Gospel Story Finder

One quorum leader says he’s almost never been turned down when he uses that approach. “First, I make sure that I talk to both the husband and wife,” he says. “If both aren’t there, I don’t even bring it up, but tell the one who’s home that I’ll visit again later.

“Second, I avoid giving them an easy way to say no. I once visited a man who had requested no home teachers. I asked him if home teachers could come by each week to teach his family. Before I was even finished with my sentence, I could tell he was going to say no. So I didn’t ask for an answer. I just said, ‘Why don’t you think this over, and I’ll be back next week.’

“The next week when I returned—I think he was surprised to see me. I told him a little bit about the first lesson. But again I could tell he was going to turn me down. So I didn’t give him a chance. I told him to think about it some more, and I’d be back a week later.

“The next week the same thing happened. I was beginning to think I’d never make any progress. But the following week he didn’t wait for me to come. He called me!

“After we started teaching him, his wife came up to me with tears in her eyes. ‘This is the first time I’ve ever seen Mac interested in the Church,’ she said.”

Other Activities. Wendy Bybee and her son James, of West Valley City, Utah, both blind from birth, have found that a helpful Church leader can make a great difference. “James used to have trouble in Scouting, but his current Blazer Scout leader is exceptional! She has spent extra time helping him learn to tie knots; she also prints up materials in larger print for him and always makes sure the announcements she sends home are in dark enough print for me to read. She has helped me find ways to help James earn merit badges so that it’s fair to him but doesn’t make the other boys think he’s getting off easy.”

We have met many other consecrated Church members who exemplify dedication and faithfulness. Some time ago a group of Saints from Punta Arenas, Chile, went to the Santiago Chile Temple. This trip requires some 80 hours by bus and often uses up the only vacation time people have during the year. One member of the group was a woman named Hermana Álvarez, who is less than four feet (1.2 m) tall and has difficulty walking. She carried with her some 27 family names for whom she wanted to do the vicarious work. What a thrill it was to be able to help her fulfill her worthy dream and to realize the extent to which so many Saints dedicate themselves to living and defending the principles of the gospel as a reflection of the law of consecration.

Eva liked nursery. She liked her teachers and singing time. Her favorite song was “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” But now it was time for Eva to go to Primary. Many children were in the Primary room. A teacher said, “Hello, Eva! I am Sister Moya. I am glad you are in our Sunbeam class!” Eva smiled. She liked being a sunbeam. The piano started playing. Eva knew the song! She sang, “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam.” Eva knew she would like being a Sunbeam in Primary.

One day I was thinking about how I could step it up a little as a grandpa, so I asked myself what I most wanted to give to my grandchildren. The answer wasn’t financial help or more fun activities or travel to new places.
The answer was that I wanted to share with them the principles that I felt could help make their lives happy and productive and righteous. I wanted to leave a legacy based on faith in Jesus Christ and His eternal plan of happiness.1
I thought about what my grandchildren might want to know from me based on my own lived experiences. So I created a list of “Grandfather’s Principles.” The next week I read it to some of my older grandkids in hopes of engaging them in a little discussion.
It fell flat. Their looks seemed to say, “When will this lecture be over?”
I tried changing the name to “Grandfather’s Beliefs” and “Grandfather’s Tips,” but those didn’t work any better.
Then one summer at our family reunion, while I was with some of our elementary-age grandkids, I repurposed my list as “Grandfather’s Secrets,” and boom—I suddenly had their interest and their attention. I even had their curiosity!
Things got better from there. I polished my list of principles/beliefs/tips/secrets until I had 10 of them that were simple and basic but that genuinely reflected what I thought was most important and what I felt were the top-10 life guides that I wanted to share.
Nowadays, I spread out discussing these with each grandchild over a 10-year time period. When our grandchildren turn 8 (the age of accountability), they receive the first three “secrets.” When they are 10, they get one more; when 12, two more; when 14, two more; and when 18, the final two.
I give rewards and recognition for learning them. Some have memorized them. We talk about when and how they have applied them. I text back and forth about them with the grandkids who are old enough to have a phone. At reunions we have group discussions where they share examples of using them in everyday life. Older grandkids tutor younger ones on what the “secrets” mean and how they work.
Whenever I have a somewhat private moment with a grandchild or two, I ask them to give me an example of how they applied one of the secrets in the past or how they imagine they might apply one in the future. For the ones who live farther away, I text hypothetical situations they may find themselves in when one of the secrets might come into play, and I ask them to text back about what they would do.
I pray that my grandchildren will learn from pondering, memorizing, and using these secrets and that we will know each other better as we discuss them. I learned a lot about myself from writing them, and I’m still learning important things about my grandkids as I try to teach them.

A stake president was scheduled to meet with a young man to interview him and help him complete his mission application. The young man was a bright student and had saved money for his mission. He attended church regularly and was worthy of a temple recommend. Still, the stake president had one concern: The young man was drinking 12 energy drinks a day! In their meeting, the stake president suggested that he break the energy-drink habit before they submitted the application to the Missionary Department.
“No problem, President,” said the young man. “It’s not a habit. I can quit anytime.” They scheduled another interview a week later and the young man left. The following day he found out just how much of a habit his non-habit had become. His body was craving the drinks, and it was difficult to say no to himself. By midweek he called the stake president for a blessing. “I guess I really was more addicted than I thought,” he said. “This is really hard.”
The blessing was given, and the stake president continued to meet with the young man and monitor his progress. The process actually took months, but finally this young man felt ready to submit his application. His advice to others: “Don’t be fooled. Just because something isn’t specifically mentioned in the Word of Wisdom doesn’t mean there aren’t negative consequences.”
When the stake president asked the young man to break his dependence on energy drinks before beginning his mission, the young man found it difficult. After several months of hard work, that missionary entered the MTC and wrote the following in a letter to his stake president: “I want to thank you for all your help preparing me to serve. This place is incredible. The Spirit is so strong in all the classes and devotionals. You can even feel it when you are walking down the halls. This feeling is better than any energy drink!”

Sarah sat on her bed, waiting to hear Mom’s tap on the door. She tried to gulp away the sobs, but tears kept trickling down her face.
Earlier that day, she and her friend Megan were pretending that they had discovered a buried treasure. They placed Sarah’s allowance, some foreign coins from Dad’s mission, and Megan’s plastic jewelry in a shoe box. When Megan saw the old, worn poetry book on the living room shelf, it seemed like the perfect antique to finish off their treasure. “Grab that old book,” she said. “Let’s pretend it’s a diary.”
Sarah knew that she wasn’t supposed to play with it—it had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, and its yellowing pages almost crumbled when touched. Mom cherished it as one of her family heirlooms. But Sarah was sure that nothing bad would happen to it if she borrowed it for only a little while.
She and Megan sneaked out the back door to “bury” the shoe box under some bushes.
A sick feeling welled up in her stomach even before her brother Spencer told Mom.
Mom knocked on the bedroom door and slipped in. “Have you been thinking?” she asked. Sarah nodded. “And how do you feel?”
“Awful.” Sarah sniffled. “I took your book when I knew I wasn’t supposed to.”
Mom smoothed Sarah’s hair and kissed her forehead. “Heavenly Father doesn’t want you to feel awful. He wants you to feel sorry.”
“No problem!” Sarah thought. It seemed that she had been feeling sorry a lot lately.
“I forgive you,” Mom said, “but you need to pray for forgiveness, too. Since you were baptized last month, you are now accountable for your sins.”
“That’s just it!”
“What do you mean?” Mom looked surprised.
Sarah blinked at the floor, hating how puffy her eyes felt. “When I got confirmed, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost, right?”
“That’s right. As long as you’re worthy, the Spirit will be with you.”
“Then why is it still hard?” Sarah wiped her eyes, angry that the tears wouldn’t stop falling. “I thought that the Holy Ghost would make it easy to be good. But it seems that ever since I’ve been baptized, I’ve made as many mistakes as I did before.”
Mom hugged her. “That’s why there’s repentance. Even when the Holy Ghost helps you know what the right thing is, what you do is still your choice. Sometimes it’s hard to do what you know is right.”
Sarah nodded. She was confused, though. Even before her baptism, she’d had enough sense to know that taking Mom’s book would be wrong, but she’d never been tempted to do it. What had happened today?
Sarah sighed. She’d just have to try harder. When Mom left the room, she got down on her knees to pray.
In school on Monday, Marcus slid his math assignment next to hers.
“Let me check my paper,” he said. “I want to make sure I have the same answers you do.”
Sarah handed him her paper, as she always did, but this time she saw Marcus scribbling out his answers and writing hers down. He wasn’t checking—he was cheating! Sarah knew it was wrong to let Marcus cheat, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad. Wasn’t being nice more important than being honest about one little math assignment? After all, she wasn’t cheating—he was.
A familiar, uneasy feeling crept into the pit of her stomach. Remembering how bad she had felt a few days ago, she yanked her paper away.
“What are you doing?” Marcus cried.
“I can’t let you cheat,” Sarah said. Even though Marcus gave her a dirty look, she didn’t give in to the temptation to let him copy her answers. She realized that she had made a right choice because she felt calm and happy inside. “That’s what the Holy Ghost feels like,” Sarah thought. Her quick decision hadn’t been easy, but she had done what was right.
After school, Mom drove Sarah to Megan’s soccer game. On the way there, Sarah told her about the experience she’d had.
“I’m proud of you, Sarah!” Mom said. “See? You’re learning from your mistakes.”
“I guess so,” Sarah agreed. “Now I know what the Holy Ghost feels like, but I’m still confused about something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I wonder why I think about disobeying lately. I never wanted to touch your book until Megan told me to, and I never wanted to let anyone cheat until today. I almost let Marcus copy my paper, even though I knew I shouldn’t.” Mom was quiet, so Sarah continued. “That isn’t all. Sometimes I’m mean to Spencer. Sometimes swear words pop into my head, and I want to say them. I want to be good, but I keep being tempted!”
“That’s what happens when you join a team,” Mom said. “The opposing team gets mad.”
“What?”
“Think of watching soccer,” Mom said. “It’s obvious that you’re loyal to Megan’s team, because you cheer for them. The other team might not like it, but you’re on the sidelines. You can’t help them to win or lose as much as if you jogged onto the field and started playing.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“When you were baptized, you chose sides,” Mom said. “You know that baptism shows Heavenly Father your love and commitment to obey. Don’t forget that it proves to Satan whose side you’re on, too. He’ll tempt you to change your mind.”
“I went to church every week before I was baptized,” Sarah protested. “Didn’t my going to Primary upset Satan just as much then?”
Mom pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. “You were on the Lord’s side, but you were cheering from the sidelines. Now you’re in the game. Being righteous will take more effort than it has before. And it will take more courage, and it will definitely take more repentance.”
Sarah thought about that. “I guess watching a game is much easier than playing it.” No wonder the gift of the Holy Ghost hadn’t taken away all of her problems. The Spirit could help her see when Satan was tempting her, but the temptations wouldn’t just disappear. “Is that what ‘opposition in all things’ (2 Ne. 2:11) means?” she wondered. She had read in the Book of Mormon that without agency to choose between good and evil, no one could become more like Heavenly Father.
“Even if it’s harder, it’s more worth it to play than to just watch,” Sarah decided aloud.
“Especially when you win,” Mom added with a smile.
Sarah got out of the car and walked toward the field. She silently promised herself that she would really, really try to follow the Holy Ghost, no matter how much she was tempted. She had chosen the Lord’s side. As long as she did her best to be worthy, the Spirit would bless her with the courage to keep choosing the right.
“We cannot sign on for a battle of such eternal significance and everlasting consequence without knowing it will be a fight—a good fight and a winning fight, but a fight nevertheless. …
“Sure it is tough—before you join the Church, while you are trying to join, and after you have joined. That is the way it has always been, … but don’t draw back. Don’t panic and retreat. Don’t lose your confidence.”Elder Jeffrey R. HollandOf the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles(“‘Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence,’” Ensign, Mar. 2000, 8.)

When I was six years old, my family moved to California for my dad’s new job. I had not made any new friends in my new city. After a few weeks, my family went out and delivered some of my dad’s special homemade bread to our new neighbors. It made me feel good inside. I knew that special feeling was the Holy Ghost. It made me feel like the Holy Ghost was saying, “Hailey, you were very brave to move to California, and you will make friends!”
Hailey B., age 7, California, USA

Name: Seneca Francis
Age: 17
Location: Smithfield, Utah
Noteworthy experience: In October 2008 she participated in the Youth World Championship archery competition in Antalya, Turkey, where she helped the U.S. team win a gold medal. They defeated the Russian team 224 to 223 and set a world record in the 16–18-year-old compound bow category.
Seneca Francis is a straight shooter in more ways than one. Her archery skills have led to great accomplishments. And when it comes to her commitment to gospel standards, she’ll let you know that she’s aiming for eternity. Find out a little more about her.
You’re a relative newcomer to archery, yet you compete at a world-class level. How did it all start? I’ve been doing archery for about four years. My brother had a bow, and I started shooting and liked it more than he did. I would go into the backyard and shoot at the tree stump. I started competition about three years ago. At first I went to a youth league. Then they sent me to JOAD [Junior Olympic Archery Development] because it’s more advanced.
What was it like competing in the Youth World Championship in Turkey? It was fun. My mom went with me. It was my first time going anywhere outside of the states around us. It was a totally different culture. It was fun and interesting to see how other people live. I met some good friends on other teams, and we keep in touch.
Did you have any experiences that strengthened your testimony? We were about the only Church members at the competition, so that was kind of weird for me. But it makes you stronger. Others would ask, “Why don’t you want to go and drink with us?” or “Why don’t you want to wear the short shorts?” And I would say, “We don’t do that.” I’m glad for what we have. Also, my mom and I were happy that we were safe the whole time. We prayed a lot. My grandma prayed every day that we’d be OK. Prayer works.
How do you relate archery to the gospel? It takes a lot of hard work and sticking with it. You have to always believe you can do it, even if you think you can’t. You also need a lot of concentration. If you lose concentration, you miss the shot. A tiny jerk can throw it off. In the gospel, you need to be steadfast and sure.
Would you like to share a favorite scripture? 1 Nephi 3:7. You can go and do anything you’re supposed to. You can do whatever the Lord wants you to. If He wants you to do it, you can do it.

Lots of things fall in autumn. Leaves fall. Apples fall. And sometimes teeth fall.
Andrea wanted her tooth to fall out. Her friend Jason had a tooth fall out at school. And her sister Janine had one fall out that morning at breakfast. It fell right into her grapefruit.
“My tooth is loose, too,” Andrea said. She opened her mouth wide. “See?”
Janine pushed it with her finger. “It’s not loose. You’re fibbing.”
No one at school believed Andrea either.
There was one person who would understand about an almost-loose tooth. Andrea stopped by the baker-lady’s apartment after school.
“My tooth is loose,” she said when the door opened.
The baker-lady had silver glasses that sat on the end of her nose. She looked at Andrea’s mouth carefully. “It’s going to come out one of these days for sure,” she said with a nod.
“But I want it to come out now,” Andrea said.
The baker-lady nodded again. “Waiting is hard. I hate waiting too.”
Andrea looked at the baker-lady’s mouth. “Your baby teeth already came out. What are you waiting for?”
The baker-lady leaned over. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m waiting for a snowflake.”
Andrea giggled. That was a funny thing to wait for. You couldn’t put a snowflake under your pillow. It would melt. “Why are you waiting for a snowflake?”
“Because snowflakes mean it’s wintertime—time to visit my family in Michigan for Christmas. I have six grandchildren there.”
“Do they have loose teeth?” asked Andrea.
“Well, now,” the baker-lady said, “I don’t really know for sure. I haven’t seen them since last Christmas.” She brought out some crayons and a sewing box. “When I get tired of waiting for snowflakes, I make things. Right now I’m making gingerbread boys.”
“Like you made at the bakery before you retired?” asked Andrea.
“No. These are made out of cloth.” She showed Andrea a little brown corduroy gingerbread boy with white rickrack, button eyes, and a loop on his head.
“He’s a Christmas tree ornament!” Andrea cried, delighted.
“Yes. I’m making one for each of my grandchildren. Doing things for other people makes the waiting go faster.”
Andrea started coloring. She made a picture of the tooth fairy with a long white dress. The white crayon didn’t show on the paper unless she pushed down hard, and that made the tip break. She started to throw it away. Then she looked at it more closely. It looked like a tooth, small and round and hard.
Andrea stood up. “I’d better go home now,” she told the baker-lady. “I think my tooth is so loose that it will come out tonight.” She said it extra loud, in case the tooth fairy was nearby.
That night Andrea’s sister put her tooth under her pillow. “I guess I’ll have some money in the morning,” Janine said.
Andrea put her crayon tip under her pillow. “I guess I’ll have some money in the morning, too,” she said just loud enough for the tooth fairy to hear.
In the morning Janine found a new quarter under her pillow.
In the morning Andrea’s crayon tip was still under her pillow. She hadn’t fooled the tooth fairy at all. She put the crayon tip into her pocket and tried to wiggle her tooth on the way to school.
The baker-lady was outside planting tulip bulbs when Andrea passed her apartment. “Did that tooth come out last night?” she asked.
Andrea looked down at the sidewalk. “I guess it wasn’t ready after all.”
“Waiting is hard,” said the baker-lady. She got up with a little grunt. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I have something for you.”
She came back holding a brown corduroy gingerbread boy. He had a tiny pocket in front. “The pocket is for a tooth,” said the baker-lady. “He’s a tooth pillow. He’s for you while you wait for your tooth to fall out.”
Andrea held him tightly all the way to school. She loved his brown corduroy body. She loved his white rickrack. But most of all, she loved his tiny pocket in front. A tooth pocket.
At school she started to put the crayon tooth into his little pocket, just to see if it really was tooth-size. Then she decided that the gingerbread boy was for a real tooth. He would help her to wait for it.
Andrea looked at her crayon tip again. She had an idea. Maybe she could help the baker-lady to wait …
She rubbed the little white tip onto a piece of blue paper until there was no more crayon. Then she folded the paper into a tiny square. With her scissors she made little cuts in the folds. When she opened it up, there was a snowflake! It was the most beautiful snowflake she’d ever made.
After school she ran all the way to the baker-lady’s apartment, shoved the snowflake under her door, and ran. The baker-lady would know right away that it was a waiting snowflake and that Andrea had given it to her to help her wait to see her family in Michigan.
Andrea was happy and excited as she ran home. Doing things for other people did make the waiting go faster.

Lorne C. Campbell, a priest in the Como Ward, Southern River Stake, Western Australia, has a major past, present, and future in theatre. He began dance, drama, and music lessons when he was just five. By 14 he was composing his own songs, choreographing production numbers, and teaching. At 16 he wrote and produced a full length musical play, and now, at 18, Lorne is on a Rotary Exchange Scholarship to Belgium, where he attends the multilingual Athenee Royale.
All this, and Lorne never missed a beat in Primary, priesthood, or Young Men. He plans on furthering his studies at the University of Western Australia and on serving a mission. It looks like Lorne is making all the world his stage.

As the time to leave Nauvoo drew near, the Brethren redoubled their efforts to help as many Saints as possible receive their endowments. Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the saints to receive the ordinances (of the Temple), and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”

But it was not just the Apostles who were working hard. Many faithful Saints gave freely of their time by washing the temple clothing each night so the temple work could continue the next morning.

The Brethren planned to stop the ordinance work on 3 February 1846. President Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave Nauvoo, but upon seeing a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned. This delayed his departure for another two weeks, but it meant that 5,615 Saints were endowed before they left Nauvoo.

When the full-time missionaries visited my home, I learned of gospel principles I never knew existed. When I attended church, I was always welcomed. After I learned of God’s beautiful plan for me—one of his spirit children—I was baptized. My parents, my brother, and my sister joined the Church later.
In the days following my baptism, I faced many challenges. But now I feel secure in the Church. I teach a seminary class, and I am the second counselor in the Young Women presidency in my branch. The articles in the Liahona (English) have been a source of strength to me. For example, President Thomas S. Monson’s First Presidency Message, “The Prayer of Faith” (March 1995), gave me a better understanding of prayer and the way in which God answers our prayers.
I am grateful to our Heavenly Father for a magazine that is a source of counsel from his prophets, seers, and revelators.
Josephine C. VallesMasbate Branch, Philippines Naga Mission

Recently our family visited with a dear friend, Sister Louise Lake, who has lived her gracious, sharing life in a wheelchair for more than a quarter of a century.
Perhaps because our 12-year-old son was with us, Sister Lake told us of another 12-year-old with whom she became acquainted in a rehabilitation center in New York where she was working. The boy had been blind and for most of his 12 years had lived a sad existence, thought to be uneducable, incapable of learning. Then he was given a chance, thank the Lord, and a marvelous spirit and fine mind were discovered. He told his friend that he had thought all his life that being blind was the worst thing that could happen to one—until he met Campy. Campy was Roy Campanella, great athlete, who at the height of his career was rendered physically helpless in an automobile accident. The blind boy said he had decided after meeting Campy that his condition was worse than not being able to see. “But there is something even worse than that,” he said. He talked of feeling his way down the hall at the hospital, hearing the scuff of feet as people passed him by. “There is something worse than being blind or crippled, and that is to have people not understand you,” he said. “I guess they think that because I am blind I can’t hear or speak either.”

One cold winter morning in Wisconsin, as I was running late to early morning seminary, I came across a car that was stopped in the middle of the road. In a rush, I waited impatiently for the car to move. With the car only a few yards from the stop sign, I assumed that the driver had stopped prematurely. When the car continued not to move I passed the car and went on to the church building a few blocks away.
As I drove I wondered why the car stopped in such a strange place. I thought that perhaps the person was lost, but that didn’t feel right. It occurred to me that maybe they were having car troubles. I was running late and rationalized that someone else would surely help them. To this day I could not tell you why I was so anxious not to be late, but I can tell you, that in the moment I felt so rushed, I failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit to stop and help that driver. It was small, nothing more than a brief thought. Seminary was a good place to be going. However, there was a choice that would have been better.
On my way home from seminary I once again was confronted by the same car sitting exactly where I had left it. This time I stopped. I got out of my car, and I looked at the driver. I was shocked and disappointed in myself for not listening to inspiration. In the driver’s seat of that car was an elderly woman. My heart ached like it never had before as I realized the severity of that one missed moment. I could have offered to help her push her car to the side, helped her find a tow truck, or offered to let her sit in the warmth of the church building while we figured our what to do with her car. In the end someone else had already helped her find a tow truck that was due to be there any moment.
There are often times I reflect on the moment that I was too rushed to recognize that opportunity to help one of my fellow sisters. The lesson was clear and as vivid today as it was on that early winter morning.

While serving as missionaries a number of years ago, a young married couple had been sent with a young elder to New Orleans by the president of the Central States Mission. They took with them their tiny eighteen-month-old daughter.
Upon returning, it was necessary for them to cross the Atchafalaya River, a wide and deep stream. They drove their car onto the raftlike ferry that was to be pushed across the river by a small tugboat. It was placed about two feet from the edge of the ferry with only a light cable across the front.
The flat ferry could accommodate just four cars at a time, and the automobile in which the missionaries were riding was the third to be driven on. The fourth automobile was to be placed immediately behind the missionaries’ car.
Looking back through the small rear window of the crowded car, the young elder saw a rather large car on the top of the high levee. It was waiting to approach the ferry. At a signal from the ferryman, it started down.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed. “That car is coming too fast! It’ll crash right into us!”
Faster and faster it came, gaining speed as it approached the ferry. There was no time for the missionaries to leave their car. The brief and terrifying thoughts of being pushed into the river raced through their minds. The driver, uttering a brief but fervent prayer, set his foot against the brakes—hard!
A woman in the onrushing car screamed. Onto the ferry it hurtled, out of control. Then, miraculously, one of the wheels struck the edge of a raised plank on the floor of the ferry, and the car turned abruptly away from the one in which the missionaries sat. With its right wheel on the very edge of the platform, the runaway car came to a halt within inches of their car. A period of complete silence followed.
“Poor brakes,” gasped the frightened driver as he climbed out of his car.
Neither he nor the stunned onlookers could explain why the runaway car had stopped where it did rather than bumping the missionaries’ car over the edge of the ferry and into the river. Undoubtedly, many silent prayers were given by both the frightened passengers and the onlookers.
“You must all be good praying folks!” the ferryman said in wonderment, shaking his head slowly.
The missionaries knew that only the watchful care provided by our kind Heavenly Father had prevented a disaster. Before leaving that morning the missionaries had not forgotten to ask their Heavenly Father for special protection in their journey. Their prayers had been answered!
NOTE: I know that this incident is true because I was the driver of the small car. Others involved were Sister Christiansen, our daughter, Frances Jean, and a fine elder. Although Frances Jean was too small to realize what had taken place, the scene has never been blotted from the minds of the rest of us.

When 250 Latter-day Saint young people from all across Sweden returned home from a four-day youth conference at the beginning of this year, they could say they literally “had a ball.” “Bolliaden 1977” was held in Falun, Sweden, and though the name means a sports event of many ball games, they also participated in spiritual and social activities that strengthened not only their muscles but their testimonies.
Sponsored by the Sundsvall District, the conference attracted people from both the Sweden Stockholm and Sweden Göteborg missions, pitting them against each other in several games of basketball and volleyball and joining them together for workshops, service projects, a dance festival, and a testimony meeting.
The conference began in a family home evening with the theme of love and marriage, during which discussions were held and a film, “For Time and All Eternity,” was shown. With 5,000 members in the well-populated country, the conversation often turned to the problems of dating in and out of the Church. The young Swedes reaffirmed their goals of temple marriage, and the evening ended with a dance.
Tuesday was spent mostly in competition and preparation for the next day’s championship games. Both boys and girls’ teams had cheering sections and a prize was awarded to the Sweden Stockholm Mission for the best cheering group. Even after an exhausting day, the youth found the energy to dance that night at the “Grand Ball,” which featured a live dance band.
After the championship tournament Wednesday, service projects included visits to hospitals and homes for the aged. The afternoon brought workshops in genealogy and food storage, which were “much appreciated,” according to program committee chairman Kristina Palm. Later they gathered for dinner and prepared for an eagerly anticipated festival of drama, music, and dancing. Like other youth in the Church, Swedish young people love to perform, and the program included tap-dancing, musical numbers, and skits from the various wards and branches. “The festival was so much fun and the performances were all good,” reported participant Signhild Arnegard.
But the best was yet to come. As the conference drew to a close, a testimony meeting was held and “there was a long line, because we all wanted to bear our testimonies,” said Kristina. “One could feel the strong spirit that was present,” added Signhild. “I am so thankful to my Heavenly Father that I may live in these days when the gospel has been restored to earth.”
Executive secretary in the Sundsvall District, Eric Martinsson, summed up the feelings of the organizers of “Bolliaden” when he said, “We are so deeply thankful to the Lord that everything went so well and that ‘Bolliaden’ was such a success for our district. Our reward came as we listened to grateful young people bearing their testimonies. These wonderful young people are the future of the Church.”

Oh, how powerful the tender, tempering teachings and the disarming wisdom of our sisters can be. I found the spirit of Relief Society—the whole of it—in the quiet reply of one of your number.
Someone ridiculed her determination to gather her year’s supply. She had stored enough for herself and her husband, with some to spare for her young married children who were without the means or the space to provide much for themselves. She told him she did it because the prophets had counseled us to do it. He chided her, “In the crunch you won’t have it anyway. What if your leaders call everything in? You’d have to share it with those who didn’t prepare. What will you think then?”
“If that should happen,” she said, “at least I will have something to bring.”
God bless you sisters of the Relief Society who bring so much. God bless that little circle of sisters somewhere in Eastern Europe who are a part of this great eternal circle of sisters—God’s organization for women upon this earth—the Relief Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I bear witness that God lives, that He directs this work, that His benevolent power is upon this great circle of sisters, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

May I share with you a letter I received some months ago which provides such an example? The letter begins:
“We live on the edge of a small town, and our neighbor uses our pasture for his cattle and as payment provides us with all the beef we want. Each time we get new meat, we have some of the present supply left over; and since we live in a student ward, we take meat to some students we feel might have use for some good beef.
“During the time my wife was serving in a Relief Society presidency, her secretary was a student’s wife—the mother of eight children. Her husband, Jack, had recently been called as ward clerk.
“My wife had always prayed to know which students might need our help with our excess meat. When she told me she felt we should give some meat to Jack and his family, I was very concerned that we might offend them. So was she. We both were worried because they were a very independent family.
“A few days later, my wife said she still felt we should take the meat to them, and I reluctantly agreed to go along. When we delivered the meat, my wife’s hands were actually shaking, and I was very nervous. The children opened the door, and when they heard why we were there, they began dancing around. The parents were reserved but pleasant. When we drove away, my wife and I both were so relieved and happy that they had accepted our gift.
“A few months later our friend Jack got up in testimony meeting and related the following. He said that all his life he had had a hard time paying tithing. With such a large family, they used all the money he made just to get by. When he became ward clerk, he saw all the other people paying tithing and felt he needed to also. He did so for a couple of months, and all was well. Then one month he had a problem. In his job, he completed work and was paid a few months later. He could see that the family was going to be far short of money. He and his wife decided to share the problem with their children. If they paid their tithing, they would run out of food on about the 20th of the month. If they didn’t pay their tithing, they could buy enough food to last until the next paycheck. Jack said he wanted to buy [the] food, but the children said they wanted to pay tithing—so Jack paid the tithing, and they all prayed.
“A few days after paying their tithing, we had shown up with our package of meat for them. With the meat, added to what they had, there was no problem having enough food until the next paycheck.
“There are so many lessons here for me—for instance, always listen to my wife—but for me the most important is that the prayers of people are almost always answered by the actions of others.”

The angle iron clanged on the farmhouse porch as an old woman rattled a steel bar around the inside of the triangle. “Even Elias should be able to hear that,” she said.
He did. The old man in the timeworn poncho turned away from the chicken coop toward the house. “Too early for supper,” he said, peering through the haze of falling snow. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he absentmindedly picked up his hammer and started across the snow-muddied yard. Fixing the gate would have to wait until he saw what all the clamor was about. “Nothing worse than stopping a job when it’s half done!” he grumbled to a hen that scooted out of his path and under a motorcar.
He stopped at the porch and spoke to his wife. “What’s so important that I have to stop in the middle of my work? And what’s Ethel Kramer doing here?” he asked, gesturing to the Model A parked next to their house.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have answers to both those questions if you’ll get yourself inside, Elias Palmer Thorton.”
Inside, he gasped at the sight of his granddaughter lying on the sofa, bruised and scraped from head to foot. “What happened to you?”
“Nellie,” she answered with a grunt of pain, turning to see him better as he brushed snowflakes from his often-patched, two-sizes-too-small poncho. “Mrs. Kramer saw me on the road and brought me home.”
Grandpa nodded a thank-you to the stout, red-haired woman. “Much obliged, Ethel.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “What did this Nellie do to get you so banged up?”
Twelve-year-old Melody’s eyes filled with tears. “I was walking home from school. She ran up behind me and took my umbrella. She said that since she was bigger than I was, she should have it. Then she laughed and pushed me hard. I tripped over something in the weeds and fell down the little hill by Sutter’s Bridge.” Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Ever since I came to live with you and Grandma, Nellie’s been making life hard for me.”
Grandpa nodded. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“What can I do about it, Grandpa? I’d defend myself, but Nellie’s a lot bigger and meaner than me. She’d bust me up into little pieces if I tried to fight back. I hate her, Grandpa! I wish she’d never been born!”
Grandpa and Grandma exchanged concerned looks. “Hate is an ugly thing, Melody,” Grandpa said. “It can scar and bruise us inside a lot worse than any hurts we receive on the outside. Your grandma can cleanse and bandage those cuts and scrapes, and in a few days you’ll be good as new. But hateful feelings toward others are another thing. If we don’t doctor them, they grow and fester like a sore. And in the end they consume us, along with our chance of ever being truly happy.”
Melody looked confused. And angry. “So I should say, ‘That feels good, Nellie. Do it again!’?”
“Quite the contrary, Pumpkin,” the old man chuckled, patting her hand. “If it happens again, I’ll get on the phone on that wall over there and raise enough dust to plant a field of corn. But I don’t think it needs to happen again. It’s quite possible that Nellie is feeling bad about what she did.”
“Is that why she laughed so hard when I tumbled down the hill? Because she felt bad?”
Grandpa’s eyes bored deep into his granddaughter’s. “Someone who treats others the way Nellie treats you can’t be happy. My guess is that she’s a very unhappy person. And when people hurt inside, they often take it out on others. Maybe Nellie’s striking out blindly at an easy target because her pain is too big to face. And misery loves company, even if the only way to get it is by being unkind.”
“Maybe this, maybe that,” Melody protested. “All I know is that I’m being turned into a human punching bag, and I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Grandpa said. “So I want you to do something about it.”
Melody looked dumbfounded. “I’m doing all I can, Grandpa. I try to stay away from her and not pay any attention to her. In fact, I pretend that she doesn’t even exist. But she keeps showing up to remind me that she’s real—as real as the bad names she calls me, and—”
Grandpa placed a wrinkled finger gently across her lips. “I want to tell you about an experience I had when I was about your age. Then I want you to apply what I learned, and if it doesn’t make a difference, then your grandpa will.”
Melody sighed and nodded slowly.
There was a long silence. Finally Grandpa stood with a grunt. “Well, I’d better get back out there and fix that gate before the hens are everywhere but in the coop.”
A few days later, he was in the barn repairing a plow when he saw Melody crossing the yard with a bigger girl, who seemed shy, even a bit uneasy, although the two were talking and laughing. As they passed the barn, Melody spied him through the partially open doors. She picked up a rabbit, handed it to the girl to pet, and told her that she’d be right back.
“Grandpa!” she said in a low, excited voice as she hurried inside, “that’s Nellie! She walked home from school with me. I’m going to show her the dress Grandma is helping me sew. Can she stay for supper, Grandpa? We can drive her home in the truck, and—”
“That’s the Nellie?” Grandpa interrupted. “What happened?”
“All she had in her lunch yesterday was half a piece of bread and a stick of candy. So I sat by her on the steps and shared my lunch with her. I gave her some of the blackberry strudel Grandma made, half my jar of goat milk, and—”
“She let you sit by her?” Grandpa interrupted again.
“I guess she was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say, so I just did. While we were eating, her voice got all funny, and she looked away. I think she was trying to wipe away a tear. When I asked her if she was all right, she said, ‘Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye?’ Then today after school she asked if she could walk home with me. And here she is.”
Melody hugged her grandfather so hard that he dropped the wrench he was holding. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, pulling away and half hiding her face with a hand.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?”
Melody brushed a finger quickly across her cheek. “Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye, Grandpa?” With that, she turned and hurried back to Nellie.
Grandpa watched the two girls stroll toward the farmhouse. “Well, how about that,” he said, taking out his handkerchief. “I have something in my eye too.”