Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Ben Simonsen
I grew up in the Church. My family and I went to church every Sunday, and when I turned 12, I started going to Mutual every week. Even though I was active in the Church, I still relied mostly on my family’s testimonies. I liked going to the activities, but I mostly went out of habit. Sometimes I wondered why I went at all.
One Mutual activity very clearly answered that question. We went to a local food bank and started by sorting through giant bins of food that had been donated. After a little while we divided up into groups to deliver food to different families in need.
We all chatted as we drove from one place to another. The families had big smiles on their faces when we gave them the food. At one point we all got out of the car to deliver the food together. The air was crisp as we walked toward the building. We crowded into a small staircase of a rundown apartment building.
We knocked on the door and waited for a bit, shivering, until the door opened just a crack. I could see a woman’s eyes peeking out. Someone in our group said a few words but stopped when the woman almost closed the door. We stepped forward with a box of food. She told us to wait and closed the door. The other girls and I stared at each other, wondering what was happening.
We waited for what seemed like forever. Finally, a man came to the door, the little woman right behind him with a baby wrapped in a big blanket in her arms. Tears of gratitude were in her eyes as we gave the food to her husband. Warmth started in my heart and filled my entire body, and I started to cry. I looked at the little family, and I didn’t know what was happening. I’d never felt anything like it.
Walking away from that humble apartment, my heart still felt so full. The snow on the ground looked more beautiful than before. I was more grateful for my family. I felt like I was going to burst with love.
When we got back in the car, I was quiet, thinking about how I didn’t even know those people, but I was so happy and full of love. I sat there bewildered until it hit me like a stampede—it was the Spirit giving me that warmth and love. The words of King Benjamin came to my mind: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
My mouth nearly dropped open with the realization of how much God loves His children. He had just allowed me to feel a little bit of that love. He is aware of His children’s needs. He has a plan for us. It is a plan that I’d learned about since I was a little girl. It means that He loves me! In that moment the Spirit burned within me. I knew that I was supposed to be at Mutual that night so that I could learn that lesson of God’s love. And I didn’t have to rely on anyone else for that testimony.

1. One winter night Alaura awoke from a bad dream.
2. She looked out the window that was next to her bed. Something was moving back and forth, scratching the window. She was scared and began to cry.
3. Her dad heard her crying. He came and knelt beside her bed. “I had a bad dream, and there’s something scary scratching my window,” Alaura said.
4. “What you are hearing is only tree branches swaying in the wind,” Dad said. “There is nothing scary.” Alaura was still afraid and couldn’t stop crying.
5. “Heavenly Father is watching over you. Why don’t you say a prayer asking Him for help?” Dad said.
6. Alaura knelt beside her bed and prayed to Heavenly Father. She told Him how frightened she was. Then she asked Him to help her not be afraid anymore.
7. She felt a very calm feeling. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, Heavenly Father had made her feel safe. She knew He was watching over her. Alaura got back in bed. Dad tucked her in, and she went to sleep.

Many years later at the bedside of my mother I heard her say good-bye to her fifth son as he left for his mission. “Remember, George, no matter what happens at home, I want you to stay and finish your mission.” A few weeks later a telegram from the First Presidency to President LeGrand Richards of the Southern States Mission told of her passing. A year later a second telegram was sent telling of the passing of our father. But true to the wish of our mother and the missionary spirit of the home, George stayed and finished his mission. In the brief will that was left, the first provision for the modest assets was for missions for the two younger sons.

With this lesson in mind, I began to look back on my life and see how often I had been influenced by men and women who at the time held no great title or position. One of those Shiblon-like souls was my seminary teacher during my junior year in high school. This good man taught seminary for only two or three years, but he opened my heart in a way that helped me gain a testimony. He may not have been the most popular teacher at the school, but he was always prepared and his influence on me was powerful and lasting. One of the few times I saw this man in the 40 years since he taught me was when he came to see me at my father’s funeral. Truly, that was an act not motivated by title or power.

The island, Frøya (say Freh-ya), is sparsely inhabited, home of fishing villages, salmon farms, and marine biology research stations. It is also the birthplace of an Apostle. Here, in 1872, John Andreas Widtsoe was born. Later, his widowed mother moved with her children to Trondheim and joined the Church. When John was 11, the family moved to Utah, where he became a great educator and served for 31 years as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.
“The youth know a little bit about Elder Widtsoe,” says Branch President Arne Dahlø, who organized the trip. “Mostly they know he was somebody important, that he was born on Frøya and lived in Trondheim. But he’s part of our heritage as Norwegian Latter-day Saints. We live where he lived. We ought to know what he did.”
By the time the ferry docks, the light is fading. The youth and their leaders pile quickly into cars. They drive over rough, bumpy roads to the far end of the island, where President Dahlø, a university professor who often does research here, has arranged for two buildings in which the group can stay.
On the rocky shore of an inlet, a young man yells, “Let’s get it started.” Soon a small flame grows bigger, the wood pops as it burns, and the sparks become dancers leaping through the night. The warmth of the flame takes the edge off the cool, salty air. It’s time for a “sausage roast,” the cooking of hotdogs over a campfire.
And like anybody around a campfire, the young people here sing, tell stories, and talk.
“We know a lot about Trondheim, the city where we live,” says Kjetil Bakkland, 13. “It used to be the capital of Norway. it has neat old buildings down by the river; it has a university and a cathedral. But Frøya, what’s it got? Mostly rocks, I think.”
The others laugh, but President Dahlø talks seriously for a minute. “We live in a wonderful city, it’s true,” he says. “But Frøya is a wonderful place, too.” And he talks about life in the villages, about flowers that grow among the rocks, about the incessant, pounding crash of the sea. “Elder Widtsoe knew about that,” he says. “He said you could hear the ocean in every room of his house, that it beat on his memory all through his life” (see In a Sunlit Land, Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1952, p. 1).
Talk of the ocean and of storms invites comparisons with life and its storms. “I’ve been a member one year and one week today,” says Sonja Sivertsvik, 19. “I like it, but it’s hard to be a Mormon in Trondheim, because everyone says, ‘Oh, Mormons! You’re the ones with lots of wives!’ Or you get Christians who try to tell you you’re not Christian. There are lots of misconceptions about the Church, so to be a member here is not always popular.”
“But it’s not always what’s easy that’s best,” says Kristin Davik, the branch Young Women president. “You have to follow the deepest part of you, your conscience. You may meet hard times, but you have to be yourself.”
“All your friends won’t have the same standards you do,” says Lars-Petter M. Bedin, 15. “They’ll have other ideas about alcohol, smoking, chastity. But it’s really not a problem unless you make it a problem. I’m the only member in my family, but I’m happy to be in the Church. It’s one of the greatest things in my life.”
What they’re really talking about is growing, growing even when it’s difficult. The youth may not know it, but they’re talking about things Elder Widtsoe would understand. One of his educational specialties dealt with agriculture. He was an international authority on how to help things grow in a harsh climate.
The next morning dawns wet and gray, as it often does on Frøya. No matter. There’s much to do—first, a meeting with the mayor of one of the towns, then a visit to a monument erected in Elder Widtsoe’s honor, then a trip to the house where he was born and to a church built by his father.
It’s a morning of driving on unmarked roads, of hiking slippery hills, and of pleasant surprises—like finding the mayor already knows quite a bit about John A. Widtsoe, and that the local ship builder would love to have the youth visit his shop.
But mostly it’s a continuation of the journey of self-discovery. As President Dahlø tells some of the youth on top of the hill where the monument to Elder Widtsoe stands, this is like being in a time machine.
“You’re looking back,” he says, “and seeing the origins of a man who went on to do great things for the Church. He didn’t come from someplace famous. His father died when he was young. His mother learned about the Church when a member put some pamphlets inside shoes she was having repaired. But he loved God and he wanted to serve, and Heavenly Father provided a way.
“You can also look forward, and see the future of the Church in Norway,” President Dahlø continues. “And you all have a great part to play in that. It doesn’t matter where you come from or how hard you think things may be. What matters is whether or not you love the Lord, whether or not you want to serve. If you have the desire, God will provide the way.”
It is later in the afternoon now. The youth of the Trondheim First Branch are waiting, looking out to sea, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ferry. Soon it will appear on the line where the gray water and the gray sky meet. The ferry is coming to take them home. But even as they wait, even as they throw rocks in the water and look for sea urchins down by the pier, these young people seem a little bit different than they did before their journey to the island.
The lesson of this harsh land is that good things can grow here. That’s a lesson they’ll remember when they’re back in Trondheim, the next time the waves and winds of life try to beat them down. Here on Frøya, where they have come to look at the past, they have also glimpsed the future. It’s a future that, thanks to the gospel, can be bright indeed.

Let me just give you a small example of how that shield would work. One day I was made an attractive offer by a group of marines, buddies of mine, as we were about to go on liberty. It wasn’t until after we were on our way that I discovered this was not the best of company to be in. It was then that I found out the reason they had invited me. It was because they knew of my standards. They knew that I would be sober when it was time to return to the base, and I could guide them back.
We found ourselves in Los Angeles on a streetcar headed toward a dance hall. They had already started to drink a little, and I was ready to part their company. It was here that that protective shield took over and I knew of the prayers of my parents for my welfare. The streetcar stopped and allowed new passengers to come aboard. The new passengers separated me from my buddies and pushed me to the back of the car. It was there that I discovered a nice group of young people standing and seated. Immediately upon finding me in their company, one spoke up and said, “Hi, Marine! We’re Mormons. What do you know about our Church?”
I answered, “Plenty,” and got off the streetcar with them and went to a ward social.
You see, the shield of faith was there. It was protecting me from the fiery darts of the wicked in order that in a proper time in my life I would be worthy to take an angel into the temple of the Lord and there at its altar be sealed together for time and all eternity.

Years ago our family had a little black dog, a toy poodle named Lady. Lady was smart, energetic, and great at fetching a ball. She was willing to retrieve a ball anytime, anyplace, and for as long as anyone was willing to throw one.
One day, after repeatedly throwing a ball for her to fetch, I decided to throw two balls at the same time, one blue and one yellow. Lady chased after the blue ball, picked it up, began running back to me, and then saw the yellow ball. She dropped the blue ball, dashed to the yellow ball, picked it up, and started back to me. Then she seemed to think of the blue ball, dropped the yellow ball, turned around, ran back to the blue ball, picked it up, and began returning. As she was passing the yellow ball, she stopped, dropped the blue ball, picked up the yellow ball, and resumed running back. Then she dropped the yellow ball, turned around, scampered back to the blue ball, picked it up, and began running to me. As Lady passed the yellow ball again, she came to a screeching halt. She dropped the blue ball, looked back and forth from the blue ball to the yellow ball. Then she gave up, walked to her basket, and lay down. For Lady, two balls were too many. She became confused, overwhelmed, and discouraged.

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

Oliver Cowdery came to stay at Joseph Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith’s home while he taught school near their farm.
Oliver heard about their son Joseph and the gold plates. He wanted to know more.
Oliver was fascinated to learn how God gave Joseph the power to translate the gold plates.
I want to help with the translation.
Once school is over, I will go and help Joseph.
You should pray and ask the Lord if that is right for you.
That night Oliver prayed and asked the Lord what he should do.
Oliver felt peace when he prayed about helping Joseph translate.
Soon Oliver set out to meet Joseph Smith. He travelled with Joseph’s brother Samuel.
Joseph, I’m here to help. I can be your scribe.
Thank you. I am grateful for your help.
Joseph and Oliver start translating. This experience thrilled Oliver, but he still had questions.
One day, Joseph received a revelation for Oliver reminding him of the answer to his prayer.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”1
I prayed to know if I should come and help you, and I felt peace. No one could have known about this except God.
Oliver knew for sure that the work was true. He and Joseph finished the translation that became the Book of Mormon.

One night our ward held an activity that we had spent hours preparing for. After the activity a young investigator said goodbye to me but a few minutes later returned and asked, “Bishop, when do I need to come back?” I told him Sunday, and the boy quickly said, “No, isn’t there another activity?” He had had such a good time with the youth of our ward that he wanted to come back.
I also conversed with a visiting couple who had attended the activity and asked them what they had thought. The husband said, “Since we got here, we have felt peace and tranquility,” which his wife affirmed with a nod of her head. I was surprised by this because when they first arrived, there had been a lot of people talking and making a racket. But he continued and looked at me and asked, “That’s the Holy Ghost, right?” Surprised, I could only say yes.
There had been a lot to do to get ready for this activity, so that night when everything ended, the only thing I had wanted to do was go home and go to bed. Because of how tired I was, I had not been able to think over my conversations with the investigators. When I got home, I said my prayers and got into bed, but I couldn’t sleep; in my mind I pictured the Lord smiling. It was a smile of acceptance. At that moment I began to remember the wonderful things that had happened at the activity.
I understood that the diligence and love of the ward members had made it possible for the hearts of those three investigators to be touched. I understood that the smile of acceptance was for what we were doing. I couldn’t avoid crying, and I felt so grateful for the gift that the Lord gave us. He had given us a smile of acceptance. I testify that the Lord’s words are true; that when we bring but one soul to Him, great will be our joy in the kingdom of the Father (see D&C 18:15).

Many years ago in Cuzco, high in the Andes Mountains of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room with a door that opened onto the street. It was night and it was very cold.

While Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He was naked except for a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.

On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This ragged street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.

Later the boy returned. He crept along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. He was near the point where the woman would see him again. I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.

Then, as something symbolic, I set him in Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer, much to my sorrow, he darted out into the night.

When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about him. He was deeply moved and spoke of it in a conference talk. He told others of it and said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”

I have never forgotten that little street orphan. Many times in South America I have looked for him in the faces of the people. When he comes back into my mind, others come with him.

Over the years, I have wondered what President Kimball meant when he reminded me of that street orphan in Cuzco and repeated, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.” One day he added, “You held a nation on your lap.”

Now in my 78th year, I understand what President Kimball was seeing; I know what he meant. That boy in Cuzco and the one in Japan and the other children about the world profoundly influence what I think and how I feel and what I pray for most earnestly. I constantly think of little children and their parents who struggle to raise them in ever more perilous times.

Margaret was nervous because she did not know anyone at her new school.
Some girls teased her. One girl even pulled the ribbons in Margaret’s hair. Margaret didn’t think she would be happy at her new school.
After school Margaret called her grandmother and told her about the mean girls.
Margaret, you need to pray and ask Heavenly Father what to do. He will help you.
That night Margaret prayed to Heavenly Father. She told Him about her problem. Then she had an idea.
The next day at school the girls pulled her ribbons.
Can’t we be friends?
And the next day the girls started to tease her.
Can’t we be friends?
One week later Margaret was happy to tell her grandmother what had happened.
Heavenly Father gave me the idea to be nice to the girls. They don’t tease me anymore, and now they are my friends.

Illustration by Merrilee Liddiard
I awoke early one morning to get ready for work. While I usually love my job as a teacher, I was out of sorts and just wanted to crawl back under the covers and pretend it was bedtime again.
When I arrived at the high school, I tried to get my mind ready for work. I knew I needed to teach a math class soon, but my heart and head both felt dull and depressed. My emotions were all negative.
I decided to visit the restroom before class. Every once in a while, someone will post fliers in the restrooms with information for students and staff. Out of the corner of my eye, a flier caught my attention. It had a nice quote on it that read, “If you want to give a light to others, you have to glow yourself.”1 I was surprised to see that this quote came from President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018).
I didn’t expect to see a quote from a prophet of God on the walls of the school. I live in a small town in Pennsylvania, USA, and I’m sure I’m one of a few, or possibly the only, member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the school. I knew I was one of a few who would understand the importance of the words of President Monson—a man I had sustained for many years as the prophet. I felt that this message was meant for me. It softened my heart and lifted my mood. Gratitude for my testimony filled my heart, and Heavenly Father’s love surrounded me.
I wanted to pull the flier off the wall and keep it in my pocket all day to uplift me, but I had a quick realization. President Monson wasn’t just the prophet for me and other members of the Church—he was the prophet for the world. His words, like the words of President Russell M. Nelson today, are for everyone. A prophet’s words help and uplift all who will hear them. I took a picture of the quote with my phone and left the flier up for anyone else who might need it.
I’m grateful Heavenly Father put this message in my path. I want to give light to others. Through obedience and a closeness with our Savior, I can glow even on days when darkness would have me lose my way.

My name is Eric, and I love to play basketball. According to Eddy, our team’s student manager, I’m the fifth grader most likely to make a shot. Mom says I play so well because I play so often. “Practice makes perfect,” she says. Today I discovered that I could use some practice at something besides basketball. …
At lunch, my friend Kurt and I were walking toward our usual table, when I saw Trevor sitting alone, picking green pepper bits off his pizza. All of a sudden, I had a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t entirely because of green peppers.
Trevor is a boy who comes to our ward sometimes. Yesterday Sister McQueiry, my Primary teacher, asked me to stay after class. She told me that the ward had set a goal to reach out to less-active members and that she needed my help. She knew that Trevor went to my school, and she asked me to invite him to Primary. I told her I would. When I saw Trevor, I knew I should talk to him right away, but I didn’t want to.
I mean, what would he think if I walked over there and just started talking? What would everyone else think? If he were an OK guy, why wasn’t anybody else sitting by him? Besides, this was only Monday, and I had all week to ask him to Primary. So I sat with Kurt at our usual table.
I must’ve felt a little guilty, though, because I ate my pizza, salad, corn, and chocolate cake a lot more slowly than usual. After about fifteen minutes, everyone else was out on the playground, but I was still eating my slice of pizza. The lunchroom was practically empty—except for Trevor and me.
I finally went over and sat by him. He was really quiet at first, but when I asked him about Boston, where his family had moved from, he started talking. I was so busy listening to him that I missed the entire lunch recess, and I barely remembered to ask him to church the next Sunday. I felt relieved to have my “Trevor assignment” over with.
I rushed home and played about ten games of one-on-one with Kurt before dinner. At family home evening, my sister, Kim, gave the lesson. It was all about the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31–46 [Matt. 25:31–46]. It compares the sheep to righteous people and the goats to wicked people. In verses 33–38 and 40, it says: “And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? …
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, … Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
As I listened to the parable, I thought about Trevor eating lunch all alone. Then I thought about Jesus. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Was I really ignoring Jesus when I ignored Trevor?
Kim ended her lesson, and Dad asked if anybody had any questions. I raised my hand.
“Eric?” asked Dad, a little surprised.
“I just wanted to know,” I started, not sure how to ask my question, “if you do something good, but it takes you a while to do it and you really didn’t want to do it, but you did it anyway, would you be a sheep or a goat?”
Dad gave me a look of real concern. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked. And so I told him about Trevor.
“It sounds to me as if you knew the right thing to do and you did it.” I felt relieved to hear Dad’s answer. “But,” he added, “your attitude could use a little work.”
“You’re a sheep,” Kim decided. “Pretty much, anyway.”
“Today you were kind because you knew it was right,” Mom added. “In time, I hope you will help others because you love them as Jesus does. But it will take time and practice.”
I wonder if you can be willing to practice love and service like you’re willing to practice basketball. I wonder if you can practice them while you practice basketball. I’ve decided to have lunch with Trevor tomorrow. He seems interesting. Besides, Trevor is even taller than I am. I wonder if he can hit the outside jumper.

I remember the first time Jenni walked into my seminary class and said hi to me, her new teacher. She had a very difficult time speaking, her words were slurred and hard to understand, and she limped and hobbled as she tried to make her legs carry her body toward her desk. During Jenni’s first week of “main-streaming” in my class, she seemed content to be mostly ignored by her classmates, who appeared to be struggling to figure out how to interact with her.
Jenni would try to speak, but very few students could understand her. She had a difficult time keeping her nose wiped, and sometimes she would drool and soil her shirt. The students in my classroom were unaccustomed to the needs and actions of someone like Jenni, so most of them distanced themselves from her both physically and socially and, as a result, proceeded to politely ignore her.
However, they weren’t aware that inside Jenni’s deformed body was a keen mind, a heart of gold, and an indomitable spirit crying out to be heard, to be understood, to be accepted, and to be loved. She wouldn’t be ignored, politely or otherwise.
I’ll never forget the day when Jenni asked me if she could say something to the class. I wondered what she wanted to say to everyone, but I never expected her to deliver the message she did.
“I neeeeed a frrriennnd,” she stuttered. “I neeeeeeeed sommeonne toooo ssiitt bbyy mmee attt lllunnch.”
As she finished her last word, a hush settled over the class. Jenni stood erect and, rather than doing the socially acceptable thing and taking her seat, waited for a volunteer. Finally, from the back of the classroom, Treasure raised her hand and said, “I’ll be your friend, Jenni.” Jenni responded by asking, “And sit by me at lunch?”
Treasure responded, “And sit by you at lunch.”
“Every day?” asked Jenni.
“Every day,” answered Treasure.
This conversation relieved the class and also gave Treasure’s friend Wendy the confidence to raise her hand and tell Jenni that she would also be her friend and sit by her at lunch every day. The “miracle of Jenni” had begun!
The next day Treasure and Wendy sat by Jenni at lunch and then helped her through the school parking lot to the seminary building. I noticed as the days turned into weeks that Treasure and Wendy began to translate Jenni’s words when we couldn’t understand her.
As the students began to see what a beautiful, intelligent person Jenni was, they began to invite her to activities, to pick her up, to help her with her difficulties. On one occasion, Jenni excitedly told me she had a date with a young man named Kurt. “He’s so cute!” she told me. This led to other dates, more recognition, and more fun.
Often during class when someone would be sharing their feelings and begin to weep, Jenni would, unannounced, get up and walk over to this person and put her arm around them and hold them. This would touch the class, and soon we would all be weeping. Jenni would often bear her testimony to the class. She would express her gratitude for her many blessings, especially her family, and then share her firm faith in Jesus Christ.
The months turned into years, and soon it was time for Jenni to graduate from seminary. I remember the love I felt for her as she awkwardly walked up to receive her diploma, and I realized all over again how she had blessed my life. As the ceremony and the meeting ended, I encountered Jenni’s mother at the back of the chapel. Her eyes watered as she said something like this: “You’ll never know what you’ve done for my little girl.”
I replied, “Oh, not me. Look around,” as I pointed to Jenni’s classmates. “They’re the ones.”
Jenni’s classmates helped her realize what a wonderful person she is. They’re the ones who included her in their circle of friends and helped her feel like she belonged. They’re the ones who saw through her disability to the special needs of her heart—a young woman wanting to be accepted and understood. They’re the ones who came to see into the beauty of her soul, the ones who helped perform a modern-day miracle—the miracle of Jenni.

“Let me tell you about two of your fellow elders I was with last week who walked together up by Lukachukai.
“I learned about them when I attended a stake conference. Among the speakers that morning was a handsome Navajo boy. He was frightened by this first experience at public speaking, but he was sustained by faith and by a deep, sincere testimony.
Only a few short months before, the Church was unknown to him.
“Two of our young elders drove their truck as far up a muddy, rutted road as they could go and then ‘two walked together’ the remaining eight miles through mud and snow to teach a man and his grandson. Because of their dedication and determination, this young man, now a baptized member filled with the spirit of love and testimony, was speaking to the congregation. He, too, will soon be on a mission, walking with a companion down some distant country road or city street. He will walk his way into the homes and hearts of those who are seeking the Lord. Oh, the high adventure of missionary work!”

“Run, Jimmy, run!” Margi called as the boy started through the meadow after the bright yellow ball. Seven-year-old Jimmy turned his head to admire his big sister.
“No, Jimm …” But it was too late. Jimmy’s awkward feet hit each other and he tumbled to the ground. Margi ran to see the hurt.
“Jimmy fall,” he said proudly.
“Yes, Jimmy did.” Margi sat down in the grass beside her brother and ran her fingers through his blond hair as if he were a puppy. “Jimmy’s a big boy. He didn’t cry.”
His unique, innocent smile grew bigger, revealing two missing teeth, and his blue eyes twinkled with pride. “Jimmy big boy,” he said.
Margi didn’t answer. She whisked again at his blonde hair and pulled him onto her lap. Jimmy cuddled contentedly into her arms, and they sat silently breathing in the crisp autumn air seasoned with the smell of freshly cut hay. Margi loved the meadow with its clean smells and the feel of grass on her ankles and the rainbow of meadow flowers.
A lonely autumn leaf floated across the grass, landing right in Jimmy’s lap. He grabbed at it, but Margi pushed his hands away.
“Careful, it will tear. It’s a leaf. Pretty leaf.”
She twirled the leaf in her fingers as Jimmy stared. “Pretty leaf,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Margi said, “pretty leaf. Here.” She placed the leaf carefully between his thumb and index finger and moved his fingers back and forth.
“See, you can twirl the leaf, too. Now do it alone.”
Jimmy’s thumb skidded off his finger, and the leaf floated to the ground. Sadly he turned and searched Margi’s face for a reaction.
Margi smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “It’s all right.”
Quickly the smile spread back over Jimmy’s face. “Now go get the ball!” She laughed as she stood Jimmy up on his feet.
Awkwardly he stumbled toward the ball. Margi watched, wishing so hard that she could help, but she couldn’t. No one could. He had to walk alone no matter how clumsy he was or how often he fell. She lay down in the grass and stared at the hazy blue sky.
“Maybe Sue is right,” she thought. “Maybe I am stupid to waste so much time trying to help Jimmy.” Her face flushed as she thought of Friday when she took Jimmy to the football game at school. She’d never thought of the possibility, but when she went to sit with her friends, they asked her not to.
“It’s not that we don’t like you, but, well, he does such stupid things,” Sue had said. “I know he can’t help it, but, well, you know; it’s embarrassing.”
Margi could feel the awful sting in her stomach all over again.
“But Sue didn’t mean to be cruel; she just didn’t understand,” Margi thought as she remembered the excited look on Jimmy’s face when she told him they were going to a football game.
“That’s it,” she thought. “Sue just doesn’t understand. She’s never been around Jimmy to see how he loves life and how in his own way he’s so special. It doesn’t matter that he’s not as capable as other kids his age. People understand.” Then she remembered Sue’s words again and once more the hollow dejected sting settled deep in her stomach. “Or do they? Is it really worth it? I’ve got my own life. Jimmy has teachers and friends at the school and Mom and Dad. There are lots of people to help him, but what about me? Am I really helping him anyway? What can I do that his specially trained teachers can’t? Maybe I am just wasting my own life. Maybe Sue understands more than I do.”
Suddenly Jimmy was next to her. He held the ball high then let it fall on her stomach. Then he threw his head back and laughed. But the action made him lose his balance, and he tumbled onto her.
“Oh, Jimmy!” Margi started to scold then swallowed the words as she looked into his face. Love, that’s all that was there. Love wanting to be loved back. Love longing to love. So instead she smiled.
“Come on,” she said, “I’ll roll the ball to you.”
But Jimmy didn’t hear. A bright yellow butterfly had caught his eye. His chubby little hand reached out to touch it. Quickly the butterfly was up and away.
Margi took Jimmy’s hand. “Shh,” she said, putting her other hand to her lips. Quietly they lay on their stomachs and waited as the butterfly slowly found its way back to the dandelion in front of them.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Margi said.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Jimmy repeated slowly. Margi watched Jimmy stare. He seemed to see more than she did. His innocence—maybe that is what it was—made him seem part of their surroundings.
She looked again at the butterfly. “What more can he see? It is just a butterfly, a plain yellow butterfly.” She looked back at Jimmy and she knew he did see more. “Maybe someday I’ll see it, too. Jimmy is teaching me!” She laughed out loud at the thought, and the startled butterfly escaped into the sky.
“Butterfly gone.” Jimmy sighed sadly, and Margi was sorry she’d laughed.
“Look at the yellow flowers,” she said, wanting somehow to make it up to him.
“Pretty flowers,” Margi said, picking the dandelion and holding it close to her nose. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower?”
Margi looked at Jimmy to see if it really were a question. “Yes, yellow. Yellow flower, green grass, yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower,” Jimmy repeated proudly.
Margi sat up and grabbed the beach ball. “Yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow ball.” She held the two side by side.
“Yellow ball,” Jimmy repeated. “Yellow grass.”
“No, Jimmy, green grass, yellow ball.” Margi sighed as she remembered all the times they’d been through similar scenes, and still Jimmy didn’t learn. She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “That’s all right, tiger. What does it matter if you don’t know the colors. You love it, don’t you? And maybe that’s what more you see in it, love.”
Jimmy looked at her face searching to understand.
Margi laughed. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.” He smiled.
Suddenly the butterfly was back. “Look!” Margi pointed. “Pretty butterfly.”
Suddenly Jimmy’s eyes grew wide and he stared excitedly. “Pretty yellow butterfly.”
Margi looked hopefully into Jimmy’s face. Did he know?
“Yes, Jimmy, yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow butterfly.”
“Yellow, pretty yellow.” Jimmy pointed.
“Yes, yellow ball.”
“Yellow ball,” he repeated.
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow grass?” she tested, holding her breath.
Jimmy stared at the grass she pointed to. Seconds passed as his face drew into a worried grimace. “No, Margi, yellow flower.” Margi grabbed Jimmy and hugged him to her, half crying, half laughing.
“Yes, Jimmy, yes.” she cried. And her heart cried too. No words; just love. Jimmy knew and she knew. It was her life and she was living it, really living it. And she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Sue.

Your assignment is to follow missionaries on a typical day to find out what it is missionaries do. So you check the address once more and find you’re on the right street. You pass a pile of tree branches and a discarded computer printer. Next to that is a stone pedestal, with a bowling ball sitting majestically on top. Interesting, you think.
As you continue walking, you see what must be the elders’ apartment. It’s not easy to find as it is tucked behind a wall and beneath several large citrus trees.
When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how clean the apartment is. However, luxury isn’t the first word that leaps to mind. The living room is a little light on furniture, and since Elder Brown and Elder Paventy have already claimed the small couch, Elder Burton and Elder Smith get the floor. The hard floor.
It’s seven in the morning, and the four missionaries in the California Anaheim Mission are reading from a study guide and doing some role-playing while preparing for a day of proselyting.
Meanwhile, 40 miles to the north, in the California San Bernardino Mission, Elder Graham is sitting at his desk studying, while his companion, Elder Majeran, is at the kitchen table reading. Their apartment used to be a garage but has been converted to an apartment. At least any oil spills from the structure’s previous tenant are now covered by carpeting.
Ah, the life of a missionary.
Even though it’s safe to say both apartments won’t be included in a home and garden magazine, it really doesn’t matter. The missionaries are trying to keep costs down, and they mainly need a place to sleep and study anyway. For the rest of the day, they’re doing what they were called to do.
Two days, two missions, two companionships. This is what happened.
Elder Tim Paventy and Elder Brian Burton have been missionaries for 17 months. Their missions are winding down, but they’re not. After going over their schedule, they’re out the door by 9:30.
Like many of the missionaries in this mission, they drive cars. So Elder Burton loads up the trunk with copies of the Book of Mormon and Lamb of God videos. Elder Paventy hops in the passenger side, and off they go. The first visit is to a less-active member and his nonmember wife.
9:42 A.M.
As the two missionaries walk through an apartment complex, they see a repairman. His name is Gene, and he has a sewed-on badge on his shirt to prove it. Elder Paventy stops him and asks him if they can talk for a minute. Gene waves them off, saying he’s too busy.
“We tried,” Elder Paventy says.
A few minutes later the missionaries are visiting the part-member family from Colombia. The husband was baptized there before moving to the United States. He explains his Sunday job has kept him from becoming active again, and he’s pleased his wife has agreed to talk to the elders. She is very interested in what they have to say and has lots of questions. Elder Burton, who speaks Spanish, explains things and reads scriptures with her. “When I read the Book of Mormon, I feel the same way I do when I read the Bible,” she says. Elder Burton smiles.
It’s a very productive meeting, and another appointment is scheduled.
“She is really good,” Elder Burton says as he walks toward the car. He understands as a missionary you live for moments like that.
11:05 A.M.
The elders are both enthusiastic because they know their next appointment is with an investigator who is committed to baptism. As they walk to their meeting, a woman approaches the missionaries. She tells them she attended church a few times when she lived in Arizona and would like to know where the nearest chapel is. They write down her address and phone number and tell her they’ll make sure the missionaries assigned to her area stop by for a visit.
As the elders approach the home of their scheduled appointment, Elder Burton says, “I think we should sing here. It will be a good time to do it, and I know she’ll feel the Spirit.”
On a recent tour of this mission, Elder Richard H. Winkel of the Seventy challenged the missionaries to sometimes sing to their investigators. “Elder Winkel promised us our investigators will feel the Spirit. We don’t sound great when we sing, but the Lord blesses the people listening and allows the Spirit to come through. We really like doing it, and it has caught on in our mission,” Elder Burton says.
Elders Burton and Paventy are greeted warmly by the investigator, a middle-aged woman whose daughter joined the Church in Hawaii. The mother saw how her daughter changed and wanted to know why. The daughter called the mission home and requested the missionaries visit her mother. A few weeks earlier they did, and here they are for another discussion.
Before they leave, the missionaries do ask if they can finish with a song. They sing “Love Is Spoken Here.” No, they’re not the world’s best singers. But they’re right. You can feel the Spirit.
12:18 P.M.
The elders need to back the car out of a driveway, so Elder Paventy jumps out and directs Elder Burton. “Mission rule,” Elder Paventy explains. “Whenever we’re backing out, one of us has to check for traffic.” Safely on the road, they’re now on their way to the Anaheim Shores condominiums for some tracting. “Let’s go knocking,” Elder Burton says enthusiastically.
Nobody lets them in, but it’s not for lack of trying. “Sometimes that’s just how it is,” Elder Paventy says.
1:40 P.M.
After a quick lunch, the missionaries stop at a nearby park to look at their schedule. As they check their planners, they decide how to spend the rest of the afternoon. “We have the two member visits to do, and we could tract a little more while we’re out,” Elder Burton says. They’re in agreement, and that becomes the plan.
2:32 P.M.
The member visits are short, and more tracting follows. In one apartment complex, the missionaries stop a woman and her daughter and talk to them. The woman explains that she’s familiar with the missionaries and the Church, but tells them she isn’t interested. Elder Paventy tries one more time for an appointment, but she politely refuses.
“Anything you do as a missionary is stepping out of your comfort zone,” Elder Paventy says. “In high school you were looking for your comfort zone. But I’ve found that on my mission I’m looking to get out of my comfort zone. I’m always searching for ways to do something more.” Maybe at one time it would have seemed odd to go up to complete strangers and talk to them about the Church. But not now. “The Lord has really blessed me that way,” he says.
4:13 P.M.
Elder Paventy and Elder Burton are at it again. This time it’s with a man in his 20s. As they walk through a neighborhood they stop to talk to him. They engage him in a conversation for several minutes, but he doesn’t give them his address or phone number.
4:29 P.M.
It’s getting close to dinner. That night they have two more appointments scheduled. But it’s time for you to part ways with these missionaries. You’re off to the California San Bernardino Mission, and there is Los Angeles rush-hour traffic to battle.
9:28 A.M.
Elder Darren Majeran and Elder Josh Graham say a prayer, grab their bike helmets, and head out the door. No car for them. They need to get to Bonnie Brae Street for an appointment with an investigator, but they have a little time before that so they go on two callbacks to people they’d met last week. They pedal down the driveway and onto the street.
9:55 A.M.
There is no answer at either home, so back on the bikes they go. Their investigator on Bonnie Brae likes what he has heard about the Church, but he is having a problem understanding the concept of the priesthood and authority. They’re prepared to try to answer his questions.
10:07 A.M.
The investigator seems happy to see the missionaries. He has read two of the pamphlets the elders left with him on their last visit, and he’s prepared to discuss them. He seems very earnest in his desire to learn. He’s just not sure he can accept what they are teaching.
11:20 A.M.
“I thought it went okay,” Elder Majeran says after the meeting. “It’s just going to take some time.”
Next stop: the corner of Harvard Street and Ramona Avenue. The missionaries lock their bikes to a stop sign and begin going door to door. Elder Majeran and Elder Graham go to 19 houses, but very few people are home, and nobody invites them in.
12:15 P.M.
The missionaries break for lunch and talk about what just happened and what’s ahead. Elder Graham has been a missionary for about seven months, and he’s settled into a daily routine. “I guess the work has been the way I expected it to be. I haven’t done quite as much teaching as I thought we would,” he says. “But when you do, and you see people make changes in their lives and know you’ve been a part of that, it’s great.”
He continues: “If we tracted for a whole day and did nothing else, we’d probably get in maybe two or three doors.”
“We do a lot of talking through screens,” Elder Majeran adds. “But we usually have pretty good success once we get in.”
Today won’t be one of those days, however.
1:22 P.M.
It’s more of the same in the afternoon, although there is something to look forward to tonight. A family committed to receive baptism is scheduled for a sixth discussion, and another family in the ward has invited the missionaries to dinner.
7:03 P.M.
With dinner concluded (“The chicken was really good. Sister Wilson is a great cook,” Elder Graham says), the missionaries end up teaching a discussion to a person referred to them by a member. That is followed by the discussion to the family scheduled to be baptized.
9:35 P.M.
Another day is complete. Elder Majeran is tired but happy. “Not bad. We got a lot done today,” he says. As they change from their proselyting clothes and get ready for bed, they make phone calls to the zone leaders and the ward mission leader.
Your job is done too. You realized after two days that missionary work is still challenging. It takes a lot of hard work and effort, and there are highs and lows. But both companionships remained optimistic and excited about missionary work. All four told you that being missionaries is what they need to be doing.
You shake hands and say good-bye. Your work is done. But theirs isn’t.
After all, tomorrow awaits.

The raspberries were red, ripe, and juicy. Whitney had never seen quite so many. Mom had bought several large containers when they were on sale, and now she wanted Whitney to help her make jam. Whitney loved jam on toast in the mornings or on hot rolls when they came out of the oven. Her mouth watered at the thought of the treat.
Mom lifted a sack of sugar out of the storage bucket. “Start putting the raspberries in the strainer,” she instructed. “Then run them under the water in the sink until they’re clean. Be sure to pick out any bits of leaves you find.”
Whitney filled the strainer, cleaned the berries, and dumped them into a big bowl. She refilled the strainer and went through the process again and again. It hardly felt like work to her.
After Mom finished measuring the sugar, she took lots of clean jars out of the dishwasher and stacked them on the countertop. Once the dishwasher was empty, she pulled several more jars out of a cardboard box and placed them in the dishwasher.
“Why are you doing that?” Whitney asked. “They don’t look dirty to me.”
“Some of the jars have been sitting on the shelf downstairs for a while. I just want to make sure that they are all clean before we fill them with jam.”
Mom and Whitney worked together for several hours before Dad and Wendee, Whitney’s sister, came home. “Put on some aprons and come give us a hand,” Mom called to them. Dad started mashing up the last of the berries while Wendee began labeling the finished jars.
“Honey, before you put away those jars, make sure all the lids are sealed,” Mom said to Wendee.
Whitney stopped stirring and laughed. “Sealed?” she asked. “Are they getting married or something?”
Now Dad, Mom, and Wendee laughed.
“Well,” Whitney said defensively, “Mom told you to make sure the lids are sealed. So what are you going to do? Take them to the temple?”
Wendee picked up a jar and showed her younger sister the lid. “See, the lid has to seal to the jar so the jam won’t spoil. If the lid doesn’t seal, the jam won’t last. We’re not talking about the temple.”
“Well,” Dad said, “maybe we are. Think about it—isn’t it the same with families? The ones sealed in the temple by priesthood authority can last forever. Those that aren’t sealed aren’t going to last.”
“Keep mashing the rest of those berries while you preach your sermon,” Mom said as she started spooning finished jam into the jars. Whitney reached out to steady the jars while Mom worked.
“I thought getting sealed just meant getting married,” Whitney said.
“Not exactly,” Mom explained. “A man and a woman can get married anywhere, but when they marry outside of the temple, it’s only for this life. Couples married, or sealed, in the temple can be married forever.”
“Now who’s preaching?” Dad asked with a smile.
“Sealed means linked together or hard to break apart,” Mom explained. “When you get married in the temple, you are linked eternally to your spouse and your children. We seal the lids to preserve the jam. Being sealed in the temple preserves families.”
“These berries are all mashed. What’s next?” Dad asked.
“Just take those last few jars out of the dishwasher.”
“I feel another lesson coming on,” Dad said. “See, Mom cleaned the jars before she filled them with jam. Sealing jam in a dirty jar would not work. It’s the same way with the temple. We have to be clean and worthy to enter the temple. That’s the only way the sealing counts.”
“I’m impressed,” Wendee said. “Dad, you’re pretty good.”
“So is this jam,” Mom said. “Now, who wants some before we put it all away?”
Over the next few weeks, everyone in the family enjoyed the jam. Whitney liked it best of all.

Another experience that taught me courage happened in Sun Valley, Idaho. Some friends and I were doing construction work for the summer to earn money for college. In the evenings, we liked to walk around and see the shops, restaurants, and other tourist attractions. We often saw a certain girl, and I told my friends that I’d like to meet her. After three weeks of hearing me say this, my friends were getting annoyed.
One day, my friends and I happened to be walking into a lodge just as she was walking out. One friend called to her, “This guy has been talking about you for three weeks. He doesn’t have the nerve to ask you out. Will you go out with him?”
She looked embarrassed and startled. “I don’t know.”
My friend told her that we were going for a jeep ride in the mountains the following day and that she was welcome to come. Since it was a group outing, she agreed. I finally had my first date with Nancy without having said a word to her!
During our day in the mountains, I found out that she wasn’t a member of the Church. That evening, I gave her a Book of Mormon and invited her to read it. Before my friends and I returned to BYU, I baptized Nancy into the Church. Later, she was offered a job in Salt Lake City and moved to Utah. We continued dating, and the day after I graduated from BYU (a year from the time Nancy was baptized), we were married in the Manti Temple.