Gospel Story Finder

September had come, and autumn was just around the corner. The leaves of the poplar and cottonwood trees had changed from green to golden yellow. The grass that grew beside the road had turned to rusty brown. And Malan had turned eight.
The day of Malan’s baptism finally arrived. He had learned about baptism in Primary and during family home evenings, and he had thought about the event for a long time. Using his own new copies of the scriptures, he and his dad had read about the baptism of Jesus (Matt. 3:13–17). Now he could be a member of record of the Church, like his mom and dad and the bishop and the boys who passed the sacrament. If he always tried to do the right thing, his baptism would enable him to “enter into the kingdom of God” (John 3:5), and that’s where he and Dad decided they wanted the whole family to be. Malan closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the car’s tires on the pavement as the car carried them to the Parkland Ward meetinghouse.
In a few minutes he and his sister, Ginger, his mom, Aunt Marcia and Uncle Scott, his cousins Jenny and Coral, and his Grandma and Grandpa would be there. His dad was already there, running water into the font and making sure that the white clothes were ready.
It seemed to Malan that time was dragging. The streets of the city were crammed with cars, and every red light seemed to refuse to turn green. A lane ahead was blocked because a truck had tipped over and spilled its load of wood.
Malan peered anxiously out the car window. A man was frantically directing the traffic and casting unhappy glances at his overturned truck. Behind him, driving along the ditch, was a police car with its red and blue lights flashing.
“Don’t worry,” Malan’s mom said, turning around and giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “We’ll be there in time.”
Malan sighed with relief when they finally pulled up in front of the large red brick building. He was so eager to get inside that he almost forgot how important it was to walk quietly and be reverent in the Lord’s house.
He saw his dad, dressed all in white, coming to meet him. But something was wrong! Dad knelt down; his kind blue eyes were concerned. “You have a decision to make, Son,” his dad said, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’ve run the water for a long time, and it appears that the hot water heater is broken. The water in the font is very cold. Do you want to be baptized in cold water or wait until next week?”
Malan stood for a long moment and wondered what to do. Behind him he could hear his Grandpa talking, and the excited voices of his small cousins. Through the chapel window he could see the yellow-clad branch of a tall poplar tree as it scratched gently against the pane.
“Were you baptized in a river, Dad?” he asked.
His dad smiled. “Yes, I was baptized in the Moose Jaw River.”
“Was it cold?”
“Only for a few moments.”
Malan lifted his chin and hoped that his dad wouldn’t notice his trembling body. “I want to be baptized today. I don’t mind if the water is cold.”
Malan was uneasy as he changed into his white clothing. And although he tried to sit quietly through his Grandpa’s prayer and his mother’s talk about Jesus, Malan’s legs insisted upon swinging and his stomach had a big knot in it.
Finally it was time! As Malan stepped into the icy water, his knees shook and he wanted to run back through the halls and out to the shelter of the car. Then his dad’s strong hands reached for his. “Are you ready?”
Malan nodded. He listened to the prayer, then pinched his nose as the icy water swept over his head. When he stood up, he gasped for air and splashed to the stairs of the font. As he moved toward the dressing room, his body shook and his teeth chattered, but he hardly noticed. Inside he was filled with a golden warmth, like the autumn leaves outside.

Juan sat quietly in the flickering light of the fire. He watched his mother grinding corn on her metate (grinding stone) for the evening meal. Juan’s father was busy too. He was carving a wooden ball for Juan. The even, polished surface gleamed yellow in the firelight.
“Will it be ready for the race on Friday?” Juan asked.
“Yes. I will finish it tomorrow,” his father replied.
Juan smiled. He and his two teammates would run even better with such a well-made ball.
Juan was an Indian of the Tarahumara tribe. He lived high in the Sierra Madre Mountains in northern Mexico. His family home was near Barranca del Cobre (Copper Canyon).
Juan’s father, Dionisio, was a great man. He was the best runner in the village—maybe the best in all the mountains! Wearing his “lucky” belt of deer hooves, he’d won many races. For the Tarahumara people, running was one of the most important things in life. In fact, they called themselves Rama Mure (foot runners). Men and boys ran along the rocky mountain paths, kicking before them a wooden ball carved from an oak tree root.
Juan was fifteen now. He’d been running almost since he could walk, and on Friday he and his teammates would run a big race against a team from the village of Pilares. Juan wanted to run as well as his father ran.
All the Indians knew Dionisio. “¡Kawira-ba (hello)!” people called whenever Juan’s father passed them during a race. It was nothing for Dionisio and his team to run for two days and nights without stopping for anything except a drink.
Juan loved racing at night by torchlight, but right now the race he was most interested in was the race against the Pilares team. Although it would only be twelve miles, it was still important. To Juan and his friends, every race was important.
There were other important things in Juan and his father’s life besides running. They planted corn, beans, and squash. They also tended their seventeen goats, corraling them each night. Each of the goats was named and was well known by the family. To have so many goats to provide milk and cheese was good. Seldom would Juan’s father kill one of the animals, for they were too precious to use as meat. Meat was provided by the deer and chipmunks of the mountains.
At the end of each day Father would take the handmade violin from the pegs on the wall and draw the bow across the strings, bringing forth sweet, sad songs.
In all things Juan’s father was his ideal. He did everything well—running, hunting, growing crops, playing music, carving from wood. Sometimes Juan became discouraged. He could not carve well—except the flesh of his own fingers! He could beg only mournful cries from the violin. And running? Not yet. Maybe this race against the Pilares team would be a turning point for him. Not only would my winning the race make father proud, he daydreamed, but it would also mean that one day I might be a truly great runner!
Early the next morning Juan went with his father to move the corral. Juan knew that besides giving them cheese and milk, their goats also fed the earth. He knew that seeds planted in the place where a corral had stood grew into strong plants. Juan was glad for so much work that day, because he would have less time to think about the upcoming race.
Friday dawned, and Juan tried to quiet his excitement. His father had told him that too much fear or excitement could take the strength from his body.
Today was also a holiday. Juan’s people celebrated many holidays each year, and running was always part of the festivities. Mother had prepared cedar tea so that Juan could bathe his legs in it. All Tarahumara runners did this before running. They thought it kept away evil spirits.
On his left foot Juan wore a sandal, as did all the runners. The right foot—the kicking foot—was bare. A runner must be able to lift the ball and kick it with his toes and foot. Although the running must be swift, the ball must go ahead. A lost one meant a delay until another ball was put into play.
Finally the Pilares team arrived. The signal was given, and the two teams ran. Juan’s new ball was painted with a red stripe. First it was kicked by Juan, then by each teammate in turn. Up and down the steep, rocky path they went. The boys had run this trail many times. They knew when to send the ball swiftly ahead and when to slow down for curves in the path.
On and on they ran. Many of the villagers ran behind them to see the outcome of the race. Juan knew that his father was with them.
When at last they neared the end of the twelve-mile run, Juan found himself running side by side with a Pilares runner.
I must win! I must win! Juan told himself. He ran faster and faster. He felt power in his tired legs. He felt the wind of his own speed rushing through his hair. He felt he could fly! The runner from Pilares was no longer beside him. Juan ran alone.
Then the wind was gone.
Juan looked up from the rocky path where he had fallen. The runner from Pilares sped ahead.
It was Father who tended the deep cut in Juan’s knee.
“I lost! I will never be a great runner,” the boy declared mournfully.
Father stopped wrapping the cloth around Juan’s leg and looked at him. Then he spoke. “I don’t know how many races I lost when I was young, but I know I learned something each time I raced.”
“But you are the best! You are a winner. Everyone admires you.”
“Ahhh. It is because they do not remember the times I lost. They remember only the times I won. I remember both.”
Juan sat amazed. His father had once lost races!
“You are not a loser, my son. You are a winner learning how to win.”

Then a Brother Vance rose from his seat in the congregation. A large, strong, grandfatherly man who worked well with his hands, he related his thankfulness to the Lord for the growth of some lilac bushes that were most precious to his wife.
The bushes had grown so tall they blocked the sunlight to the Vances’ tiny home. Brother Vance told his wife he had to cut the bushes back to ground level and move the roots to a new location. She vigorously protested his decision, afraid the bushes would not survive. But he felt it was necessary.
He told of the painful but loving task of pruning the bushes, preparing the soil in the new location, and, finally, digging up the roots and planting them.
He described how every day he weeded, watered, and looked for signs of new life. The lack of new growth, he said, made him worried and concerned that he had destroyed his wife’s lovely bushes. The more he thought of his love for his eternal companion, the more feeling he developed for the roots he had nurtured in the earth.
Finally, early one morning, he was relieved to find green evidence that the roots were alive and growing. He brought his wife to see her lilacs and offered a prayer of thankfulness for the growing results of his work.

When I was young, I too wanted to prove myself through some heroic gesture. My great-grandfather David Patten Kimball was one of the young men who rescued and helped carry members of the Martin handcart company across the Sweetwater River. That sounded like the kind of consecration for which I was looking. Later, as I visited with my grandfather Crozier Kimball, he explained that when President Brigham Young (1801–77) sent the men on their rescue mission, he instructed them to do everything they possibly could to save the handcart company. Their consecration was specifically to “follow the prophet.” My grandfather told me that consistent, faithful, righteous dedication to one’s duty or to a principle is to be much admired.

As heroic as it was for David Patten Kimball to help rescue the pioneers, it would be equally heroic today to follow the prophet by adhering to his counsel in reducing social media use, studying the Book of Mormon, and particularly helping to gather scattered Israel on both sides of the veil. If we help gather scattered Israel, we will be rescuing the souls of mankind—just as my great-grandfather helped to rescue the lives of the handcart company.

For a while now I’ve feared being called on a mission. Maybe it’s because I knew it was the right thing for me to do, and I was denying it. A few weeks ago I received my patriarchal blessing saying I would serve a mission. This upset me, and I knew it shouldn’t, so I prayed that my feelings would change. The following Sunday my Young Women president gave a great lesson on serving the Lord. Things were looking up. During the week the March 1988 New Era came. I’m so thankful for the article “Called to Serve Him.” My views have changed, and I can’t wait to serve a mission for the Lord! Thanks!
Cheri JohnsonSterling Heights, Michigan

Try to feel the heart of a young man, Nkosiyabo Eddie Lupahla, in Africa, writing about his friend.
“Two and a half years prior to my joining the Church in 1999, my good friend, Mbuti Yona, looked me up. We had been friends through grades 5 to 12, then [were] separated when we attended different [schools].
“Mbuti was baptized in April 1999, and four weeks later he visited me at home and introduced the gospel to me. Regardless of the rumors about the Church, I was impressed by the ‘fellow Saints’ who gave me a warm welcome on my first visit. It was this same Sunday that my friend introduced me to the missionaries. Arrangements were made to be taught. My friend was there for every discussion, and he kept inviting me to the activities. I really enjoyed being around people with the same values, interests, standards, and goals. It was during this same time period that I began attending institute [of religion]. It all seemed very natural: Thursday nights [5:30]—missionary discussion, followed by institute.
“I learned a lot in institute and especially enjoyed our class about how to achieve a celestial marriage. The first semester ended in May, shortly after I began attending, and I felt cheated. But I was fortunate enough to catch the second semester class, Teachings of the Living Prophets. While in institute, I bought myself the four standard works and I continued to learn and grow in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. I was baptized September 17, 1999, by another friend I had made while attending institute.
“I am thankful for the institute program. It has not only shaped me, but it has also helped me qualify to become a missionary, which mission I started preparing for five months after my baptism. I have been blessed with many opportunities to serve and to teach prior to my mission.
“I am thankful for my friend. I hope he realizes what he has done for me. We have both served missions, I to South Africa Durban, he to South Africa Cape Town. All it takes is a friend to bring such a mighty change in one’s life.”
Now, there seems to be nothing miraculous in that story. But there is a miracle of wisdom beyond human capacity.
Perhaps because Mbuti had walked the path himself or perhaps by revelation, he knew what his friend would have to do to endure. And so he knew how to lift and help.
He introduced his friend to the missionaries. He saw that his friend was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. He took his friend, even before baptism, to where he would study the scriptures and thus be nurtured by the good word of God. Even before baptism he helped his friend discover this promise: “Wherefore, I said unto you, feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.” The words must have told him to buy scriptures, which he did.
At baptism, Brother Lupahla received the gift of the Holy Ghost to serve as his constant companion as long as he invited it and lived worthy of it. That assured him of another promise, “For behold, again I say unto you that if ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do.” The Holy Ghost must have told him to begin to prepare for a mission, which he did.
We do not know which friends went with him to his sacrament meetings both before and after baptism, but some must have greeted him warmly, as they did on his first visit. There, he renewed his covenant to always remember the Savior, to keep His commandments, and to receive again the promise of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. We don’t know what part his friends had in his calls to serve and to speak. But we can be sure that they thanked him and told him when they felt the Spirit in his service and in his teaching.
We can know something of his private life. Remember that he wrote that he continued to learn. He wrote that he grew in the Church line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. He said that he had been shaped by his experiences in the Church Educational System institute. We know from the scriptures what caused those changes in him. He had to be praying with faith in the Savior. He was receiving testimony and directions through the Spirit. And then he was not only doing what he was inspired to do but he was asking God to let the Atonement work in his life.

It was Helamán’s first day of school. He wore his favorite shirt, and he had a new pencil. His new teacher let him sit at a table with his friends Sylvester, Jorge, and Miguel. It was a good day.
“Put away your things,” said Señora Martínez. “It’s time to eat lunch.”
Helamán’s family always prayed together before meals. He raised his hand. “Señora Martínez, are we going to pray before we eat?”
Señora Martínez smiled at Helamán. “You may say a prayer for your food if you would like.”
Helamán and his friends opened their lunches.
“What is a prayer?” asked Sylvester.
“It’s talking to Heavenly Father,” said Helamán. “It’s the way we thank Him for our food.”
“Can you say a prayer for all of us?” asked Miguel.
Helamán folded his arms. His three friends folded their arms too. Helamán closed his eyes and bowed his head. His friends did the same.
Then Helamán said a prayer, just like his family did. He thanked Heavenly Father for the good day they were having and for their lunches. He asked for a blessing on their food. He ended in the name of Jesus Christ and said, “Amen.”
Sylvester, Jorge, and Miguel looked up.
“You can say amen too,” said Helamán.
His friends grinned and said, “Amen.”
The next day at lunchtime, Sylvester said, “Say a prayer, Helamán.”
“Yes, say a prayer, Helamán,” said Miguel. Jorge nodded.
So Helamán prayed again. This time he said he was extra thankful that his mom had made him a ham and cheese sandwich, his favorite. He asked Heavenly Father to help them learn in class that day.
Each day at lunch, Helamán’s friends said, “Say a prayer, Helamán.” And each day, Helamán said a prayer. He prayed with his friends each day for a week.
The next Monday at lunchtime, Miguel said, “Today I will pray.”
Helamán was surprised. He folded his arms, closed his eyes, bowed his head, and listened while Miguel prayed.
Miguel began by saying, “Dear Heavenly Father.” He thanked Him for their food and asked Him to bless it. He ended in the name of Jesus Christ and said, “Amen.”
“Amen!” said Helamán and Jorge.
“Amen,” said Sylvester. “I didn’t know you could pray.”
“I learned by listening to Helamán,” said Miguel. “I asked my parents if I could say a prayer on our meals at home. They said yes, so I pray just like Helamán does.”
“Wow,” said Sylvester. “I think I’ll ask my parents if I can say a prayer at our meals too.”
“Me too!” said Jorge.
Helamán smiled. He was glad he had been able to help his friends learn to speak with Heavenly Father. He knew Heavenly Father loved him, and Heavenly Father loved his friends too.
This story took place in Mexico.

Then a young couple with several young children came into my office. Earlier that day in sacrament meeting, we had read a letter from the First Presidency, announcing that an additional category of voluntary contributions was now available to Church members—a “humanitarian fund.” Money donated to this category would be sent to Church headquarters and used for projects benefiting people worldwide, regardless of religious affiliation. This couple had lived in a developing nation and had witnessed the great needs there. Now they were donating a substantial sum to that fund, trusting that it would be put to the best possible use. I looked at their little children and then back at the parents. And I thought, “How can you do without this money at Christmastime?” But I had an idea that perhaps their Christmas would be even more fulfilling as a result.
Then there were the people who had contributed freely to the ward missionary fund, even though they had no missionary sons or daughters. There were those who had given to the general missionary fund and to the general Book of Mormon fund. And there were those who had contributed toward the yet-to-be-built Bountiful Utah Temple—even though they knew that the Church now pays for building projects through tithing, rather than through a separate building fund.
Later, another couple came in. They, too, had contributed liberally throughout the year. As we were about to conclude our visit, the husband said, “Bishop, is there anyone in the ward who has special needs this Christmas? We don’t have a lot of extra money, but we would like to give what we do have to someone who needs it.”
Immediately I thought of a single mother in our ward. She was doing her best to be self-reliant and certainly wasn’t looking for a handout. But money was tight. She was going back to school, and there were medical bills to pay. Surely she would be a worthy recipient of this couple’s generosity.
I accepted their offer in her behalf. They told me they weren’t interested in knowing the name of the receiver. And they, too, wanted to remain anonymous.
The husband pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and stacked several twenty-dollar bills on my desk. As he was doing so, his wife said, somewhat apologetically, “It’s not much. But now that our children are grown, we don’t feel that we’re doing as much in the ward as we used to. This is the least we can do.”
I protested at her apology, knowing they were doing much in their Church callings and in their quiet service to neighbors and to an elderly parent. And I thanked them for being so generous.
The next day, while taking the money to the recipient, I became a little uneasy. How would she receive this gift? Would she be offended? Would she hesitate to accept it?
When I handed the money to her, I described the spirit in which the gift had been given and encouraged her to receive it in that same spirit.
She accepted the money gratefully.
“I can accept this,” she said, “because when times were better for me, I often gave anonymously, just like this.” Then she told me about the secret projects her family had done over the years. She told me about times when she had purchased a frozen turkey and left it, with all the trimmings, on someone’s doorstep. She told me about anonymously mailing money to people who needed it, and about purchasing a coat and boots for the child of a needy friend. Now, in her time of need, she was a gracious receiver.
As I reviewed the monetary contributions so many ward members had made during the year, I couldn’t help remembering, too, their year’s worth of donated labor: The people who, week after week, had provided lessons and leadership—wherever they had been called to serve. The young men and young women who had cleaned the yards of elderly members, both in spring and in autumn. The sisters who had helped a member with wall-papering and painting. The elders and high priests who had done heavy yard work and repairs for those who were unable to do it alone. The young women and Relief Society sisters who had visited a homeless shelter several times—taking food, supplies, and encouragement. The young men who, without needing to be reminded, had gone out in teams and shoveled elderly members’ walks and driveways each time it snowed. The Scouts who had collected toys and books for the Primary Children’s Medical Center. The sisters who had taken meals and reassurance to the sick, the grieving, and the homebound. The priesthood brethren who had given countless blessings of health and comfort. The members who had donated time at the Church cannery to fill the shelves at the bishops’ storehouse. The many people who had quietly listened—and cared—and lifted. And the ones who had served in many ways without anyone else knowing anything about it.
And I thought of the many thank-yous from gracious receivers.
One was from a nine-year-old boy. Following is the letter he sent our Relief Society president and me after his family had received a load of food from the bishops’ storehouse (I have changed his brother’s name in order to preserve anonymity):
“Dear Bishop Gardner and Sister Thomas,
“I just got home from school. Ricky walked in first and said, ‘What in the … ?!’ Then I saw what he just saw. Food … Food! Food all over the place! Boxes, bags, cans, and even cartons of milk and eggs! Ricky said, ‘Look! There must be a million oranges!’
“We wanted to thank you, Sister Thomas, and the whole Church (especially our ward) for all the help you’re giving us right now, especially all this nice food donated from the bishops’ storehouse. It’s such a wonderful feeling to feel so loved, so cared for, and thought about.
“Gratefully.” (And he signed his full name.)
Then it was Christmas Eve. My own family of young children and teenagers were just finishing our annual Christmas pageant—complete with scriptures, carols, costumes, a real-live baby playing the part of the Christ child, a three-year-old Mary, a six-year-old Joseph, an angel, a shepherd, and a Wise Man. (I always somehow end up with the role of the donkey.)
There was a knock at the door. It was Santa Claus! In living color! He ho-ho-hoed himself into the living room, made a big fuss over each child, reached into his enormous sack, and pulled out a gift for each member of the family. As he did so, I noticed a vague resemblance between Santa and a member of our ward.
Then he wished us all a Merry Christmas and was off. Two of the youngest children were determined to see the reindeer for themselves, and they raced out to the front porch. But Santa must have parked his sleigh down the street somewhere. We watched and listened to his sleigh bells jingle as he trotted merrily through the neighborhood and disappeared into the snowy darkness.
What a Christmas it was—my first Christmastime as bishop! How could I ever express my gratitude for the many ward members who had made it a joyful time of giving and receiving—and for all who carry that spirit with them throughout the year?
And how could I ever express my gratitude and love for the Savior, Jesus Christ, who had set the pattern and had given the greatest gift of all?
Certainly, my nine-year-old friend is right: “It’s such a wonderful feeling to feel so loved, so cared for, and thought about.”

Several months ago, Sister Sitati and I were in the home of a member family. The topic of ministering, just announced by President Russell M. Nelson, came up. The father wondered in what ways ministering would be the same or different from home teaching.
As the discussion progressed, Sister Sitati suggested that we do a mock ministering visit and learn from it. The suggestion was accepted, and so Sister Sitati and I became a ministering companionship and the family of six—comprising (not their real names) father Jack, mother Cindy, twenty-year-old son Amos, sixteen-year-old daughter Winnie, thirteen-year-old son Paul, and nine-year-old daughter Charity—became our assigned family for the purpose of the mock ministering visit.
The conversation went something like this:
Elder Sitati: Jack, Cindy, and children, Sister Sitati and I are thrilled to be assigned as your ministering brother and sister. Thank you everyone for making the time to meet with us in your home today.
Sister Sitati: After praying about it, we felt that on this first ministering visit, we want to explore together with you where you feel you currently stand temporally and spiritually as a family and individually and where you want to be.
Cindy: I think temporally, the Lord has blessed us, and we are very grateful. Quite frankly, we are all in different places in our spiritual progress, and so each one of us will likely have a different answer to where they are.
Elder Sitati: Let us begin with family prayer. How do you feel about how that is going?
Jack: Our schedules are crazy. For most of the week, because of the different activities in which we are involved, some of us are coming—while others are going—and it is difficult to find time to be together for family prayer.
Sister Sitati: How do you feel about continuing that way?
Jack: Clearly, we can do better. We want to do better. Today for example, we were able to coordinate our schedules so we could all be here at this time for your visit. So, we will try and coordinate better, to be together more often.
Elder Sitati: How can we help you to be better coordinated as a family?
Cindy: I would love it if Sister Sitati could call from time to time and just ask how we are doing with praying together.
Sister Sitati: What about reading the Book of Mormon daily?
Cindy: I think the same approach we use for prayer will work.
Eelder Sitati: Are there any other aspects of your discipleship that you wish to improve as a family?
Jack: Cindy is quite diligent with temple attendance, and the girls often go with her to do proxy baptisms. I have been a bit careless and have been without a current temple recommend for the last few months.
Elder Sitati: How can we help?
Jack: Your question is enough! I will repent and go and see the bishop next week.
Sister Sitati: What if we could plan to go to the temple together with your family?
Winnie: I would love that!
Cindy: Jack, would you like us to look at some possible dates?
Jack: Yes, of course. We can coordinate that over the phone. But the first week of next month looks like a good possibility. I will have renewed my temple recommend by then.
Elder Sitati: Amos, you have been quiet. How are things going with you?
Amos: Well, I don’t know. I don’t seem to feel much of anything these days.
Sister Sitati: What are the things that capture your interest, in which you find that you are usually fully engaged?
Amos: I like biking, especially going up and down mountain trails.
Elder Sitati: One of our sons likes mountain biking as a hobby. He is a member of a national internet biking community that you may be interested in. We would be happy to connect you with him.
Sister Sitati: Amos, the bishop mentioned that you have been thinking about going on mission lately.
Amos: Yes, but I am not sure. I don’t want to go just because of the bishop or my parents!
Sister Sitati: You don’t have to. Have you considered the covenant you made with the Lord when you received the priesthood? What did you promise you would do for the blessings the Lord offers you as a priesthood holder?
Amos: To serve Him.
Elder Sitati: And from Moroni 7:13 and 7:17, you can learn why you are not sure about serving, and then do something about it. Would you like to read it and let me know what you find out?
Amos: Sure. I can text you?
Elder Sitati: Yes, sure. Here is my cell phone number.
Sister Sitati: What about you Winnie, Paul, and Charity? Are you working on any personal spiritual goals?
Winnie: I am working on some goals in Personal Progress. Mum is helping me.
Sister Sitati: Excellent! (Looking at Paul.)
Paul: Boys don’t do Personal Progress!
Elder Sitati: You are right Paul. They do something else.
Paul: Last year, one of the teachers talked about Duty to God. When I looked at the book, the stuff in there was boring!
Elder Sitati: Most things are boring until we take an interest and really try them out. Then the Holy Ghost can help us. (Looking at Jack) I am sure your dad can help you.
Jack: Of course. I should have done that earlier, but my priorities were kind of upside down.
Charity: In Primary, we are memorizing the Articles of Faith. I can say them without reading up to number seven!
Sister Sitati: Excellent! (Gets up and hugs Charity.)
Elder Sitati: Well, that is the end of our short mock ministering home visit. What do you think? You all did so well!
A spirited discussion followed on the merits of the ministering approach versus message-based home teaching.
Each family or person to whom we minister is unique and has a specific set of needs. Our role as ministers is to—under influence of the Spirit—discover those needs, offer some solutions, and commit, as needed, to new behaviors. The mock visit above is but one way in which ministers can learn our duties and fulfill the sacred responsibilities with which we have been entrusted.
Postscript: As I have reflected back on that true experience from time to time since arriving in the Africa South East Area, I have felt that our conversation with Jack, Cindy, and the family could have been greatly enriched if we had used a resource like the pocket size 2019 Area Plan card that has been provided to every member.

When I graduated from high school, I was an accomplished tennis player, and I was selected to travel around Europe on a great team. While in France, we often played on fast indoor courts. I played well the first month and won a lot of matches.
Feeling really good about myself, I left France with my team and headed for Austria. The first tournament was on slow red clay. Going from fast indoor courts to slow red clay was a dramatic change. For the first time—and the only time in my 40 years of playing tennis—I lost 6–0 6–0, a double bagel, we call it. It rocked my world. Unwisely, I dwelt on my deficiencies from the match for days. A week later I was still dwelling on the loss.
I began to constantly doubt myself. Every time I messed up, I told myself I wasn’t good at tennis. I would miss a backhand into the top of the net and say to myself, “Not again! Your backhand stinks. You can’t make a backhand. Why do you even play this game? You just stink.”
Then I had the opportunity to play tennis at Brigham Young University, and I thought it was the perfect time to reset. However, I quickly learned that the bad mental habit of self-doubt I had created wasn’t going away anytime soon. I was working hard physically, but I wasn’t working hard mentally.
The problem was that I didn’t know how to fix my habit. How could I develop the belief that I could improve when I constantly doubted my God-given ability to do so? And my doubts didn’t just relate to sports. I had often told myself I wasn’t a good student. As a result, I didn’t study well and therefore didn’t do as well in school as I could have. Receiving low grades just reinforced the cycle of self-doubt, negative talk, and negative performance. As I prayed and pondered about these things, the Lord taught me some valuable lessons that could apply in all areas of my life.
One of the most important things I realized is how dangerous self-doubt is. When it gets into your mind, it hinders your ability to fulfill your potential and undermines confidence. However, confidence and fear, or positive and negative thoughts, cannot occupy your mind at the same time. To break my habit of self-doubt, I needed to fill my mind with the belief that I could excel.
I started working on thinking more positively. President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, said, “We develop our talents first by thinking we can.”1
But positive thinking by itself isn’t enough. I realized that because I have a divine nature and destiny, I can trust in God to help me improve in all areas of my life. And as I listen to the Holy Ghost, I can make good choices, develop my talents, and work to reach my divine potential.
What’s more, God wants me to become my best self as I strive to become like Him. As Elder L. Tom Perry (1922–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “It matters not the size or the quantity but the effort we put forth to develop the talents and abilities we have received. You are not competing with anyone else. You are only competing with yourself to do the best with whatever you have received. Each talent that is developed will be greatly needed and will give you tremendous fulfillment and satisfaction during your life. …
“… We are instructed not to idle away our time nor bury our talents and not use them. We are expected to make our lives better through our own initiatives and efforts.”2
As I exercise faith in God, ask Him for guidance and help to fulfill my divine potential, and trust that He will help me, I gain trust, confidence, and a growing sense of self-worth.
Of course, that doesn’t mean things always work out the way you or I hope—you may not always win the game, the girl may not say yes when you ask her on a date, and you may not ace or even pass the test—but trusting God does sustain us through those circumstances.
The Lord also taught me that increasing confidence has a lot to do with how you talk to yourself. Every time I caught myself thinking or talking to myself in negative, reactive ways like, “Your backhand stinks” or “Don’t miss that backhand,” I would stop that thought and immediately replace it with thoughts such as, “I love my backhand” or “I am going to rip it down the line.” And instead of saying to myself, “School is tough; my classes are too hard for me,” I started telling myself, “I’ve got this; I can get good grades.”
It took some time, but everything started to change. I was playing amazing tennis (at least for me), and I was studying and getting better grades. More importantly, it chased out fear. This change in thinking was a continual work in progress, and I constantly battled to apply what I had learned. As my fear disappeared, my confidence grew.
The Lord also taught me that it was important to remind myself of my worth and potential when I started doubting or talking negatively about myself. I started thinking of short phrases that would remind me of my divine worth when I am under pressure or discouraged. Doing this is a lot like using a scripture or hymn to lift you up when you feel down or want to stay strong in the face of temptation—only personalized to your particular situation. When used at critical moments, doing this can flood the mind with positive, strong thoughts and instantly squeeze out any negative thoughts and emotions.
As an example, when I applied this process to my coaching, I was amazed by the dramatic increase in performance from the athletes I worked with. One was a U.S. Olympic mogul skier who was not ranked very high.
As I worked with her, she worked hard on training her thoughts to be positive and on using positive phrases to purify her thought patterns. As her thoughts improved, so did her performance. Eventually she was selected to join the World Cup touring team.
After the prequalifying races, this athlete was in fourth place. She told me after the event that when she had gotten on the chairlift to go up for her finals run, doubt had gotten into her mind. She began to accept her doubt, thinking, “It’s OK. No one expected me to do this well. My family will still love me.”
But then she caught herself and said: “No! Today is my day! I am making it happen today!”
And guess what? She ended up skiing faster than she had ever skied before and finished tied for first place.
Here’s the really cool thing: This doesn’t just work for skiing. You can think of personalized, positive reminders to replace negative thoughts when you struggle with grades or feel like you don’t fit in or that you are not worth much because you aren’t popular.
Dwelling obsessively on what we do wrong prevents us from maximizing our potential. It is one of the adversary’s greatest tools. But using language to build confidence and trusting in God to help you do your best no matter the result builds confidence in your abilities and chases away doubt. That concept has changed my life.
When we trust in God, we achieve our greatest potential because we become who He wants us to be. We can replace fear with confidence and pessimism with optimism as we strive to do our best.

The Knight family had become acquainted with Joseph Smith four years earlier in the fall of 1826. Joseph Knight, Sr., often hired seasonal workers on his farm, and his friend Josiah Stowell recommended to him a tall, young man named Joseph Smith as a good worker. Joseph was hired. He worked on the Knight farm and lived with the Knight family, and he developed a strong bond of trust and friendship with them. He roomed with Joseph Knight, Jr., who was close to his age, and he talked at length with the senior Mr. Knight. Newel Knight was married, but lived nearby and frequently worked and visited at his father’s farm. Over the harvest season and winter Joseph Smith shared confidences with the Knights. He told them of the visions he had seen and of the gold plates he was to receive in the coming months.
While at first a bit unsure about the amazing things he heard from Joseph Smith, Newel Knight became convinced of the truth of them and a very loyal friend as well. He wrote in his journal, “It is evident great things are about to transpire, that the Lord is about to do a marvelous work and wonder—that Joseph is to become an instrument in his hands to bring about this great and mighty work in the last days.”
Newel’s father was fascinated by what he had heard about an ancient record being buried in the hillside, and Mr. Knight, Sr., even drove his carriage up to Manchester, New York, to visit the Smith home for several days at the time in 1827 when Joseph Smith had told him he expected to receive the gold plates. Joseph and Emma Smith borrowed the carriage of Joseph Knight, Sr., to go to the Hill Cumorah to receive the gold plates.
Joseph Smith continued to visit the Knights in Colesville, to preach in their homes, and to share the Book of Mormon with them as it was translated. One day after a gospel discussion in Colesville with Joseph Smith, Newel Knight retired to the woods to pray. Newel found himself overtaken by an evil spirit that seemed to almost take control of his body. Distorted and distraught, Newel returned to his home and sent for Joseph. The Prophet came immediately and cast out the evil spirit, using the power of the priesthood. As a holy spirit filled Newel, he was literally lifted from the floor in a great spiritual experience. Many family members and neighbors witnessed this event that Joseph Smith referred to as the first miracle in the Church.
After such a long friendship with Joseph Smith, and on a day such as the one of his baptism, Joseph Knight could hardly stand by as his friend and his prophet was arrested and taken away on ridiculous charges.
As soon as the constable took Joseph Smith away, Joseph Knight, Sr., went out and hired two men, a Mr. James Davidson and a Mr. John S. Reid, who were “respectable farmers who were well versed in the laws of their country,” to help Joseph during his trial before Justice Joseph P. Chamberlain.
Newel wrote in his journal:
“On the following day a court was convened for the purpose of investigating the charges which had been made against Joseph Smith, Jun. On account of the many scandalous reports which had been put in circulation, a great excitement prevailed. …
“The trial commenced among a crowded multitude of spectators, who generally seemed to believe Joseph guilty of all that had been alleged against him, and, of course, were zealous to see him punished for his crimes.”
Many witnesses were called up against Joseph Smith, including Josiah Stowell, for whom he had worked, and Mr. Stowell’s daughters, whom Joseph had known socially. Despite many attempts to elicit something from them which could be held against Joseph, all of the witnesses reported that Joseph Smith had dealt with them fairly and kindly.
Joseph Smith was acquitted by the Chenango County court of all charges, and at the very moment he was released, officials from the neighboring Broome County presented another warrant for his arrest.
“The constable who served this second warrant upon Joseph had no sooner arrested him, than he began to abuse him,” Newel wrote. The constable refused Joseph food, even though Joseph had been in court all day with nothing to eat. Then Joseph was taken 15 miles to a tavern where men gathered to “abuse, ridicule, and insult him. They spit upon him, pointed their fingers at him, saying, ‘Prophesy! Prophesy!’” The only food Joseph received for the night at the tavern was crusts of bread and some water.
Joseph Smith was taken before the Magistrate’s Court in Colesville. Again, his friends, including the Knights and the counselors Mr. Knight had hired, were at his side.
Newel reported of the trial that many witnesses were called who swore to incredible falsehoods about Joseph Smith. Some of these witnesses contradicted themselves so plainly that the court would not allow their testimony. Others were zealous to convict Joseph but could only testify of things they had heard others say about him. Finally, Newel Knight himself was called as a witness by a prosecuting attorney, a Mr. Seymour, who had been sent for just for this occasion.
Newel faithfully recorded in his journal the interrogation given him by the lawyer Mr. Seymour:
“Mr. Seymour asked: ‘Did the prisoner, Joseph Smith, Jun., cast the devil out of you?’
“[Newel’s] Answer: ‘No, sir.’
“Question: ‘Why, have you not had the devil cast out of you?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’
“Question: ‘And had not Joseph Smith some hand in it being done?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’
“Question: ‘And did he not cast him out of you?’
“Answer: ‘No, sir, it was done by the power of God, and Joseph Smith was the instrument in the hands of God on this occasion. He commanded him to come out of me in the name of Jesus Christ.’
“Question: ‘And are you sure it was the devil?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’
“Question: ‘Did you see him after he was cast out of you?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir, I saw him.’
“Question: ‘Pray, what did he look like?’
“(Here one of the lawyers on the part of the defense told me I need not answer that question.) I replied:
“‘I believe I need not answer that question, but I will do it if I am allowed to ask you one, and you can answer it. Do you, Mr. Seymour, understand the things of the Spirit?’
“‘No,’ answered Mr. Seymour, ‘I do not pretend to such big things.’
“‘Well, then,’ I replied, ‘it will be of no use for me to tell you what the devil looked like, for it was a spiritual sight and spiritually discerned, and, of course, you would not understand it were I to tell you of it.’
“The lawyer dropped his head, while the loud laugh of the audience proclaimed his discomfiture.”
Following Newel’s testimony, the closing arguments were made. Mr. Seymour attacked the character of Joseph Smith in a violent harangue. The Colesville gentlemen Mr. Davidson and Mr. Reid followed on Joseph’s behalf, and even though they were not formally trained lawyers, they silenced all opposition and convinced the court that Joseph Smith was innocent. He was cleared in court of all charges and freed.
Even the second constable who had arrested Joseph Smith and treated him so cruelly came forward and apologized. The constable went so far as to warn the young prophet that a crowd was waiting to tar and feather him a short distance from the court, and the constable helped Joseph escape the mob.
This was just the beginning of the persecutions of Joseph Smith and of those who followed him, like Newel and Sally and Lydia Knight, and the families of the older and younger Joseph Knights. The Knights would follow Joseph Smith to Kirtland, Missouri, and Nauvoo; and finally both Newel Knight and Joseph Knight, Sr., lost their lives in the trek west to Salt Lake City. Their loyalty and faithfulness never wavered.
In 1842 in Nauvoo, Joseph Smith wrote about the Knights in his record book. He remembered well and listed the many kindly deeds where Joseph Knight, Sr., had helped him. About Newel and Joseph Knight, Jr., he wrote, “I record [their names] in the Book of the Law of the Lord with unspeakable delight, for they are my friends” (History of the Church, 5:125).

One of the most wonderful chapters in the history of the Church occurred when Wilford Woodruff, an Apostle of the Lord, was teaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ throughout Great Britain in 1840—just 10 years after the establishment of the Church.
Wilford Woodruff and other Apostles had focused their work in the Liverpool and Preston areas of England, with considerable success. Elder Woodruff, who later became President of the Church, was constantly praying to God to guide him in this very important work. His prayers led to the inspiration to go to a different place to teach the gospel.
President Monson has taught us that when we get the inspiration from heaven to do something, we do it now—we don’t procrastinate. That is exactly what Wilford Woodruff did. With clear direction from the Spirit to “go … south,” Elder Woodruff left almost immediately and traveled to a part of England called Herefordshire—farming country in the southwest of England. Here he met a prosperous farmer named John Benbow, where he was welcomed “with glad hearts and thanksgiving” (Wilford Woodruff, in Matthias F. Cowley, Wilford Woodruff: History of His Life and Labors as Recorded in His Daily Journals [1909], 117).
A group of over 600 people, who called themselves the United Brethren, had been “praying for light and truth” (Wilford Woodruff, in Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Wilford Woodruff [2004], 91). The Lord sent Wilford Woodruff as an answer to their prayers.
Elder Woodruff’s teaching bore fruit immediately, and many were baptized. Brigham Young and Willard Richards joined him in Herefordshire, and the three Apostles had remarkable success.
In only a few months, they organized 33 branches for the 541 members who had joined the Church. Their remarkable work continued, and ultimately almost every one of the members of the United Brethren were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

The youth of the Utah Weber Heights Stake were treated to an out-of-the-ordinary Mutual activity. You could say it was something special. They got to spend a food-and-fun-filled Saturday with a special-needs Mutual group in a neighboring stake. Each member of the special Mutual had two friends from the Weber Heights Stake to spend the day with them.
The youth admitted a little apprehension about the activity at first, but Ami Houston, 13, said that all it takes to get along is “being friends like you are to all your other friends.”

Silverio was standing in the toy aisle when his Mom called him. “Sí, mamá?” He walked over to her.
“Could you please take this eye shadow to the cashier and ask how much it costs? And ask if it comes in green, please,” she said in Spanish.
“Oh, sure.” Silverio picked up the eye shadow, looked at it for a second, and then hid it in his hand. He didn’t want to be seen carrying makeup around the store.
Even though his family had been in the United States for most of Silverio’s life, Mom still had a hard time with English. She tried to learn, but sometimes the words wouldn’t come out. Sometimes Silverio wished he didn’t have to help her.
When Silverio reached the cashier, he held out the eye shadow. “Excuse me, ma’am, how much is this?” he mumbled.
The cashier stared down at him. “You want to buy eye shadow?”
Silverio pointed to his mom standing a few feet away and said quickly, “It’s for my mom.”
The cashier scanned the price. “Six dollars,” she said.
“Thanks. And … does it come in green?” Silverio felt his face turn red.
While the cashier typed into her computer, Silverio looked to check if anyone was watching him. The coast was clear. “Nope, only blue and purple.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Silverio hurried back to Mom and dropped the eye shadow in the cart without looking at her. “Séis dólares, y no la tienen en verde.”
“Gracias, Silverio. Is everything OK?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. No pasa nada. I’m fine.”
When they got home, Silverio went right to his room and sat on his bed. Interpreting for Mom was so embarrassing! Maybe he should tell Mom he wouldn’t do it anymore. He slumped down on his bed and sighed. No, he couldn’t do that to her. She worked so hard, and he didn’t want to let her down.
“Silverio, ven aquí por favor,” Mom called.
“Coming,” he called back.
Mom was at the table looking at old pictures of her family. “I just wanted to tell you thank you,” she said in Spanish. “I’m really grateful you interpret for me. I know it’s not easy, and might be embarrassing, but it means a lot to me.”
Silverio stared at the pattern on the rug. “Well … you do a lot for me, and I’m grateful too. You’re my mom, and I love you.” He gave a small smile.
Mom smiled back. “I love you too,” she said. “Let me share with you a scripture I like to read when I’m worried about what other people are thinking of me.”
She pulled their Santa Biblia from the shelf, turned to Colossians 3:23–24, and read from it. “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.”
Silverio looked at the Bible and reread the words. “So whenever I help people, I’m serving Christ?”
Mom smiled. “Exacto!”

During my tour aboard the USS West Virginia, a call came for an officer who spoke Portuguese to go on a three-week exchange with the Brazilian Navy. I was the only one in the submarine force who spoke Portuguese.
My initial feeling was not to go. I had just finished a three-month patrol and was looking forward to seeing my family, but the exchange would not leave my mind. I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer, received a strong answer that I should go, and accepted the assignment.
The arrangements proved fraught with hurdles. At one point I felt like giving up. I thought, “How important could this be?” The Holy Ghost, however, prompted me to push ahead.
Illustration by Allen Garns
Finally, after several delays, I arrived on a Brazilian ship. When I was escorted to the officers’ dining room, the ship’s captain was yelling and pointing his finger at a young officer. The captain saw me, stopped, and said in broken English, “Ah, my American friend has arrived. Welcome. May I offer you something to drink?”
I responded in Portuguese that I would love a popular Brazilian soft drink I hadn’t tasted since my mission. He told me the ship had all kinds of liquor on board, but I stated I did not drink alcohol.
Later a knock came at my cabin. When I opened the door, there stood the young officer from the dining room.
“You are an American,” he said. “You do not drink alcohol. You speak Portuguese. Could it be that you are a Mormon?”
“Yes, I am,” I responded.
He threw his arms around me and broke down sobbing.
This officer, Lt. Mendes, was a fairly new convert and a recent graduate of the Brazilian Naval Academy. On board the ship, he quickly learned that the captain expected him to share in the wild lifestyle of the officers when visiting ports. Instead, Lt. Mendes constantly volunteered for “in-port duty” and otherwise skipped port-of-call activities. The captain grew weary of this. When I entered the dining hall, he was yelling at Lt. Mendes for not joining in.
“You will go out with the officers during our next port of call,” he had ordered the lieutenant. “You will show the visiting American officer what it is like to have a good time. He will expect that of us.”
For months, Lt. Mendes had been praying that his captain would understand and accept his principles. With my arrival, discussion of the gospel became the center of most conversations in the dining room. We talked with the other officers about Joseph Smith, the Restoration, the Word of Wisdom, and the law of chastity. Feelings toward Lt. Mendes soon changed. The officers removed the openly displayed pornography, and at the next port we all enjoyed a meal together at a restaurant instead of going to a club.
Near the end of my three weeks onboard, and after many discussions with the captain and officers about our beliefs, the men softened their hearts. “Now I understand,” the captain told Lt. Mendes before I left, adding that he would no longer ask him to go against his principles.
I will never forget this experience. Lt. Mendes and I learned that our Father in Heaven knows us individually, loves us, and is concerned with our personal lives.

Julia could hardly close her eyes to sleep. Her whole body danced with excitement. She wondered how she could ever keep still until morning. Tomorrow was the day she had thought about for a year—the day she would finally be baptized, just as her twin sisters had been a few years earlier.
Glancing across the room, she could see the pink satin bow on her new, white lace dress glistening in the dark. Julia had gone to bed the night before to the whir of her mother’s sewing machine. Her mother was still sewing when Julia had gotten up for a drink of water around midnight. She felt bad that her mother was missing her sleep just to finish Julia’s dress.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” her mother had said the next morning. “Tomorrow is such a special day for you, and I want you to look beautiful.”
As she lay in bed, Julia thought back to the twins’ baptisms. They had been asked to sing a duet for the baptismal program. Julia remembered how nervous they had looked when they first got up in front of everyone. But they’d squeezed each other’s hand for courage and sung “Love One Another” beautifully.
When Sister Jacobsen, the stake Primary president, called Julia a few weeks ago, it surprised her. “Your sisters did such a wonderful job that we wondered if you would prepare a song for us also,” Sister Jacobsen had asked.
Before giving Sister Jacobsen an answer, Julia thought about it for several days. Her sisters were a lot more outgoing than she was, and they had lots of friends. Julia had a couple of good friends, but she usually just sat quietly in Primary and at school activities and seldom shared what she was thinking.
Once, Julia had overheard her mother’s friend call her shy. Her mother had replied, “Oh, she’s not really shy—she’s just a good listener.” But from then on, Julia thought of herself as being shy.
Dad had told Julia that after baptism she would be given a special gift, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and it would bless her in many ways. It would even help her gain more confidence. He said that it was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Julia wondered if she’d feel the same. She didn’t really understand how it worked, and wondered how it could help her with her shyness. But she knew that the Holy Ghost is also called the Comforter, and the name sounded like that of a good friend.
One night, after praying and receiving a good feeling, Julia told Sister Jacobsen that she would sing at the baptism. Every night for two weeks she practiced “I Know My Father Lives” with her dad, who would accompany her on the piano. She knew both verses by heart, and her dad even learned them too. It was fun to sing together before going to bed.
As Julia lay in the darkness, the words of the song went through her head. “I know my Father lives and loves me too. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me it is true, And tells me it is true.” She loved how the song made her feel, and as she softly hummed it, she finally fell asleep.
After breakfast the next morning, Julia dressed quickly in her new white dress. Everyone was happy and excited for her and listened one last time as she sang “I Know My Father Lives” without one mistake.
After changing into her baptismal clothes at the church, Julia and her dad took their places at the front of the chapel. There were five other children being baptized that day, and Julia knew most of them from school. She was surprised to see how many friends, parents, and relatives filled the chapel. A sick feeling of nervousness suddenly swept over her as she thought about standing in front of everyone and singing. She wished she hadn’t accepted, after all.
Julia tried not to think about the song and listened to the talks being given and watched the video presentation about the promises she was making. All too soon Sister Jacobsen announced her name and the song she would sing. Nervously she stood at the podium and looked down at her dad, who smiled warmly at her from his place at the piano.
I can do it, she thought to herself. I’ll just pretend I’m singing in my living room, and I won’t look at the crowd.
“I know my Father lives and loves me too,” Julia sang in a shaky voice. As she continued, she glanced down at the people who filled the chapel. There were so many of them, all looking at her, and all at once her head felt hot and dizzy. The words stuck in her throat, and then she couldn’t remember where she was in the song. There was nothing to do but stop singing.
It seemed to her as if she stood there forever, crying in front of everyone, her hands covering her face. Julia had never been so scared, and she didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone, in spite of all the people there, and she wanted to run out of the church just to get away from everyone.
But the piano was still playing, and through her crying she could hear a man’s voice softly singing the words. It was her dad. He was singing the end of the first verse. Julia wanted to sing along with him, but she was crying too hard. He started the second verse in a clear, strong voice: “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can, And tells me that I can.”
By the end of the song, Julia had stopped crying and had her eyes on her dad. She realized that the song was over and that her singing of it had been a failure. Embarrassed and still sniffling, she walked to her seat and took her place on the front row. When her dad slipped in beside her, she couldn’t bear to look up at him. She had disappointed her whole family and ruined the entire program. Oh, why did I ever think I could do it? Julia wondered. I’m just too shy.
Julia felt her dad’s strong arms lift her onto his lap. As she slowly looked up at him, she saw that he didn’t look disappointed in her at all. In fact, he had a big smile on his face.
“Oh, Julia,” he whispered excitedly, “this is how I can explain to you exactly how the gift of the Holy Ghost works. When you stopped singing and started to cry, you felt scared and alone, didn’t you?”
Julia nodded, puzzled.
“Then I helped you by singing the rest of the song when you couldn’t finish it. Well, after you receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, you need never feel alone again. When you are scared and don’t know what to do, if you listen very carefully, you will hear another voice coming through. Heavenly Father will send the Comforter to help you. He will help you make the right decisions. Most important, He will comfort you, if you just listen and keep the commandments. Julia, He will always be your friend.”
A warm feeling came over Julia as she placed her small hand inside her dad’s. She no longer felt embarrassed about not completing the song. For the first time she understood why the gift of the Holy Ghost was such a great gift. My own special Comforter, she thought happily.
“Maybe I am a little shy,” she whispered to her dad, “but I am a good listener.”

I had already had the opportunity to index, but I admit it was not my favorite part of the work of family history. So, it was done a little here and a little there, especially during challenges. However, this year, because of all of you and the Lord, I felt a strength, and a motivation that allowed me to index beyond what I thought I could. I felt close to these people; I was participating in something marvelous. The spirit of Elijah was present. I sometimes saw the correct names materialize before my eyes. Indexing has taken on a spiritual dimension for me. I will continue to do it. The work must be done on both sides of the veil. So, yes, thank you, thank you to the Lord and to each of you for your encouragement, your help, and your love.

Zachary is a very kind little boy, and he is sensitive to the feelings of others. When Zac was attending preschool, a new little boy moved into town from another country and was in his class. Samuel*, the new boy, couldn’t speak English, a new language for him, and he was a little uncomfortable in his new class.
One day at school, Samuel was really sad and wanted his mom. The preschool teacher asked Zac if he would play with Samuel. Zac took Samuel by the hand, led him over to where the toys were, and they began to play together. Zac really tried to treat his classmate the way the Savior would want him to by becoming his friend.

Each family was given a wheelbarrow loaded with five large stones. They were told to continue up the path. Everyone was laughing and joking, and no one thought this last stretch would be hard at all. One strong boy could easily handle the loaded wheelbarrow, they thought—until they saw the last pull to the summit. It was so steep and slick that they would have a hard time just getting themselves up the hill. But their wheelbarrows and those loads of rocks would make it really hard work.
Each family figured out their own method for getting up the hill. ElRay Gene Hendricksen from the Hokksund Branch said, “We decided to share the burdens. Everyone took a stone out of the wheelbarrow. Two other guys took the empty wheelbarrow. We made it. We were the only family group who did it that way.”

For example, I have a sweet Aunt Beryl Hollindrake. She told me that when she was just three or four years old that my great-grandmother, her Grandmother Featherstone, would hold her on her lap and tell her about the Savior, all the beautiful stories. Then she would recall how my great-grandmother would tell her about the Savior’s trial and how they beat him and cursed him and spit upon him—how they dragged him and forced him against the cross and drove huge spikes into his hands cruelly. She said, “As my grandmother would tell me these stories, tears would stream down her cheeks.” And she said, “It was on the lap of my grandmother that I learned to love the Savior with all my heart and soul.”