Gospel Story Finder

Another young woman decided that one of the stakes in her life was to observe the Sabbath, regardless of her circumstances. One year after she was baptized a member of the Church with her family, her ward was divided. Her family was assigned to the newly formed ward, and she was the only young woman in the new ward. Her parents resisted the change and stopped attending church, but she wanted to follow the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth on “Sabbath Day Observance.” She decided to go to church in the new ward whenever she could, even though it meant attending all of her meetings alone.

On Sundays she read her scriptures and worked on Personal Progress. Her decision to be “steadfast and immovable” in observing the Sabbath encouraged her mother and younger sister to begin attending church again. Her mother testified that her daughter’s steadfast example of living the gospel and her goodness helped them return to activity.

One day my cousin Jeff came over to play. We played under the back porch. Jeff had a little dump truck and I had a windup tractor. Mom gave us an empty cereal box and we made houses and roads.
I wanted to make another road. Jeff was using the shovel, so I took Woody out of my pocket and started to dig. Woody dug nice roads. I kept making the road longer and longer until I hit a rock and then SNAP! I picked up the piece that had broken off and tried to fix Woody, but it was no use. I felt like crying, but Jeff was there.
“It’s just a dumb stick,” Jeff said.
I put Woody’s broken pieces under the porch steps and kept on playing. When Jeff went home, I crawled under the porch and got the pieces.
“I’m sorry, Woody,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything. I put him in the cereal box and carried him down to where we planted the flower and made a hole. Then I put Woody in the hole and covered him up.
He was a good stick and I miss him a lot.

I know exactly how you feel. A few months ago, my boyfriend and I did something wrong. After that, it seemed as if in every fireside the speaker was talking just to me. I felt like dirt. I knew I needed to tell my bishop, but I just couldn’t.
I tried to tell myself that if I just forgot about it and never did it again, the Lord would forget too. Last week I had an interview with my bishop to get my patriarchal blessing. I knew I had to tell him. I prayed before I went in. Then with a prayer in my heart, I took a deep breath and told him. Now I feel so much better! It was so hard to do. But I thank the Lord for giving me the courage to confess. Now I can complete my repentance, and I won’t have to carry that burden for the rest of my life.
Name withheld

Like most parents-to-be, we anxiously awaited the birth of our first baby. We acquired clothing and furniture and chose two names—one for a boy and one for a girl.
We also chose a special song to sing to our baby throughout the pregnancy. The song we selected was “My Heavenly Father Loves Me” (Children’s Songbook, 228–29). We sang these words often, imagining how wonderful it would be to have a baby in our family:
Whenever I hear the song of a bird
Or look at the blue, blue sky,
Whenever I feel the rain on my face
Or the wind as it rushes by,
Whenever I touch a velvet rose
Or walk by our lilac tree,
I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world
Heav’nly Father created for me.
One morning my wife awoke covered with little red spots. We went to the doctor and learned that those little red spots were rubella. The doctor also gave us the disturbing news that since my wife was in the first trimester of her pregnancy, our baby ran a serious risk of being born deaf, blind, or disabled in other ways.
That night we paid special attention to the second verse of our song:
He gave me my eyes that I might see
The color of butterfly wings.
He gave me my ears that I might hear
The magical sound of things.
He gave me my life, my mind, my heart:
I thank him rev’rently
For all his creations, of which I’m a part.
Yes, I know Heav’nly Father loves me.
We thought about the future and everything that could happen. It was a time of much prayer and fasting to accept the will of our Heavenly Father. We had faith that the Lord would be with us, no matter what happened.
Our daughter, Alice, was born one month early. After her birth an endless array of tests began to determine the effects of the rubella. When nothing was found, someone spoke of a miracle. We, without a doubt, believe it was.
Alice is now seven years old, and she loves to sing her favorite song, “My Heavenly Father Loves Me.” We are eternally grateful, but we are also aware that difficult situations don’t always turn out this well and that trials are part of our mortal probation. But we have learned that if we trust Him we have nothing to fear, for as the song teaches, “I know Heav’nly Father loves me.”

Christmas of 1993 was shaping up to be just like every other year with the traditional getting and giving of gifts. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I wanted something more, something different, to happen this season. I wanted to help others, but I wasn’t sure how to do it.
Then early in December, my Young Women president suggested a service idea that seemed to be what I was looking for. She asked us to pick a person we could secretly help to have a more enjoyable Christmas holiday. On December 13th, the 12th day before Christmas, we would start giving gifts to our person and keep giving them gifts until Christmas Day.
This idea got me excited. This would be the perfect opportunity to help someone I’d been thinking about. Monica was a foreign exchange student from Guatemala. She was in a couple of my classes and I didn’t know her very well—nobody did. I wanted to help her because she didn’t seem to have many friends since coming to Sturbridge, Massachusetts, in September.
After a lot of thought and preparation, the day arrived to start giving gifts. During lunch that day, I quickly sneaked into our world history class and left the first gift on her desk—twelve Christmas candies wrapped in Mickey Mouse Christmas wrapping paper. Also included with my gift was my trademark, a picture of a Christmas caroler that said, “From your secret caroler.”
Her face lit up when she saw the gift with her name on it. Everyone in the class, including Mr. Bond, watched as she opened the candy. In her broken English, she squealed, “Thank you, whoever you are!” Christmas was beginning to change for me.
The last day of school before Christmas vacation arrived. I had previously written her a note saying I would reveal myself to her that day. My last gift for her was an ornament box with a poem called “A Special Gift.” I also gave her a card with my picture inside.
After class she found me and thanked me again and again before taking me to her locker where she had a gift for her secret caroler. I’d forgotten about receiving gifts. I didn’t need anything because I felt so good just giving the gifts to her and seeing her joy. She told me I couldn’t open it until Christmas. I obediently waited until Christmas morning until I opened the box to find a beautiful headband and bracelets from Guatemala.
After Christmas we were talking about how our vacations went. Monica said that at the beginning of December she had been very lonely and wanted to go home. She was praying to find a friend here in the United States. She felt her prayers were answered when I became her friend.
From this Christmas project, I learned that by doing something nice for others, you can make a difference in their lives. But what surprised me was that it made a difference in my life, too. I’d always heard it’s better to give than receive, but until I tried it, it was just a saying.

Because the Lord is kind, He calls servants to warn people of danger. I can still remember my mother speaking softly to me one Saturday afternoon when, as a little boy, I asked her for permission to do something I thought was perfectly reasonable but which she knew was dangerous.
She said, “Oh, I suppose you could do that. But the choice is yours.” The only warning was in the emphasis she put on the words could and choice. Yet that was enough for me.
Her power to warn with so few words sprang from three things I knew about her. First, I knew she loved me. Second, I knew she had already done what she wanted me to do and had been blessed by it. And third, she had conveyed her testimony that the Lord would tell me what to do if I asked Him. Love, example, testimony: Those were the keys.

In a western city a young man had been preparing for 18 years to go on a mission. He was excited, his parents were excited, his girlfriend was also, and he was ready.
One evening at the city swimming pool, he and some friends were diving from the highboard. The second he hit the water, he knew his approach angle had not been good. He was in trouble. His head pierced the water and struck the bottom of the pool with a sickening thud. He was immediately knocked unconscious. He was brought carefully to the poolside and then rushed to the hospital. After weeks of medical attention, he was finally told that he would be paralyzed for the rest of his life from his neck down. He couldn’t move a finger or a toe, an arm or a leg. He would now lie in bed forever. His body would become a useless thing, and unless something unusual happened, so would his spirit.
A wise bishop recognized the problem. After talking with the boy’s parents and the doctor, the bishop gave him an assignment. It was unbelievable, unreal, impossible! The assignment: would he please write a letter each month to every missionary and serviceman from their ward? Was the bishop just not thinking or was he inspired? How could the boy write with no hands or fingers to assist? Some had learned to use their toes in such an emergency, but he couldn’t move his. Having faith in their bishop, the boy and his parents started to work on the assignment. It took days, weeks, and months of effort and discouragement. In time, it began to happen.
By putting a pencil between his teeth and moving his head, he learned to make a mark, then a word, next a sentence, and finally a page. He wrote and wrote.
For over 20 years he has been writing beautiful letters. He has inspired thousands. The side benefit is that his own spirit, simply stated, is magnificent. Is it worth the effort to follow our leaders’ counsel no matter how hard or how difficult? He thinks so. So do I.

Cyrena felt that there was a larger purpose in her joining the Church and moving to Zion. Yet moving to Missouri meant leaving her family. She would not see most of her family again, but she trusted that the restored gospel would offer salvation and eternal connections. She wrote in her autobiography, “I was strongly impressed that my going was not only for my own salvation, but for that of the family also.” It was not until years later in Nauvoo when she learned about baptisms for the dead and the ability to do proxy work for her family. She recalled, “It was a source of great satisfaction to me to know that I stood in a position to do a work for them which would give them the privilege of accepting in the spirit world the gospel, which was neglected in this.”6

Clowning around paid off for Jo-Anne Connors of the Plymouth England Stake. The business she created with a couple of friends won her first-place honors in a youth-in-business competition sponsored by Lloyd’s Bank.
The aim of their business was to provide catering, entertainment, and game supervision for children’s parties. It was considerably more wholesome than the second- and third-place winners, a home brewing company and some wine importers. Great organization was a major factor in their winning honors, but the positive objectives of the business couldn’t have hurt either.

Many leaders on the ward or branch and the stake or district level plan events that bring young women and Relief Society sisters together. Diana Gardner of the Harrogate Ward, York England Stake, says that Laurels were invited to go to the temple to do baptisms on a night when their ward Relief Society sisters were performing endowments. “The Laurels and Relief Society sisters were eating dinner at the cafeteria together and walking around the temple grounds together. Their discussions have had a major impact on the young women,” says Sister Gardner.

Sometimes winters in east Texas were as mild and soft as a baby’s breath; other times they snarled and whistled and shivered. This winter, the winter of Kerrie’s big surprise, was a whistle-and-shiver kind.
Papa and big brother, Joseph, were outdoors most of every day. They gathered wood and chopped it into logs for the fireplace. They made holes through the ice on the river and set lines for the big yellow catfish that swam on the bottom.
Until the winter rains had turned the ruts in the dirt road into deep mud puddles, the school wagon had taken Kerrie into town to school. But now only a horse and rider could make the trip into the settlement, and Kerrie wasn’t old enough to go by herself, so she had to stay home. Every morning Kerrie helped Mama clean their log house, and every afternoon she studied her lessons.
Sometimes Kerrie wished that she weren’t a farm girl. Town girls didn’t have to worry about muddy roads.
It had been weeks since Kerrie’s family had gone to town. But finally the temperature dropped, and the muddy road froze hard and firm. At first it seemed that the roads would be frozen enough to take the wagon to town for the Christmas Eve party. But the day before Christmas Eve, sleet began to fall. The wagon couldn’t make it on icy roads, so they wouldn’t be able to go to the party, after all.
“What a pretty sampler,” Papa said, stacking a load of wood beside the fireplace that evening. “You’re a handy girl with a needle.”
Kerrie smiled. She didn’t tell Papa how she hated embroidering and long cold winters and having to stay inside all day by the fire. It would have made Papa feel sad.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” Papa reminded her, hanging his coat near the fire to dry.
Kerrie only nodded. She was too sad to talk.
“Where’s Joseph?” Mama asked.
Papa’s blue eyes twinkled, “In the barn. He and I are making a Christmas surprise.”
Little Helen had been busy rocking her doll to sleep. She looked at Papa, about to ask what the surprise was.
But Papa shook his head. “Just wait and see,” he said. “Wait and see.”
Supper was Kerrie’s favorite—hot cornmeal mush sweetened with honey and thinned with thick yellow cream. But Kerrie could hardly eat. She kept thinking sadly about missing the Christmas party in town and the beautiful Christmas tree with its gold and silver ornaments.
By bedtime the sleet had stopped, and snowflakes as big as pigeon feathers were drifting down. Kerrie knew that by morning everything would be buried under a blanket of sleet and snow.
Squeals of laughter from outside awoke Kerrie. She hurried to the window. Papa, Mama, Joseph, and Helen were already dressed and outside. Ice and snow covered everything. Mama’s outdoor clay oven, the one that Joseph had built so that the one in the kitchen wouldn’t have to be used in the summer, looked like a tiny igloo. The trees were white and sparkling in the cold morning sun. Kerrie felt that she’d gone to sleep in one world and awakened in a fairyland. It was so beautiful that she almost didn’t mind missing the Christmas party.
Slipping and sliding, everyone came inside. “Ready for the big surprise?” Papa asked Kerrie. Papa’s blue eyes were so twinkly that Kerrie knew that the surprise must be something wonderful. She nodded her head, too excited to speak.
“First, baths, then clean clothes,” Mama ordered, smiling her happiest smile.
Baths! Clean clothes! Kerrie’s heart gave a leap—the Christmas party! Then she remembered the roads. Nobody, not even Papa could drive a wagon over them.
“We’re burning daylight,” Papa said. “Let’s hurry!”
Kerrie and Helen bathed in the big tin tub pushed close to the fireplace. Joseph and Papa, secretively smiling, went out to the barn.
It seemed to Kerrie that it took forever to dress: two petticoats, two pairs of long cotton stockings, then her warmest dress.
Just as she and Helen were putting on their coats and mittens, Kerrie heard the prettiest sound. It was the jingling of bells. They ran out the door as fast as they could.
“What is it?” Helen asked, staring at the strangest sight that she’d ever seen.
“It’s a sleigh!” Kerrie shouted in answer. “At least I think that it is,” she added, for it was a strange-looking sleigh. Papa and Joseph had replaced the wheels of the wagon with runners. Now it slid over the icy road with hardly any effort from their strong, brown horse. The back of the wagon was filled with fresh hay and covered with quilts. Gently Papa helped Kerrie and Helen and Mama into the sweet-smelling nest. How warm it was.
The sleigh felt as if it were flying over the frozen earth. Kerrie didn’t believe that anything, not even the big black train, could go so fast.
How quickly the miles flew under them. To Kerrie’s surprise, Papa didn’t go directly to the settlement. First he went to Uncle Joe’s farm. Laughing, and bundled in quilts, Uncle Joe, Aunt Katie, and Josie climbed into the soft hay.
Next Papa picked up the Johnson family. Their last stop was for the Landers: a mother, father, five little girls, and one big brother. The wagon was so full that not even a Christmas mouse could have found a place to sit.
The cold sun was slipping behind the horizon when they reached the settlement. How the townspeople welcomed them! Kerrie waved to her best friend, Ara. Ara’s eyes opened wide. She’d never seen a sleigh before.
Kerrie was the last one out of the sleigh. “How was it?” Papa asked. “Did you like your surprise?”
Kerrie pressed her cold face close to Papa’s face and kissed his cheek.
“That’s a good answer,” Papa said with a laugh. “The best kind. Now run inside. You don’t want to miss the tree.”
But Kerrie didn’t care about the tree anymore. Flying over the frozen ground in Papa’s sleigh was the best present she’d ever had. She was sure that nothing so wonderful had ever happened to anyone else. But, then, nobody else had ever had a papa more wonderful than hers.

Katie sat with her parents in the bishop’s office. The bishop, his counselors, and President Barlow talked with Daddy and Mommy. President Barlow was a member of the stake presidency. Grandma and Grandpa Chadwick, Daddy’s parents, were also there.
Daddy was being set apart as the ward elders quorum president. Five-year-old Katie didn’t understand what being set apart meant.
Mommy had told her that when someone is called to a position in the Church, Heavenly Father wants that person to receive a special blessing from those with priesthood authority.
Daddy sat in a chair in the middle of the room. “Dad, will you participate in the setting apart?” he asked Grandpa.
Tears gathered in Grandpa’s eyes. “I’d be honored,” he said.
Grandpa joined the other men in a circle around the chair where Daddy sat. They placed their hands on Daddy’s head.
Katie saw Mommy and Grandma Chadwick close their eyes and fold their arms. Katie closed her eyes and folded her arms, too.
President Barlow said a prayer, but it was a different kind of prayer than Katie was used to hearing. He asked Heavenly Father to bless her daddy in performing his duties.
When the blessing was over, everyone said, “Amen.” Katie said, “Amen,” too.
Her daddy stood and wiped tears from his eyes. “Thank you,” he said to the men. “I’ll do my best to help the elders in our ward.”
The men in the circle all shook his hand.
Katie sat on the chair and folded her arms. “I’m ready, Daddy.”
“What are you ready for, sweetheart?” Daddy asked.
“I want a blessing, too,” Katie said.
Her parents exchanged glances. The other people in the room smiled.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Daddy said. “You aren’t being set apart, but you can have a father’s blessing.” Then he placed his hands on Katie’s head. He blessed her that she would be able to choose the right and obey her parents. At the end of the blessing, everyone said, “Amen.”
Katie got down from the chair and held out her hand. Daddy shook her hand. Katie felt warm and happy inside.

Blackberries grow like weeds on the western coast of Canada. The plants sprout and grow everywhere and will take over everything they can reach—fields, sidewalks, roads, and beaches are lined with blackberry cane. In the fall neighbors work together to pick berries to use in their homes.
As I joined in picking blackberries one year, I was determined that not only would I pick enough to make jam for myself and my family, but I would also make extra to give to the sisters I visit teach. The best place to pick blackberries in my neighborhood was down by the elementary school, where pathways and fields are lined with brambles reaching eight feet (2.4 m) high. I had already been there picking the week before, and I knew many others had already gone there as well, so it was likely that there wouldn’t be much fruit left.
As I prepared to pick berries again, I thought I would try picking in a different place. Out my kitchen window I could see a vacant lot next to the street. Hardly anyone went by there, and canes were spreading out over an acre of land. Surely there would be lots of fruit where no one had picked. I put my buckets in the back of the car and headed over.
Soon I was hot, scratched, and perplexed as I stood in the middle of the acre of brambles. The canes were barren, full of thorns but without any sign of flowers or fruit. I had found exactly three berries in all that land, and I couldn’t understand why. My jam jars, however, still needed to be filled, so I headed over to the school to see if any fruit was left there.
When I got to the school fields, I found even more berries than I needed and more still ripening, even though many people had already picked there. I suddenly recognized what had happened: blackberry canes produce much more when their fruit is picked. Because our neighborhood had shared this patch for years, the canes responded with crops year after year. Where the canes had not been used, they had remained dry and fruitless. Through sharing that blackberry patch over the years, we had created abundance—there was more fruit than all of us collectively needed.

Thi-Kinh sat in the shade of an areca tree trying to hide her anger from the happy villagers around her, for today was the day before Tet, the Vietnamese New Year.
“Tet is a joyous holiday,” her father had explained last evening as he gathered his eight children around him. “It is a time of new beginning. We must pay old debts, correct our faults, and forget past mistakes. Most important of all, we must forgive others and make friends of enemies. If we do not …” He looked at each of the listening children. “If we do not, bad luck will plague us during the coming year.”
Thi-Kinh flopped over onto her stomach. “Well, Nan-Tan deserves bad luck after what she did to me.” Nan-Tan had been a friend; now she was not. Thi-Kinh could never think about Nan-Tan without becoming angry.
“Thi-Kinh,” her mother called from the doorway of their mud hut. “I need you. See, the sun is high in the sky, and we must finish our work by noon.”
Already they had thoroughly cleaned the hut and decorated inside and out with fresh flowers. They had prepared special food for the holidays and bought new clothes for everyone in the family.
“Please hurry to the market and buy candles for our Giao Thua celebration,” her mother said.
Returning home, Thi-Kinh couldn’t stop thinking about Nan-Tan. Two full moons ago, during the time of examinations at school, Nan-Tan had begged to see Thi-Kinh’s answers.
Thi-Kinh refused and Nan-Tan, hissing angrily, told the teacher Thi-Kinh was cheating. Thi-Kinh had been disgraced.
“Be kind,” her father had counseled. “Nan-Tan must feel great shame for what she has done.”
But Thi-Kinh ignored his advice. Nan-Tan did not deserve kindness. After school she avoided her, and if they met accidentally, Thi-Kinh turned her face away.
Now it was nearly Tet. Thi-Kinh felt secret satisfaction because Nan-Tan’s New Year was ruined. Hadn’t she wronged someone and not asked forgiveness? She is at fault, Thi-Kinh thought, handing the new candles to her mother. May her New Year be most miserable.
For some reason Thi-Kinh did not enjoy the Giao Thua ceremony that evening. The weather was beautiful. Everything was lovely, bright with flowers and lighted candles. Still, Thi-Kinh felt uneasy.
She went with the family to the pagoda to pray for prosperity during the coming year. She should have been happy. Instead, she grew more and more troubled.
On the way home, Thi-Kinh drew her father aside. “Honorable parent,” she said, “I am most confused. Perhaps it is I who will have bad luck, for I hold anger in my heart for another. What shall I do about Nan-Tan?”
“It is for you to decide,” her father replied. “Sometimes the innocent must point the way.”
All night Thi-Kinh tossed on her sleeping mat. I am the innocent one. But point the way? How?
Thi-Kinh went through the next day automatically, half of her mind busy with the problem of Nan-Tan. She arose early with her family and put on her new clothes. She accepted, without the usual joy, the customary lucky red paper envelope containing pieces of silver. She tried to be cheerful when visitors arrived to offer good wishes for the coming year. As she helped her mother with the betel nuts and sticky rice cakes, her heart felt heavy.
Finally, at sunset, she could bear it no longer. “If Nan-Tan will not come to me,” she told her father, “I shall go to her. I cannot begin the new year with this feeling of wrongness in my heart.”
Her father bowed solemnly to her. “It is a wise person who knows in which direction happiness lies.”
Thi-Kinh took the shortcut through the banana grove to Nan-Tan’s hut. As she stepped clear of the trees, she was surprised to see Nan-Tan running toward her with outstretched arms. Tears were streaming down Nan-Tan’s face as she called Thi-Kinh’s name.
Suddenly Thi-Kinh felt like singing, for she knew that Tet would be a time of new beginning after all.

Five-year-old Jodi loved to sing, especially Primary songs. She and her older sister, Mickell, were often asked to sing for programs and for other special occasions in their ward and community.
One afternoon Mom received a phone call from Sister Crofts. As she hung up the phone, Mom said, “Sister Crofts has invited our family and a few other families from our ward to go to the care center where her father lives to hold a special family home evening.”
“What is a care center?” Jodi wanted to know.
“A care center is a place where people live who need nurses and other trained people to help care for them. Sister Crofts would like us to do some musical numbers there. She also said that maybe our families could go to the public indoor swimming pool after the program.”
Jodi’s eyes lit up with excitement. “That sounds like fun! Can we go? Please?”
“We’ll have to ask the rest of the family what they think, but I feel sure that everyone will agree.”
The rest of the week, Mom helped Jodi and Mickell prepare two of their favorite Primary songs for the program. Soon the special day arrived.
Jodi felt nervous as she walked into the large room at the care center. She thought that most of the people looked very old because they had gray hair and many of them sat in wheelchairs. Some of them glanced up and smiled at her, but some of them looked sad.
Jodi’s family quietly found a place to sit until their turn to sing. Jodi soon realized that the girl sitting next to her wasn’t very old. But she looked different from anyone Jodi had seen before. She wore a helmet on her head and a large towel was tied around her neck. Jodi noticed that the girl could only use one side of her body. She could not talk, either, but she did make some happy-sounding noises when she heard the music.
A nurse explained that the girl and her mother had been in a car accident a few years before. The mother had been killed, and the girl had suffered severe brain damage. She had to wear the helmet to protect her head, and she had to keep a towel around her neck because she did not have very much control over her body and often drooled. The nurse told them that the girl enjoyed listening to music, and she loved having children come to visit.
Jodi felt sad to think that the girl had lost her mother and that she had been hurt so badly in the accident.
Jodi and Mickell sang their very best, and they were happy that nearly everyone in the room looked up and smiled at them as they sang, and clapped loudly as they finished. One lady even shouted, “Beautiful! Beautiful!”
Jodi felt very warm inside and was happy that her family had come that night.
Sister Crofts thanked Jodi’s family for helping with family home evening. She said that her father and the others had enjoyed the program and were glad that they had come.
After leaving the care center, the group ate a picnic and then enjoyed a few hours of swimming at the indoor pool. It had been a great family home evening!
That night as Mom was helping her get ready for bed, Jodi said, “I had fun singing for those people at the care center, but I felt bad for some of them.”
Mother smiled as she put her arm around Jodi. “It was wonderful that we could sing for them, but we probably should have taken the time to give each one of them a hug. There are some people who don’t have anyone to give them hugs.”
“I like hugs.”
“Everyone needs hugs.” Mom gave Jodi a hug that only mothers can give. Then, noticing the look of concern that crossed Jodi’s face, she asked, “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Mom,” Jodi said in a hesitant voice. “I don’t think I could have hugged that girl I sat by.”
Mom smiled at Jodi’s honesty. “Jodi, do you think Jesus would hug that girl?”
Jodi thought for a moment. “I know that Jesus would hug her. He loves everyone.”
Mom smiled and asked Jodi to follow her to the piano in the family room. She opened Children’s Songbook to pages 140–41, one of Jodi’s favorite songs. As her mom played, Jodi sang:
“If you don’t walk as most people do,
Some people walk away from you,
But I won’t! I won’t!
If you don’t talk as most people do,
Some people talk and laugh at you,
But I won’t! I won’t!
I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you.
That’s how I’ll show my love for you.
Jesus walked away from none.
He gave his love to ev’ryone.
So I will! I will!”
That gave Jodi something to think about. “Thanks, Mom,” Jodi said as she gave her mother a hug and a kiss. Then she went to say her prayers before climbing into bed.
The next morning, Jodi jumped up with excitement and ran to find Mom. “I had the best dream last night! It was a very happy one about that girl I sat by. And in my dream, I gave her a hug! May we please go to the care center again soon?”
“I think that’s a great idea!” Mom said with a smile.

I was trapped.
At 18, I knew the Church was true. The Lord knew I knew. The missionaries knew I knew. But my parents didn’t know I knew.
It took me three weeks to work up the courage to tell Mom about it. I didn’t dare tell Dad.
“Mom,” I asked after she had recovered from the shock of hearing that her Catholic son wanted to become a Mormon, “how can I tell Dad?”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know if you should. He’d kill you,” she said, confirming my fears. “But don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll tell him someday.”
“But, Mom, I want to get baptized as soon as possible.”
“If you wait until you go to college,” she said, “you’ll be away from your father, and he’ll have time to make adjustments before he sees you again. It really would be much easier on both of you.”
I knew what she was saying made sense, but I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. I talked to the elders.
“It’s your decision,” said one elder. “Of course we’d like you to get baptized now, while you’ve got the desire and the understanding and the guidance of the Spirit. But you’ve got to do what’s best for you. The only way to be sure,” he said as he patted me on my shoulder, “is to fast and pray about it.”
I had never fasted or prayed in my life, but I was willing to give it a try. My head hurt and my stomach growled, and at every possible chance I prayed and pondered what I should do. I made a list of pros and cons. I talked it over with the elders, my friends, my mom. And I prayed some more.
Finally, near the end of my fast, I had a feeling, a strong feeling, that I should get baptized as soon as possible. I didn’t want to cause problems in my family, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. I knew I had to get baptized.
I told the elders. I told my friends. And then I found the courage to tell my mom and dad. Dad didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor with his face turning red and his feet shuffling uncomfortably. He was too upset to speak all night. The next evening he did something he’d never done before—he came up to my room to talk with me. I was sure my life was over, but Dad surprised me.
“Son,” he said, sitting on my brother’s bed, “I want you to know that I think you’re making a serious mistake by joining the Mormon church. But you’re old enough now to do what you think is best. When I was your age, I was allowed to make my own decisions, and I guess I turned out okay.”
He stood up to leave. “Dad,” I said, “believe me. I’m sorry that you don’t feel good about my joining the Church. But I’ve thought about it, prayed about it, and I know it’s what I’ve got to do.”
Then Dad did something else he’d never done before. He hugged me.
I was baptized the next week. My baptism fanned the spark of testimony I had gained from the missionary discussions into a fire that burns bright even today.
My experience taught me that Heavenly Father answers our prayers and that some answers don’t come easily. When the answers do come, blessings will follow if we find the courage and strength to act on them.

Illustration by David Malan
After a long, hard day filled with the struggles that come from caring for three young children, all I wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed.
I took a deep breath and went into my room to unwind. That’s when our five-year-old daughter came in and reminded me it was her turn for the monthly personal interviews my husband and I had started having with her and our three-year-old son. We would ask them questions about their favorite things and what they liked about kindergarten or church. Then we would remind them that they were children of God and that we loved them.
I enjoyed these talks, but I didn’t feel physically or mentally up to it. I started to tell my daughter we would have our talk tomorrow night, but I realized how important our talks were to her.
“All right,” I said tiredly, “let’s get Dad.”
We three sat on the bed and began our chat. After my husband left the room for a moment, I asked our daughter, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I was not prepared for her answer: “Like you.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, and my heart filled with emotion. I was touched by the way my daughter saw me, but I felt overwhelming anxiety that stemmed from fear of inadequacy. I thought of all the reasons I did not make an ideal role model for my children, and I was keenly aware of my shortcomings.
Later that night as I prayed, I fervently asked Heavenly Father to help me become a better example for my daughter and more worthy of her admiration. Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of comfort, hope, and love washed over me. I became aware of the gratitude my Father in Heaven and Savior had for me simply for being a mother who was trying to be better. They acknowledged my efforts and were there to help me become the mother and daughter They see in me.
I know with all my heart that God knows and loves us and that through “the enabling power of the Savior’s Atonement,” we can become who we hope to become.

The girls decided to use this experience as a Personal Progress project. Each girl sewed her own bonnet as part of the authentic pioneer costume for the festival. They practiced for hours to memorize the story they had chosen—the story of Fanny Fry, who traveled with the George Rowley handcart company in 1859.
Fanny was separated from her family and endured hardships while crossing the plains. One day she fainted and was run over by her handcart. Thinking she was dead, the sisters began preparing her for burial. The Iowa Beehives love to tell how surprised those good sisters were when Fanny opened her eyes. Despite her injuries, Fanny pressed on and was later reunited with her sister.

Sister Thelma Bonham deJong, of Provo, Utah, once endured a difficult time when her husband was dying of cancer and her own health was failing. “Only the good Lord knows the weight of the burdens I carried for months,” she said. “Always with a prayer in my heart, I pleaded with Him to give me the courage to face my problems in a valiant manner and with dedication give my best to the end. Without His constant help, I could never have given devoted service to my beloved husband in the long months of his illness. God hears and answers prayers.”

I was suffering from depression and having problems with my family. It was one of the hardest times in my life. My family was disconnected, and we didn’t get along well. I wondered things like, “What’s the reason to go on? Why am I here?” I felt very empty.
Then I was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My friend who invited me to church always strives to live the gospel and share it with others. She followed the Holy Spirit by inviting me to church. The time I spent in church was very nice. Attending seminary with my classmates filled me with a lot of love. After eight months of getting to know the Church and learning about Jesus Christ, I was baptized.
I felt like Jesus Christ saved me from many difficult things I was going through during that time. I know that He is the one who pulled me through.
Alessia H., age 16, El Oro, Ecuador
Enjoys riding horses, spending time with family, and doing extreme sports.