Gospel Story Finder

“When I joined the Church, I didn’t have confidence to talk to people,” Shinnah says. “When I was given a calling to serve as a Young Women class president, I was so surprised. I had never been a leader before. I had to practice how to talk in front of other people and how to share my testimony. Then one day my bishop called me to his office. He told me that I am so loved and that Heavenly Father will strengthen me in everything I do.”

A couple of weeks ago, I met a stake Young Women president in California who told me that her 81-year-old mother had recently been called to be a Mia Maid adviser. I was so intrigued I gave her mother a call. When Sister Val Baker’s bishop asked to meet with her, she was looking forward to being called as a librarian or ward historian. When he asked her to serve as a Mia Maid adviser to the Young Women, her reaction was, “Are you sure?”
Her bishop solemnly replied, “Sister Baker, make no mistake; this call is from the Lord.”
She said she had no other answer to that except, “Of course.”
I love the inspiration this bishop felt that the four Mia Maids in his ward have much to learn from the wisdom, experience, and lifelong example of this mature sister. And guess whom Sister Baker will go to when she needs help setting up her Facebook page?

Scottie’s Everything Box was special! Inside were many exciting things—useful things, pretty things, things Scottie found all around the neighborhood.
One morning as Scottie skipped down the sidewalk, he saw something sparkle by the edge of the road. He stooped over and picked up a bottle opener! Scottie didn’t have a bottle opener in his Everything Box. This one was only a little bit rusty, so he put it in his pocket.
Just as Scottie started skipping down the sidewalk again, a gust of wind blew some dry leaves across his path.
What’s that tumbling in the leaves, he wondered. It’s not red and yellow like the other leaves.
He bent down to catch whatever it was in his cupped hands. It was a blue feather. Scottie stroked his cheek with the feather. It felt soft and even tickled a little!
Scottie didn’t have a feather in his Everything Box, so he carefully put it in his pocket.
As Scottie skipped on down the sidewalk, he smiled as he thought of the bottle opener and feather he could add to his Everything Box.
The wind blew a pine cone off a tree. Scottie picked up the cone and smelled it. It reminded him of Christmas. He liked the prickly way the cone felt against his upper lip.
Scottie didn’t have a pine cone in his Everything Box, so he carefully put it in his pocket.
Scottie began to skip a little faster down the walk, wondering what he’d find next.
Soon he saw Mr. Anderson walking toward him. Just then the wind blew Mr. Anderson’s hat right off his head. It rolled along on its rim like a wheel. Scottie hurried to catch it.
“Here’s your hat, Mr. Anderson,” he said.
“Thank you, Scottie. And where are you going on this windy day?” Mr. Anderson asked.
“I’m looking for things to put in my Everything Box,” Scottie answered.
“I’ve never heard of an Everything Box before. Tell me about it,” said Mr. Anderson.
“Well, it’s a box of things I collect,” Scottie answered. “My dad collects stamps and I collect things.”
Mr. Anderson smiled. He reached in his pocket and took out a ballpoint pen.
“How would you like this pen?” he asked. “Let me show you how it works.”
Mr. Anderson turned the screw at the bottom of the pen and a black tip came out. He turned the screw again. The black tip disappeared and a green tip came out. When he turned it a third time, a red tip appeared.
“Wow!” Scottie exclaimed. “Three colors in one pen. Thanks a lot.”
Scottie had never seen a pen like that before. He slipped it into his pocket and started home.
The wind was getting colder and it was beginning to snow. The flakes quickly disappeared as they touched his tongue.
Scottie laughed. Here was something he couldn’t put in his pocket and take home for his Everything Box.
“Hi, Mom,” he called as he ran in the house. “Guess what I found today—a bottle opener, a feather, and a pine cone. And Mr. Anderson gave me a very special ball-point pen.”
Scottie stopped to catch his breath. He had been lucky to find so many new treasures for his Everything Box.
Scottie thought about the fun he’d had collecting things for his own very special Everything Box, but it was even more exciting to think about snowflakes and all the other things the world had in its Everything Box—wonderful things just waiting for Scottie to discover.

One night in late May, three enemy shells exploded near Neal’s mortar position. Up until then, the Japanese had not been able to find the location of his squad. But now it seemed the artillerymen had triangulated his position and were closing in. When another shell exploded just a few feet away, Neal feared the next one would find its target.

Leaping from the foxhole, he took cover against a knoll. Then, realizing he was still in danger, he scurried back to the hole to await whatever came next.

Illustration by Greg Newbold

In the mud and darkness, Neal got on his knees and began to pray. He knew he did not deserve any special favors from God and that many righteous men had died after offering fervent prayers during battle. Still, he pleaded with the Lord to spare his life, promising to dedicate himself to God’s service if he survived. He had a smudged copy of his patriarchal blessing in his pocket, and he thought of a promise it contained.

“I seal you up against the power of the destroyer that your life may not be shortened,” his blessing read, “and that you may not be deprived of fulfilling every assignment that was given unto you in the preexistent state.”

Neal finished his prayer and looked up into the night sky. The shattering explosions had ceased, and all was quiet. When the shelling did not resume, he felt in his soul that the Lord had preserved his life.3

Not long after, Neal wrote a few letters to his family back home. “I’m so lonely for you, sometimes I feel like crying,” he said. “All I have to do is be worthy of my patriarchal blessing, your prayers, and my religion. But time and so much action hang heavy on a man’s soul.”

“I can say only God prevented my death at times,” he wrote. “I have a testimony no one can crumble.”4

The words God, Heavenly Father, and Jesus Christ were almost never mentioned in my home when I was growing up. My father didn’t really believe in God, and my mother didn’t attend the Christian church in which she had been baptized. When I was six, I wanted to go to church, but my parents decided not to allow me. To remedy my disappointment, I decided to hold my own church services on Sundays.
My knowledge of church and prayer was limited to what I knew from television and stories my friends had told me. The first thing I thought I needed was a Bible. I knew the Bible was a large book with a lot of important words and stories in it. We didn’t have a Bible, so I used the thing we had that fit the description best—the Encyclopaedia Britannica Junior. My congregation consisted of my stuffed animals and dolls. However, my church eventually dissolved, as reading from an encyclopedia can be very frustrating for a six-year-old. Though my church was over, my prayers to God continued.
When I was 13, my mother decided to return to her church. I went with her every Sunday for several months and soon joined the church’s youth group. I loved many things about this church, but I always felt like there was something missing. I continued to go until one day at a youth activity the other youth found out I was not a member of the church. The teenagers in the group began shunning me, and I eventually stopped going to church altogether.
Later, in high school, I took a comparative religions course. I learned a lot about many religions and realized there are a lot of good people with the best of intentions. But no religion ever seemed quite right.
I had convinced myself that no church was right and decided to live by my conscience, read the Bible (by this time I had bought my own), and do my best to live in accordance with the teachings of Jesus Christ. After all, no one in my family went to church, and they were all honest, good people.
In May of 2000, after seeing a movie about the life of Jesus Christ, I was so deeply touched that I earnestly prayed to God. I knew if I was patient, while continuing to do my best to follow Christ, I would receive answers to my prayers. I faced many tests in the months that followed. Through these tests, I became better at receiving the Spirit’s promptings.
Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.
As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.
In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”
Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.
The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.
I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

It was finally here. My favorite time of the summer: Young Women camp. I was super excited because I was bringing my best friend, who was of another faith.

A few weeks earlier I had started bringing my friend to Mutual. She enjoyed the first activity and wanted to keep coming back. The other girls and I talked a lot about Young Women camp, so when it was almost time for camp, she asked if she could come. I said yes, of course, but the problem was convincing her parents. They weren’t keen on the Mormon religion and had denied her going with me to church before.

I went over to their house to bring the papers for camp and talked to her parents about letting her come, but I wasn’t sure they would let her go. That night I prayed earnestly to Heavenly Father that her parents’ hearts would be softened. I called back the next day and they had agreed to let her go!

I was glad my friend was coming to camp but nervous at the same time. I was scared that she would feel out of place when we played gospel-oriented games or sang hymns around the campfire. I was also scared because I felt like my friend didn’t really care for religion. I spent a lot of time praying that things would all go well at camp.

It turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry. All of us, including my friend, had fun playing games, hiking, and laughing. It was the night hike and testimony meeting, however, that were my favorite parts of camp.

It was stake camp, and every ward had their own campsite. For the night hike, the girls were separated into several groups and then each group took turns going from one campsite to another, where they had different speakers talk on women who had “lived as they believed” (that year’s camp theme). As we sat around the campfires and listened to the different speakers talk about courageous women, we felt the Spirit so strongly.

I glanced from time to time at my friend but couldn’t read her expression and couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to anything the speakers said. As we neared the end of the night hike however, my friend turned to me and the first words out of her mouth touched me deeply.

“I’m going to camp every year.”

I smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father that my friend had been able to feel the Spirit. She had enjoyed the games and having fun, but she had felt the Spirit, and it was what made her want to come back again.

The next night was our last night at camp and our testimony meeting. My friend was confused as to what a testimony was so I quickly explained as best I could. She didn’t look too excited. After the opening prayer, the bishop and several young women bore beautiful testimonies and the Spirit was very strong.

My friend, who never liked to talk in public, stood up to share her feelings. She explained that even though she was of a different religion, watching us girls read our scriptures and pray had touched her. She said that after being here at camp, she wanted to start being a better person and was going to try to be nicer to her family. She also said that coming to camp was probably the best decision she had ever made. She sat down and I glanced over at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. I had never seen her become emotional or cry, but the Spirit of the Lord touched her so deeply it moved her to tears.

This experience at camp taught me a lot about how the Spirit touches the lives of others and about the power of testimonies. The Spirit can speak to everyone regardless of who they are. I now better understand the importance of having a strong testimony and sharing it with others. The gospel can touch the lives of those you would never expect.

I have a friend who chose not to serve a mission because of some personal struggles. Years later, he felt puzzled and disheartened every time he read a line in his patriarchal blessing that said he would have the opportunity to serve a mission. He felt like he had messed up what God had in store for him and was often filled with shame and uncertainty about the future.

But as he prayerfully pondered this situation, he realized that the key word in his patriarchal blessing was opportunity. Heavenly Father invites us to obey Him and to choose good opportunities throughout all seasons of life.

My friend may not have served a mission, but he has deepened his faith in Christ and his willingness to act on opportunities and callings given to Him. And he has found joy and fulfillment in making good decisions and allowing God to guide him.

When I was a little girl, I noticed that my grandfather kept a picture of a young man on his desk. The young man was not especially handsome, nor was he a relative that I knew of. I didn’t think that he was anyone famous, either, but I knew that he must be someone very important to hold such a place of honor. So one day I asked my grandmother, “Who is that man in the picture?”
My grandmother stopped dusting, and a tender smile lit up her face. She gently touched the frame and answered, “He is the missionary who taught Papa about the gospel.”
I wondered at the reverent expression in her voice. I knew that Papa had joined the Church many years ago, after he had married my grandmother. She had grown up in the Church.
But that was such a long time ago! I thought. And they still remember it!
Though my grandparents moved many times, they always took the picture with them. And they always placed it once again where they could look at it every day and remember lovingly the young man who cared enough to share some of his life and his testimony.
Several years ago, my grandparents passed away. I’m sure they took the picture with them in their hearts.

I was at the grocery store with my mom and my brothers. We got to the checkout stand, and my mom was paying for our groceries. I saw that my two-year-old brother was holding a bag of doughnuts that my mom forgot to pay for. Before we left the checkout line, I told my mom that she had forgotten to pay for the doughnuts. She was thankful that I had been honest, and I felt very happy that I did the right thing by speaking up.

Some years ago I attended a stake conference in a rural area. We were emphasizing missionary work in the Saturday evening meeting. An eighteen-year-old farm boy with freckles on his nose and a charming smile on his face was asked to tell what he had done to get ready for a mission. He listed ten things that had helped him. Here is his list:
“1. First and most important, I have had great parents to help me. They have encouraged me to go on a mission for as long as I can remember. They have helped me to save money for this purpose.
“2. I have attended church. I have learned many wonderful lessons that have helped me to understand the meaning of the gospel.
“3. I have been in Scouting for seven years. I am an Eagle Scout. I have been taught to ‘be prepared.’ I have repeated many times the Scout oath, ’to do my duty to God and my country.’
“4. I have earned a Duty to God Award. I know that this duty includes sharing the gospel with others.
“5. I am the priest quorum assistant. I work directly under my bishop, who is my quorum president. Ever since I was a deacon my bishop and his counselors have interviewed me and have spoken about my going on a mission. They have helped give me a vision of what a great opportunity and responsibility it is to serve the Lord as a missionary.
“6. I have attended seminary, where I have studied the gospel. I have had wonderful teachers and friends. I have read and studied the Book of Mormon, and I know it is the word of God.
“7. I have been a Primary teacher. This has been a great challenge. I have a small class of boys and girls who are not always easy to handle, but I love them and they know it. We are learning together.
“8. I have taken part in family home evenings from the time I was a child. My family and I have prayed together, sung together, and read the scriptures together. We have made plans together concerning our lives and the things we want to do.
“9. I have tried to live a clean life. There have been temptations; but I have a goal to go on a mission, and I want to be worthy to go. I decided a long time ago that I don’t need to drink beer, I don’t need to smoke, I don’t need drugs, and I don’t need to get mixed up in immorality.
“10. I have responsibilities in school to lead and serve. I am a student leader at school. I enjoy it, I am growing from it, and I have made many wonderful friends because of it.”
This boy concluded by saying: “I have enjoyed the story of Ammon in the Book of Mormon. He fought the robbers and protected the sheep. While others, who had run from the robbers, were bragging to the king, Ammon was down with the horses. He did what he was supposed to do when he was supposed to. If we do this and pray for help, we will be ready.”
Financial Preparation. Missions have become costly. The average expense is $250 a month, which means approximately $6,000 for a period of two years. The time to start saving is when boys are very young. Let those savings be kept in safe bank accounts and not be placed in speculative ventures. The young man to whom I referred earlier had saved money to finance his mission. Many of our young men have done so. Many more could do much more.

COLIN: I still had my fair share of tough experiences, but I also had some good experiences. It was like half and half. I discovered that a lot of people are going through tough times, and that the gospel can remind them to look at the good side of life. One lady we taught was discouraged, and we talked to her about trying to be happy, about the real meaning of life and the plan of salvation. Later on, just as I left the mission field, she was baptized. I felt really good inside because I felt the Spirit, and I know she did too.

On August 18, 2022, we went to the branch in Sideseawi. We had no way to contact the branch president to tell him we were coming. We just went and hoped to find him.
When you think of Tanna, think of jungle roads. We drove our pickup truck as far up the mountain as we could. Then we left it and started walking. It took us three hours to reach the village. All we had to eat were coconuts we found along the way.
When we reached the village, the branch president was not there, but his counselor was. We talked to him about missionary work, and then it started to rain. When it starts to rain in Sideseawi, people try their very best to find a safe area. We hurried down the mountain to our truck.
When there’s no rain in Tanna, it’s safe to drive. But when there’s rain, that’s when it’s scary. When we reached our truck, we started driving but soon got stuck crossing a river.
We tried to push the truck out, but that didn’t work. So, we called the district president for help. Help came and we tried again to move the truck, but the rains kept coming bigger and bigger. Several rivers were filling and flowing down from different areas around us.
Those who were helping us got out of the river, but we held tightly to the vehicle’s seats as the river rose. We didn’t want to abandon the truck. The water was now up to the truck’s door handles on the current side.
We called our mission president, Mark Messick, and told him what was going on. “Right now the water is getting bigger and bigger,” we said. We asked if it was OK to save our lives and leave the truck.
“Thank you for giving me a call,” President Messick told us. “It’s OK! Leave the truck where it is and find a safe place now!”
We were close to where two rivers met. The other river near us was already big and fast, but the river where we were was still small, like it was waiting for us to get out. But then, boom!
Someone shouted from the riverbank. Elder Nalin, from Tanna, understood the warning: “Water!”
Our truck was stuck sideways, with the rising current rushing against Elder Toa’s door. Elder Nalin got out first. Elder Toa had to climb into the back seat and out the door on the other side of the cab to get out. He quickly looked on the back seat for our baptismal forms and scriptures but didn’t see them. He thought Elder Nalin had already taken them. As soon as Elder Toa got out, the river took the truck.
If water ruined the forms, we would have to return to areas we had visited and redo interviews. We would also have to fly back to the mission office in Efate to get more baptismal forms and then return to Tanna.
As we watched the truck being swept away, Elder Toa finally spotted the scriptures and the baptismal forms on the back seat. “How can this be possible?” He wondered how he had not seen them before.
While we were still in the river, we called on the power of God to protect our scriptures and baptismal forms. We had faith that He could save them according to His will.
Then we got out of the river and knelt and prayed about the truck and our baptismal forms and scriptures. We couldn’t see the truck anymore, but we knew that everything was going to be fine.
People from Sideseawi found the truck later that day and called the district president. The truck had been carried about 820 feet (250 m) downstream. Everything in the truck was wet, except for our baptismal forms and scriptures! They were dry, sitting on top of some pamphlets, notebooks, and manuals.
We gathered a group to help us get the truck out of the river. The truck had to dry out but was quickly repaired. It had no dents or scratches.
After the storm, we mostly walked to the different branches in Tanna. When your legs get tired of walking, you walk with your heart.
Over the next few days, we finished our baptismal interviews and baptized 114 people, many of them families. One branch had 48 people ready for baptism. We started interviewing them at 7:00 a.m. When we finished, we saw the sun going down.
A flood of trials may come into our lives, but we testify that our faith in God’s power will bless us. Not even Tanna’s flood of water could overpower our Heavenly Father’s flood of blessings.

I remember an occasion when my children were young when I gave them an electronic adventure game, in which, to advance, they had to defeat opponents who were more powerful at each level of the game. I took advantage of the occasion to spend time with my children, and I played with them, but we reached a point where we faced a very powerful opponent who always defeated us all. After a while we concluded that this was the end of the game, and no one could beat him.
One day I was practicing to be able to compete with my children in the game. I was facing the fearsome opponent and I decided to fight like never before to see how much I could resist before he defeated me as always happened. To my surprise, after a tenacious fight, I defeated the opponent, and I discovered that there were several more levels to play. I excitedly called my children to see how I had defeated the opponent that we thought was invincible, but what surprised me the most was that after that event, each of my children, upon reaching the level where we faced that terrible opponent, defeated him too.
We learned that the reason we couldn’t beat our opponent was that we had convinced ourselves that we couldn’t do it. I wonder how many of us are stuck in our spiritual progress just because we think we can’t make it. I think of young Jeremiah when the Lord called him to be a prophet with these words: “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet to the nations,” (Jeremiah 1:5).

Photo illustrations by David Stoker
I had the opportunity to serve as a missionary in Catania, Italy. At one point, we hit a rough spot in the work. We’d had a whole week of pretty much everything going wrong, and each day was a test of whether or not we would retain good spirits, keep a smile on, and continue trying hard.
One evening, we were determined to change the flow of things. We went around talking to people in a park near our house, and we saw this guy sitting on a bench with his head down and a cigarette in his mouth. He was dressed in black from head to toe and wore the hood of his big puffy jacket over his head. He did not look like a very pleasant man to talk to. I looked at him, my companion looked at him, we looked at each other, and back at him.
Elder Farley asked me, “Have we talked with him before?”
“I think we have, because I really think I know him,” I responded.
“Yeah, me too,” Elder Farley said.
So we started walking toward him. Part of me was scared because he was just not a person I would normally talk to, but another part really wanted to talk to him.
“Good evening, how are you?” we asked.
He looked up with darkened eyes, as if to say, “Who disturbs my slumber!?” Then very softly he said, “Good evening.” We introduced ourselves as missionaries, and he quickly told us that he was atheist and didn’t believe in anything. We asked him why, which I think caught him by surprise.
“Well, because I lost my mom, dad, sister, and niece all in the same month, and I’ve lived a terrible, lonely life because of it. Religion didn’t do anything but make it worse for me.”
We asked him if he knew where his loved ones were.
“In Catania cemetery, where they have been for a long time,” he responded.
We explained to him the spirit world and the Resurrection. We told him that right now we are each a spirit and a body, and that death is merely a temporary separation between the spirit and the body. We told him that his family members were just waiting for him until they could all be reunited with their bodies and live together for eternity.
He looked at us, confused, and said, “I didn’t understand any of that. Could you repeat everything?”
So we repeated everything. Then he raised an eyebrow in confusion and said, “Wait, I’m a spirit and a body? And my family is just waiting for me and learning right now?”
We read him several scriptures from Alma 40 and other chapters, and he looked at us and asked, “So why have I never heard this before?”
I don’t think I had ever met a more truly humble person in my life. This man had been so lost for such a long time, so confused, so lonely. He took in everything we said, telling us that he understood very little of it because it was all stuff he had never heard before, but he liked everything.
We taught him about how we can get answers through prayer. He hadn’t prayed in over 30 years, and the last time had been a recited prayer in church when he was a child. After we talked about answers from the Spirit, he asked us what the Spirit feels like. Since it can be different for everyone, we both shared what it feels like for us. I told him that to me it feels like getting a hug from your mom after you haven’t seen her for a long time. I felt impressed to promise him that he could and would feel that same thing, a feeling like a hug from his mom who had been missing from his life for a long, long time.
We asked him if we could pray with him. He was really confused and asked, “Now? Here, in the park?”
“We can pray whenever, wherever we want,” I told him. “God wants to hear from us, and He is especially anxious to hear from you because He hasn’t heard from you in a long time.”
He had never heard a prayer before that wasn’t a memorized prayer to a saint, so he was pretty eager to see how it worked. We bowed our heads, and my companion said the prayer for our new friend, Alfio, and asked for blessings, help, and comfort for him. He asked for Alfio to feel an answer that his family was all right and that God really exists. We finished our prayer, and Alfio looked at us with gigantic eyes.
“I must tell you something,” he said. “I am not a person who lies, especially about something like this. I feel like I just got a huge hug from my mother. I haven’t gotten a hug from anyone in a long, long time. That felt so good. I want to know how I can feel that again, because I want more hugs like that.”
The next day we met again. Alfio sat down next to us on the same bench and said, “Elders, my entire life I have walked with my hood up and my head down, staring at the ground. I have never, ever walked with my head up. Ever since that prayer, I have walked around with my head up, and I look at everything. This world is beautiful.”
Needless to say, we continued working with Alfio to bring more hugs, more light, and more looking up into his life. The scary man on the bench who looked like he would hate us was really a soul crying out, begging to feel his Heavenly Father’s love again.

When Calvin started stuttering just asking for the salt and pepper, I knew something was wrong. Calvin had always had trouble talking. It was cute when he was two or three years old, and endearing when he was five or six. But by the time he was seven or eight and still stuttering, Mom took him to a speech clinic. After that the problem seemed to clear up, except for certain times when Calvin was upset about something.
Calvin is my older brother, and I can tell when he’s scared about something—partly because of the stuttering but also because of little things that he says or does.
He was worried about becoming a priest and blessing the sacrament. It isn’t that he didn’t want to bless the sacrament—he did. That was the whole problem. Calvin takes things like that very seriously. He didn’t want anybody, especially the deacons on the front bench, to have an excuse for giggling during that sacred ordinance, even if they were only making fun of the way that Calvin said the prayer.
Calvin is a reader, and I guess that’s where he got the idea of using marbles. Some Greek man by the name of Demosthenes used to recite aloud while climbing steep hills or put rocks in his mouth and then shout speeches over the roar of the ocean waves so that he could talk more clearly. I thought it was a silly thing to do when Calvin told me about it—he might swallow the rocks or something—but Calvin was desperate, I guess. He knew Mom would be angry if she ever caught him putting rocks in his mouth, so marbles were the closest substitute he could think of.
I collect marbles. I can’t do much with them, but I like to look at the different colors and what light can do when it shines through them. Calvin came downstairs to my room one day and stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching me. My brother has a way of standing sometimes that tells me he has something on his mind, and he was standing that way then. A tall guy, maybe too skinny, with very short, very blond hair. Calvin likes to play ball in the summer and hair gets in his way. There was a funny look on his face while he watched me. I was sitting on my bed, and I had all my marbles spread out in front of me. They looked gorgeous.
“Jenny,” he said finally. I looked up and waited. “Would you sell me five or six of your marbles?” That’s when he turned red—a dead giveaway. My brother always turns red when he talks about something important to him. The speech therapist says that it’s part of the same pattern that makes Calvin stutter and that it would go away in time. So far that part hadn’t come true.
Then Calvin seemed to change his mind and said, “It’s not important.”
I scooped up a red marble and held it up to the light so that I could see the bubbles inside. “If it isn’t important,” I asked, “then why buy them?”
He didn’t say anything, and I knew that if he tried to talk, the words would come out in a long stream of stuttering. He looked at me though, and there was agony in that expression. Then he turned around and walked out of my room.
Later, of course, I gave some marbles to him. What else could I do? I washed six of them, dried them off, and put them in a box. Then I put the box on his bed. When he came to the supper table, I said, “There’s something for you on your bed, Calvin.”
He didn’t say anything then either, but I could see what was in his eyes.
I didn’t hear anything more about the marbles for a long time. Calvin is pretty cautious when he doesn’t want people to know about something. But his birthday was coming closer every day. And each Sunday when the sacrament was being prepared, I would find myself looking at my brother. He would be scrunched down in his seat, and I could imagine what he was thinking. Sometimes while the prayer was being said, I almost forgot to close my eyes. He’d listen so intently that it seemed he was listening hard enough for both of us.
The thing that I dreaded was when someone made a mistake in repeating the sacrament prayer. When it happened I looked at Calvin, and I could see him hurting inside, waiting for the time when he would have to kneel and say the prayer. He had such a strong feeling for that prayer that he wanted it to be perfect. It really mattered to him and I knew it!
One day I went downstairs and I could hear mumbling, so I began looking for the source. It was coming from the laundry room. I turned out the downstairs light, walked over to the laundry room door as quietly as I could, and opened it. Calvin was standing by the washing machine with my marbles in his mouth. He was saying something, though I couldn’t make out the words through all the marbles.
I stood there for a long time. But I didn’t want Calvin to know that I had seen him, so I turned around and went out. Then I came back into the room a second time as noisily as I could, on the pretense of getting some soap. The mumbling sound stopped immediately. Calvin nodded and I went out again and up to my room. In a few minutes I heard him come upstairs.
Several weeks later it was Calvin’s birthday. The Sunday after, he was ordained a priest and assigned to give one of the sacrament prayers.
I can still remember sitting there, staring at him and seeing how the light hit his blond hair, making it shine. Boys aren’t supposed to be beautiful—or at least, you’re not supposed to admit that they are—but Calvin was beautiful. I was so scared for him that I thought my heart would stop beating. I was sure his agony was going to make me cry.
Suddenly he looked straight at me, and there was in his eyes an expression that made me know that he knew that he would be all right. Then he got down on his knees, the way the priests do, and started the prayer.
Nobody cries during the sacrament except the older ladies, but that Sunday I couldn’t help crying too. Calvin’s voice was soft, but it carried to the back of the chapel. I’ve never heard anybody else give the prayer the way he gave it that Sunday. He began, “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee . …” And he didn’t make a single mistake.
I sat and wept, because it was beautiful, and because I love my brother! And that night when I went upstairs I found the marbles back on my bed.
Someday I guess I’m going to be old, and there’s not much I can do about it. But even if I’m ninety, I’ll never get rid of those marbles, any more than I can get rid of the memory of that first time Calvin blessed the sacrament.

When I was about 10, my older brother had a serious health problem. The blood in his hands was not circulating properly, and they hurt very badly. At that time, my family lived in a small town on the border of Brazil and Argentina. The medical facilities there were not very good, so my mother and my brother traveled to the big city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, to see the doctor. Because my father had to work during the day, my baby brother had to stay with another family. So every day I went to visit him. And every day I prayed for my older brother.
The doctors told my mother they needed to amputate (cut off) my brother’s hands. Mother refused. “No, I know the Lord will take care of my son,” she said. One night after my mother and brother had returned home, he was in great pain. I shared a room with him, and I remember him crying because his hands hurt so much. While he cried, Mother knelt by his bed, praying. The next morning, I saw him sleeping peacefully. Mother was also asleep, still kneeling at his bedside. We were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but Mother had great faith. Eventually my brother’s hands did get better. He lost the tips of some of his fingers, but he did not have to have his hands amputated.
Mother also had great courage. And she taught us to be of good cheer. She told my brother that even though he had lost part of some fingers, he still had everything else. So my brother did not get discouraged. His first job was as a typist. Today he is an attorney.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”

One night early in Paxton’s life, we were in the neonatal intensive care unit of the wonderful Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, marveling at the dedicated, undivided attention given by the doctors, nurses, and caregivers. I asked my daughter how we would ever pay for this and ventured a guess at what the cost would be. A doctor standing nearby suggested that I was “way low” and that little Paxton’s care would cost substantially more than I had estimated. We learned that much of the expense for care given in this hospital is covered by the generous gifts of time and monetary contributions of others. His words humbled me as I thought of the worth of this tiny little soul to those who were so carefully watching over him.
I was reminded of a familiar missionary scripture that took on new meaning: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.”7
I wept as I pondered the limitless love our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, have for each one of us, while learning in a powerful way what the worth of a soul is, both physically and spiritually, to God.

One day when I was in fifth grade, my best friend and I went downtown. Afterward, we stopped at a convenience store. A man came to a window of the van and asked my friend’s mom for money to catch the bus that was leaving soon. She handed him the money and smiled.
While this was happening, I spotted a poor, lonely man watching us. He came up after the first man had left and asked for money because he was hungry. My friend’s mom turned around, looked at both of us girls, and took some food from our snack boxes. She handed it to the man.
He looked at her, puzzled and amused. She said, “Have a nice day,” to him, and we started back home. We asked her why she hadn’t just given him money, too. She said, “I think he just would have gone and bought beer or cigarettes, and I know he’s better off eating carrots and juice.”
This experience made me realize how much love she had for these two men.
My friend’s mom has passed away and is with Heavenly Father now, but this story lives in my heart and mind forever. I want to be just like her and Jesus Christ and love other people and serve Heavenly Father.

Cassidy sat on the living room floor examining all the items in her emergency backpack—granola bars, hard candy, canned tuna and crackers, a coloring book and crayons, a flashlight with batteries, a small travel game, a whistle, an emergency blanket, paper and a pencil, and other small things.
“Mom, is today an emergency day?” five-year-old Cassidy called out. “I want to use my backpack!” Cassidy and her family had gotten the emergency backpacks for Christmas from an aunt and uncle.
“No, not today,” Mom answered. “I know there are a lot of neat things you would like to use out of your backpack, but if we have an emergency you’ll be glad you’ve kept them all together.” Mom stood at the doorway. “Come on, let’s put all the backpacks on the top shelf in the hall closet. Then we’ll know where to find them in an emergency.”
Cassidy began putting things back inside her backpack. “I want to have an emergency so I can use my stuff,” she said.
Mom sat down on the floor to help Cassidy put the items back. “Do you remember hearing about the people whose homes were destroyed by a big wave called a tsunami?”
“Yes,” Cassidy answered, looking concerned.
“That was an emergency,” Mom explained as she zipped up Cassidy’s backpack. “It’s a situation that happens quickly when people are not expecting it.”
“Emergencies are bad things, aren’t they?” Cassidy asked.
“They can be very serious,” Mom replied. “But when bad things happen it can give us comfort to have something prepared—something we can grab quickly if we need to.”
“Like our backpacks?” Cassidy asked eagerly.
“Exactly,” Mom said. “You don’t need to wish for an emergency though. Let’s plan an emergency day drill. We’ll pretend there is an emergency and that we can only use the snacks and things we have in our backpacks. When we are done, we can replace the things we’ve used and plan another emergency day drill to keep us on our toes.”
“Yes!” Cassidy shouted. “That sounds fun!”
“The Lord promises us that if we are prepared we shall not fear,” Mom said.
“We should tell the rest of the family about our idea,” Cassidy said.
“Good idea. We’ll talk about it tonight at family home evening,” Mom said.
That evening just before dinner, Cassidy was reading a book in the living room. Her brother and sisters were finishing their homework in the basement. The lights flickered a few times, and then the electricity went out. The winter sky was already dark, and for a few moments it was impossible to see anything.
“Mom!” Cassidy yelled.
Mom answered from the kitchen in a calm voice, “It’s OK. Just stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”
Cassidy blinked her eyes several times to adjust to the darkness. Then her mother reached out and took her hand.
“There you are!” Mom said. “Now we need some light.”
“There’s a flashlight in my emergency backpack!” Cassidy said excitedly.
They walked carefully through the dark house toward the hall closet.
“Who turned out the lights?” Cassidy’s older brother, Adison, shouted.
“It’s dark down here!” her sister Olivia called.
“We’ll get a light for you!” Cassidy said as she held tightly to Mom’s hand.
When they reached the closet, Mom pulled down Cassidy’s backpack and got out the flashlight. “That’s better,” Mom said. She quickly pulled down everyone’s backpack, and Cassidy got out the flashlights so that everyone would have their own light.
Dad came in through the door to the garage. “Boy, it sure was dark out there. It took me a while to find the door,” he said. “Were you scared?” he asked Cassidy.
“Yes, but I knew where my flashlight was, so that made me feel better,” she answered.
Looking out the window, they saw that the electricity was out all over the neighborhood, and a thick fog had rolled in.
The family gathered in the living room with their emergency backpacks and everyone chatted excitedly. Dad searched his backpack for his emergency radio and began to listen for a weather report. After a few minutes he announced, “Well, it doesn’t appear to be a winter storm. Hopefully, the power will be back on by morning. Your mom and I have decided that we will use this opportunity to have an emergency drill. You each can use only the things you have in your backpacks. Use them wisely, just in case the power is out for longer than we expect. Now that we are all here, we will start family home evening with a prayer of thanks that we were prepared for this minor emergency.”
Cassidy pulled a granola bar out of her backpack. She leaned over to Mom and said, “It turned out to be an emergency day after all.”