Gospel Story Finder

This is a profound experience. But in contrast, even the smallest acts in very ordinary circumstances can also make a big difference. Our third-grade grandson had a schoolteacher last year who did not believe in him, which negatively affected his behavior. This year at a new school, he has a teacher who regularly tells James how much she loves him and affirms him in his schoolwork. He is a happy changed little boy, both at school and at home, responding to the miracle of love.

For her second pregnancy, the doctor recommended performing an abortion before she was four months along; she flatly refused. After prolonged hospitalizations, the child was born without signs of life and without responding to neonatal resuscitation. But her husband, who is a doctor, “began to breathe on him with his mouth and to give him heart massages and I heard him say, ‘let’s go champion, champion up,’ and after a long time the baby screamed. It was a miracle, it really was a miracle,” said Yanet.

What truly converted me to the gospel was the Book of Mormon. I read some verses from it. Then one day I decided to follow Moroni’s promise to “ask God … if these things are not true; and … he will manifest the truth of it unto you” (Moroni 10:4). So I said a prayer and started reading the very first verse in the Book of Mormon. When I read it, the Holy Ghost witnessed to me in a wonderful way that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God.

Listening to him, I was taken back in my thoughts a quarter of a century to an experience I had with President Heber J. Grant. We were discussing some criticism that had been directed against an action taken by him in his official capacity. Putting his arm across my back and resting his hand on my left shoulder, he said, “My boy, you always keep your eye on the President of the Church, and if he tells you to do something wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.”

And then he added, “You don’t need to worry, however; the Lord will never let his mouthpiece lead his people astray.”

I haven’t forgotten his counsel. I think I have been faithful to that charge ever since.

When my parents visited other wards for their Church service, they weren’t home on Sundays. Yet, even when we were alone, my brothers and sisters and I would get ourselves to church. We knew that we were expected to take the sacrament and do our part. People in the ward would ask my mother how she got us to go to church by ourselves. She would reply, “They just get up and go because that’s what they’re expected to do.”

Someone has said that courage is not the absence of fear but the mastery of it. At times, courage is needed to rise from failure, to strive again.

As a young teenager, I participated in a Church basketball game. When the outcome was in doubt, the coach sent me onto the playing floor right after the second half began. I took an inbounds pass, dribbled the ball toward the key, and let the shot fly. Just as the ball left my fingertips, I realized why the opposing guards did not attempt to stop my drive: I was shooting for the wrong basket! I offered a silent prayer: “Please, Father, don’t let that ball go in.” The ball rimmed the hoop and fell out.

From the bleachers came the call: “We want Monson, we want Monson, we want Monson—out!” The coach obliged.

Many years later, as a member of the Council of the Twelve, I joined other General Authorities in visiting a newly completed chapel where, as an experiment, we were trying out a tightly woven carpet on the gymnasium floor.

While several of us were examining the floor, Bishop J. Richard Clarke, who was then in the Presiding Bishopric, suddenly threw the basketball to me with a challenge: “I don’t believe you can hit the basket, standing where you are!”

I was some distance behind what is now the professional three-point line. I had never made such a basket in my entire life. Elder Mark E. Petersen of the Twelve called out to the others, “I think he can!”

My thoughts returned to my embarrassment of years before, shooting toward the wrong basket. Nevertheless, I aimed and let that ball fly. Through the net it went!

Throwing the ball in my direction, Bishop Clarke once more issued the challenge: “I know you can’t do that again!”

Elder Petersen spoke up, “Of course, he can!”

The words of the poet echoed in my heart: “Lead us, O lead us, / Great Molder of men, / Out of the shadow / To strive once again.” I shot the ball. It soared toward the basket and went right through.

That ended the inspection visit.

At lunchtime Elder Petersen said to me, “You know, you could have been a starter in the NBA.”

“I was telling a friend of mine that I come from a big family,” Cay said. “I told her about standing in line at the airport when my dad came back from a business trip, how people’s chins dropped when they saw five kids waiting for the same dad. My friend laughed and said, ‘They must have thought y’all were Mormons.’
“I turned to my other friend and said, ‘Should I tell her? Should I tell her?’
“And the first friend said, ‘Tell me what?’
“Then I said, ‘I am Mormon.’ I think she was bright red with embarrassment for the rest of the day.”

Many of the most important lessons Robert learned as a child came from the example of his parents and from his experiences in the Queens Ward. As deacons quorum president, Robert learned to respect his priesthood leaders after an experience with the bishop. At that time, the ward met in the Citizen’s League Hall. The sacrament table was on the main floor in front of the stage. The deacons used to take the sacrament trays, climb up onto the stage, put the trays away, and then run and jump off the stage, grab another tray, and repeat the process until all the trays were put away. “I came sailing off of that stage,” says Elder Hales, “and our new bishop was standing there. He caught me in flight. I said, ‘Well, everyone else is doing it,’ and he said, ‘Yes, but you are the president of the deacons quorum.’ The bishop said he wanted the sacrament taken care of properly, with reverence. That was when I began to learn an important lesson. I’ve appreciated priesthood leaders who have taken the time to teach me.”

“Hi, Mom,” Tanner called as he took off his shoes and hung up his backpack.
“Hi, Tanner,” Mom said as she looked up from washing the dishes. “How was school?”
Tanner liked school, so when Mom asked him that question, his answer was usually the same.
“Good. How was your day?”
“It was fine,” Mom said softly.
Tanner wasn’t so sure. Mom didn’t sound very happy. And she wasn’t smiling like she usually did when he came home from school.
“Is something wrong?” Tanner asked.
“No, nothing’s really wrong,” Mom said. “I’ve just had a bad day.”
“I’m sorry,” Tanner said. He gave Mom a big hug, hoping it would help.
Tanner walked to the pantry and began to look for a snack. While he looked, he thought about some bad days he had had—like the time someone stole his scooter, or when he crashed his bike and skinned his knee. “I guess moms can have bad days too,” Tanner thought.
Tanner wondered what he could do to help Mom feel better. He thought of a few things that made him smile—frogs, video games, and spaghetti—but he was pretty sure Mom didn’t care very much about any of those things.
After grabbing a handful of crackers, Tanner had an idea. He walked across the kitchen and stood next to Mom. “Mom,” he said, “what was the best part of your day?”
Mom stopped washing the dishes. Tanner could tell she was thinking hard about his question. A big smile spread across her face. “You are,” she said. “You are the best part of my day.”
Tanner smiled too. Mom seemed happier. He was glad he could help make her bad day better.

Georgia Portlock in the Drennan’s ward gave out many books. “I love to talk about the Church, and it made me feel great to give the books to people,” she said. “At least they’ll have a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I don’t care if it sits on their shelf for a while. One day something will come up and they’ll read it and understand it. That’s what happened to me. My son gave me a Book of Mormon, and it sat on the shelf for ten years until I read it. When I did, it. was like I was burning up, and in three weeks I asked to be baptized.”

How those words touched me! It had been 15 years ago that the Book of Mormon became an integral part of David’s life. I had read it to him as he lay in bed, at life’s edge.
“What are you reading, Mommy?” David asked in the faintest whisper of a sound. His delicate face closely matched the color of the snowy pillowcase. Deep red drops of blood, descending from a bottle suspended above, provided a vivid contrast as they dropped through a tube into his motionless white arm.
“The Book of Mormon,” I replied. It helped me through the endless hours of watching my son fight a seemingly insurmountable battle. It was supposed to be minor surgery to correct a small health problem, but the whole procedure had become a nightmare. Face to face with the fragile quality of mortality, I groped for an anchor with eternity.
“Read it to me,” David said.
“But you wouldn’t understand it, David,” I told him. “You’re too young. Later, when you’re well and at home, I’ll read you some stories from the Book of Mormon.”
Again the whispered words, urgent this time. “Please read it to me, Mommy.”
Not knowing what else to do, and not wishing to further upset him, I began in First Nephi: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, …” I intended to read a few lines while he drifted off to sleep, and then continue my silent reading. Every time I thought he was asleep, my voice quieted and quit. Then, from the hospital bed, again and again, I heard, “Read it to me.”
And so I read it to him. I read all during the hospital stay, and then at home, where he lay attached to two tubes that drained fluids from his body into bags, one on each leg. Doctors had discovered a congenital defect that gave him only part of one kidney.
I did not read stories from the Book of Mormon. I read from the book itself. One morning, after David’s two sisters had gone to school and his two little brothers were sleeping, we sat together reading as usual. I stopped and looked down at him. “David, do you understand this?”
His blue eyes looked thoughtfully into mine. “Not all. But some of it.”
When I continued reading he stopped me and said, “Mother, kneel down.” Startled by the request, I simply knelt, feeling his small body at my side. Then, totally trusting, he said, “Now pray for me. Pray that I will understand the Book of Mormon.”
By the time we finished the book, David had turned five and was able to recognize and read many of the words on his own. Eventually he read alone. His health improved and, by the time he was baptized, he had read the whole thing by himself more than once. By the time he was ordained a deacon, he was eagerly preparing for a mission.

His parents were not sure either. Lucy and Joseph Sr. both came from Christian families and believed in the Bible and Jesus Christ. Lucy attended church meetings and often brought her children with her. She had been seeking the true church of Jesus Christ since the death of her sister many years earlier.
Once, after falling gravely ill sometime before Joseph’s birth, she had feared that she would die before finding the truth. She sensed a dark and lonely chasm between her and the Savior, and she knew she was unprepared for the next life.
Lying awake all night, she prayed to God, promising Him that if He let her live, she would find the Church of Jesus Christ. As she prayed, the voice of the Lord spoke to her, assuring her that if she would seek, she would find. She had visited more churches since then, but she had still not found the right one. Yet even when it felt like the Savior’s Church was no longer on the earth, she kept searching, trusting that going to church was better than not.18

Becky came to the dinner table and sat down quietly. No one noticed that she was not trying to get her fair share right along with her three older brothers. No one really gave Becky a second thought until she spoke. “Mom, I want to wear a dress to school tomorrow.”
The noise and dinnertime confusion came to an abrupt stop. The silence was so complete Becky could hear the waves pounding on the shore of Dease Lake. Her brothers were staring at her, stunned. What’s wrong with her? was written on everyone’s face.
Becky’s cheeks turned the color of her red hair. “Well, what’s wrong with wearing a dress?” she demanded glaring back. “You act as though I just asked Mom to cut off my legs!”
“You have to admit, Becky,” her mother said, “that this comes as a bit of a surprise. I was under the impression that you had forgotten you were a girl.”
Becky ignored that comment because it hit home all right. She was the president of the Dease Lake Stampeders and proud of it. Sheila, Becky’s best friend, had suggested the name in honor of Becky’s grandfather, who had fired their imagination with tales of the Yukon gold rush. He was one of the first settlers at Dease Lake, an isolated community in northern British Columbia. The girls thought Grandpa Dease was about the neatest man around.
Becky could do most things as well or better than any boy in their small one-room school. She could ski with ease or climb the tall pines surrounding the school yard. With three older brothers, Becky had had lots of encouragement. She was happiest when she and her handpicked pals were outdoors pretending to be explorers or gold miners. All the girls except Liselotte wanted to be in the club and even some of the boys.
Becky remembered the first time she had seen Liselotte walk timidly into the strange schoolroom. She was dressed in the latest style with a pretty pinafore over a frilly blouse. Her large eyes were framed by a cascade of dark curls. Becky wondered if the girl were actually dumb enough to curl her hair every night.
Liselotte never talked much because she was French Canadian and her English wasn’t very good. But Becky and her gang talked plenty. “Did you see that dress?” asked Sheila during recess, making a face.
“Yeah,” replied Becky, “she’s going to freeze this winter when it’s thirty degrees below zero if she doesn’t get countrified and start dressing right.” She looked approvingly at Sheila’s jeans and boots that matched her own.
And so, for Liselotte’s own good, Becky and the club members set to work trying to countrify her. They threw snowballs at her, sat on her, and tried to stuff her curls into a toque. They put her lunch box up in the highest pine tree so she would have to climb for it. Becky wasn’t really mean, she just figured Liselotte didn’t know what fun she was missing.
Liselotte had borne all of this quietly and with good humor, but she did not convert and seemed incapable of comprehending Becky’s good intentions. As for the lunch box, she asked one of Becky’s brothers to get it down for her. He did so willingly because all of the older boys were in love with Liselotte. That was OK with Becky, they were all welcome to her.
Anyone who would rather sit inside reading during recess instead of working on a snow fort was hopeless. Hopeless or not, over the winter Becky had slowly begun to admire Liselotte, who took the girls’ rather rough treatment good-naturedly, even laughing at herself with them. She never once went to the teacher to tattle or complain. Yet there was always a sort of sadness in Liselotte’s eyes that wasn’t quite disguised by her apparent sunny nature. But even that had not been enough for Becky to actually befriend the lonely girl. She had her own reputation to think of and her duties as president of the Dease Lake Stampeders. What would her gang think if she were overly friendly to someone who wore skirts!
Eventually Becky gave up on Liselotte and forgot about her as much as one could do in a one-room school. Once in a while, though, she would glimpse the small doll-like face peering out at them through the schoolhouse windows.
Then one day Becky realized that Liselotte wasn’t in school and hadn’t been for several days.
Later she asked Mrs. Parmenter who looked at Becky rather accusingly. “She is home and very sick,” she reported. “In fact, I rather doubt that she will be back.”
Becky, who had scarcely been sick in her whole life, could not imagine anyone being sick for more than a day or two. What does she mean Liselotte may not be back? Becky wondered. Is she going to die?
The rest of the day Becky couldn’t keep her eyes off the empty desk. The lonely chair seemed to accuse her, much like Mrs. Parmenter’s expression had when she asked about Liselotte. It tugged at her conscience, If I had taken more of an interest in Liselotte, the others would have too, Becky told herself. But she never wanted to do the same things we wanted to do. Still, quietly nagging thoughts wouldn’t go away. And added to them, Becky had to admit to herself, was a persistent wish that she were more like Liselotte. At least I’d like to be friends, she thought wistfully.
By the time Becky returned home from school, she had made a decision.
After dinner, Becky slipped up to her room. Her mother, sensing something was bothering her daughter, followed her to ask, “Is anything wrong, dear?”
“Yes,” she answered, “Liselotte is really sick and Mrs. Parmenter says she probably won’t be coming back to school.”
“Do you mean the little French girl? I am sorry to hear that.”
Becky turned toward the closet. “Mom, I’m going to wear a dress to school tomorrow so that I can visit her on the way home.”
Mom wondered what wearing a dress had to do with visiting Liselotte, but she knew her daughter well enough to keep such questions to herself.
The next morning, Becky felt uncomfortable when she put the dress on. “It’s going to be a rough day,” she sighed. But she did want to be more like Liselotte, and she hoped the dress would prove her sincerity.
She purposely waited until the last minute to join her brothers in the bus line. When Joey saw her, he said, “Say, you don’t look half bad in that dress today. Why don’t you wear one to school more often?”
She had not expected that and quickly looked to see if he were teasing. She could always tell if he were by the twinkle in his eyes, but her oldest brother’s face had a look of genuine sincerity. Maybe the day won’t go too bad after all, she decided.
Once at school, however, Becky was afraid she would face the worst ordeal. Sheila rushed up as soon as she got off the bus. “Hey!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Why on earth are you wearing a dress?”
“Mom is mending my jeans,” was Becky’s quick answer.
That was true enough, but Sheila wasn’t fooled. “You could have worn another pair.”
Nothing to do but tell the truth, Becky decided, and face the wisecracks that are sure to come. “I’m going to visit Liselotte after school. I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed in the house without a dress on.”
“Oh,” said Sheila, “I wish you’d told me. We could have gone together.”
“That’s great, Sheila,” Becky said, “Maybe we can go together again on Friday.”
The school day finally ended and Becky walked to the large Dalphond home located on a hill overlooking the brilliant blue of Dease Lake. It wasn’t far, which was good, because she was beginning to get cold feet. What will I say to Liselotte? she worried.
Walking up to the door, Becky knocked and half hoped no one would be home. But she soon heard light footsteps coming toward her on the other side. The door was opened by a petite, pretty woman who looked much like Liselotte. “Hello,” she said and smiled. “You must be here to visit Liselotte.”
Becky stepped in while Liselotte’s mother continued to talk in a thick French accent, not waiting for answers. “Lise is up in her room and will be delighted to see you. I’ll show you the way.” Mrs. Dalphond led the way upstairs. “Here we are,” she said, “and I’ll let you surprise her.” She patted Becky on the back and left her staring at the door.
Becky knocked and Liselotte’s soft voice said, “Entrez (enter).”
Cautiously Becky opened the door. Liselotte was sitting in bed with an enormous book in her lap. “Hi,” said Becky.
“Hello!” Liselotte said with a smile. “Why, you are wearing a dress, Becky. It’s nice of you but I think I like the jeans better.” Her huge eyes sparkled and Becky realized with a jolt that Liselotte was the only one all day who had teased her about wearing a dress. “I would prefer jeans, too,” Liselotte continued, “but Papa says we must dress civilized, even though we are in the wilderness. He is so … old-fashioned, is that the word?” She looked at Becky for confirmation.
Becky laughed. “That’s it,” she said. “What are you reading?” She bent over to look at the book. She was surprised to see that it was an illustrated encyclopedia of wild animals. “I didn’t know you were interested in wild animals.”
“Oh, yes!” Liselotte hopped out of bed. “Look at my wild animal collection.” She opened a little cupboard door and there, row upon row, were miniature wood carvings of wild animals.
Becky went over to examine them. She picked up a grizzly bear and ran her finger over the glowing, smooth wood. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!” she said, awed by the collection.
“My brother in Montreal carves wood for a living. He made them for me,” Lisolotte explained. Suddenly Liselotte began to cough and was forced to sit on her bed. Becky held her breath. Liselotte caught the expression on her face and gasped in between spells, “It’s OK. I have asthma. It will pass.”
“What causes asthma?” Becky asked.
Liselotte caught her breath. “This attack is due to all the pollen in the air at springtime. When I lived in Montreal it was far worse from the pollution. That is why we moved to Dease Lake.”
That reminded Becky of what Mrs. Parmenter had said. “Liselotte, aren’t you coming back to school?”
Liselotte looked at Becky with a puzzled expression. “Of course I’m coming back.”
“But I thought … Mrs. Parmenter said …” Becky stuttered.
“Oh, I know!” laughed Liselotte. “My father was almost transferred from his government job here, and you know how rumors get started. Mrs. Parmenter must have heard we were leaving.”
Becky knew well enough how rumors ran rampant in the small community. But before she had time to think about that she looked at her watch and said, “I have to run, Liselotte, but I’ll be back if I may. Get better soon, OK?” Becky waved at her new friend and hurried out of the room. As she took the steps two at a time she couldn’t believe how fast her hour with Liselotte had gone. And I was afraid I wouldn’t find anything to talk about, she thought in wonderment. But, oh, I’m so glad she’s staying in Dease Lake. She’ll be a great member of our club!

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried, without looking up.
“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”
“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.
The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. Many years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying, “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward is here in the office and would like to talk to you.”
I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher who, with his family, once lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”
She said, “He is the man.”
I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a smile, he replied: “I’m a counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”
Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church.

Sarah Tunnell was worried about how she’d fit in. Her family had just moved from Texas to Snohomish, Washington. Now Sarah would have to start all over again. New school. New ward. New friends—she hoped.
“We came to church that first week,” Sarah remembers. “It was the Sunday before school started, and in Mia Maids Tresa Brown was saying the closing prayer.”
At the end of the prayer Tresa said, “And please help Sarah to make friends and to feel at home here.”
“That made me feel really good,” Sarah says. “It was, ‘Wow, I’m new and they’re already praying for me! They remembered my name!’ I felt like everyone accepted me. That week I was walking down the hall at school, and everyone from the ward said hi. Becky Gale went out of her way to help me check my class schedule.”
The example of friendliness wasn’t wasted on Sarah. Visit the Snohomish Second Ward today, and she’s one of the many young women eager to welcome you. These “homies,” as people from Snohomish call themselves, have learned that it’s a simple thing to help everyone feel included.
Consider some additional examples:
—“When I came into Beehives for the first time,” Angela Gilbert says, “they had ‘Welcome, Angie!’ written on the board. They announced that I was new and made me feel comfortable.”
—“I got chicken pox and had to stay home from youth conference,” Traci Brown says. “But when they got back they came and told me how it was, and brought me stuff so I could see what they’d done. It was almost like having been there myself.”
—“Most of the LDS kids sit together at lunch,” says Anne Broadbent. Whether it’s at Snohomish High or at Centennial Middle School, these “Mormon Circles” have so much fun and use such clean language that others, LDS or not, ask to join in.
And the examples go on and on. Thirteen-year-old Bonnie Jarvis remembers being greeted at the door with a sincere, “Yea! Bonnie’s here!” Leann Gustafson heard that a less-active friend had a sore throat and stopped by to bring her some cough drops. Aja Elmer learned not to be afraid to sing solos in Young Women, because she knows they’re all her friends. Others have learned not to be afraid to bear their testimonies before the whole group, for the same reason.
“There are no outsiders,” Tracie Graafstra explains. “Everybody belongs.”
It’s a concept that’s not only strengthened members but also played a part in seven conversions in the last few years.
“It was the people who first interested me in the Church,” says Kristy Shackelford. “They were genuine. They like you for yourself.”
“Bonnie Skinner, the bishop’s daughter, was in one of my classes at school,” Tracie says. “She kept inviting me to church dances. One night I finally went. I stayed overnight at her house, and the next day her family invited me to church. I felt the Spirit there, and I felt loved. The people here are really friendly, and that helped a lot. I met the missionaries and started the discussions. I knew I should pray about what they were teaching me. When I did, a peace came over me. I knew I needed to be baptized.”
“I went to church with Neoma Huston; then I went to girls’ camp, and I always felt like I was accepted,” says Jula Jefferson. “The more I learned about the Church, the more I liked it. And everybody was always right there to help me.”
That type of support makes it easier to open up. “We’re not afraid to share the gospel, because it’s fun, it’s easy, and we know it’s true,” Angela says. “You want to do missionary work because you know people will be happier.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” says Aja. “Just say, ‘Hi, hello, how are you doing?’ People appreciate that more than you think.”
So what generates all this goodwill and sisterhood? Some of it comes from spending time together: at church, at school, at youth conference, on service projects even when it rains. Some of it comes from taking a genuine interest in people, little things like remembering birthdays and making them special. And some of it comes from receiving kindness and passing it along.
“The Laurels were nice to me when I was a Beehive,” says Tresa Brown, “so now that I’m a Laurel, I try to be nice to the Beehives, too.”
But it’s Traci who gives the most accurate answer. “It’s how the Savior would treat people, isn’t it?” she asks. “His example shows us that he loves everyone. We’re trying to act like he would—to be kind and loving to everyone.
“Oh,” she adds, “and hugs work, too.”
“You can feel the Spirit,” Tracie says. “That love draws people in. When you’re going through a hard time, you know these people are always here for you. And since they have the Spirit with them, it just overwhelms you with love.”
That’s why everybody belongs here. It’s why in every ward or branch, every young woman should belong.
Is there a newcomer in your ward who may feel like nobody cares? You can help him or her overcome that feeling. Here are some suggestions from the Snohomish Second Ward Young Women. By the way, these ideas work just as well for long-time members, too:
“Be open-minded and really cheerful. You don’t know what they’re feeling, and you don’t know if they’ve had a really crummy day. So if you say hi and cheer them, it’s going to boost up their day and they’re going to remember it for a long time.”
Nicole Broadbent, 15
“Remember birthdays. When I turned 14, the Beehives made a big sign, brought balloons, taped candy to the porch, and gave me a journal as a present. I thought, ‘They’re doing all this for me!’ I felt so loved.”
Courtney Davis, 14
“Be genuine. Treat each other the same at school as you do at church. Treat everybody the same no matter where you are or who you are with.”
Becky Gale, 18
“With activities every Wednesday, seminary every morning, church every Sunday, and dances on Saturdays, there are plenty of things to invite your non-LDS friends to. Have your own parties, so you don’t feel the need to go to the wild parties at school.”
Kathy Cravens, 14
“Don’t be separated in spirit just because you’re in different classes. Avoid forming cliques. You’re all sisters, some older, some younger. You’ve got all these sisters in the Church.”
Becky Tunnell, 14
“For our Young Women in Excellence program, I brought two nonmembers to play music with me. They were so well accepted and felt so at home that now they want to come back and do more things with us.”
Angela Gilbert, 13
“It starts with one person. Let someone know that you love them, and they’ll go out and do it to somebody else; then they’ll do it to somebody else, and so on, and then you’ll have this great ward like ours.”
Tresa Brown, 16

In 1975, as a result of a civil war, Arnaldo and Eugenia Teles Grilo and their children had to leave behind their home and all that they had built through decades of hard work. Back in their native country of Portugal, Brother and Sister Teles Grilo faced the challenge of starting all over again. But years later, after joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they said, “We lost everything we had, but it was a good thing because it compelled us to consider the importance of eternal blessings.”
They lost their earthly home, but they found the way back to their heavenly home.

Youth in the Granada Hills California Stake took a different approach on the Church Sesquicentennial theme “Faith in Every Footstep” for their youth conference this year. Instead of taking steps of their own, they helped mentally handicapped children run, jump, and walk to the finish line at the Los Angeles Special Olympics.
The youth worked for nine hours, beginning at 6:00 A.M., but their good attitudes never wavered. “It was the best youth conference we have ever had because we’ve been able to give service,” said one participant.

Five or six hundred of these last Saints crossed the Mississippi and camped on the riverbank in Iowa. They had only blankets and brush bowers for shelter. None of them had food for more than a few days, and many were very sick. Of all the Saints, these suffered the most.
On October 9, a miracle occurred. Flocks of quail flew into the camps, landing on the ground and even on the tables. The hungry Saints were able to catch the birds. The meat saved many people from starving and stirred their hearts as they realized that the Lord was caring for them.
Their fellow Saints had not forgotten them either. Many came back from the Missouri River to help. Others went into neighboring cities to seek money to aid the poor and sick. In the end, the refugees were rescued and divided among the various camps in Iowa, a few even reaching Winter Quarters.

As young missionaries in England, my companion and I taught a man who had experienced terrible, life-threatening events during World War II. He had been engaged in armed conflict on land and then survived a devastating attack to the ship he was on before returning home to England. When he finally arrived in England, he was so overcome with emotion and gratitude for having returned home safely that he knelt, kissed the soil, and offered thanks.
When we taught him the Restoration and described Joseph Smith’s First Vision, he wept. With tears in his eyes, he described the overwhelming witness he had received. He explained that the Restoration message gave him feelings similar to what he had felt when he returned safely to English soil. He felt that he had an eternal destiny.

As Alvin was dying, he asked that each of the Smith children come to his bedside for his parting counsel and final expression of love. According to Mother Smith’s account in her History of Joseph Smith, “When he came to Joseph, he said, ‘I am now going to die, the distress which I suffer, and the feelings that I have, tell me my time is very short. I want you to be a good boy, and do everything that lies in your power to obtain the Record. [Joseph had been visited by Moroni less than three months before this time.] Be faithful in receiving instruction, and in keeping every commandment that is given you.’”
Alvin died on 19 November 1823. Lucy Mack Smith writes of the pall of grief surrounding his passing: “Alvin was a youth of singular goodness of disposition—kind and amiable, so that lamentation and mourning filled the whole neighborhood in which he resided.”