” he added. “This is very precious.”
After they’d selected the frame, Mr. Younger filled our orders for candy, giving each of us a separate bag. It made me think of the peppermint stick back in Salt Lake the day I had my tongue cut. It was the first time since then I’d had a whole nickel to spend on candy. I chose the kinds I could make last the longest.
Then Papa told Mama to pick out the goods for a new dress. “A nice one,” he said.
She gave him her are-you-sure-we-can-afford-it look and he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve been saving for today for a long time. I want everyone to remember it.”
How could we forget? We had a place of our own at last.

Walls. Fences. Barriers. Unfortunately, many of us seem to build them in one form or another. Afraid of being hurt, we put up iron bars for protection. Afraid of being laughed at, we build a barricade that no one gets inside. Worst of all may be the walls of intolerance, built with bricks of ignorance, cemented with the mortar of fear. Understanding comes only when such walls are torn away. Love and peace come only when, brick by brick, the walls come down.
Latter-day Saint youth in the Belfast Northern Ireland Stake know a lot about walls. In a country torn for centuries by unrest and terrorism, they are in the delicate position of being on neither side of the conflict—both religious and political—between Catholics and Protestants. But they deal with the barriers just the same. Listen to three young women from the Cavehill Ward:
Sharon Goodall tells a common story: “My schoolmates always want to know if I’m Catholic or Protestant. I tell them I’m neither; I’m Mormon. ‘Fine,’ they say. ‘Are you a Catholic Mormon or a Protestant Mormon?’ It almost sounds like a joke, until you have to live it. You try to get along with everybody, but there’s constant pressure to pick a side.”
Debra Boyd explains that a lot of people outside of Northern Ireland have no idea what it’s truly like to live here. “It’s rare that you would see something like a bombing. I’ve lived here all my life, and I haven’t seen any at all. Life goes on pretty much as normal, although you have security checks on public buses, and sometimes there’s a tailback (traffic jam) when there’s an incident. But it’s more of an inconvenience than a threat to your life.”
Along with six other Latter-day Saints, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they would say, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they would tease me,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”
Debbie Sloan, who attends the same school, is popular with her classmates. “At an integrated school, the effort is to help us all get along anyway,” she explains. “They know I’m Mormon. My close friends know my dad is a bishop, that we spend lots of time at our church. I just talk about it the way it is, and they accept me for what I am.”
Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing and gained my own testimony.”
At the Lisburn Ward, Rachael Edwards, Karen Edwards, and David Schmidt say being fully involved in seminary helps break barriers, too.
“Before I started seminary and I’d explain to my friends what my religion was, they’d have a lot of questions, and I couldn’t answer them well,” Rachael says. “Now, having taken seminary, I feel more confidence whenever I talk to people about the Church.”
“There are 13 students in our seminary class,” Karen explains. “It’s the largest in Ireland. We have home study; then we meet with our teacher, Sister Susanna Thompson, on Tuesday nights. At school, everyone has what we call R.E. (religious education) classes. The R.E. schoolwork helps me with seminary, and seminary helps us have a different viewpoint, more depth than what we get at school. So they balance each other.”
“There’s a lot of videos and anti-Mormon literature that go around to the other churches,” Karen says. “It’s hard because what they hear has been severely twisted, and they really need to start from the basics.”
“A lot of my friends didn’t think we read the Bible,” Rachael says. “So I was really glad I could show them my seminary scriptures. They think it’s just their churches that have Bible study. They’re surprised to find we Mormons have our own study classes as well.”
“We change people’s views,” David says. “Like our teacher said, ‘So, you’re a Mormon. That means you’re not totally Christian?’ And I said, ‘Well, we are actually.’ We talked about it and got that all cleared up.”
David also tells of inviting friends and family to meetings. “Last year when my family was getting baptized, my mother invited our granny and our aunts all to church, and they came along and said they quite enjoyed it. They thought it interesting that we didn’t have just clergy up there, but had everyday people bearing their testimonies. And my friends enjoy our church.”
Rachael, Karen, and David tell story after story—the teacher who wanted a floor plan of an LDS chapel to compare it with other churches, and the exams where Mormons had to explain that they do get baptized in a font, which for other churches is a tiny basin holding water for sprinkling.
But it’s Karen who sums up the overall experience. “There’s lots of opposition here,” she says. “But if we make them aware of the Church, maybe eventually they’ll understand the Church. And that can only do good.”
Talk to the young Latter-day Saints in Northern Ireland long enough, and you’ll find that the youth are doing what Karen says.
Sara Magee of Portadown will talk about standards: “Most of my friends, if someone offered me a cigarette or a drink, they’d say, ‘Nope, Sara, you’re not allowed.’” Karen Weir of Portadown will tell you how having the London Temple reopened and the Preston Temple under construction has made a lot of people curious about the Church. Simon Noble of the Holywood Road Ward describes a stake play that was a missionary play, too. “It was all about the plan of salvation, and we invited non-LDS friends to come and learn about what we believe,” Simon says.
Debra Boyd, of the Cavehill Ward, will join the conversation again to talk about her bishop, Ronald Sloan, and how he has shown her that a bishop can be a great ally in living a worthy life. And Debra will tell of the joy she felt when her friend Leigh-Ann Kelly (and her family) were baptized. “We were crying our eyes out,” Debra says. “That scripture that talks about bringing one soul into heaven? You know that one? It’s really true” (see D&C 18:15–16).
Through the center of Belfast runs a thick scar, a no-man’s-land as ugly as a war zone. Its red bars, brick, barbed wire, and yellow barricades mark the dividing line between two parts of the city. For many, it is a symbol of a hopeless situation, its barriers a monument of mistrust and misunderstanding.
But young Latter-day Saints don’t dwell on such a reminder of despair. They look to a day when the Savior will come, when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord, whose right it is to reign. In that day, if not before, all walls will tumble down. And when they do, they’ll be replaced by hope, love, peace, and understanding.

When I was young, I had an experience that helped me relate to the blind man described in John 9.
I was 11 years old when the “works of God were made manifest” in me. In the fifth grade, I developed warts on my hands. Both hands were covered with the ugly virus sufficiently enough to earn me the nickname “warthog” among my classmates. Needless to say, it affected my self-esteem and social life.
When my family moved from Utah to Idaho the following summer, I dreaded the thought of going to a new school. In my old class, I took plenty of teasing, but I also had two good friends who stood by me. This new place offered no such assurance.
I began to search for ways to rid myself of my burden. With my mother’s help, we tried over-the-counter remedies and even some home remedies, but the warts remained. Money was limited, so seeing the doctor for such a nonemergency was out of the question. I began feeling like there would be no end to this malady.
Towards the end of summer, it occurred to me to ask Heavenly Father for help. My family had been active in the Church for about two years, and I had been taught about the power of fasting accompanied by prayer, but I had never before taken the opportunity to do this.
Over two weeks I fasted every few days. I remember how hard it was to pass up my mom’s homemade cherry pie, but I believed the outcome of my fast would be equal to my faith and sacrifice. I prayed earnestly in our backyard, where I could speak aloud and not be interrupted. At the end of the two-week period, my warts were gone. Every one of them had shrunk away.
When school started a couple of weeks later, I felt a new confidence. This confidence came, in part, from having healed hands that I did not have to hide, but more so from an internal seed that had sprouted to life.
I had gained personal knowledge of a great truth—that I was a daughter of Heavenly Father, the true and living God. I knew that He loved me and that He heard and answered my prayers. Just as the man in the scriptures, the works of God had been made manifest in me, on a physical and a spiritual level.

I was a senior in high school the day I ran into Sam Stone,* a boy I hadn’t seen since junior high. I was going to run an errand as I started down the hall of my high school. With the sun coming through the double doors in front of me, I could only make out the silhouette of a boy coming towards me. As we got closer, he spoke, calling me by name, “I remember you. You kicked me in the stomach and were always mean to me.”
Sammy had moved into our small community sometime in the third or fourth grade. He was placed in a foster family and lived there until about the seventh or eighth grade, when he was sent to a new foster family. Sammy had been teased constantly, and I am embarrassed and ashamed to admit that I participated in his ridicule. I don’t remember ever kicking him, but I have a definite memory of being on the merry-go-round when he was trying to get on. We wouldn’t let him and began a cruel chant about him as we pumped the merry-go-round faster and faster. I still remember the look on his face.
Throughout the remainder of my senior year, I tried to be kind to Sam. I made it a point to speak to him whenever I saw him. Then graduation came, and we went our separate ways.
Now I am 33 years old, and I serve as the Primary president in my ward. The theme for sharing time one month was “Friends.” That Sunday we would be having stake visitors, and as I began to prepare for sharing time, I searched for something to involve the children and keep them interested so that we could maintain reverence.
My mind kept going to the memory of Sammy, how I was not a friend to him and how I could have made a difference in the way he was treated and didn’t. I thought about talking to the senior Primary on being a good friend and telling my story as a poor example. I prepared my talk but began to have second thoughts. I did not know if I could keep the interest of the children without a game or something to involve them and did not particularly want to try it for the first time when the stake visitors were there. Then there was the fact that I was ashamed and embarrassed of what I had done when I was the same age as these children and wondered if I should share this story with them.
By Thursday, I had decided not to tell the story and was looking through all my materials for another idea of something to present. By Friday, I had not found anything that felt right to me. I prayed for help and decided that when I went to dinner with my sister that evening, I would find out what she was doing for sharing time in her ward. My sister, who also served in a Primary presidency, is very creative, and I often get ideas from her. That night as we waited for our dinner to arrive, she excitedly told me her plans for sharing time in her ward. The idea was good, but it just didn’t feel right for me. Now I was really concerned. I slowly began to eat my dinner, my thoughts centered on what I could possibly do.
As I was eating, I thought I heard my name being called. It was very faint, and it was my maiden name. I looked around but didn’t see anyone, and no one at my table seemed to have heard it. I figured it was my imagination and went back to my meal and the conversation when I heard my name again, this time louder. This time my dinner companions heard it too. As I looked up, I saw a man step out from behind a divider. The man was Sammy Stone. “I wasn’t sure if that was you,” he said, “so I said your name softly first to make sure it was.”
I was dazed. Standing before me was Sam Stone. I had not seen him since high school some 15 years before, but the past week I had thought about him constantly. And now here he was. We chatted a minute as I introduced him to my husband and my other family members there with me. He invited me to meet his family in another part of the restaurant before we left. I felt strongly that Heavenly Father wanted me to tell this story in sharing time on Sunday.
At the conclusion of our meal, my husband and I went over to meet Sam’s family. Sam had overcome some great odds in his life. I was impressed with him and his family. Sadly for me, Sam introduced me to his family as someone he went to high school with. I would have been elated if he would have introduced me as “a friend from high school,” but at least he had spoken to me.
On Sunday I spoke about Sammy in Primary. The room was packed with the children, the stake visitors, and members of our bishopric. There was no problem with reverence. You could have heard a pin drop during any part of sharing time. I know that Heavenly Father loves each of His children, and I believe He wanted me to share this story to remind them to be kind to everyone. So, to those of you who are reading this story, I ask you the same question I asked that group of children, “What kind of friend will you be remembered as?”