Gospel Story Finder

I learned this for myself when my oldest son received his first cell phone. With great excitement, he began entering the names of his family and friends into his contacts. One day I noticed his mom was calling. On the screen appeared the name “Mother.” That was a sensible and dignified choice—and, I’ll admit, a sign of respect for the better parent in our home. Naturally, I got curious. What name had he given me?
I scrolled through his contacts, assuming that if Wendi was “Mother,” I must be “Father.” Not there. I searched for “Dad.” Still nothing. My curiosity turned into mild concern. “Does he call me ‘Corey’?” No. In a last-ditch effort, I thought, “We’re soccer players—maybe he calls me ‘Pelé.’” Wishful thinking. Finally, I called his number myself, and two words popped up on his screen: “Not Mother”!
Brothers and sisters, by which name are you called?

President George Albert Smith once dreamed that he met his grandfather, George A. Smith, in the spirit world. George A. Smith had been an Apostle and a mighty man in the Church. “I would like to know what you have done with my name,” he said to his grandson.

President Smith quickly reviewed his life. Then he smiled, looked at his grandfather, and said: “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”

Then George A. Smith stepped forward, took his namesake in his big arms, and embraced him. “As he did so, I became conscious again of my earthly surroundings. My pillow was … wet with tears of gratitude that I could answer unashamed.” (Improvement Era, March 1947, p. 139.)

During his freshman year of high school Jed began each day standing at the lane a couple of hundred yards from his house waiting for Brenda to pick him up for early-morning seminary. They lived less than a mile apart in the table-top flatness of Nebraska. Not that Jed’s family were farmers. They’d moved there two years earlier. His father worked for the post office. They lived in the farmhouse because it had been foreclosed and the bank was renting it until they could sell the farm.
Jed was barely 14, small for his age. He wore glasses with brown plastic frames, although he planned to get contact lenses as soon as he could save enough money.
Brenda was 16 and tall, with long wheat-blonde hair. She felt most at home in jeans and a T-shirt, working with her father around the farm.
On the first day of school when she pulled into the farmyard, Jed ran out to the old battered pickup she drove and got in. She had the radio set to a country-western station. She put it into first gear and let the clutch out. The pedal stayed down. She grumbled, flung open the door, crawled under the truck, did something and then got back in.
“Linkage,” she said.
He had no idea what she was talking about. “Oh.”
That was all she said for the rest of the drive into town, a distance of 15 miles. It was obvious that because he was so much younger than she was, she didn’t figure they’d ever be friends.
In October Jed and his father were assigned to home teach Brenda’s family. Her father was strong, a man who took all that life dished out to him without ever letting on how bad it was. His face bore the scars of farm life. Not just the hard work, but the financial burdens too. He knew he might lose the farm if things didn’t get better.
As they rode into seminary each morning, Jed became fascinated with watching Brenda. Her beauty was like the plains itself—you could just about talk yourself into thinking Nebraska was drab, but then something would happen between the sun and clouds and land, and suddenly it became the most beautiful place in the world. Brenda was like that too. She used little makeup and never fussed over her appearance, but when the winter sun hit her hair just right on the way home from school, he’d look and think she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
That was why he began drawing. He wanted to capture the way she looked in sunshine and in shadows. Almost every night he drew her face. He hid the drawings from his parents because he didn’t want to explain to them why he was drawing her. He wasn’t sure himself.
One day in March the pickup broke down on the way to town. Brenda pulled over, got out, and got some tools out. Jed got out and watched her work on the truck, feeling useless. After a few minutes, she’d fixed it and they took off again.
“I wish I could do things as good as you can,” he said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll learn someday.”
“How old were you when you first learned to drive?” he asked.
“Twelve. My dad needed help bringing in the crop.”
“My parents say I’ll probably have to wait till I’m 16.”
“What for? You’re legal now.”
“I know.”
That afternoon, on the way home from school, after they turned off the highway onto the seldom-traveled county road, she pulled over and stopped. “Switch places with me.”
“Why?”
“You want to learn how to drive or not?”
First she showed him how to shift gears. He tried it but killed the engine. She didn’t seem to mind. After several tries, he finally got it into first and they were moving down the road. She helped him get it into second, and then third, and let him drive a few miles.
He felt great. “Thanks,” he said when they switched back again.
She shrugged her shoulders. “No problem.”
After that she let him drive from the turnoff to the lane near his house. To Jed it meant much more than that he was learning how to drive. It meant he and Brenda were now friends.
That summer turned out to be a disaster for the farmers—too little rain and too many grasshoppers. Brenda’s father had to sell off some of his equipment, including the old pickup Brenda had used for school.
In August Jed’s father bought another car and let Jed get a driver’s license so he could drive to school each day. When school started in the fall, Jed picked Brenda up for seminary.
One day in October when he went out to the school parking lot to go home, he saw Brenda talking to Cory Steadman. Cory was a senior who played on the football team.
“Well, I’d better go to practice,” he said. “I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
“Sure. See you.”
Jed started the car. Brenda got in. “Seems like a nice guy,” Jed said.
She smiled. “He is. I think he’s going to ask me to the Homecoming dance.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ve never gone before. This’ll be my last chance to go to one. He doesn’t drink at all. And he goes to his church a lot.”
“Sure.”
“And there’s no LDS guys I could go with, except you, and you’re too young.”
“I know.”
“So I’ll probably say yes if he asks.”
“Sure.”
“Do you think you’ll go?” she asked.
“Probably not.”
“Why not?”
“Like you said, I’m too young. Besides, I’m saving up for contact lenses. In another month I’ll have enough money to get ’em.”
“I won’t know you without glasses.”
“Once I get contacts, girls’ll probably fall all over me.”
“Sure they will,” she said with a smile. He had never seen her in such a good mood before.
“I wonder how much a formal costs,” she asked.
“I don’t know. Probably not much.”
“I think I’d like a pink one.”
The next morning when Jed picked her up for seminary, he could tell by her smile what had happened. “He asked you to Homecoming, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. Is it okay if we stop by a store after school?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve got some money saved up,” she said. “I should be able to get what I want with that.”
After school they stopped by a store and looked at formals. Jed sat in a chair as Brenda came out wearing a low-cut formal.
“What do you think about this one?”
“Shows too much,” he said, then started to blush.
She looked in the mirror again. “You’re right.”
A while later she came out in another one. “What about this one?”
“I like it.”
“It’s the most expensive one.”
“How much is it?”
She showed him the price tag.
“That much for one dress?” he said.
“There’s another one that isn’t as much. I’ll go try that on.”
At that time he didn’t realize how sensitive he was to color and light and shadow, and how years later he would still be able to recall in detail her image as she tried on each dress.
Finally she picked out a formal and had it put on layaway. She was happy all the way home. When they pulled into her yard, he noticed a car from the bank in front of the house.
The next morning he stopped by for her as usual, but she didn’t come out. He turned off the motor and walked to the door. He knocked for the longest time, and then Brenda’s mother came to the door in a robe.
“Brenda?” her mother called out, “Jed’s here.”
“I’m not going today,” Brenda called out from her bedroom.
“If you stay here, I’ll put you to work, so you might as well go.”
There was a long pause. “All right. Ask him if he can wait.”
“I’ll wait,” Jed called out.
A couple of minutes later Brenda came out tucking her shirt into an old pair of jeans.
“You’re not going to school looking like that, are you?” her mother asked.
“What difference does it make?”
“You listen to me, young lady, you quit going around feeling sorry for yourself.”
As they pulled onto the county road, he asked, “Are you going to buy the formal today?”
“I’m not going to the dance.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a waste of money, that’s why.”
“But yesterday …”
“Why don’t you stay out of other people’s business?”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“The bank’s foreclosing on us. They’re having an auction the day after Homecoming. We’re going to have to move out of town so my dad can get a job. My parents need my money to help tide us over till we get settled.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not like it wasn’t expected.”
“Have you told Cory yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. He’s in Omaha on a field trip. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Jed spent most of seminary that morning studying her face. He wished he was older, taller, and more self-confident. He wished he could tell her that as far as he could tell, he was in love with her. Or at least if it wasn’t love it was something—he wasn’t sure what. He knew he wanted her to be happy.
In school that morning he couldn’t concentrate. At noon he left school and drove to the department store.
“May I help you?” the saleswoman asked.
“I was here yesterday with a friend. She picked out a formal and put it on layaway. Last night she found out her father’s going to lose his farm. So she won’t be going to the dance.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She’s my best friend. She taught me how to drive. You saw her. Did you notice her face? Don’t you think she’s beautiful?”
The woman was getting restless. “Can you excuse me a minute while I wait on these other folks?”
“Wait, don’t go. I want to buy the formal for my friend. Don’t let anybody else buy it until I come back from the bank.”
Within half an hour, he’d bought the formal. He hung it from a hook in the back seat and drove around town, trying to figure out how he was going to get it to her. He knew she might not accept it if she knew he’d bought it for her.
He went to the post office just as his dad was about to leave for lunch.
“Dad, there’s something I’ve got to show you. It’s in the car.”
That afternoon after school, on the way out of the parking lot, he told Brenda, “On our way home there’s a garage sale I want to go to. Is that okay with you?”
“I guess so.”
He stopped in front of the house where the garage sale was being held. There were several tables of assorted clothing and some old toys and battered books. It was an impromptu garage sale, one which only lasted for an hour, but Brenda didn’t know that.
“You might as well look around,” he said. “I might be a while.”
She was annoyed at the delay, but got out of the car anyway.
He looked through a pile of shirts as slowly as he could while she wandered around looking at things.
“Jed, come here,” she called out.
He went over to where she was.
“Look at this,” she said.
There hanging among some drab clothing hung a pink formal.
“How much is this?” Brenda asked the woman who was having the sale.
“A dollar,” the woman said.
“Only a dollar?”
“If you look closely it’s got a stain on it.”
“I don’t see a stain,” Brenda said. “Where is it?”
The woman showed her a small stain on one tiny segment of the dress. It was barely noticeable.
Brenda pulled Jed aside. “I can’t believe this. It’s just like the formal I saw in the store—for only a dollar. With only the tiniest stain that’ll come out real easy anyway. Jed, loan me a dollar, okay?”
He reached into his pocket and gave her a dollar’s worth of change.
She rushed back to claim the dress. “Here, thanks,” Brenda said.
They got back in the car.
“Jed, I can go to the dance now. I can’t believe it. It’s like an answer to a prayer.”
“That’s great.”
On Friday night Jed walked into the school gym during the dance and stood in the shadows and watched Brenda dance with Cory. They looked good together. Jed had never felt better in his entire life.
The next morning Brenda came to their house and asked for Jed. He got up and got dressed and went into the kitchen where she was waiting for him.
“Hi,” he said.
“You bought that dress and then rigged up a garage sale, didn’t you?”
“Why would I do a thing like that?”
“I don’t know why. At the dance last night, one of the girls told me this guy asked her at the last moment to go with him. She’d looked at my dress and nearly bought it, but decided to go to another store first. When she came back, all set to buy it, they told her they’d just sold it to a guy who was going to give it to a girl so she could go to the dance. You know what I think? I think you used the money you were saving for contact lenses to buy the dress for me.”
“I’m not admitting to anything, so you might as well give up.”
“Well, whoever did it is the nicest guy in the world.”
“Did you have a nice time at the dance?”
“It was wonderful. Talk about extremes. Last night was great, and today is going to be awful. They’re having the auction over at our place right now. I’m feeling pretty bad. Do you think you could stay with me today?”
“Sure.”
They walked over to her place. Vehicles were lined up along the road. They could hear the auctioneer on the P.A. system. They stood on the edge of the crowd and watched for a while. Her parents watched their property being taken away from them one item at a time. It was too painful for Brenda to watch. She asked Jed to walk with her. They went to the one native tree on their property, an old gnarly cottonwood, and climbed it.
“After the auction, we’re going to stay in town tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll go see how Omaha is for getting work. … If you could give me a ride into town after the auction is over, I’ll have some things to take in too, if that’s all right.”
“Sure.”
They stayed away all morning. He took her to his home and they had lunch. He showed her some of the sketches he’d done of her. She said they were good, but he said he could never get her face the way it really was, because it was like trying to paint the clouds. She didn’t understand. He told her how difficult it was to capture the beauty of clouds, because they changed so fast, and each time was more wonderful. She said she didn’t know what he was talking about.
After lunch they went back to her tree and climbed it and waited. When they saw the stream of traffic going past their place, they got his car and then drove to her house. Her parents had left her a note.
He helped haul her things out to the car. When he came inside the last time, she called from her room and told him to go wait outside.
He went out and leaned on his car and waited. She came out, wearing the formal, dressed just like she’d been the night before.
“Jed, dance with me,” she said. She hummed a tune and they danced around the desolate farmyard until her tears came too fast and made her voice so she couldn’t sing anymore. “I’ll never forget you, Jed.”
“I’ll never forget you either.” He wanted to say more, but he was afraid he’d lose control.
That was the last time he saw Brenda. Years later, when he was serving a mission, his parents sent him the wedding announcement she’d sent to the family. He was glad she was getting married in the temple. He sent her a card and a gift.
After his mission, while majoring in art in college, he finally managed to do a portrait of her that did her justice. It was Brenda in her Homecoming dress, standing alone in the desolate yard of an empty farmhouse.

I love to sing. My favorite songs are Primary songs that help me share my testimony and my love for the Savior. I sang “I Am a Child of God” in sacrament meeting when I was three years old. By sharing my talent, I feel good and help others feel the Spirit. I was able to share my talent with more than 400 people recently when I was asked to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at a picnic for the governor of Maryland. I was not even nervous because I knew that Heavenly Father would help me do my very best.

A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.

Mark Wadsworth, age 19, is now serving in the Spain Bilbao Mission and regularly uses Preach My Gospel. But even before his mission, he studied from it. “Every time I have gone through it, there has always been something new to get out of it,” he says.
Studying Preach My Gospel before his mission helped him identify missionary opportunities. The missionaries in his area helped him and his family develop a family mission plan. “That got me thinking about missionary work in a more proactive way,” he says. As a result, he had more conversations with friends about the Church’s doctrines, its history, and Church-related activities.
“I might have had a similar amount of opportunities to talk about the Church before we made our plan, but I came to react differently to them,” says Elder Wadsworth. “It was just a matter of thinking a little bit differently about things I was already doing.”

That evening we realize my husband is almost out of pain medication. It’s Friday. Jacob has spent the afternoon shaking under a mound of blankets. If he runs out of medication over the weekend, what will we do?

By the time I figure out the right doctor to call (the doctor we had already seen that day), it’s almost 5:00 p.m. A medical assistant answers. He checks with the doctor and tells me, “If you can be here in 30 minutes, I’ll get you the prescription. Here’s my number. Call it when you get here. The doors may be locked.”

I herd our three-year-old daughter to the car, leaving Jacob in the bed and our 10-year-old son with a video game. We drive 25 more miles. The medical assistant gives me the prescription and talks me through the chemo symptoms. I know he must have waited for me.

It’s almost dinner time. I haven’t made any food. I still need to fill the prescription. My daughter is hungry and tired. But out over the valley, the sun breaks through the overcast sky, and a ray of light runs in a straight line to the place I’m headed for. I say a prayer of gratitude for the medical assistant who waited for me.

The woman who rings up the prescription remembers me. Another pharmacist gives my daughter a free sucker. I get a text message from my husband. Someone from the ward has brought us dinner.

I almost start crying. Not because I can’t do it anymore but because the assistant waited. Because dinner is at home. And because two pharmacists took time for me and my daughter. The fog and rain have lifted enough for me to see again. I know we are going to be all right. We’re being carried in the hands of the Lord.

Second grade is a lot more work than first grade! I have homework almost every day. That homework includes studying spelling words. We have two chances a week to get 100%. If we get 100% the first time, we get spare time during the next test. I really wanted spare time!
One week my teacher gave me 100%, but when I showed it to Mom and Dad, we found that one word was spelled wrong. I knew how to spell it, so I thought about just leaving things the way they were and enjoying spare time the next day. Then I thought, “What would Jesus do?” And I knew that I had to tell my teacher.
I did and took the test over. I not only got 100%, but my teacher was happy about my honesty and wrote this on my test paper: “Thanks for telling the truth and finding my mistake!” The good feeling in my heart meant much more than having spare time. I hope we can all tell the truth, even if it is hard.

My parents weren’t very happy about my baptism. My father even made me give him my word that I would never preach “Mormonism” to him.
Ten years passed, during which time I met a young lady, taught her the gospel, baptized her, and married her in the Idaho Falls Temple. All that time, even though we were active in the Church, I kept my word and never mentioned the Church to my father.
Then one day he said to me, “You never are going to mention it, are you?”
We both knew what he meant.
“No,” I replied.
“Well then, would you answer a couple of questions?” he asked.
His questions indicated that he had done some serious thinking. After I answered them, I kept quiet, even though I could tell he wanted to know more.
“Well,” he said impatiently, “aren’t you going to tell me any more?”
“No,” I answered. A long quiet followed. Then I said, “I can tell you have been doing a lot of thinking about the gospel. Since we’re so close, I don’t think I should try to teach you. But I know two fine young men who can answer your questions and tell you about the gospel.”
“Ray, I’ve heard about those two fine young men. One minute you’re having a few questions answered and the next minute you’re being baptized.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, “I’ll let them know that these will be informational discussions only, and that if they try to pressure you in any way, I’ll personally ask them to leave. And if you don’t mind, I’ll sit there during the discussions to make sure they keep to the agreement.”
“All right,” he said, “but if they pressure me to be baptized I’ll show them out of the house.” I assured him there would be no pressure.
The following Tuesday evening, my parents and I sat and listened to the missionaries present the gospel. I was pleased and a little surprised when my father said that everything they said was just common sense and that he believed it. After the second discussion, which both my parents accepted, the missionaries did what they were not supposed to do but which the Spirit prompted them to do: They challenged my father to be baptized. Before I could say anything, he answered, “Yes, I will.” Mother agreed. Appointments were made for the next discussions the following week.
That Sunday, I received a phone call from my youngest brother. His voice choked with tears. All he could say was, “Ray, … father is dead … Auto accident. …” I wept at the loss of my good friend, confidante, companion, and father.
A year later we went to the temple to do my father’s work. During the session, as I acted as proxy for him, good feelings told me that I was doing something he wanted me to do.
When we were in the sealing room to have him sealed to his parents, a warm glow came over me as we knelt around the altar. I knew my father was there in spirit. Looking at the temple president, I saw tears in his eyes. “Brother Snelson,” he said, “tell me about your father.” I started to tell him of the love and closeness I felt for him, but he interrupted me: “No, no—what did he look like?” As I described father, a gentle smile came across the temple president’s face.
After completing the sealing, he asked everyone but me to step out of the room for a moment. Taking me by the hand, he led me to the side of the room and we sat down next to each other. By then both of us had tears in our eyes, and the room felt as if it were filled with electricity. The temple president asked, “You know, don’t you?” “Yes,” I replied quietly.
He continued, “Your father was standing right behind you.”
Again I wept, this time for joy.

I remembered when I first came to Foggia, a little town in southern Italy. It was only my second city, and the Manzos were about the first people I met. Even I could tell they were special. Rita and Salverio Manzo and their two children were the kind of family missionaries dream about. A warm, close feeling was present in their home. They didn’t have much money, but that didn’t seem important to them. They were always generous, inviting us to eat more often than they could afford.
It seemed like Satan was aware of how fine the Manzos were too, because right from the beginning, he worked to keep them out of the Church. As they progressed spiritually, their trials became more and more difficult. Their children got sick. When they tried to share their new knowledge with their family and friends, they suddenly quit visiting. When the Manzos went to the homes of people who previously had been close to them, the reception was chilly. Italians are family people, so that hurt them more than they would allow us to see. Each evening we left their home convinced that the worst was over, only to find that something else would happen the next day. They had financial problems. They found themselves arguing about things that never bothered them before. Neighbors told them that the missionaries brought them bad luck and they should stop seeing us.
Brother Manzo had been out of work for some time. He finally found a job, and things seemed to be looking better for them. The day he got his first check was the day we taught him about tithing. For some time he sat looking thoughtfully around his home. You could almost see his thoughts: This little check is all I have. It’s not enough as it is; yet you want me to give part of it away. How can I do it? I must feed my children. Surely the Lord would understand that I can’t pay this tithing. We were afraid that this would be the one trial too big for them. Finally he looked at us and said, “If the Lord requires us to pay this tithing, we will pay it.”
“Sister. Sister Johnson! Hey! You’re sure a long ways away! Are you still worrying about Brother Manzo?” Sister Bullen asked.
“I, well, yes I am. How did you know?”
“Because you’ve been studying that page for about 15 minutes,” she said with a smile. “Why are you so upset?”
“I just don’t think that someone who is as good as Brother Manzo should have to start out as a deacon. It’s like they don’t think he will stay with it, so they don’t trust him with anything else.”
Sister Bullen liked to joke around, and she kidded me a lot, but she was really serious when she asked, “Do you think that Brother Manzo is too proud to be a deacon?”
“No, he’s not too proud. But he’s a grown man, and he’s so dignified and kind of shy. I don’t want him to be embarrassed to be passing the sacrament with all those little boys. After all he has been through, I think he deserves to be a priest.
She smiled at me. “I think he’ll be okay.”
Sitting in the chapel on Sunday, I felt a little nervous again. The deacons were standing around the table, waiting to pick up their trays. Brother Manzo towered over the rest of the deacons. I noticed he was wearing a new white shirt and a tie. He was watching carefully to make sure he did the right things.
As he turned and reverently carried his tray of bread toward us, I could see that his face was shining. He caught my eye and smiled warmly. I looked down at my scriptures. They were open to the 26th chapter of Matthew, and I read verse 26: “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat …”
I couldn’t see the words through the tears in my eyes. It had been me, not Brother Manzo, who needed to learn about the priesthood! I felt a squeeze on my arm, and Sister Bullen smiled at me and winked.
I guess there’s no such thing as being “only” a deacon.

7. Integrity is not governed by the presence of others. It is internally, not externally, driven. Elder Marion D. Hanks (1921–2011) of the Seventy told of the man and his small son who “stopped at an isolated cornfield on a remote country road” and eyed the delicious corn beyond the fence. The father, after looking in front of him, behind him, to the left of him, and to the right of him, “started to climb the fence” to take some ears of corn. His son looked at him and said reproachfully, “Dad, you forgot to look up.”7

The sheriff began to roll up his whip while he talked. “You know, Bobby, dads are pretty good fellows. They take you on camp-outs, teach you how to play ball, fix your bike tires when they’re flat, tell you stories, and somehow are always around when you need a friend. Most of all, they’re there to set you straight when you get off the right track. If the world’s a good place to live in, it’s because there are lots of good dads.”

The sheriff stopped talking, and I figured he was done. But he wasn’t. He took a deep breath and started tapping his fingers on the desk. “Do you know why your dad and I are such good friends?”

I shook my head.

“My dad died before I was even born. When I was growing up, your dad was the one who fixed my bike, showed me how to play ball, and was around when I needed a friend. He was a dad to me.”

I looked up at the sheriff, and I could see that his eyes were moist and shining. He wasn’t bawling or anything, but shoot, the sheriff’s about the toughest guy around!

When Peggy told me her husband, John, after 31 years of marriage, was going to be baptized, I asked what had changed.
Peggy said, “John and I were studying the New Testament Come, Follow Me, and John asked about Church doctrine.”
Peggy said, “Let’s invite the missionaries.”
John said, “No missionaries—unless my friend can come.” Over 10 years, John’s ministering brother had become his trusted friend. (I thought, What if John’s ministering brother had stopped coming after one, two, or nine years?)
John listened. He read the Book of Mormon with real intent. When the missionaries invited John to be baptized, he said yes. Peggy said, “I fell off my chair and started to cry.”
John said, “I changed as I drew closer to the Lord.” Later, John and Peggy were sealed in the holy temple. Last December, John passed away at age 92. Peggy says, “John was always a good person, but he became different in a beautiful way after he was baptized.”

The spring of 1898 was not a happy one for Sonora Louise Smart. Her mother died in March, leaving her and five younger brothers motherless. Sonora must have wondered how they would manage with no mother to look after them, but she had no need to worry.

Billy Smart, her father, believed that fatherhood was a lifelong responsibility, and he didn’t take that responsibility lightly. After his wife’s funeral, Billy quickly assumed the duties of both father and mother to his six children. Sonora in later years described him as a “good home person” and a “Golden Rule type of father.” Billy Smart was a strict man, but he was also a loving father, who kept his children happy and together.

Sonora loved her father and recognized and admired his sacrifices to raise her and her brothers by himself. Her love and appreciation for her father inspired a tribute to him that eventually became a national holiday to honor all fathers.

Eleven years after her mother’s death, Sonora (now married to John Bruce Dodd) sat in church listening to a Mother’s Day message. It was a wonderful talk about the role of mothers, but she noticed that the word father was never mentioned. When Sonora thought of the sacrifices that her father had made, she felt that it was only fair that fathers be recognized in a like manner. After the meeting she approached the speaker and asked, “Don’t you think that fathers should have a special day of recognition too?” With that question, Sonora Dodd began gaining support for her Father’s Day idea.

The following year Sonora, supported by local church leaders, submitted a petition to the Spokane City Council. As a result, the mayor declared that the third Sunday in June would be observed as Father’s Day. Following Spokane’s lead, the governor of Washington made it a state holiday, and June 19, 1910, it became the first official Father’s Day in history.

Even though a day to recognize fathers had been declared, Sonora Dodd did not feel that her work was done. That first Father’s Day she and her infant son, Jack, traveled by carriage to deliver gifts to shut-in fathers in Spokane.

Mrs. Dodd next sought support from national politicians for recognition of Father’s Day. She wanted a designated day when people across the nation would be reminded of a father’s proper role in the training of children, in the safeguarding of the marriage tie, and in the protection of womanhood and childhood. And while her efforts to honor fathers were successful and Father’s Day was celebrated in many areas in the United States, it wasn’t until 1972 that the holiday was established by a congressional resolution.

Sonora Dodd devoted her life to honoring fathers, and her strong feelings about fatherhood were passed to her son, Jack. In 1952 one of Sonora Dodd’s proudest moments came when Jack was named “Father of the Year.” Nineteen years later, an even prouder moment came. Sonora Louise Dodd, the woman known as “the mother of Father’s Day,” became the first and only woman ever to be named “Father of the Year!”

In 1978 Sonora died just a few weeks before the sixty-ninth Father’s Day. This June 15, on the seventy-sixth anniversary of Father’s Day, her name will seldom be mentioned in connection with the day. But that’s the way she wanted it. She never wanted acclaim for her contribution toward the establishment of Father’s Day. As she often said, “Father’s Day is to glorify fatherhood and not to glorify me.”

When I became too sick to continue my mission, I knew that God wanted me to go home, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was also distressed by the sudden loss of my health, which later proved to be the beginning of a chronic, disabling condition.
While adapting to my illness, I felt I had lost my purpose. I needed so much help and felt I had nothing to offer. But I knew I needed to continue exercising my faith, so I kept studying, praying, and trying to follow the Spirit. While studying the New Testament one day, I came upon a painting by James Tissot entitled Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest. This depiction of Mark 6:30–31 immediately soothed me. As I saw Christ watching over His resting servants, I felt how much He loved them. And me.
Eventually, I learned that the expectations I had for myself were not the same expectations that God had for me. In some ways, His were more personally challenging, but they were much more attuned to my needs. I’m so grateful for the way He teaches me to more fully accept His help and His perfect love. His faith in me gives me the hope I need to keep going.
Sabrina Maxwell, Utah, USA

This story took place in the Philippines.
As Marius walked up to his house, he could hear people talking inside. He peeked through the window.
I wonder who is here, he thought. His mom lived in another country for work, so usually it was just him and Lola (Grandma) at home.
He opened the door. All of his friends were there!
“Surprise!” they said.
“We wanted to celebrate you and the medal you got at your Taekwondo competition,” said Jose, Marius’s best friend.
“I am so proud of you.” Lola squeezed Marius in a big hug. “Your mother’s on the phone! I’m sure she’ll want to hear all about your medal.”
After Marius was done talking to Mom, he and his friends enjoyed the party. They had fun talking and eating Lola’s yummy food.
“Want to go bowling with me tomorrow?” Jose asked before he left.
“Yeah!” Marius said.
That night before bed, Marius said a prayer. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for giving me such great friends and family. Please bless my mom while she’s far away. And please bless me to have fun bowling with Jose tomorrow.”
But the next day, Marius didn’t get to go bowling. A big rainstorm came, and everyone had to stay inside. Marius sat at home, listening to the rain pounding on the roof. He wished he could see Jose.
For three days, it kept raining. The streets flooded with water. Some houses in Marius’s neighborhood flooded too.
Later Marius found Lola in the kitchen. She was cooking something that smelled delicious.
“What are you cooking?” he asked.
“I’m making food for some families in our ward,” she said. “Their houses flooded, so the bishop asked me to help.”
Marius thought of Jose. “Can we make food for Jose’s family? They might need help too.”
“That’s a great idea,” Lola said.
Marius cooked some rice and fried eggs for Jose and his family. Then he helped Lola pack up the food.
Finally the rain stopped. Marius and Lola waded into the streets to deliver the food. The water was up to Marius’s knees!
They found Jose and his family standing outside their house. Jose was crying.
Marius hugged his friend. “I’m sorry your house got flooded,” he said. “Jesus loves you. And we do too.”
Together Marius and Jose helped clean the muddy things in Jose’s house. Marius sang “I Am a Child of God” as they worked. When they took a break, Marius gave Jose the food he made for him.
“Thanks for helping my family,” said Jose. “And thank you for the food! It’s delicious.”
“You’re welcome,” Marius said.
“Do you think you could tell me more about Jesus? And the song you’ve been singing?” asked Jose.
“Sure!” Marius said. “Would you like to come to church with me on Sunday? That’s where I learn about Jesus. And we can sing together too.”
“OK,” Jose said.
Marius felt warm inside. He was glad he could help Jose and his family. And he was happy he could share the gospel too.
Illustrations by Jamie Bauza

Willow Creek, Idaho—James A. Smith and his wife, Annie Sellars Smith, left their home in Utah and settled in Willow Creek, about twelve miles northeast of Idaho Falls, in 1886. Their eight-year-old daughter, Mamie, took a special interest in her younger sister, Clara, and the two played together endlessly. Mamie was heartbroken this Christmas to think that little Clara would not get a doll. The little family was snowbound and their Christmas celebration would consist of homemade candy, apples, a cheerful fire and music.
Christmas morning found a little doll, neatly and beautifully dressed, in her little sister’s stocking. Mamie had taken a long clothespin from her mother’s peg sack and had spent hours in hemming, folding, dyeing, tying, painting and padding a doll for Clara so her Christmas cry in the morning would be one of gladness, not of disappointment. Clara Smith DeMott always cherished the memory of her first doll and of the happiness it brought and the never-to-be-forgotten loving sister who made her first doll from a clothespin.
Deon Smith Seedall, Treasures of Pioneer History, 4:201–2

A woman I’ll call Megan shared a poignant experience she had shortly after her husband announced his desire for a divorce. Recalling one Sunday when she was sitting in sacrament meeting, Megan said, “I hadn’t anticipated how awkward and painful it would be to sit there in church, pretending that everything was OK when inside my heart was breaking and my stomach was churning. The thoughts in my mind seemed to be on a continual loop of pleadings with the Lord: ‘What am I going to do? How can I be a single parent and provide the kind of life I want for my kids?’”

On that occasion Megan’s answer came in the closing hymn—“How Firm a Foundation.”11 As she heard the lyrics “As thy days may demand, so thy succor shall be,” her heart felt peace. To succor means to “run to support; … to help or relieve when in difficulty, want or distress; to assist and deliver from suffering.”12 Megan realized that even in her circumstances, she could turn to Christ and He would come to her aid. When we go through excruciating trials, even to the point of feeling abandoned by God, Christ will empathize with and succor us because He has experienced that very feeling.

My wife and I served a senior mission in the Philippines San Pablo Mission from 2008 to 2010. One day at the temple in Manila, most of the Bautista family gathered for the marriage of John Bautista (Romeo’s son) to Sister Victorino, one of the sister missionaries from our San Pablo Mission who had completed her mission and recently returned home.
Our mission president asked if we would like to attend that joyous event, and we immediately made plans to be there. My wife knew of my relationship with the Bautista family but was completely blown away by how many family members there were and how much they loved her. She had 70 new friends for life.

One hot summer day our family decided that the best way to enjoy the afternoon would be to go to the mountains. For a long time our list of things to do together had included a trip to a nearby cave. After we had gotten our hiking gear together, we packed a lunch.
We set out on our journey with anticipation and soon found ourselves in the refreshing coolness of the mountains. At the cave we were greeted by a park ranger, who became our guide. He told us that originally there were three caves, discovered separately, but that now the caves were joined together by man-made passageways. We noticed that there were many levels of interesting rock formations, some of which remained unexplored. Pointing to a slight opening at the side of the trail, the ranger commented that there were two unpenetrated caverns below the path on which we stood. He said, “We hope to explore both of these some day, but as yet we haven’t found a satisfactory way to get in and out of those lower caves.”
Ducking our heads to avoid contact with sharp-edged roks, we walked along a narrow, slippery path with the unknown leading off in every direction. In order to keep our balance, it was often necessary for us to grip an iron pipe attached to the cave wall alongside the trail.
I had stayed behind the group to take some pictures with my camera, when suddenly the electric lights in the cave went out. Whether this was part of a demonstration to a group ahead of us or an unexpected power failure, I don’t know. Far ahead of me our guide raised his voice and it echoed back along the narrow passage. “Be calm, everyone; I’m sure the lights will come on momentarily. Everybody please stay on the trail and hold onto the railing.” His flashlight made only a tiny spark of yellow in the distance.
I had a strong mental image of the many jagged holes and side passages breaking off and down from the place where we stood. A person could get lost in one of these and never be seen again, I worried. To relax, I leaned against the slanted wall of rock. Feeling along the wall with my fingers, I found the iron railing. With the park ranger ahead and by holding onto the railing, we should be able to get out of here, I decided even if the power isn’t restored.
An excited murmur of voices rose from the group ahead of me, but it soon subsided. We all seemed to sense that as long as we stayed on the trail and followed the advice of the guide, who had been over the path before, there would be no danger. There was no fear because we could hear his voice and feel the railing firmly fixed to the rocky wall of the cave.
After a few minutes the lights came on and we were able to continue our tour and view the wondrous beauty of the cave. But what would have happened if someone had abandoned the trail or let go of the railing? What if anyone had tried to get out by himself by feeling his way along the cave floor in the dark? What chance would any of us have had of getting out without the railing or without the ranger?
There have been many other exciting and memorable family outings, and each one has taught lessons of love, understanding, and cooperation. But on that long-ago day when I held tightly to a damp iron railing in a dark cave, I learned a lesson in faith that I have never forgotten.