Gospel Story Finder

When I was a Beehive I experienced the great feeling of completing at least one or two value projects. This helped me gain a strong testimony of my own to share with my friends. Seeing other young women who have been doing their Personal Progress values has also helped me complete more projects during my own time and also at our Young Women activities.
Juanita U., 17, New Zealand

Thousands of government and industrial workers now live there and are grateful to be in this unique and friendly area. They are proud of their forty-ninth state. When the Congress of the United States approved the Alaska statehood bill in 1958, the people were so excited that they dyed the Chena River at Fairbanks gold and flew a 50-foot gold star over the city.

It was the middle of winter and I was serving my eighth month as a missionary in the Asana area of the Bergen Norway District. Although we tracted many hours, we taught few discussions. A baptism seemed like a miracle.
Bergen is a city built on and among seven mountains on the west coast of Norway. The mountains catch every storm that rolls up or down the coast. The clouds dump their rain on missionaries and nonmissionaries alike. The winds blow the rain horizontally, so umbrellas are used more like shields. We were lucky if our raincoats and boots dried overnight so we could wear them the next day.
One particular day the wind and rain were even much worse than usual. My companion, Sister Dolinsky, and I debated the wisdom of going out at all in such harsh weather. We knew if we didn’t we were sure to feel that depressing feeling missionaries feel when they aren’t out working. The severe weather helped us to decide to stay in and catch up on our records.
The day passed, and the storm showed no signs of stopping. Soon it was 5:30—time for us to go out for our evening tracting. We could see the fjord from our window; the water was dark and choppy. The winds were blowing full force, and the rain beat against the window. We knew we couldn’t stay in all evening too, so we dropped to our knees and asked the Lord for the strength we would need to go back out. When we got up, Sister Dolinsky said she felt the Lord wanted us to read Alma 17. We sat down at our table and began to read about Alma and the four sons of Mosiah. In verse five we read: “Now these are the circumstances which attended them in their journeyings, for they had many afflictions; they did suffer much, both in body and in mind, such as hunger, thirst and fatigue, and also much labor in the spirit.”
The fierceness of the storm seemed to diminish, and our discomfort seemed very minor as we read about those missionaries’ sufferings. The Spirit filled our tiny apartment as we continued to read verses 10–12 [Alma 17:10–12]:
“And it came to pass that the Lord did visit them with his Spirit, and said unto them: Be comforted. And they were comforted.
“And the Lord said unto them also: Go forth among the Lamanites [we substituted Norwegians for Lamanites], thy brethren, and establish my word; yet ye shall be patient in long-suffering and afflictions, that ye may show forth good examples unto them in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.
“And it came to pass that the hearts of the [missionaries] took courage to go forth unto the [Norwegians] to declare unto them the word of God.”
After reading those verses we knew that the Lord knew the discomfort we experienced tracting in such harsh weather, yet we also knew that he expected us to take courage and go forth in affliction to bring the word of God to the people we were called to serve. Our afflictions were small compared to those of Alma and the sons of Mosiah.
We put on our coats and took the bus to our tracting area. At the first door we knocked on we found a young man who worked out on the North Sea on an oil rig. He said he wasn’t usually home, but the storm had kept him from going out to sea to work. We taught him about the Book of Mormon, and he said he would like to read it. We gave him a copy and left with a good feeling.
The knowledge that the Lord knew of my small sufferings as a missionary, and that his Spirit comforted and encouraged us to continue with his work by inspiring my companion and me to turn to the scriptures, stayed with me the rest of my mission and will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Best Friends How do you feel when your best friend goes away for the whole summer—and has a great time without you!—and you have no one to play with and nothing to do? Kathy was angry when it happened to her. But her best friend really was a friend, the very best one.Steven Kellogg5–8 years

Sunshine highlighted the autumn leaves as Lottie and her collie, King, picked their way down the rocky path to the springhouse to fetch a crock of butter. She held up her long skirt that she wore to school so as not to dirty it. Despite Mama’s lecture, however, she had discarded the stiff high-button shoes in the weeds. The cool grass chilled the bottoms of her calloused feet. She hadn’t worn shoes all summer (except to church because Mama insisted), and she hated to start now. Mama said that a ten-year-old girl should act like a lady, but Lottie didn’t feel like a lady as she ducked under a low limb of an apple tree.
As she opened the wide, heavy door of the springhouse, she felt a chill sweep past her, and she was grateful for King’s companionship. Although Lottie had three older sisters, they stayed at the house to help Mama with the three younger girls and her little brother.
It was damp and dark in the springhouse. The icy springwater flowed briskly through the long troughs where they kept their perishable foods. Maybe I’d better get one more crock, thought Lottie. It takes a lot of butter for hot cakes for all of us. Just then Lottie lost her footing on the slippery floor. As she grabbed a shelf to break her fall, the fancy butter crock that she had just chosen slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a sickening crash! Pieces of blue pottery scattered in all directions!
Tears welled up in Lottie’s eyes as she remembered Papa’s words of caution: “These are hard times and we cannot afford any waste.”
Fearful of being late for school and of getting a tongue-lashing from Mama, while King licked up the splattered butter, she stuffed as many pieces as she could find into her apron pocket, grabbed another crock of butter, and hurried toward the house.
Lottie quickly pushed the pieces of broken crockery into a crevice in the old stone fence at the edge of the field and ran back to the house. As she neared it, the smell of bacon floated out with the chimney smoke to meet her.
“What kept you, Charlotte?” asked Papa as Lottie appeared in the doorway.
“I guess I’m a little slow this morning, Papa,” Lottie answered, trying hard to smile. She felt Papa’s sideway glance every so often during breakfast. It was a questioning expression that Papa always wore when he knew that there was something that he should know but didn’t.
“Anything special going on at school today?” he asked.
“No, not much,” Lottie answered, trying to be cheerful.
“I have a busy day ahead of me,” he said. “I need to mend some fences to get ready for the new herd.”
Lottie nearly choked on a bite of bacon. What if Papa checks that particular fence? she wondered. It wouldn’t have been such a big thing to Mama had it not been her favorite crock, nor to Papa had it been empty, nor to herself if careful inventory would not be taken, but she knew that an accounting must come.
It came sooner than Lottie had anticipated, for Papa was waiting outside the barn as the girls came home from school. “Come into the barn, girls. We need to talk.”
The four girls looked at each other, recognizing the concern in Papa’s voice.
“I happened onto these pieces of Mama’s best crock today while I was mending the stone fence,” he said, displaying the broken pieces. “Who can tell me how they got there?”
A big lump jumped into Lottie’s throat. She hung her head. The older girls looked at each other and then back at Papa.
“How about you, Charlotte?” Papa’s voice, although even and mild-tempered, thundered in Lottie’s ears.
“I don’t know, Papa.” It was a lie, and she knew it—and she knew that Papa knew it. But somehow, down deep, she secretly hoped that he didn’t.
“I suppose that the wind broke it and scattered the pieces into the fence,” Papa said, looking hard into each girl’s eyes. Finally he sighed and said, “All right, get to your chores.”
Lottie’s mind wasn’t on her work. It was on her last Primary lesson. “The best remedy for a guilty conscience,” Sister Thompson had said, “is to repent and admit what you’ve done wrong.” Gathering her courage, Lottie walked slowly back to the barn.
Papa looked up, pitchfork in hand. “You want to tell me something, Charlotte?” After a long, awkward silence, he prodded gently, “It was you, wasn’t it, Lottie?”
“Yes, Papa. I suppose that I have to tell Mama too.”
“It’s up to you. You’ve always been taught to do what’s right. Listen to your conscience; then decide.”
As Lottie dragged into the house, Mama was fixing supper. The tears Lottie hated were back again.
“Oh, Mama,” Lottie sobbed, “I broke it.”
“Broke what?” asked Mama, giving her a hug.
“Your best crock—and King ate it!” Lottie clung to Mama and cried even harder.
“He ate the crock?” Mama smiled and wiped Lottie’s tears.
“No, the butter,” Lottie explained, still sniffing. “Mama, I’m so sorry.”
“Well, I’m glad that you were honest and told me.”
“I just had to tell you and Papa, Mama. I felt so bad.”
“That’s a thing called conscience,” said Mama.
“I guess I just found out that I have one,” Lottie said, finally able to smile.

“Hi, Gweg!” Greg could feel his face getting hot even before he looked up to see Melissa standing on the roadside by her bike.
“My name’s not Gweg,” he said crossly, focusing intently again on the basketball hoop he was aiming at.
“What is it, then?” Melissa waited expectantly, her eyes already dancing with laughter.
“You know what it is.”
“Yep. It’s Gweg; that’s what you always say.” She started to giggle.
“My name’s not Gweg,” Greg yelled. “It’s Gweg!”
Melissa burst into laughter and hopped back on her bike. “I was right, then. Bye, Gweggy!”
Greg scowled at her braids streaming out behind her as she pedaled away. It wasn’t fair! He tried and tried to say his Rs, using the exercises that his speech therapist gave him every week. But even though she praised him at the end of each session and told him that he was doing better, he still couldn’t say the words quite right. Worst of all, he couldn’t even say his own name!
“Well, at least we didn’t name you Roger or Roderick,” Dad had chuckled, tousling Greg’s hair. “Don’t worry, Son. Lots of kids have trouble with their Rs, and sometimes other letters too. You’ll get over it.”
But Greg did worry. The Primary president had asked him to tell the story of Joshua in two weeks. He loved to hear about how the children of Israel were led into the Promised Land, and he wanted to do a good job telling it. But what if everyone laughed at him?
The next Sunday at dinner, Greg was quiet as he pushed the food around his plate with his fork. He usually loved Mom’s mashed potatoes; the rich gravy he poured over the top looked like brown lava sliding down a snowy volcano. But gravy lava seemed stupid now, and his food stuck in his throat.
“Is something wrong, Greg?” Mom asked.
Greg nodded soundlessly.
“Is it your Primary talk?” said Dad.
He nodded again.
“Well, I have something to show you.” Dad disappeared into the living room and returned with his Bible. “You know, Greg,” he said, flipping through the pages, “when I was your age, I didn’t like to give talks either, but for a different reason. All those people made me nervous! My mouth got as dry as sandpaper, and I felt like I couldn’t say anything. Then I read about Moses. Here.” He handed the open Bible to Greg. “When you’ve finished your dinner, why don’t you read about how Moses felt when the Lord told him to speak to the people and to Pharaoh. It might help.”
Later, Greg read in Exodus how the Lord appeared to Moses and told him to tell the children of Israel His words. In Exodus 4:10 [Ex. 4:10], Greg read that Moses had said, “But I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue.”
Greg kept reading, using the footnotes. In Exodus 6:30 [Ex. 6:30], he saw that Moses was still protesting to the Lord: “Behold, I am of stammering lips, and slow of speech; how shall Pharaoh hearken unto me?”
Greg was astonished. So Moses, the mighty prophet, couldn’t speak very well, either! But the Lord didn’t find another prophet to replace him. He knew that Moses, whom He had called to serve as the Israelite leader, was a righteous man, and He made a way for Moses to do what he had been commanded by sending Aaron to help him. Well, I have lots of people to help me—people like Dad and Mom. A warm, peaceful feeling crept over him. They can help me learn to say my Rs right someday, and I know that the Lord will help me give my talk!
All the next week, Greg practiced and practiced until he knew the whole story by heart. When Sunday finally arrived, he was a little nervous, but he felt ready. He stood at the microphone, took a deep breath, and gave his talk. He still couldn’t say his Rs quite right, and he thought that he heard a giggle from the back of the room. When he sat down, though, he felt good inside. He knew that he had told the story well.
Dad and Mom had come to hear him, and when Primary was over, they both gave him a big hug. “We’re very proud of you,” Mom said, beaming; Dad said, “Way to go, sport.”
Suddenly Greg felt someone cuff his arm playfully. He looked around and saw Melissa standing there. “Good job, Greg,” she said, grinning.
“Thanks,” he said. And he couldn’t help grinning too.

It was Christmas morning and my six-year-old little brother, Andrew, was the first one to sneak out of bed. When I woke up and went looking for him a little while later, I couldn’t believe what I found. There he was, under the tree, having just opened all of my presents!
Mom and Dad were still asleep in bed. So was my baby sister. Right then, it was just Andrew, me, and my opened Christmas gifts. As I watched him play with a model airplane that I now wouldn’t get to open, I became angry. My Christmas was ruined!
As my anger grew, I decided that I really needed to stop and pray for help to not be mad. So I did. Almost immediately, I felt a little calmer. Then I looked at Andrew more closely, and a funny thing happened. That huge grin on his face made me smile too. I mean, he was so happy! Then I couldn’t help it. I started laughing! Before long the whole thing felt hilarious. I mean, how could I stay angry with my little brother when he was so excited?
That Christmas morning, I learned the importance of stopping to pray whenever bad feelings start to develop. After all, Christmas is supposed to be a happy holiday, not an angry one.

After I came home from my mission, I suddenly had a new life to face. I had to find my way in school, navigate new friendships, attempt to date, and figure out new work schedules.
It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
I wanted to turn to the Lord for reassurance. I had a firm testimony that the Book of Mormon was the word of God, but I found myself feeling distant when I tried to read my scriptures. I felt like I was unable to access the peace and comfort I usually felt while reading the Book of Mormon.
I was facing a lot of big feelings, and when I tried to read my scriptures, I wanted big answers. But those answers just didn’t seem to be coming.
My feelings of discontent grew to the point where I struggled to open my scriptures at all.
As I pondered on the preservation of the Book of Mormon, I was struck by the marvelous truth that the wise purpose behind its writing includes me. Heavenly Father knew how much I would need the Book of Mormon in my life. In fact, He knew the challenges each of His children would face in mortality, and in a grand expression of love, He provided us with the scriptures to lead us, guide us, and comfort us.
So why was I not feeling comforted?
One week as I attended my church meetings, I prayed to learn something that would help me. The impression I received at church that day prepared me to hear Heavenly Father’s voice.
As I sat and listened, I was reminded of a truth I had forgotten. I wrote in my journal: “One way to work through frustration when you feel like you aren’t receiving answers is spiritual consistency. It is the daily moments of spiritual consistency that allow God to create patterns, point out subtle feelings, and convey simple but powerful, comforting truths. It’s the consistency that turns our heart to Him, that aligns our will with His.”
In that moment, I remembered the principle that Alma taught his son while instructing him to keep a record:
“Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.
“And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls” (Alma 37:6–7).
These verses and the revelation I received in church that day helped me reframe my expectations for my scripture study. Instead of looking for big spiritual experiences when I somewhat sporadically read my scriptures, I began to focus on creating simple moments to connect with the Lord daily through scripture study.
By taking the pressure off, I felt a simple, sweet spirit begin to fill my life. It was small and subtle, but I was able to see that Heavenly Father truly can convey great, meaningful messages in small and simple ways. And being spiritually consistent in my scripture study helped me develop my ability to recognize those messages.

When I was a college freshman, I found myself flustered and frustrated as I tried to get through my first semester. It was very difficult to fit everything into my busy schedule, which included a full load of classes, a very time-consuming Church calling, and the everyday adjustments of living on my own for the first time. As December arrived, I became overwhelmed with everything. With the pressure of finals and a lack of time and money, I didn’t feel the Christmas spirit at all.
I went home a week before Christmas, wondering what to do for gifts. I had been assigned to buy a present for my younger sister Rachel and didn’t know what to get her, until my friend showed me a very plain little stuffed bear her mother had made for her and the touching poem she’d written to go along with it.
On Christmas Eve, I found myself working frantically to finish a bear. My mom came to my room, sat down with me, and helped me get it done for Christmas morning.
As Rachel tore the paper from the package and peered inside, a huge smile spread across her face. There were tears in everyone’s eyes as the family realized what a special gift it was. In its seams, and in the poem attached, was the real meaning of Christmas. There was love in that simple bear.
—Lisa McKinstryRexburg, Idaho

A mother who knows her relationship with God helps her children to know Him and to be encircled by His love. I was touched by the comments a daughter shared at the funeral of her 100-year-old mother: “When I was a teenager trying to plan my class schedule, I would come into the kitchen where Mother was ironing. I would present possible options for my studies. … She would listen to all of them. We would discuss the possibilities … and then she would say, ‘OK, Cathy, have you prayed about it?’ That was kind of embarrassing to me, and I would hesitate and then add, ‘Do you have to pray about everything?’ She answered simply, ‘I do.’”

Vetséra Lapierre, 14, also from Quebec City, says she will always remember her first trip to the Toronto Temple to do baptisms for the dead. “I was so happy just to be with so many young members of the Church, the joy of it filled my eyes with tears of gratitude,” she explains. “It was something I had dreamed of for years, and now my dream was coming true. When we walked in the doors of the house of the Lord, I immediately felt a perfect peace, a spiritual strength that grew and grew as we did the baptisms. That feeling has stayed with me ever since. Now when I face a temptation, I remember how I felt in the temple. I always want to feel that peace, and I want to return to the temple again and again.”

“The crude homes were described in these terms by one who was there as a small boy: ‘There was no window of any kind whatever in our house. Neither was there a door. My mother hung up an old quilt, which served as a door for the first winter. This was our bedroom, our parlor, our sitting room, our kitchen, our sleeping room, everything in this room of about 12 by 16 feet [3.6 by 4.9 m]. How in the world we all got along in it I do not know. I recollect that my dear old mother stated that no queen who ever entered her palace was ever more happy or proud of shelter and the blessings of the Lord than was she when she entered that completed dugout.’

I have participated in general conference for nearly 20 years, and only on the rarest of occasions has a specific assignment been given to a speaker to address a particular topic. But there have been instances while sitting on the stand and knowing I would speak soon that I have noticed a continuity building in the messages being delivered. Church leaders who have not talked to each other about the content of their individual messages each contribute to a cohesive conference crescendo that is miraculous. So, yes, general conference is orchestrated—but by heaven, not by the participants.

I was called to serve a mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo, but for political reasons my visa was suspended, and I would have to start in Abidjan. But it did not affect me too much because I had entrusted myself to the Lord and the place of my mission did not matter. So, I zealously embarked on the work with Elder Kalema Peron my trainer in the Koumassi area where I had one of the most rewarding experiences of my mission.
One day we went to visit the ward mission leader in Adjahui a sub-district of the commune of Koumassi. It is a peninsula whose access is difficult and is done only by pinasse, a rudimentary and inconvenient means of transport that uses the lagoon way. The neighborhood does not have a good reputation due to the precarious living conditions of its inhabitants.
But my companion and I loved to go because these people are humble, had the desire to learn, the need to be encouraged and strengthened by the envoys of Jesus Christ that we were.
We were chatting with the ward mission leader and his family next to his house in a common courtyard made up of houses built with precarious materials where his friend and neighbor Francis (an assumed name) would occasionally talk with us. He was a kind man but faced great challenges. Having lost his job, he lived alone in his house and was very withdrawn. When he saw us, he would come to greet us respectfully and then go home. Francis also faced a tobacco addiction related to the hardships he was going through and had no hope.
The ward mission leader told us that Francis had already received a Book of Mormon and that he had read it entirely in his solitude in just four days. This is rare in Africa where reading is a difficult art. As a result of frequent visits, I noticed his growing interest in the word of God.
Francis claimed to have felt something special after reading the Book of Mormon. We explained to him that it was the Holy Ghost teaching him. Personally, I had a strong prompting that told me that Francis was going to convert to the restored gospel.
Francis agreed to attend church and take the missionary lessons. He still struggled with the Word of Wisdom. At this time, he shared with us that it would be difficult for him to give up his addiction to cigarettes of which he had been a prisoner for about 20 years.
We spent time with Francis praying and encouraging him. With the help of God, he made the commitment to be baptized. He had overcome his addiction and you could see the joy on his face. We too were happy for him.
Sometime after his baptism, he relapsed and I admit that it was his attitude that touched me the most. Indeed, very late at night he sent us the following SMS message: “Elder, I fell”.
Immediately my companion and I knelt and prayed for him.
The next day we went to his house and reassured him that this was part of the conversion process and that he could repent and begin again. We shared the little tips and tricks that might help with his addiction.
Listening to us speak and teach of repentance we saw tears and a glimmer of hope in Francis’ eyes. He gradually stopped smoking and overcame his addiction forever.
I finally got my papers to continue my mission in the DRC when circumstances improved.
I later learned that Francis joined the Church and was called as a stake clerk. He had married and was sealed in the Accra Ghana Temple long before me.

One evening in my youth, my mother sat with me at the foot of her bed and spoke fervently of the importance of living the Word of Wisdom. She looked right into my eyes, and I felt her words penetrate my heart: “Promise me, Ronnie, today, that you will always live the Word of Wisdom.” I solemnly made that promise to her, and I have held to it all these years.

When President Russell M. Nelson invited us sisters to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year (“Sisters’ Participation in the Gathering of Israel,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 69]), I decided to try. I finally finished reading the Book of Mormon (for the first time on my own!) at 11:55 p.m. on December 31. Then I asked Heavenly Father if it was true. I didn’t really feel anything different, but I shrugged it off.
As time went on, though, I started getting a bit worried about not receiving an answer. I thought that eventually, I’d feel a KABLAM, and I’d just know it was true—but I never got that mind-blowing feeling. I finally reasoned that I might as well read the Book of Mormon again and see what happens. So I went back to 1 Nephi and started over.
At that time, I was a captain on my robotics team. When I’d sit down to read my scriptures, I was often worrying about some aspect of our team. But as I read the Book of Mormon, I began to see how it applied to my problems, and I started to recognize a pattern of the Lord’s hand helping me. It was a huge faith-building experience. I really did know the Book of Mormon was true; I just hadn’t realized it before.
Now I’m reading the Book of Mormon again. As you read it, you can come to know it’s true as well.
Katy B., Rhode Island, USA

“It looks like Sarah will need to have an MRI of her back,” said Dr. Frank. He smiled at Sarah. “I’m going to schedule one for tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sarah’s back had been hurting for a while. When she woke up that morning, it hurt so much that it was hard for her to stand up straight, and she could barely walk. Sarah and her mom had come to see Dr. Frank to find out what was wrong.
“Another MRI?” asked Sarah, looking up at Mom. She’d had an MRI once before. She remembered how scared she had felt in the big tube that took pictures of the inside of her body.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Mom. “But the pictures will help Dr. Frank learn what’s wrong with your back. I know you can do it. And I’ll be right there with you.” Mom squeezed Sarah’s hand.
“But you can’t come inside with me,” said Sarah. Her head dropped, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mom could be with her in the room, but once Sarah went into the machine’s tunnel, she would be alone.
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “That’s true, but do you know who can be there to comfort you?”
Sarah remembered a name she had heard for the Holy Ghost: the Comforter. Maybe the Holy Ghost could help her not feel so afraid.
“The Holy Ghost?” Sarah asked.
Mom nodded. “That’s right. You can pray for the Holy Ghost to help you. Dad and I will pray for you too.”
That gave Sarah a great idea. “Can I ask Dad for a blessing?”
Mom smiled. “Of course. I know he’d love to do that.”
That night Dad placed his hands on Sarah’s head and gave her a priesthood blessing. When he blessed Sarah that she would be comforted by the Holy Ghost, a soft warmth filled her body. The feeling stayed with her all night.
The next day Sarah lay on the bench that would slide into the big tube in the MRI machine. She repeated in her head the words Dad had used during her blessing: The Holy Ghost will be there to comfort you. Sarah squeezed Mom’s hand tight. Then the nurse slid her into the tube.
The MRI machine made funny noises while it took pictures of her back. Sarah had to lie very still so the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. She panicked for a minute, but then she felt that warm feeling again. It felt like one of Mom’s hugs. Or a snuggly blanket. She knew that everything would be OK. Before she knew it, the MRI was over!
In Dr. Frank’s office, he showed Sarah and Mom the pictures of Sarah’s back. “You did a great job lying still,” Dr. Frank told Sarah as he knelt down beside her. “These pictures of your back show that you will need surgery to help you walk better.”
Sarah gulped.
“We’d like to do the surgery soon,” Dr. Frank said, looking up at Sarah’s mom. Then he turned back to Sarah. “It might take a few weeks afterward for you to feel like your old self again, but after seeing you today, I know you’ll do great.”
Sarah tried to think about all the things she’d do after Dr. Frank fixed her back. I’ll be able to run and swim and jump in a big pile of leaves. She missed doing all those things. But surgery was even scarier than an MRI! Then Sarah remembered her prayers and her special blessing. Heavenly Father had sent her the Comforter. He would help her again.
She looked at Dr. Frank. “Then can I jump in a big pile of leaves?” she asked.
He grinned. “Then you can jump in a big pile of leaves.”

The story is told that reporters were interviewing a man on his birthday. He had reached an advanced age. They asked him how he had done it.
He replied, “When my wife and I were married, we determined that if we ever got in a quarrel, one of us would leave the house. I attribute my longevity to the fact that I have breathed good fresh air throughout my married life.”

“There was a guy in my quorum who would only come to activities that were more sports-based. Usually when we focused on Scouts or spiritual things, he wouldn’t come. But I just focused on being his friend and we became best friends. Now every Wednesday it doesn’t matter what we’re going to do. My friend is always asking me if I’m going to go, and as long as I’m going, he’s going to be there.” —Chase W., Georgia, USA

“In my home I have a beautiful instrument called a radio. When everything is in good working order, we can dial it to a certain station and hear a speaker or the voice of a singer from all the way across the continent or sometimes on the other side of the world, bringing them into the front room as though they were standing right there. But after we have used it for a long time, there are some little delicate instruments or electrical devices on the inside called radio tubes that begin to deteriorate … If we don’t give [them the proper] attention— … well, the radio sits there looking quite like it did before, but something has happened on the inside. We don’t hear. We can’t get any singer; we can’t get any speaker.

“Now … you and I have within our souls something that might be said to be a counterpart of those tubes. We have what we might call a ‘Go-to-Sacrament Meeting’ tube, a ‘Keep-the-Word-of Wisdom’ tube, a ‘Pay-Your-Tithing’ tube, a ‘Have-Your-Family-Prayers’ tube, a ‘Read-the-Scriptures’ tube, and … a ‘keep-Yourselves-Morally-Clean’ tube. If one of these stops functioning because of disuse or is not active—if we fail to keep the commandments of God—it has the same effect upon our spiritual selves that same useless tube in the radio in my home has upon the reception we otherwise could receive from a distance. …

“… If we are keeping the commandments of God, we will get the answers from our Heavenly Father for our direction and for our guidance.” (Harold B. Lee, Radio Tubes,” New Era, Mar. 1973, pp. 10–11.)