Gospel Story Finder

Once upon a time a husband and wife who loved each other very much wanted to have a child of their very own to hold and to cuddle and to love. As time passed and they had no children, they prayed to their Heavenly Father to send them a special child. Heavenly Father heard their prayers.
One day this husband and wife received a telephone call to go to a distant city to meet with some people who said they had a tiny baby that this man and his wife could adopt. Excited and filled with anticipation, they made the journey in their car. When they arrived at the city, they went to a certain home and there they were taken into a room where they saw a tiny baby lying in the middle of a big bed waiting for them. There really is such a thing as love at first sight, for when this husband and wife saw that little boy lying there all alone, they immediately loved him. They took him home with them and loved the baby so much that they talked about him as their own beloved son.
Yet in spite of great love for that little baby, they had a fear in their hearts that they might not be able to keep him as their very own child. They first had to see a judge and ask him if they could adopt this baby according to law. Because the judge wanted to make sure the little boy would be properly cared for, he first had to find out if the husband and his wife loved each other, if they had a good and happy home, and if they had enough money to feed and clothe the baby.
It took time for the judge to decide all these questions and all the while the love of the husband and his wife for the baby grew and grew. Finally, the judge gave legal consent for the couple to adopt the baby and this was done. Now the baby was their very own special child and their fear was gone that he would be taken away from them. Still, the judge could only give them permission to have the child during their lifetime on this earth. But they loved that baby more than that! They believed in Jesus and knew that Jesus had more power than the judge. Jesus could give them the child forever and ever and not just for this life only.
After the adoption papers had been signed and the baby had been given a name, the couple took their son with them to a temple of God. There they dressed in white clothes and dressed the little boy in white clothes too. Then they all knelt down at an altar in the temple. A man who held a special priesthood sealed that little boy to his new father and mother so that the family could be together forever. Now this boy really was their own special child, not only during this life, but even after death. If they all did what was right and loved one another, they could all live together with Jesus in heaven. Now that baby really was their special child!
I know that this story is true, because I am that father who loves his very own special child more every day and, as mothers do, my wife loves him even more. Every child who lives in such a family where love is can also feel he or she is a very special child.

As I buttoned my coat and tied the cords of my knit cap, I shivered with excitement. The whole Christmas season lay before me, and tonight Dad was taking us out into the middle of it. I hadn’t a clue where, but it didn’t matter. Dad always had a good plan for family night.
“There’s a special event on Temple Square tonight,” Dad told us as we drove downtown. “I had you dress warmly because it’s outdoors.” Becki, my little sister, was bouncing with anticipation as we searched for a parking spot. I couldn’t help bouncing a little, too. We had only recently moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, and the granite-gray walls of the Salt Lake Temple were a source of wonder to me.
When we reached Temple Square, there was quite a crowd gathered in the garden south of the temple. Bleachers and a podium had been set up on a little slope. Dad led us to a spot slightly above and to the side of the bleachers. We stamped our feet to keep warm in the cold night air.
Dad hoisted Becki onto his shoulders. “Look,” he said softly. “There’s President McKay.” I stretched to see, and there he was! President David O. McKay! I could hardly believe it. I could see his wavy white hair and smiling face. The feeling I had was amazing. I felt tingly. I hardly had time to think about it, though, because the program was starting.
The people on the bleachers turned out to be members of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, who sang some Christmas songs. I was hearing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in person! I kept on tingling, and somehow I knew it wasn’t from the cold. Then, after an introduction, President McKay stood up and reached into a box partly hidden by the podium.
It’s hard to describe the marvelous moment when the prophet flipped the switch. The light! The color! Thousands of tiny lightbulbs sparkled in the trees. The walkways were lined with them, and the bushes, shrubs, and flower beds were suddenly transformed. A huge gasp and a sigh rose into the night as the crowd shared the wonder of the moment. We soon found ourselves moving along the sidewalks and pathways around the Tabernacle, past monuments and fountains. It was glorious! I had to keep reminding myself to breathe.
“Well,” I thought, “this is Christmas!” It seemed absolutely right to me that I should feel the spirit of Christmas so strongly this close to the house of the Lord. After all, we were celebrating the Lord’s birth. Christmas lights ought to shine more brightly here. And it was perfect to have the prophet turn on the lights. He represented Jesus Christ, and Jesus is the Light of the World. It felt like a little bit of heaven.
That was in 1965. Almost every Christmas since then, lights have gleamed on Temple Square. Going to see the lights on Temple Square became a Christmas tradition for our family, as it has been for countless others. It is more than a tradition for me, though. It has become part of my testimony. Several things happened to me as I watched President McKay turn on the lights that December night. I felt the Holy Ghost witness to me that the old gentleman with white hair was a true prophet of God. I also came to know as I had never known before that the temple is God’s holy house. I promised myself that I would feel that joy and wonder again—by being worthy to enter it someday.

Lidia trudged up the long farm lane, not even turning to wave to her friends still on the school bus. Her mind was too busy with her problem: What can I possibly find between now and tomorrow morning to take to the class auction? The auction, with its proceeds going to the Junior Red Cross, was an annual affair in the country school, but it was a new experience for Lidia.
Oh dear. As if I haven’t got enough to worry about learning a new language in a new land, and trying to make new friends in a new school.
Her problem was instantly forgotten, however, when she opened the cottage door and saw a letter on the floor. It bore an official-looking return address, and it had a Red Cross emblem in the upper left-hand corner.
She knew that she would have to be patient until her parents came home for supper; then she would read it to them. Without the advantage of school, which Lidia had in this new country, her parents’ knowledge of English was very limited.
If only the letter contained some good news about her uncle! Lidia placed the envelope against the only ornament on the shelf, a little blue glass pony. As her fingers touched the figurine, she prayed fervently that it would soon be reunited with its mate, the one that used to sit by its side in their house in Poland. When they had made plans to emigrate to America, not knowing when—or even if—they might meet again, the two Jelinek brothers had each taken one of the glass ponies, praying that they would be together again one day.
Mr. Williams, who owned the farm where Lidia and her parents lived, admired the pony one day and was told the story of the two brothers. He had written to the Red Cross, asking for information. Surely this letter would tell them that the younger Jelinek was now in the United States too!
Remembering that she had promised to start preparing supper, Lidia went into the kitchen and got out pots for the vegetables. As she set the table, she looked on all the cupboard shelves. There was nothing that she could take to the auction sale tomorrow! Not a trinket, not a spare dish, nothing. There were only the bare necessities that the Williamses had kindly provided for them. She dreaded being the only one in her class not to add some object to the collection on her teacher’s desk.
The door suddenly opened, and Lidia rushed with the letter to greet her parents. And while they waited apprehensively, she stumbled through the unfamiliar phrases as she read the letter to them. Then, as she came to the closing sentence, she slowly read these discouraging words: “We are sorry that we have found no trace of your brother. However, be assured that we will keep trying …”
Silence hung in the room. Then Father said quietly, “I’ll wash. Then we’ll eat supper.”
After the usual prayer of thanks for food and shelter, the family avoided speaking of the letter. Father told of a sick cow that was now getting well; Mother had helped Mrs. Williams clean the attic of the rambling old farmhouse.
“And how was school, Lidia?” Father asked.
The girl kept her eyes on her plate as she answered, “Fine, Father. Fine.”
“But you are very quiet,” Father pursued. “You have trouble at school?”
“No, no trouble.”
“So?”
“It’s just this auction at school tomorrow, and I should take something.”
“Auction?” Mother asked. “What is that?”
“Oh, everybody takes something, then the teacher asks for bids, and the one who bids the highest buys the book or ornament or whatever. The money goes to the Red Cross.”
“That is good,” Father said, nodding. “The Red Cross helped us many times. Here, take this.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a few coins.
“No thanks, Father,” Lidia said, pushing it away. “I have money of my own I earned from weeding the garden for Mrs. Williams. But we are supposed to take something that can be sold.”
Father looked around the room. “There is so little here.”
Lidia’s face fell. “I know,” she cried. “There’s nothing I can take—nothing in this place!” She hung her head to hide her tears and wished that she had kept her words in check.
The girl waited for her father to scold her; instead, he got up slowly and went over to the shelf. He stood a minute, then he came back with the glass pony in his hand. “Take this,” he said quietly.
Lidia’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean … the pony?”
Father nodded.
Lidia felt the smooth blue glass and touched the black eyes. Nobody spoke. She knew how much the pony meant to her father, and she sensed that her parents were thinking back to happier days when there were two little ponies standing together on the top of a piano.
In the morning the glass ornament sparkled on her teacher’s desk, and it brought the highest bid in the auction. Nancy Crane, its new owner, wrapped it carefully in tissue paper and put it in a box. Lidia could not help feeling sad as she watched.
At supper that night, Lidia described the sale and told her parents that Nancy said that she would take very good care of the pony.
“It’s good,” Father said, smiling, “that the pony helps the Red Cross in a very small way.”
While Lidia was wiping the dishes after supper, a knock on the door startled them. Looking past her father at the open door, Lidia saw her schoolmate Nancy. A tall man was with her.
“Hi, Lidia,” the girl called. “This is my father, and we’ve come to see you about the glass pony.”
As they sat around the table, Nancy’s father took the glass pony out of his pocket, set it on the table, and began explaining: “I couldn’t believe it when Nancy brought this home. Your Lidia had told her that it was but one of a pair and that you left the other in Poland.”
“Yah,” Mr. Jelinek replied, “with my brother.”
“Well,” the other man paused dramatically. “I’ve seen the mate to this pony.”
Lidia saw Father’s hands clench tightly, and Mother’s hand cover her mouth. “You are sure of this?” Father whispered.
“As sure as my name’s Walt Crane. I saw it only a few months ago.”
“How, Mr. Crane?” Lidia asked. “I mean, who had it?”
“A young man came asking for work. I didn’t need any extra help, but I knew that my cousin in Grand Falls did, so I drove him there. I saw the mate to this pony when I helped him move in.”
“This place, is it far?” Lidia asked.
“About 190 kilometers. Listen, everyone, come home with me, and I’ll telephone my cousin. As best as I can recollect, that young man did look like you, Mr. Jelinek. He must be your brother.”
As the Jelineks grabbed their jackets, Nancy gently placed the glass pony on the shelf. “Keep it, Lidia,” she said. “Soon they’ll be a pair again.”
As they were driving up the lane to the Crane farm, Lidia said to Nancy, “It’s really funny. Just yesterday a letter from the Red Cross said that they had not found my dad’s brother yet but that they’d keep trying. And it was actually through the Red Cross auction today that we have found him!”
She felt a hand on her sleeve, and Nancy said, “My grandma always says, ‘God often works in mysterious ways.’ And I guess that it must be true.”

“When I was in junior high school, some of my friends made fun of me because I was a member of the Church. I tried to tell them about my testimony, but I was kind of ashamed. I decided to pray about it, and after my prayer I was able to express my testimony to them. Later one of my friends asked me questions about the Church, and others started to listen. From that day on, my friends have shown more respect to me and to the Church.”—Andrés Navarro

Percy “Chappy” Winstanley, who presided over the first Durban stake created in 1981 and came up from Johannesburg to attend the Durban dedication, recalled Church members putting their lives on the line regularly—sometimes in helping with routine meetings and activities.
“We had a high councilor down in the Eastern Cape who would have to run the gauntlet of rioters throwing rocks at his car to go open the meetinghouse in the morning,” he said. “Then he would have to go back [to lock the building], and here came the rocks again.”

They couldn’t hold another quorum meeting without Bill. So, with cooperation from Bill’s mother, Brother Perry and the young men he led entered Bill’s bedroom one Sunday morning.
“We started the meeting with a spirited opening hymn,” said Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Bill came up out of those sheets like he had been shot out of a gun.” By meeting’s end, however, Bill knew he was valued and appreciated.1

On the trail a loving attachment frequently developed between a pioneer and his ox team. Joseph F. Smith related: “My team leaders’ names were Thom and Joe—we raised them from calves, and they were both white. Thom was trim built, active, young, and more intelligent than many a man. Many times while traveling sandy or rough roads, on long, thirsty drives, my oxen were lowing with the heat and fatigue. I would put my arms around Thom’s neck and cry bitter tears! That was all I could do. Thom was my favorite and best and most willing and obedient servant and friend.”

It was while he was studying medicine at the University of Utah that he met his wife-to-be, Dantzel White.
He vividly remembers the feeling that came over him. “I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and sensed that she was the one I would marry,” he said. Dantzel felt the same way. When she went home to Perry, Utah, she announced to her parents that she had met the man she wanted to marry. Three years later they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

A violent wind pulled at my hair and hurled me towards the automatic doors. “I hate hospitals,” I murmured to myself as I entered. “Why do I always have to be sick?” I was at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City for yet another round of tests, which would later reveal that I had epilepsy. I felt as if all I ever did was spend time in the hospital.
On this autumn day, I was feeling particularly unpleasant and detested the fact that at 14, I was still forced to stay at a hospital that I thought was just for babies. It just wasn’t fair! How could all my other friends live in one big whirlwind of teenage fun while I was forced to bear such a heavy burden?
In the midst of my self-pity, my eyes were drawn to a boy who was about five or six years old, sitting in a wheelchair in the gift shop with his mother.
“Please, Momma,” he said softly, holding up a toy, “please can I get this?”
His mother looked at the toy, then at the little boy and said, “No, sweetheart, we can’t afford that.”
Although I was sure he was disappointed, the little boy’s reaction surprised me. He smiled and set the toy back on the shelf.
As his mother wheeled him back down the hall, I picked up the toy, paid for it, and rushed out of the gift shop. When I caught up with them, I handed the little boy the toy and said, “This toy wants to go home with you!”
The little boy’s face turned serious, and he said, “You got this for me?”
I smiled and looked at his mother, who had tears coming down her cheeks, but she was smiling.
I turned to walk away, and as I turned the corner down the hall, I heard the little boy say, “I know who that was, Mommy. That was an angel.” His mother laughed quietly and said, “I know.”
Giving him a small gift seemed to make a big difference, not only for him but for me too. At that moment, I forgot to be selfish, and despite the fact that my problems didn’t magically disappear, I suddenly felt a whole lot better.

Dear Journal,
I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. At least that’s what Mom said, though I’m pretty sure it was the same side as always. I was really grouchy, though, and who could blame me? When I went to get my new sweater, I couldn’t find it anyplace. I asked Mom where it was, but she said that keeping track of my clothes was my responsibility and that she didn’t have time to help me search. I stomped back to my room as loudly as I could and slammed the door.
I found my sweater on the floor of the closet. I put it on and slouched down to the kitchen, where Mom was feeding Annie her baby food. Mom asked me to help Charlie put on his shoes, and that made me even grumpier. Charlie’s in kindergarten—why can’t he put on his own shoes? I was about to say something unkind until I looked at Mom’s face. I could see that she was having a tough morning, too, so I helped Charlie, but I wasn’t happy about it. As if all this weren’t enough, I had to walk to school by myself—my best friend had already left without me.
I came home from school that afternoon with a ton of homework. I was just getting started on it, when Mom asked me to watch Annie while she took Mr. Stanley his dinner. She takes dinner to him once a week because he’s in a wheelchair and it’s hard for him to cook. I told Mom that he could buy a frozen dinner and pop it in the microwave, but she just shook her head and headed out the door.
As she left, I noticed that she had a happy look on her face. It reminded me of the picture of Jesus in our living room. Why was she so happy? It was then that I realized that Mom was following President Hunter’s counsel. I decided that if helping someone she hardly knew made her feel so good, maybe it wouldn’t hurt me to try being nicer to my own sister. So I put on my best fake smile and started playing with Annie. By the time Mom returned to give me a kiss and a thank-you, my smile wasn’t as fake, and my day didn’t seem quite so bad.

When my first daughter was born, I realized that I must make a decision. With three children I knew that I could no longer go on living for just today; I had to make a choice and live by it. For months my soul was in conflict. I wanted to choose the right, but I also wanted to be sure that my choice was not based on ulterior motives. I felt I couldn’t return just to make my wife, children, and parents happy. I knew that real happiness for all of us would come only if I actually regained a testimony of my own.
After much prayer and study and struggle, I began to feel a small spark inside me that brought with it memories of earlier spiritual experiences that I could no longer deny. The feeling slowly grew. And finally I felt that the Lord still loved me, even though I had been excommunicated. There was hope! I felt I was moving again!
However, knowing I was on the right path didn’t make anything easier. In fact, for a while, the harder I worked the worse things got. I struggled with great tests and hardships. It seemed that when a blessing was near, my life would start to come apart again and I would start to feel despair once more.
But I held on, and, true to his promise, Heavenly Father poured out a blessing. After much effort and great help and support from friends and leaders in the Church, I was able to reenter the waters of baptism. What joy I felt!

The following is a true story. For my eighth birthday I wanted to have a party. My parents agreed, and so a week before my birthday, I took the invitations to school.
On the school bus, I kept thinking about Alice.* I was hoping that she wouldn’t be there that day. Then my parents couldn’t blame me for not inviting her. You see, Alice was different from the other girls, and she was very quiet. She always played by herself at recess, and as far as I could see, she had no friends. In other words, I didn’t see why I needed to invite her to my party.
When I got to school, much to my dismay, Alice was there. I handed out the invitations, and everyone was very excited.
The morning of my birthday party, my parents asked, “Will Alice be coming?” I was surprised! I didn’t think they even knew Alice.
“I don’t know if she’s coming,” I answered. My father suggested that we take a ride over to her house to see. My father is a very kind man, but he is also very firm. If he suggests that we do something, we do it.
Alice’s mother answered the door, and my father told her why we were there. “She won’t be coming,” Alice’s mother said. “She doesn’t have a present for your daughter. You see, my husband lost his job and …”
My father gestured that he understood, then said, “We would still like Alice to come. It doesn’t matter if she has a present or not.”
No present? I thought. What kind of a birthday party is that? But, of course, I just stood there and smiled.
When we were in the car again, my father told me that after he took me home he was coming back to take Alice to buy a present for her to give me.
This isn’t turning out so bad after all! I thought.
I can’t remember what presents I got that day, but I do remember that Alice seemed to laugh a lot and was actually quite fun to be with. When it was time to take her home, I got in the front seat and she got in the backseat. I turned around to tell her something, and next to her was the prettiest doll I had ever seen. In my eight-year-old mind, I realized my father had bought that doll for Alice. I felt as though my heart grew two sizes that day.
My father is not a great scientist. He has never invented anything or found a cure for a disease. But that day he did something just as important—he showed charity to a little girl. And to another little girl, he showed what it means to be Christlike.

When she was 21, she married Marcus in the Salt Lake Temple. Soon after their marriage they traveled east to Chicago where he entered school to become a dentist. He was in school during the Great Depression, and in order to help him achieve his goal, Ruth decided to find a job. There was a typing job open, but she couldn’t type.

She could, however, make her fingers fly over those piano keys, and she felt she could make her fingers learn anything. So for two solid weeks she riveted her fingertips to the keyboard of a manual typewriter and taught herself to type. Out of the 81 applicants for the job, she was selected!

Then World War II began and Marc was sent to sea. Ruth decided to wait in her parents’ home, and it proved to be a long, frightening vigil. But Marc was preserved to see his and Ruth’s family expand to three daughters and a son. And as Nancy, Allyson, Judd, and Jennie Jo each entered the Funk home and the family began sinking deeper roots in Salt Lake City, Ruth was given responsible callings in addition to being a good mother and supportive wife.

The most outstanding example of individual effort that I know of is embodied in the college career of Jim Thorpe. Of Lamanite ancestry, he attended Carlisle Indian School. There he compiled a record that has never been approached. He was a halfback on the football team and was such a hard runner that for fun he would tell the other team which way he was coming. When his team had to punt, he could boot the ball 70 yards.
One year little Carlisle upset mighty Harvard, with Thorpe kicking four field goals and scoring a touchdown. Another time against Army, he scored two touchdowns, kicked three field goals and three extra points, and passed for another touchdown. He returned one Army kick 90 yards for a touchdown, but it was called back on a penalty. So Thorpe returned the next kickoff 95 yards!
In track and field, Carlisle faced a tough dual meet with unbeaten powerhouse Lafayette. Jim Thorpe showed up for the meet accompanied by one other man. Since Lafayette had a squad of 48 athletes, an official said, “You mean the two of you are the whole Carlisle team?”
“Nope,” said Thorpe. “Just me. The other fellow’s the student manager.”
Against Lafayette that day, Thorpe won the high jump, broad jump, shotput, discus, 120-yard hurdles, 220-yard hurdles, and finished third in the 100-yard dash. Carlisle won the meet 71–41.

As I did so, I reflected on an experience at the time of the prededication showing of the London Temple in 1958.

Those who inspected the building were asked to defer any questions until they had completed the tour. In the evenings I joined the missionaries in talking with those who had questions. As a young couple came down the front steps of the temple, I inquired whether I could help them in any way. The young woman spoke up and said, “Yes. What about this ‘marriage for eternity’ to which reference was made in one of the rooms?” We sat on a bench under the ancient oak that stood near the gate. The wedding band on her finger indicated that they were married, and the manner in which she gripped her husband’s hand evidenced their affection one for another.
“Now to your question,” I said. “I suppose you were married by the vicar.”
“Yes,” she responded, “just three months ago.”
“Did you realize that when the vicar pronounced your marriage he also decreed your separation?”
“What do you mean?” she quickly retorted.
“You believe that life is eternal, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she replied.
I continued, “Can you conceive of eternal life without eternal love? Can either of you envision eternal happiness without the companionship of one another?”
“Of course not,” came the ready response.
“But what did the vicar say when he pronounced your marriage? If I remember the language correctly, he said, among other things, ‘in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, till death do ye part.’ He went as far as he felt his authority would permit him and that was till death separates you. In fact, I think that if you were to question him, he would emphatically deny the existence of marriage and family beyond the grave.”
“But,” I continued, “the Father of us all, who loves his children and wants the best for them, has provided for a continuation, under proper circumstances, of this most sacred and ennobling of all human relationships, the relationships of marriage and family.
“In that great and moving conversation between the Savior and his apostles, wherein Peter declared, ‘Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,’ and the Lord responded, ‘Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.’ The Lord then went on to say to Peter and his associates, ‘And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.’ (Matt. 16:13–19.)
“In that marvelous bestowal of authority the Lord gave to his apostles the keys of the holy priesthood, whose power reaches beyond life and death into eternity. This same authority has been restored to the earth by those same apostles who held it anciently, even Peter, James, and John.” I continued by saying that following the dedication of the temple on the following Sunday, those same keys of the holy priesthood would be exercised in behalf of the men and women who come into this sacred house to solemnize their marriage. They will be joined in a union which death cannot dissolve and time cannot destroy.
Such was my testimony to this young couple in England. Such it is to you today, my dear young friends, and such it is to all the world. Our Father in heaven, who loves his children, desires for them that which will bring them happiness now and in the eternities to come, and there is no greater happiness than is found in the most meaningful of all human relationships—the companionships of husband and wife and parents and children.

When I was nine years old, my white-haired, four-foot-eleven-inch (1.5 m) maternal grandmother came to spend a few weeks with us at our home. One afternoon while she was there, my two older brothers and I decided to dig a hole in a field across the street from our house. I don’t know why we did it; sometimes boys dig holes. We got a little dirty but nothing that would get us into too much trouble. Other boys in the neighborhood saw just how exciting it was to dig a hole and started to help. Then we all got dirtier together. The ground was hard, so we dragged a garden hose over and put a little water in the bottom of the hole to soften up the ground. We got some mud on us as we dug, but the hole did get deeper.
Someone in our group decided we should turn our hole into a swimming pool, so we filled it up with water. Being the youngest and wanting to fit in, I was persuaded to jump in and try it out. Now I was really dirty. I didn’t start out planning to be covered in mud, but that’s where I ended up.
When it started to get cold, I crossed the street, intending to walk into my house. My grandmother met me at the front door and refused to let me in. She told me that if she let me in, I would track mud into the house that she had just cleaned. So I did what any nine-year-old would do under the circumstances and ran to the back door, but she was quicker than I thought. I got mad, stomped my feet, and demanded to come into the house, but the door remained closed.
I was wet, muddy, cold, and, in my childhood imagination, thought I might die in my own backyard. Finally, I asked her what I had to do to come into the house. Before I knew it, I found myself standing in the backyard while my grandmother sprayed me off with a hose. After what seemed like an eternity, my grandmother pronounced me clean and let me come into the house. It was warm in the house, and I was able to put on dry, clean clothes.
Standing outside of my house being sprayed off by my grandmother was unpleasant and uncomfortable. Being denied the opportunity to return and be with our Father in Heaven because we chose to remain in or dirtied by a mud hole of sin would be eternally tragic. We should not deceive ourselves about what it takes to return and remain in the presence of our Father in Heaven. We have to be clean.

A true story from Puerto Rico.
Miguel opened his piano music and stared at the black notes on the page. His teacher had just given him a new song to play. It looked really complicated! This one would take a while to learn.
He placed his fingers on the keys and started looking for the right notes on the piano. Plink, plink, PLUNK. Again and again he kept hitting the wrong keys as he played.
Why couldn’t he get the notes right? This song was a lot harder than the Primary songs he loved to play. He was so frustrated! He pounded his hands down on the piano keys. Blonk!
“Miguel?” Mamá called. “Everything OK in there?”
“Yeah.” Miguel sighed. “This song is just hard.”
Mamá walked into the room. “I’m sorry you’re frustrated. Did you pray before you started practicing?”
“No.” Miguel hadn’t thought of that.
“When I’m learning something new, I like to say a prayer before I practice. Heavenly Father is here to help us. It doesn’t matter if you are playing sports, giving a talk in church, or playing the piano. We can always ask Him for help, because we can’t always do it on our own.”
Could prayer really help him learn his new song on the piano? He decided to give it a try.
The next day Miguel sat down at the piano again, ready to practice. But before he started, he remembered to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, “help me to learn my new song. It’s hard to learn, but I know I can do it with Thy help.”
Then he finished by thanking Heavenly Father for his blessings. His arms relaxed, and he was ready to practice.
Slowly he started finding the notes on the keys and playing them one after another. He kept on practicing. Before he knew it, he could play the beginning of the song! He didn’t even notice how long he had been practicing.
Mamá popped her head into the room. “Wow, Miguel. It’s sounding great!”
“Thanks!” said Miguel. “I think saying a prayer before I practiced helped me be patient and learn a little bit at a time.” He flipped through the pages of the song. “It’s better than trying to learn it all at once.”
“You’ve got a good start!” Mamá said with a smile. “Before you know it, you’ll learn the whole song.”
Miguel smiled back. Then he put his hands on the keys and started to play.
“Pray, he is there; Speak, He is list’ning. You are His child; His love now surrounds you.”
“A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12)
Illustrations by Tracy Nishimura Bishop

At 16, after being a paper boy for five years, I was somewhat surprised when the manager of circulation asked me to be the assistant manager and act as the supervisor of all the newspaper boys in the city. It was quite an honor because of my youth, and I remember how grateful I felt to the Lord. I saw it as a direct blessing from the Lord in allowing me to grow and obtain additional development.
I worked as the assistant manager for about two years, and I will never forget the great challenge that then came to me. I had been paying my tithing regularly during that time and certainly believed in the principle, but I did not have as sure a witness of that principle as I was about to attain.
One Saturday afternoon after finishing work, the manager told me that starting a week from the following day, on Sunday, it would be necessary for me to work every Sunday morning. The manager was an inactive member of the Church at the time, and he knew that I was not going to react favorably to the suggestion. But he was quick to tell me that even though I would miss priesthood meeting and Sunday School, I could find some other means of attending meetings, and thus it would not be all that serious to skip those meetings. He then attempted to entice me by telling me that my pay would be increased by 30 percent, thinking that this might change my mind about the principle of not working on Sunday.
I remember how strongly those words fell upon my heart, but I also remember my response: “I am quite certain that I cannot work on Sunday.”
“Well,” he said, “you will have to work on Sunday or I will find another assistant manager.”
I left the office rather teary-eyed that day. I remember asking the Lord why I should lose my job as a result of the Church. I had been working hard to save enough money to support myself on a mission, and now I was going to lose my job unless I were willing to work on Sunday.
I talked to my father to ask his counsel, and all he would tell me was, “I am sure you will do what is right, whatever that may be.” I was left with the weight of the decision. I spoke later to my bishop and asked him what to do, and his advice was the same as my father’s. However, he added that if I decided to work on Sunday, there might be some possibility of my attending another ward for priesthood meeting as the neighboring ward was holding them in the afternoons at that period of time in the city where I lived. After talking to these two men, the feeling came over me that there was no way to resolve this matter except by finding out what the Lord would have me do.
The following Saturday I went in and announced to the manager that I would not work on Sunday. He informed me that since that was my choice, I would have one week and no longer as the assistant manager, and then I would be replaced by a young man who was “really willing to work.”
I left work that day with a very heavy heart, realizing that in five or six days I would be without a job. In one more year I was to go on my mission, and I did not yet have sufficient funds to support myself. I prayed much that week.
The following days at work seemed very long, and there were very few words spoken between my boss and me. I waited for the next Saturday, which was to be my last day.
Friday finally arrived. As I was finishing work that evening, the manager approached me and said, somewhat emotionally, “Gene, you are right in what you are doing, and I am wrong in asking you to work on Sunday. I have found a young man of another religion who is willing to work on Sunday, but I still want you to be my assistant manager. And by the way, that 30 percent increase will be given to you anyway, even though you will not be working the seventh day. You are a very good young man.”
My young friends, I will never forget the feeling of gratitude that came over me at that moment. I will also never forget my feelings that month as I paid more than an honest tithe and faithfully attended to my responsibilities on Sunday.

“I had wanted to tell others about the Book of Mormon since the day I found it when I was eight years old,” she says. “Now I felt I had to become a missionary.”
But she was only seventeen. Every year thereafter on her birthday, she asked her bishop if she was old enough yet to be called on a mission, but each year he told her she must wait until she was twenty-one. In the meantime, she taught Primary and Sunday School and continued to grow in her knowledge of the gospel.
Then—on the very day she turned twenty-one—her call came.
Sister Marilu Ramirez was prepared. A bright student, she was teaching elementary school even before finishing her university degree, and she carefully saved her earnings. By the time she received her call, she had saved up enough money to pay for her entire mission. At that point she gave up her job, with no assurance of finding one when she returned.
Her family was sure she was insane. The child who had wasted time and money on religious books was now throwing away a good job, all her savings, and eighteen months of her life. But once again, no amount of pressure made any difference.
Now on her mission, she prays for her family and writes them weekly.
On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”
Sister Ramirez is currently teaching the gospel to non-members who come to the Mexico City Temple visitors’ center. In the evenings, she and her companion go out into the surrounding neighborhoods to teach families the gospel in their homes.
Like that eight-year-old child, the twenty-one year old missionary is still consumed with thoughts about God. And her cup, filled drop by drop when she read the pages of the Book of Mormon as a child, is now overflowing.

Conner was learning so many new, wonderful things, but he had a hard time understanding a key principle. “There’s just so many people,” he says. “How could God know everything about me?” So he asked the missionaries.
Sister Jin and her companion prayed to know how they could show Conner that Heavenly Father cares about him personally. Inspiration hit. Conner had recently shared with them how he felt homesick for China and missed his favorite Wuhan noodles.
The missionaries prayed, asking Heavenly Father to help them find these noodles. A couple hours before their next lesson with Conner, Sister Jin and her companion felt impressed to walk to an area they didn’t regularly visit. Not long after they got there they were approached by a Chinese family. It turned out they were from Wuhan, too!
Sister Jin told them about Conner and how he missed his homeland. The family went to their car, pulled out a bag full of Wuhan noodles, and asked Sister Jin to give them to Conner.
Later, during their lesson with Conner, Sister Jin told him, “Conner, Heavenly Father knows you and He loves you, and He even knows what your favorite food is.” Then she handed him the bag.
“When she gave me the bag of noodles, it was very special,” Conner says. “I really felt the Spirit and knew in that moment that God really knows me.”
Conner was soon baptized and sealed to his family in the Salt Lake Temple. “I have a great family. I don’t say that a lot in front of people, but it’s true—it’s always a party! I feel like I chose this family. I waited a long time for them. Everything is so good now.”