Gospel Story Finder

When I was about to go on a mission, I worried about the same things that today worry the young men and young women who will also serve missions. I worried about work, my girlfriend, school, and family. When I was old enough to go on a mission, my father was almost sixty-six years old, and I thought, My father is old, and if I leave for two years, he may die and I will not see him anymore. Who will take care of my mother? She will be all alone when he is no longer at her side.

May I tell you that I served two years in the mission, I served in the Church schools in Chile for five years, I served as a mission president for three years, as a Regional Representative for six years, and my father is still here at the head of the family. He was born a month after President Benson, so last month he turned ninety-three years old.

I testify that when we serve the Lord with all of our heart, might, mind, and strength, he blesses us.

“My father was a loving man. He thought everything I did was marvelous. You can imagine what that does to build confidence in a young girl! There was love, love, love. He gave it to everyone, the stranger included. He had a marvelous personality, full of humor. He came home with fun jokes every night. There was much laughter around our kitchen table, where the heat from the furnace attracted us until the wallpaper was worn out in spots. I became comfortable praying to my Heavenly Father very early because I felt my earthly father and my Heavenly Father must be very much alike.
“When daddy prayed, he always blessed everyone up and down the street by name. Often I couldn’t follow what he said because the words were unfamiliar and the style unlike our comfortable conversations. He’d say things like, ‘Father, we thank thee that all is in accord and that the personnel of this family is complete and accounted for.’
“Once I visited his office and heard him dictate letters while I waited for a ride up the hill. That was it! His prayers were like he was giving dictation. That night when he prayed, I risked the wrath of heaven and sneaked a look at daddy’s face. I was startled. He was weeping! The language he spoke was formal like his letters to important people, but the tears running down his cheeks spoke volumes about the tenderness of his heart.”

In 1985 Sister Sitati and I met a man named Roger Howard in Nairobi, Kenya. He and his wife, Eileen, were serving as a senior missionary couple. They invited us to join a small congregation that met in their home. It was the first time we had attended a meeting of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We felt the Spirit at that first meeting, and since then we have attended church every Sunday.
A few months later, Roger baptized us, together with our nine-year-old son. Soon afterward, Roger and Eileen returned home at the end of their mission. We continued to hear from them every few years.
Early in 2010, Sister Sitati and I finally saw Roger again. He was now approaching 90 years old. Worn with old age and poor health, he leaned heavily on his walker. As we stood facing each other for the first time in so many years, we felt a mutual joy beyond description. Tears rolled freely as we tenderly embraced. We felt a deep gratitude for each other and for the marvelous gift of the gospel. We were united in faith as fellow citizens in the kingdom of God.
As I savored that moment, a scripture came to mind: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God; …
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:10, 15).
Roger passed on later that year. I had the distinct feeling that he was a man at peace with God. He had profoundly touched our lives by sharing the gospel. His example of consecrated service to his fellow men, along with that of the great army of young and senior missionaries serving in the Church, demonstrates one way we honor God.

When I was a bishop, being obedient meant sacrificing to attend the temple. My wife and I were invited to attend general conference in Salt Lake City, Utah. We did not have enough money to make the trip, but we greatly desired to be sealed for eternity in the Lord’s house. We prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to provide a way for us to be obedient and answer His invitation to all Saints to go to the temple. We were blessed to find additional jobs. We earned enough to make the trip to Salt Lake City. Kneeling in the temple, all in white, with my wife, Cristina, was one of the most special experiences of my life. Our marriage was different after we had been to the temple and felt the Holy Spirit of the Lord seal us to each other for eternity.

The simultaneous use of over-the-counter remedies and prescription drugs is a more serious problem.10 An unusual case of this kind of drug misuse was recently seen in the outpatient service of a teaching hospital. During the course of taking the drug history, the clinical pharmacist inquired if the patient was taking any over-the-counter drugs. The patient indicated that she was, but when queried as to what she was taking, she could not remember. A similar answer was given when she was questioned with regard to any prescription medication she was taking. Further discussion extracted the promise that she would bring the drugs she was routinely taking to the clinic on her next visit. When she returned, she brought a basket containing 26 over-the-counter remedies and 25 prescription drugs, a total of 51 drugs that she was taking each day and often simultaneously, including seven depressant drugs and two stimulant drugs.

Hi! My name is Kellie Harding. I’d like to tell you about something that happened to me in first grade (age 6) when I was trying to be like Jesus Christ even though it was really, really hard.
At school we were learning about different countries all over the world. I was so excited when the classroom next door invited us to learn about England and sample different kinds of food with them. But when I saw that they were serving all the kids English tea and biscuits, I felt very scared inside. I had learned about the Word of Wisdom in Primary and at family night, and I knew it was wrong to drink tea. I ate my biscuit, but I quietly pushed my cup of tea away, hoping no one would notice. But the teacher did notice and she told me I had to drink the tea. Even though it was scary, I told the teacher, “I cannot drink the tea.”
All the children sitting around me began to whisper about me, and one girl began making fun of me. The teacher and the children kept trying to make me drink the tea, even just a sip of it, but I knew I should not drink it. Jesus Christ wouldn’t do that, so I wouldn’t do it, either. No matter what they said or how mean their looks were, I would not drink the tea.
When the teacher saw that I wasn’t going to drink the tea, she went and got my homeroom teacher. I was embarrassed, and I felt my face get very hot. My teacher also talked and talked to me about drinking the tea, but I did not drink it. I knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t want me to, so I just told both the teachers that I could not drink the tea, I would not drink the tea. They both said that if I didn’t drink it, I would not be able to listen to the story on the rug or play the games with all the children after the tea and biscuits. They also told me that they were going to call my mother. I began to cry. I felt very bad inside. The teachers said that tears would not help—I still had to drink the tea. Even if it didn’t help, I couldn’t stop crying because all the kids were looking at me and the teachers were making me feel like I was being a very bad girl. I was just trying to be like Jesus.
My teacher went to the office and called my mom to tell her that I was being a problem in class because I wouldn’t drink the tea. When my mom told her that we belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we didn’t drink tea, my teacher was sorry. She apologized to me after recess. I wasn’t mad at her or the other teacher. I am just glad that I did the right thing and that I did what Jesus Christ would do. I felt happy inside, and I could feel that Heavenly Father was happy that I did the right thing too.

Dear Miss A,Just a note to say hello and let you know of my love. I hope all is well.Love,Miss Antaloop
Julia folded up the note, then, in red marker, wrote, “Miss A,” in an extravagant, cursive style that didn’t resemble her own handwriting.
The bell rang, and the second grade classroom exploded in a frenzy of activity—backpacks zipped, desks slammed, and children noisily exited the room. Julia set the envelope on her teacher’s desk without being noticed and left with her classmates. She was determined that Miss Allen, or Miss A, as her second grade students called her, would have no clues about the mysterious Miss Antaloop.
A month earlier, Julia had overheard Miss A telling another teacher that she had nowhere to go for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Julia could not imagine a Christmas without family.
“I heard Miss A say she had nowhere to go for Christmas,” Julia told her mom after school. “Why doesn’t she go home to her family?”
“Julia, Miss Allen told me once that she was an only child, and I know that both of her parents have passed away. She probably doesn’t have any family to go to.”
Julia’s face twisted into a frown. “That’s so sad! Why, Miss A is the nicest, most wonderful teacher ever!” She paused, thinking. “Hey—can we be her family?”
“She is a very special teacher,” Mom agreed. “I’ve invited her to come to dinner before, when David was in her class. I also invited her to his mission farewell, but she didn’t come.”
That night Julia wrote her first letter to Miss A from the make-believe Miss Antaloop. Most of the students loved Miss A. But Julia wanted to find a way to show her that she was loved as a friend, not just as a teacher who might be forgotten. So she made up the character of Miss Antaloop. Julia wasn’t sure of Miss Antaloop’s age or background, but she knew that Miss Antaloop loved adventure and loved Miss A. The second letter established England as Miss Antaloop’s home.
Dear Miss A,I’ve heard all about you and what an incredible teacher you are. I was hoping we could be pen pals and friends. I’ve been in Italy, painting, and just moved to London to design jewelry for the Queen of England. You are pretty and a great teacher.Love,Miss AntaloopP.S. I’ve enclosed one of my latest jewelry designs. I hope you like it.
Julia carefully wrapped a bracelet she’d sculpted out of tinfoil in some tissues and placed it in a brown paper bag with the letter. The next morning she arrived at school early. She tiptoed into the main office, placed the brown sack in Miss Allen’s mailbox, and then ran out before she could be spotted.
Later that day, Miss A was wearing the silver foil bracelet.
“Hey, Miss A, where’d you get that silver thing?” Tommy asked.
“Why, it’s a bracelet all the way from England,” Miss A said with a big smile. Julia looked up from her spelling book with a start.
“Who gave it to you? Is it from a kid?”
Miss A put her finger to her lips, signaling Tommy to use his quiet voice.
“Is it from a kid?” Tommy repeated in a fierce whisper.
Julia swallowed.
Miss A’s blue eyes sparkled. “It’s from a special friend,” she said. Since the first delivery, Julia had noticed her little gifts and letters appearing on Miss A’s bookshelf.
On the day before school was to close for the Christmas break, Miss A let the children share their holiday plans. Phillip was going sledding. Andrea was going to California to visit her grandparents. Tommy planned to eat all of the candy in his stocking in one day.
“What are you going to do, Miss A?” Andrea asked.
“I am going to spend my holiday at home.”
“Why don’t you come to my house?” Julia asked.
“And then come over to mine!” Phillip echoed. Suddenly the classroom broke out in a chorus of second-graders begging their teacher to join them for Christmas.
“You’re all very sweet,” said Miss A, “but you have your families to celebrate with and, as you’ve just told me, many activities planned. I’ll be right here by my desk at the first of January, waiting to see you and hear about all of your fun.”
The bell rang. As Julia walked slowly out of the room, Miss A said, “Good-bye, Julia. Merry Christmas!”
Julia’s house buzzed with Christmas preparations over the next few days.
While Julia helped wrap presents and bake food, she kept thinking of Miss A’s face as the different students described their holiday activities with their families. She had smiled, but her blue eyes had looked empty with loneliness. Julia decided to do something about it.
“David, David,” Julia whispered as she knocked on her brother’s bedroom door.
The door swung open, and David looked down at his little sister. “Hey, Jules, what’s up? Are you being a Christmas elf?”
“No,” Julia said. “I need help.”
David crouched down to look Julia in the face. “OK, Jules, what’s up?”
“I need you to help me—it’s very important. I want to deliver this to Miss A.” She held up a large white box. “Dad said you could take me.”
“What is it, Jules? I thought you already gave her a Christmas present.”
“I did, but this is a special present.”
David lifted the box lid to see the nativity scene that Julia had made with salt dough in Primary last year, nestled in tissue paper. Last year Julia had been so proud of it that she insisted that it be displayed in the living room.
“Your nativity set? But you love this.”
“I know.” Julia lovingly touched the Baby Jesus in the manger. “But I think Miss A feels lonely. I think she forgot that Jesus loves her.”
David smiled at the misshapen dough figures. “OK,” he said, picking up the box in one arm and Julia in the other. “Then let’s go, little elf.”
The car cut through the snowy, dark streets and stopped at a brown apartment building.
“I guess this is it.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is the address in the phone book,” David said. Julia looked doubtfully at the long staircase and dark windows.
“Jules, do you want me to do it?”
Julia’s face relaxed into a smile. “Will you?”
“Hand it over,” David laughed.
Julia straightened the bow so that “Merry Christmas from England! Love, Miss Antaloop” was visible. “Be careful, and run fast so she doesn’t see you,” she whispered.
Julia quickly changed into a Sunday dress and came down for the annual Christmas Eve family home evening. The family had just settled in the living room, when the doorbell rang. “Who could that be on Christmas Eve?” Mom wondered aloud. Dad went to answer the door and returned, followed by Miss A.
“Miss A!” Julia ran up to her teacher.
“Miss Allen, what a wonderful surprise!” Mom said. “Come in.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I received a very special present this evening, and I had to come thank the person who gave it to me.”
“What … but … how did you know, Miss A?” Julia asked, embarrassed she’d been discovered.
Miss A smiled. “Julia, you must tell Miss Antaloop thank you for bringing some light into my Christmas.” She hugged Julia. “I had just sat down to watch a Christmas special on television, when the doorbell rang. I was surprised to find a present there and to open it and find such a beautiful reminder of the reason for Christmas!” Miss A’s eyes sparkled.
“Miss Allen, why don’t you take off your coat and stay. We’re going to have a little Christmas program, then dinner,” Mom said.
“Yes, please stay!” Julia begged.
“Come on, Miss A,” David chimed in.
“Well,” Miss A said. She looked around at the faces looking back at her with hopeful, welcoming expressions on them. Suddenly she did not want to return to her empty apartment. “OK—I will.”
“Hurray!” Julia cried.
“I’ll have to stay if I want to catch Miss Antaloop,” she whispered to Julia with a wink.
Julia smiled. She knew that Christmas wasn’t about make-believe friends. It was about love.

I love the following example, taken from an article entitled “A Day at the Beach” by Arthur Gordon. Said he:
“When I was around thirteen and my brother ten, Father had promised to take us to the circus. But at lunchtime there was a phone call; some urgent business required his attention downtown. We braced ourselves for disappointment. Then we heard him say, ‘No, I won’t be down. It’ll have to wait.’
“When he came back to the table, Mother smiled [and said,] ‘The circus keeps coming back, you know.’
“‘I know,’ said Father. ‘But childhood doesn’t.’”

I’d like to share the story of one of these many family caregivers, my friend whom I will call Debbie.
When Debbie was 62, she and her husband invited her 86-year-old mother to live with them. Debbie’s mother had mid-stage Alzheimer’s disease and was unable to care for herself. Debbie lamented that her once sweet, temple-serving, ministering, Relief Society president mother was ravaged by Alzheimer’s disease. Now Debbie was required to care for her mother, the same person who had provided care for her and so many others throughout her life.
Debbie had to assist her mother with all the activities of daily living like dressing, bathing, and eating. Her mother continually repeated questions about what was happening. She frequently became disoriented and often fought against the care she was receiving because she could not remember what was happening or why it was happening. She became agitated and often lost her temper.
Her mother suffered from sundowning, which meant she was confused about when to sleep and when to be awake. Debbie awoke in the middle of the night to find her mother wandering through the house extremely anxious and disoriented. Since her mother no longer recognized Debbie’s husband, Debbie was the only one who could calm her mother down.
Twice Debbie’s mother was able to leave the house and start walking down the street in the middle of the night. The first time it happened, Debbie fortunately heard the front door close and was able to retrieve her mother before she had wandered too far. However, the second time, her mother left the house undetected, and Debbie received a phone call at 3:30 a.m. from the local police letting her know that her mother had been found walking down the road in only her nightgown.
The continual stress and effort that Debbie gave to care for her mother became intense. She did not know where to turn for help. Her two siblings didn’t accept that their mother had Alzheimer’s disease, nor that the symptoms were as bad as Debbie described. Their denial was reflected in the lack of assistance they offered. Since both of them lived hundreds of miles away, they were unable to regularly visit or offer help anyway.
Debbie felt awkward turning to friends, ward members, and other neighbors because she wasn’t sure how to explain her mother’s condition, and her mother didn’t respond well to new people. Debbie rejected the idea of getting help from professional services because she felt responsible to serve and care for her mother. Moving her mother to an assisted-living community was out of the question as well since her mother had once said she didn’t want to go to any place like that.
Week after week and month after month, Debbie continued giving more and more care to her mother. She focused less and less attention on her own health. One afternoon about 20 months after Debbie’s mother moved into Debbie’s home, Debbie’s husband returned from the store to find his mother-in-law agitated and pacing around the kitchen. He found Debbie collapsed on the living room floor. She was breathing but unconscious. She was taken to the hospital and was admitted due to a mild heart attack brought on by exhaustion.
Once my friend Debbie was released from the hospital, her husband and children sought out the Alzheimer’s Association. The local chapter provided support to the family. Debbie found the assistance she needed and realized the importance and power of allowing others to assist in caring for her mother.

Within my first few days of arriving in the Dominican Republic, my companions brought me to visit a man by the name of Amado. During that visit, we talked about the plan of salvation and the opportunity he will have to see his wife again, who had passed away. The Spirit was strong during that conversation. His daughter and a few of his grandchildren were there, testifying of the joy they had felt through living the gospel. They testified of temples and the ability to be with our loved ones after this life, through the sacred ordinances of the temple.
During the following months, we returned to visit Amado weekly. We talked about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that this gospel has the power of God so that we can take the necessary steps and make promises that will help us return to live with God. We taught him about the priesthood, the power of God here on earth. We explained that God loves us so much, that He gave us another testament of His Son, Jesus Christ: The Book of Mormon. Little by little we taught him about the truths of Christ and His doctrine.
He questioned why we believe this Church is the only true Church on the earth. We invited him to come to church with us to experience it for himself. He enjoyed it but missed the comfort of his usual church. We invited him to pray and sincerely talk with God to ask Him which church is His. Amado prayed and received an answer in a way that he could not doubt that Jesus Christ had restored His Church on earth again. He continued attending church with us. We invited him to enter the waters of baptism and make a covenant with God through the proper authority. When we invited him to be baptized, he asked us if he would be able to see his wife again if he were to get baptized in a different church other than where the two were married. We testified of the perfect love of God and His plan that makes it possible for everyone that has passed on to be able to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that being baptized is our responsibility. We have the opportunity to be baptized in the name of and for our ancestors, so that those people who no longer have their bodies can still enter into the kingdom of God.
Amado wanted this. He was baptized by his grandson, and it was a very special day. Everyone who attended the baptism felt the Holy Ghost testify that the step he took that day was correct and was ordained of God. In the following visits, Amado testified to us that he knows that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is God’s church, and that he knew we were called by God to help him understand this. He had told many previous missionaries to go and preach to the people who didn’t know God, because he already knew God and didn’t need the missionaries. I learned even more that God places us where He needs us and that we can be instruments in His hands through our obedience and the love we have for Him and His children.

Several years after World War II was over, our family (consisting of my husband, two sons ages four and two, and myself) moved to Spanish Fork, Utah. We had been in our home about six months when I was asked to teach the Nursery Class in Primary.
I was a very shy person.
Although I had been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints all my life, I had never held a position in the Church. So I talked with the Primary president (Rebecca Christensen), whom I knew rather well. “I could never teach the Nursery Class I told her, “I have never taught before.”
The Primary president knew I was shy, but she also knew that I loved children. She expressed her love for me and told me she knew I would love the work, if I would just give it a try. I declined the offer. But when she arose from the chair to leave, she told me she would expect me to teach this group of children the next Primary day.
Not until after she was gone did I find the lesson book she had left on a chair. I thought I must return it, but instead I opened it and read the beautiful lessons. Each day I told myself I would return the book. And each day it became harder for me to think what I might say to the Primary president. Primary day soon arrived. I knew I had to give the lesson or find someone who would. So I studied and prepared. I said to myself, “I will give the lesson just this once, then return the book.”
I taught that class for three years. Then I taught another Primary class for five years. When our ward was divided into two wards, I was called to serve in the Primary presidency.
Over the years I have held many leadership positions: Beehive Class leader, president of the Young Women, counselor and then president of our ward Relief Society and secretary of our stake Relief Society. These callings have helped me become a more fulfilled and happier person, for they have helped me overcome my shyness and learn to love my fellowmen. All this, because a dear, trusting leader showed she really cared and would not let me say “no” to a calling.

Our son Dan got very sick on his mission in Africa and was taken to a medical facility with limited resources. As we read his first letter to us after his illness, we expected that he would be discouraged, but instead he wrote, “Even as I lay in the emergency room, I felt peace. I have never been so consistently and resiliently happy in my life.”
As my wife and I read these words, we were overcome with emotion. Consistently and resiliently happy. We had never heard happiness described that way, but his words rang true. We knew that the happiness he described was not simply pleasure or an elevated mood but a peace and joy that come when we surrender ourselves to God and put our trust in Him in all things. We too had had those times in our lives when God spoke peace to our souls and caused us to have hope in Christ even when life was hard and uncertain.

Mikako Akiyama, 18, and Satomi Miyashita, 17, both from the Kawasaki Ward, were eager to talk about the baptisms for the dead they had participated in that same morning.
“This is the first visit to the temple for me,” said Satomi. “I had to have an interview with the bishop and get a recommend. But what a wonderful thing to come early in the morning to a beautiful white building and be baptized to help others.”
“I think it is a wonderful thing for our ancestors to have the opportunity to be happily united in heaven,” Mikako added. “If I had not had the opportunity to accept the gospel in this life, I would want someone to be baptized for me. I wanted very much to come this morning. It has made me think of my own baptism over over again.”

Melanie’s family lives in Utah, and she boards with LDS families in San Francisco. But because she has been performing since she was nine years old she has been exposed to a lot of different lifestyles.
“I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had as a dancer,” she said. “But it’s also been tough. There are lots of temptations. When I was 12, I went on tour for five weeks with a ballet company. I was offered wine at Thanksgiving. No one there knew what my beliefs were. I didn’t have to refuse the wine, but I knew my parents trusted me, and I knew what they expected. Similar temptations still confront me, and I can only thank my parents because they taught me and prepared me, when I was still young, to think for myself and to make correct decisions. I know I can be the best at ballet that I can be and still live the gospel. I have to know my limitations and not put myself in situations that make the struggle too difficult. And I rely heavily on my family. My best friends are my family.

A woman came home from sacrament meeting, sighed deeply, and said to her husband, “I think I’m losing my testimony. I wasn’t spiritually filled or uplifted at all today.”
A natural reaction would be to attempt to solve the problem by immediately giving advice. But if you move too fast from listening into proposing solutions, you are skipping over the chance to really understand your spouse’s feelings. And you may seem insensitive—or even smug and self-righteous. Problem-solving comes after real listening and understanding have taken place.
In this case, the husband responded, “Losing your testimony? What made you feel that way?” He showed that he cared, and he gave his wife a chance to probe her feelings more deeply.

On a vacation, I was traveling by ship down the Volga River in Russia, far from any LDS chapel. That Sunday I had planned to read the Book of Mormon alone in my cabin.
My plans changed when I found out the ship was leased for summer tours to a Latter-day Saint family. With permission from their Church leaders, they had scheduled a worship service for LDS passengers, including several Russian Latter-day Saints traveling on the ship. I was asked to bless the sacrament. I wondered if I would bless the sacrament alone and if I would be the only teenager there. I hoped not.
Later that morning when I entered the music salon where the meeting would be held, my anxious heart quieted as I saw other young men in ties and young women in dresses. I looked around for something resembling a sacrament table. To my right, I noticed that a white tablecloth from the dining hall had been spread over the piano bench. The bread and water trays sat on the white linen. The brother who had asked me to bless the sacrament introduced me to a young man.
“This is Sergei,” he said. “He will bless with you.”
Sergei, from Moscow, had just completed his service in the militia. He had met two missionaries in the subway. That eventually led to his baptism.
“Dobray Dien!” I said, practicing what little Russian I had learned.
“Dobray Dien,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Minyah Savoot, William,” I said, introducing myself.
“Minyah Savoot, Sergei.”
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“A little.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper—tattered from use—and unfolded it. It contained LDS religious terms with their definitions. He pointed to the word sacrament as if to communicate our role in the worship service. I nodded. He next pointed to the word bread and then to himself.
“Me?” he asked.
Then he pointed to the word water and then pointed to me, I understood. He would bless the bread. I would bless the water.
“Da,” I said in Russian, agreeing with his plan.
The music began, and a young man, Vladimir, led the congregation in “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” The curtains of the room had been drawn aside, and through the windows we saw a panoramic view of Russia’s countryside.
Sergei’s copy of the Book of Mormon was well used. He thumbed through its pages for the sacrament prayer.
We stood and broke the homemade Russian sourdough bread. I could hear the congregation singing “I Stand All Amazed,” half singing in Russian and the other half in English. No one had hymnbooks, so we sang from memory. I was impressed to hear the combination of Russian and English as if our voices were creating a new language.
When the hymn ended, I knelt with Sergei. As we knelt on the floor, I could feel a slight rocking of the ship. The congregation bowed their heads. Sergei began saying the prayer in Russian.
I felt the Spirit of God enter my heart and burn through my chest. Here we were, Sergei and I, on a ship far from our homes and families, two people from different continents and speaking different languages—but feeling the same Spirit. I understood the words he spoke, clearly and peacefully. I felt solemnity fill my mind.
After wiping a few tears from my eyes, I stood with Sergei. We passed the bread trays to three young priesthood holders, who then passed the bread to the congregation.
A few minutes later, I blessed the water in English, saying the prayer with more conviction than ever before. I felt as if I were actually speaking to the Lord. My heart swelled with joy as I said amen and stood to serve the water trays.
That day, Sergei and I had come together to do the Lord’s work. We had blessed the emblems Christ instituted just before his death and sacrifice. Sergei had spoken Russian. I had spoken English. But for all of us who were present, the language spoken was the Spirit.

This story happened in the USA.
Charlotte hated loud noises! She didn’t like the way sounds pounded in her ears or echoed in her head. Even when she knew she was safe, she still felt tense when cars screeched, crowds cheered, or drums boomed.
And Charlotte really did not like fireworks!
Her family tried lots of things to comfort her when there were loud noises. Dad bought her special earmuffs to help block the noise. When there was thunder, Mom snuggled with her under the covers. Charlotte also prayed for help not to be scared.
All of these things helped. But loud noises still made her feel afraid.
“We are going to a special firework show at the park tonight,” Mom told Charlotte. “Do you want to come?”
Charlotte frowned. “But fireworks are so loud.”
“Now that you’re older, fireworks might be more fun to watch,” Mom said. “All of your friends will be there. We can even bring your special earmuffs. Do you think you can give it a try?”
Charlotte sighed. “OK. I guess I’ll try.”
The fireworks show at the park started off perfectly. Charlotte and her friends ran around on the grass, sharing treats and playing games. Soon the sky grew dark. Charlotte sat down and pulled on her earmuffs as she looked nervously at the sky.
BOOM! BOOM! CRACK!
Charlotte’s heart beat faster, and her chest felt tight. She jumped up and tried to get away from the booming all around her.
Mom ran after Charlotte and scooped her up. They sat back down, and Mom hugged her close. Tears fell down Charlotte’s face.
“I’m sorry that scared you,” Mom said. “I’m right here. Let’s focus on the colors so you don’t notice the sound so much. What do you see with your eyes?”
Charlotte took a big breath. “I see gold, and red, and green.”
“Now use your nose,” Mom said. “What do you smell?”
“I can smell the smoke and the grass,” said Charlotte. “And popcorn!”
“What other senses can you use right now?”
Charlotte closed her eyes. “I can feel them. When the fireworks explode, I can feel the shaking in my chest.”
“Can you taste anything?” Mom asked.
Charlotte stuck out her tongue. “l can’t taste the fireworks.” She laughed.
All of this made Charlotte curious. How do people make the different colors? she wondered. Why do fireworks explode? How do they make different shapes? Fireworks didn’t seem so scary now.
“Mom, fireworks are amazing!” Charlotte said.
As Mom tucked Charlotte into bed that night, Charlotte asked, “Why doesn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayers when I ask Him to make the loud noises go away?”
Mom thought for a moment. “Heavenly Father doesn’t always take away scary things,” she said. “But sometimes He helps us see things in a different way or gives us people who help comfort us.”
“Like how He helped me tonight!” said Charlotte.
“That’s right!” Mom smiled. “You went to the firework show even though you were scared. Then Heavenly Father helped you calm your fears. He also helped you see the beauty of the fireworks by using your other senses.”
Charlotte thought of the bright colors in the sky and smiled. She still didn’t like loud noises. They still scared her. But she knew Heavenly Father could always help her to be brave.
“Fear thou not; for I am with thee” (Isaiah 41:10).
Illustration by Adam Howling

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 fell in love with 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 their 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!
Now, back to my story. When the father and mother had their little adopted baby boy sealed to them, the man who performed the ceremony told the father and mother to hold up their little son so he could look into the mirror. There was a mirror in the front and in the back of the room so that when the little boy looked he could see a long line of fathers and mothers holding little boys in their arms. Now he knew that he had a whole line of mothers and fathers who loved him with all their hearts and who would love him always. Then that little boy really did feel he was a special child. All children of our Heavenly Father are special, but the little boy knew that he was a very special child with parents who loved him.
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.

I’ll never forget one high school football game against a rival school. I played the wingback position, and my assignment was to either block the linebacker or try to get open so the quarterback could throw me the ball. The reason I remember this particular game so well is because the fellow on the other side of the line—the man I was supposed to block—was a giant.
I wasn’t exactly the tallest athlete in the world. But I think this other guy may have been. I remember looking up at him, thinking he probably weighed as much as two of me. Keep in mind, when I played we didn’t have the protective gear that players have today. My helmet was made of leather, and it didn’t have a face guard.
The more I thought about it, the more I came to a sobering realization: if I ever let him catch me, I could be cheering for my team the rest of the season from a hospital bed.
Lucky for me, I was fast. And for the better part of the first half, I managed to avoid him.
Except for one play.
Our quarterback dropped back to pass. I was open. He threw the ball, and it sailed towards me.
The only problem was that I could hear a lumbering gallop behind me. In a moment of clarity, I thought that if I caught the ball there was a distinct possibility I could be eating my meals through a tube. But the ball was heading for me, and my team was depending on me. So I reached out, and—at the last instant—I looked up.
And there he was.
I remember the ball hitting my hands. I remember struggling to hang on to it. I remember the sound of the ball falling to the turf. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because the giant hit me so hard I wasn’t sure what planet I was on. One thing I did remember was a deep voice coming from behind a dark haze: “Serves you right for being on the wrong team.”
William McKinley Oswald was my high school football coach. He was a great coach and had a profound influence on my life. But I think he could have learned his method of motivating players from an army drill sergeant.
That day, during his half-time speech, Coach Oswald reminded the whole team about the pass I had dropped. Then he pointed right at me and said, “How could you do that?”
He wasn’t speaking with his inside voice.
“I want to know what made you drop that pass.”
I stammered for a moment and then finally decided to tell the truth. “I took my eye off the ball,” I said.
The coach looked at me and said, “That’s right; you took your eye off the ball. Don’t ever do that again. That kind of mistake loses ball games.”
I respected Coach Oswald, and in spite of how terrible I felt, I made up my mind to do what Coach said. I vowed to never take my eye off the ball again, even if it meant getting pounded to Mongolia by the giant on the other side of the line.
We headed back onto the field and started the second half. It was a close game, and even though my team had played well, we were behind by four points late in the fourth quarter.
The quarterback called my number on the next play. I went out again, and again I was open. The ball headed towards me. But this time, the giant was in front of me and in perfect position to intercept the pass.
He reached up, but the ball sailed through his hands. I jumped high, never taking my eye off the ball; stabbed at it; and pulled it down for the game-winning touchdown.
I don’t remember much about the celebration after, but I do remember the look on Coach Oswald’s face.
“Way to keep your eye on the ball,” he said.
I think I smiled for a week.

I grew up faithfully participating with my family in the Catholic Church. We attended church and church activities regularly, and we prayed as a family each evening at home. Throughout my boyhood, friends from church helped me make good choices.
When I was nine years old, I became an altar boy. Altar boys in the Catholic Church help the priest during the Sunday worship service, called Mass. My brothers and many of my friends served with me—a great honor for us. We lit candles at the altar, carefully unfolded the priest’s robes, and placed the scriptures next to the altar. During the service we helped pass the bread for Communion, similar to the sacrament.
To become altar boys, we memorized words of the Mass in Latin. We also participated in weekly religion classes. Each summer my friends and brothers and sisters and I attended Bible school about 20 miles (32 km) from our home. My parents were busy on our wheat farm during the summer. They could have used our help during those weeks, but they felt it was important that we have this opportunity to learn about God and be with good friends. The faith of the priests and nuns who were our teachers impressed me. I decided then that I would do what God wanted me to do.