Gospel Story Finder

I was given an assignment to prepare an entry for my school’s social studies fair. The title of my project was “How Does The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Teach Its Youth to Live Their Religion?” I interviewed 40 members of my ward. Then I charted their answers and wrote my research paper. I also narrated a slide show that showed many of our church activities.
My project won “Best in Fair” at the school, county, and regional levels. I did not win at the state level, but that was OK because my project taught people how the Church works. I even got to teach the judges about the Church. I think it was a good missionary project.

The first and most important truth about navigating this journey is that you are not alone. Heavenly Father and the Savior will always strengthen us as we turn to Them. There were times when Kay was struggling so much, and I (Stephen) was so exhausted. She didn’t know who I was for three years, and every day was painful. Sometimes I look back and wonder how I managed to get through those difficult times, and then I realize I was only able to endure the pain by fully relying on the Savior (see Matthew 11:28–29).

Always remember that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are very much aware of what you are going through. President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, reminded us of this truth: “You are being nourished and comforted by a loving Savior, who knows how to succor you in whatever tests you face.”1 Regularly make time for prayer and temple attendance, and invite the Spirit into your home. As you do, you will find guidance, peace, and the sustaining strength you need to keep moving forward.

Let me tell you something I learned when I was about your age. I think I was about six or seven years old. My brother and I (we were about the same age) walked to the stake conference together. I can still go in that building in Brigham City and go back just under the balcony, and say, “I was sitting about there when it happened.”

What was it that happened? There was a man speaking at the pulpit, Elder George Albert Smith. He was a member of the Council of the Twelve at that time. I do not remember what he said, whether he was talking about the Word of Wisdom, or about repentance, or about baptism. But somehow while he was speaking it was fixed in my little-boy mind that there stood a servant of the Lord. I have never lost that testimony or that feeling. In my mind I came to know that he was an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ.

My little friends, although I sit now in the Council of the Twelve, I have never lost that feeling about these men. Often when we meet in the Council, I look around the circle and know again that these are the apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the earth. They are special witnesses of him.

A few nights after his baptism, a mob of white men came to the house where he was staying and called out for him. “We just want to talk to you,” they said. In their hands were rifles and shotguns.
Len stepped outside. He was a Black man in the American South, where armed mobs sometimes enforced racial segregation with violence. They could injure or kill him on the spot and may never have to answer for their crime.
Someone in the mob demanded to know why Len had joined the Latter-day Saints. It was legal for Blacks and whites to worship together in Alabama, but the state also had a strict set of segregation laws and unwritten social codes to keep the races separate in public settings. Since nearly every Latter-day Saint in Alabama was white, the mob saw Len’s baptism as a challenge to the region’s deeply rooted color line.2
“So, you went over to the waters and learned a few things,” the man continued, referring to Len’s army service. “Now you want to join the whites.”
“I was investigating the Church long before I went to war,” Len finally said. “I found it was the only true church on earth. That is why I joined it.”
“We want you to go and have your name scratched off the record,” the mob said. “If not, we will hang you up to a limb and shoot you full of holes.”
The next morning, Len attended a conference of fellow Saints in the area and told them about the mob’s threat. He knew he was taking a risk by coming to the meeting, but he was willing to die for his newfound faith.
“Brother Hope, we could not scratch your name off if we tried to,” Church members reassured him. “Your name is in Salt Lake City and also written in heaven.” Many of them offered to help Len if the mob ever came after him again.3
But the mob never returned. Len soon married a woman named Mary Pugh in 1920, and they moved to Birmingham, a large city in central Alabama. Mary’s uncle, a Baptist pastor, predicted that she would join the Church before the year was over.
Mary read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truth. It took a little longer than predicted, but after five years of marriage she decided to join the Church. On September 15, 1925, the Hopes went with two missionaries to a secluded spring near Birmingham. Mary was baptized without incident, finally becoming a Latter-day Saint, like her husband.4
“I couldn’t be anything better,” she told her uncle, “and I can see no better church.”
Mary and Len became friends with Elder Marion D. Hanks when he was serving a mission in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was one of the missionaries who went to their home to give them the sacrament.

Missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on the door of Richard Marson in May 2023, and he abruptly told them he didn’t have time for them and to go away. After returning inside his home, he recalled that he had a powerful impression conveyed to his heart- “you are making one of the biggest mistakes of your life.” He went back outside and called to the missionaries, apologized, and asked them to come in. He then began his journey to learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
He said “Not long ago, I was praying and felt the presence of our Saviour Jesus Christ saying simply, ‘You have come back to me’– it was overwhelmingly clear and powerful. I think this is because as a boy I always had firm belief in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ but drifted from them around the age of 13/14”.
Marson came from a broken home and spent his formative years in boarding school, but always had a belief in Jesus Christ. He said, “Faith was always there but it wasn’t as integral as I now think it should have been– there was a very British reserve about discussing or celebrating it outside of services and church occasions. Nonetheless, as a boy I read about Jesus and quickly grew to love Him and what he represents.”
As a teenager he got away from religion but found a new passion- “About this time, my father (who was a lawyer) was doing some work for one of the big TV stations in London and he took me to their studios. I’ve never forgotten how exciting I found the atmosphere– a mix of paint, electricity and sheer adrenaline! I resolved there and then that I wanted to work in TV, preferably as a director and doing ‘live’ shows.”
He stayed on that path, graduating from Durham University and began a career at the BBC in London. He said, “I worked my way up from the most junior production job on the studio floor to become a director, then a producer and eventually an executive producer. I found the work vocational– early on, I decided to focus on children’s programmes as I believe so strongly they need the right kind of quality content to challenge, stretch and inspire them. ‘Blue Peter’ was the best and most popular of them all and it gave me so many opportunities– travel all over the world, incredible experiences and encounters. And the shows were live, which was always exciting.”
In his personal life, Richard met his wife in 1988 and eventually had a daughter and a son, whom he described as “the joys of their lives”. Then tragedy struck, as his son “died in the summer of 2008. He was only fourteen. We have no idea why he took his own life– he had shown no signs of depression– his many friends were utterly bewildered and distraught. Suicide is like a bomb going off in a family and the effects are felt forever afterwards. You have to learn to live in a different way.”
He continued, “I was lost and angry and self-destructive. We did have an incredible therapist who had been a Franciscan monk as a young man. He was rightly tough with me and strongly suggested I needed to turn my energies to helping others. I doubted at first but eventually agreed to his suggestion of training to be a local mentor to young men struggling with a range of issues. I did this for a couple of years before returning to my TV career. I learnt that focusing on others in your time of greatest need can be restorative and healing. “
His contact with the missionaries in May also changed the direction of his life, and he was baptised four months later. He said, “What is extraordinary to me is the revelation that this is the true church. I might easily have been promoted to re-embrace my (former) Christian faith after the initial contact with the missionaries but as I studied and got to know more and more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I just found it to be right and true– the testimony of Joseph Smith and the early prophets, the glorious nature of the Book of Mormon– and the blessing of our living prophet. I love the accountability which comes with the covenants we are asked to make, the focus on service, self-discipline, and sacrifice.”
Richard Marson is currently living in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire and is working with the young men in his ward. He is still enthusiastic about life and love for others and is grateful for the experiences that have shaped his life. He looks forward to being able to serve in any capacity he is asked.

After lunch Pa came into my room. He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked me straight in the eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the oak tree that I used to play on when I was about your age?” he asked.
“No, Pa.”
“Well, I found this old tree that had fallen across Miller Creek. The trunk of that tree was about as big around as this room. My folks always knew where to find me in the summertime. I would play on that tree until dark. I pretended that I was shipwrecked and that I was the captain. I fought off dangerous pirates and enormous sharks. I had the greatest adventures on it that I could imagine.”
I hadn’t really known much about Pa when he was a kid. It felt strange to imagine him as a little kid on that tree, letting his imagination run free. I wished that I could have been there with him.
“My adventures on that fallen trunk are some of my happiest memories,” Pa continued. He looked over at me. “I think that every youngster ought to have something happy to remember about growing up. Something he can hold on to.”
“Yes, Pa,” I said.
“So,” he said with a crooked grin, “I’ve thought a lot about what you said and how you feel about that barn. Maybe that’s what you’ll remember when you’re older.” Pa leaned down and picked up the drawings off the floor. “Do you still want to try to rebuild that old relic out there?”
“Oh yes, Pa!” I hugged him as hard as I could.
Pa stood and walked toward the door, then stopped, held out his hand, and said, “Well, come on then. We’d better get started.”

A dollar bought much more in 1947 than it does now. I was seven years old then and in the second grade at Woodland Elementary School. Emily was in my class, and I truly detested her because she was forever bragging about everything. One day she bragged that she could bring a whole dollar to school the next day—just to spend on candy! She was sure that I couldn’t. She really made me mad, and so what else could I do but retort that I, too, could bring a dollar the next day to spend on candy. Of course, I didn’t have a dollar, but somehow I had to get one.
My grandmother lived with us, and I planned to “borrow” a dollar from her purse, then put it back after I had shown it to Emily at school. I waited until I was alone in the same room with Grandma’s purse. I knew I was doing wrong, but I disregarded the Holy Ghost’s warning, telling myself, I’m only borrowing the money. What harm can there be in that?
The next morning I put Grandma’s dollar into my pocket and waited for the school bus. When I bragged about having a whole dollar to spend on candy, even though I didn’t plan to actually spend it, I found out that I was the most popular child in the neighborhood. Everyone wanted to be my best friend! The glory of that moment was simply wonderful. It was so wonderful, in fact, that I decided to spend the whole dollar on candy, after all.
Carol, my best friend, begged and begged me to let her take the dollar to her class that morning. She would give it back to me at lunchtime. She begged so hard that I finally let her take it.
I expected Emily to be waiting for me at the classroom door to see my dollar, but she wasn’t. In fact, when she did come to class, she didn’t mention her dollar or my dollar. This was a surprise, but I was greatly relieved. Now I was free to change my mind again and put the money back into Grandma’s purse.
I was busy doing my schoolwork when Mr. Apple, the school principal, came into the classroom and said, “Ann Jensen, come with me, please.”
Trembling, I followed the principal to an empty classroom, where he pulled something out of his pocket and said, “Carol was playing with this money in her class this morning. Mrs. Brown felt that it was a lot of money for a child to be playing with, so she asked her about it. Carol said that it’s your money. Is that right?”
I was so taken by surprise that for a moment I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Finally I looked at the floor and said, “Yes, I saved it.”
“All this money?” Mr. Apple asked in an even voice.
For the first time I took a good look at the “dollar.” It wasn’t one dollar, but ten dollars! I had been in such a rush to get the money from Grandma’s purse that I hadn’t noticed that I’d taken a ten-dollar bill!
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I sobbed, “I took it out of my grandma’s purse.”
The awful truth had been told, and at first I felt relieved for having confessed my sin. Then Mr. Apple told me that he was going to call my grandmother and tell her about the money. That was what I dreaded most—Grandma’s disappointment in me!
I was engulfed with remorse. I just leaned against the school building during recess because I felt so ashamed and sorrowful.
Mr. Apple drove me home from school that day. We rode in silence. I wondered what I could say to my family and what they would do to me for stealing Grandma’s money. When he stopped in front of my house, Mr. Apple gave me the ten-dollar bill to return to my grandmother.
Grandma was at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes for dinner.
“I don’t feel very well,” I said as I handed her the ten dollars.
“I don’t suppose you would,” she replied. And that was that!
I went into my bedroom to get over my “illness.” Nothing else was ever said of the incident. Nothing else had to be.

Some months ago I rode in a car with two courageous senior sister missionaries. They were determined to find a ward member’s apartment in the heart of an inner-city neighborhood in the eastern United States. As I sat in the backseat holding my breath, the car’s guidance system regularly blared, “Wrong turn, wrong turn!” Undaunted, the missionary reading the map just kept suggesting way after way through the maze of city streets until finally we found the home of the sister whom they had promised to teach how to read and write.
In their actions and attitudes, these remarkable sisters embodied something that is much more than a reflection of their mortal years. They demonstrated true spiritual maturity.
Helaman, the great Book of Mormon prophet, named his sons Nephi and Lehi after their forebears, and “they began to grow up unto the Lord.” Young or older, all of us must do the same.
This idea of growing up unto the Lord is a compelling one. Unlike the process of growing up physically, we will not mature spiritually until we choose, as the Apostle Paul phrased it, to “put away childish things.”
Daily prayer and scripture study, adherence to commandments and to covenants made at baptism and in the temple are at the core of growing up unto the Lord. We learn to walk in His ways as we do what draws us closer to Heavenly Father and as we teach our children and others to do the same. We “put away childish things” as we choose to become Christlike and serve others as He would have us do.
When the Church was organized in this dispensation, the Lord explained that those who “shall be received by baptism into his church” would be, in part, those “willing to take upon them the name of Jesus Christ, having a determination to serve him to the end.” That means remaining “steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works” each day of our lives. Today, as the Church grows in 170 nations throughout the earth, determined service to others, even in difficult circumstances, is required of those who truly desire “to grow up unto the Lord.” This expansion of the Church means many of us will have opportunities to serve those who are new converts.
I participated in a memorable example of such determined service to those who are new to the gospel when I accompanied those dedicated sister missionaries—one a widow close to 80 years and the other a single parent in her 60s—who would not be deterred by wrong turns. I also witnessed another example of it in that same ward.
This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.
What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.
Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.
In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”
Besides steadfast, determined service, another way we choose to grow up unto the Lord is through our willingness to “press forward” in faith—even when we don’t quite know what to do. Consider Nephi’s account of being commanded to build a ship. He recounted the circumstance:
“And it came to pass that the Lord spake unto me, saying: Thou shalt construct a ship, after the manner which I shall show thee. …
“And I said: Lord, whither shall I go that I may find ore to molten, that I may make tools?”
Nephi did not question the task to be done. Rather, in this situation, he evidenced, as he had in others, this mature spiritual insight: “And thus we see that the commandments of God must be fulfilled. And if it so be that the children of men keep the commandments of God he doth nourish them, and strengthen them, and provide means whereby they can accomplish the thing which he has commanded them.” In short, Nephi looked for a resolution rather than at the roadblocks, because he knew—he knew—that in this process of growing up unto the Lord, God could and would help him fulfill every commandment he received.
In that same inner-city ward I observed a similar type of faith in the gentle, loving care of a bishop who wasted no time despairing over the vast needs of an ever-growing number of new converts. Rather, he pressed forward by rallying the more experienced members of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood quorums to help prepare new converts from Africa and Latin America for their priesthood responsibilities. The newer brethren were taught how to hold the trays while passing the sacrament, how to kneel and reverently bless the bread and water. Their more seasoned, often younger brethren practiced along with them the words of the sacramental prayers so they would feel confident in giving them. Then, together, all the brethren discussed the sacred nature of this important priesthood ordinance.
We’ve all had experiences where we’ve had to demonstrate our determination to serve others and our willingness to press forward in faith. When my husband telephoned to tell me that our mission call had been changed to a challenging assignment in Africa, I responded, “I can do that. I think I can do that.” I demonstrated by my words my commitment to move forward in faith—trusting once again that the Lord would help me. I was showing my willingness “to grow up unto the Lord.”
As that faithful bishop, those dedicated sisters, and I might attest, in this ongoing process of growing up unto the Lord, we will be asked to do all we can, in some cases even more than we know how to do. The challenges may be formidable and the route sometimes unknown. But inevitable wrong turns notwithstanding, those who strive to be truly Christlike—with steadfast determination to serve others and a willingness to press forward in faith—can come to echo this grand spiritual truth shared by Nephi as he continued his shipbuilding: “And I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things.” To be shown “great things”—what a gift, what a blessing to those who have chosen “to grow up unto the Lord.” May ours be lives of gentle, loving, steadfast spiritual maturity, I humbly pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Each of us must at times courageously and firmly stand up for what we are and what we believe. When President Joseph F. Smith was a young man, he was faced with this predicament:
“One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
“The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, ‘We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!’ The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.’s face and asked, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Joseph F. stood tall and said, ‘Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!’
“The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph’s hand, and said, ‘Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I’m glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.’ He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions.”

I stood in the foyer as the second counselor in the bishopric asked me to speak in sacrament meeting about the importance of temples. With my eyes down and an embarrassed flush creeping into my cheeks, I asked for a different topic to speak on. I hadn’t attended the temple in several years because of life choices that had disconnected me from my Heavenly Father, and I did not feel qualified to speak about the temple.
After that experience, the temple kept coming to my mind, and I felt a growing desire to be there but also battled feelings of unworthiness. I felt afraid that Heavenly Father would not want me in His sacred house.
As general conference approached, I nervously listened to the speakers, hoping that I would feel some indication that God still loved me despite my mistakes. That was when then-President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, said: “It matters not how completely ruined our lives may seem. It matters not how scarlet our sins, how deep our bitterness, how lonely, abandoned, or broken our hearts may be. … There is no life so shattered that it cannot be restored.”
I felt clearly that God was speaking to me. I had been wondering for months how to come back to Christ, and that conference message was His call for me to make changes to enter His house again.
I met with my bishop to discuss entering the temple again. He helped me understand the role Jesus Christ could play in my life and how accepting His Atonement could help me give my burden of pain and sin to Him. I began to pray for understanding, strength, and patience with myself. By trusting God a little more and doing a little better each day, I gradually reconnected with the light of the Savior.
Working with my bishop and learning more about my Savior deepened my testimony of my identity as a daughter of Heavenly Father. I understood that my loving Redeemer would never ask me to separate myself from Him but that Satan would try to make me feel like I didn’t belong in the temple. With this knowledge, I eventually felt ready to enter God’s house again.
With a crisply folded recommend in my hand, I stepped toward the temple for the first time in years, suddenly anxious about my place in God’s house. The closer I got to the doors, the more uncertainty ran through me. Would I look foolish for not knowing where to go or what to do? Was I too old to be going to the temple for baptisms?
The man at the front desk smiled as I entered, welcoming me to the temple. That morning rejuvenated my spirit as temple workers reassured me of my place in God’s house.
As I left the temple, one of the workers waved to me as I walked down the hallway to exit the baptistry. With a whispered, joyful voice, he said, “Thank you for coming to the temple today—we needed you here!” I promised him that I would come back the next week as I looked forward to feeling the warmth of the temple again.
Because of our divine identities as daughters and sons of heavenly parents, each of us can find belonging in the temple. There is nothing that can permanently keep us out of God’s loving reach if we desire to be in His presence. He wants us there, and as we take small steps to become more like our Savior each day, we can align our lives with His and always remain temple worthy. I know that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we can enter God’s holy house and receive the blessings waiting for us inside.
And as I’ve experienced, those blessings are worth everything.

But one time, I found out that the scriptures really can be a lot like my life! It all happened when we went on a family reunion backpack trip.
I carried my own big backpack and sleeping bag, and I didn’t complain. After all, it was only supposed to be four miles (6.5 km) to the lake. I could make it, no problem.
The hike wasn’t too hard, but I was glad to stop for a rest after two miles (3 km). Then we saw the first trailhead sign. It said that the lake was still six miles (9.5 km) away. My dad didn’t have to tell me that the trail was really twice as long as we first thought. I already figured that out. He did need to remind us to make our water last longer.
My dad’s advice was important but hard to follow. The afternoon sun felt hot, and we hardly had any shade on the trail. It seemed like we were never going to reach the lake.
The grown-ups stayed in the back with the youngest kids, and the older cousins went on ahead. I stayed with three cousins my age, and we ended up somewhere in between.
When we couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind us anymore, we started to get nervous. Our backpacks felt heavy, and our water bottles were empty. How much farther did we have to go?
Finally, we got so worried and tired that we decided to stop and pray.
After the prayer, we picked up our backpacks and trudged on.
Just a little while later we heard hoofbeats coming up the trail. We waited and saw a man on a horse riding toward us.
He stopped and gave us some water. He explained that our older cousins had hurried to the lake with a water filter to start pumping water to bring back to us. The man heard about how we needed water and had agreed to help. “Do any of you need help with your backpacks?” he asked.
I looked at my cousins, and they smiled back at me. We actually felt pretty good!
“You better go on and help the others,” we said to the man. “We’re fine.”
And it was true! The rest of the way to the lake it felt like angels were lifting our packs and pushing us along. When I told my parents about it later, Dad beamed and Mom got tears in her eyes.

It took nearly a year for Helio da Rocha Camargo, a former minister in another church, to decide to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A short while later, his wife, Nair Belmira da Rocha Camargo, decided to follow her husband’s example and be baptized as well.
At that time, Nair was pregnant with the couple’s son, whom they would name Milton. The Camargos’ unified decision to join the Church would forever bless future generations of their family.

I think back with fond memories to my childhood in Scotland, when we would often celebrate Easter by going for a picnic with my family. We went up the Sidlaw Hills and, once settled, we would begin the egg ritual. My granny would have spent considerable time boiling eggs the night before, with different concoctions to make them different colours. The eggs would all have various expressions drawn on them, and wool would sometimes be stuck on for hair. I probably had some chocolate eggs as well, but I can’t really remember them–what you hold in your memory is the love and effort that goes into something, rather than how good it tastes. I knew that I was loved by these people who found it impossible to tell me in any other way but this.

Manti, Utah, USA, 1869
Lorena Washburn watched her mother get ready for Relief Society. “Can’t I come just this once?” she begged.
Mother smiled. “You can come when you’re grown.”
“I am grown! I’m nine years old.”
Mother kissed Lorena’s head. “Perhaps a little more grown, then.”
Lorena decided to visit her friend Anna while their mothers were at Relief Society. Back in those days, Relief Society was held on a weekday. The girls played jackstraws and talked about what it would be like when they could finally join Relief Society.
Anna sighed as she flicked a piece of straw off the top of the pile. “I wish we had our own Relief Society.”
Lorena paused. “Why don’t we make one?”
“Our own Relief Society?”
“Yes!” Lorena jumped up. “We could make a Junior Relief Society!”
Anna jumped to her feet too. “We could!” she said. “We should talk to the other girls to see what they think.”
Lorena and Anna went around the neighborhood and invited the other girls to Lorena’s house. When they had all arrived, Lorena told them about her idea. They were all so excited to have their own organization!
“My mother is the Relief Society president,” Lorena said. “When she comes back, I’ll ask her for permission to organize our Junior Relief Society.”
When Mother came home, she was surprised to see 25 girls crowded into the parlor. Lorena stood up tall and straight. “Mother, with your permission, we want to organize our own Junior Relief Society.”
Mother’s eyebrows flew up. Lorena was worried that she would say no, but instead she smiled.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Mother. “I’ll pay Bishop Moffatt a visit right now and see what he thinks.”
It felt like years before Mother came back, but finally she did.
“What did the bishop say, Sister Washburn?” Hannah asked eagerly. Lorena held her breath.
“He gives his hearty approval!” Mother said. The girls cheered.
Lorena was so excited that she asked if the girls wanted to organize right then and there. They chose Lorena as president, Anna and Alice as counselors, Hannah as secretary, and Sally as treasurer.
“We should invite all the other girls our age too,” Lorena said.
Alice frowned. “Even the ones we don’t really like?”
“Yes!” said Lorena. “We wouldn’t want to leave anyone out, would we?”
“You’re right,” said Alice. “I’m sure we could all get along.”
“We should make it a rule,” Lorena said. “No one should say an unkind word to or about anybody while we’re in our meetings.”
And with that, the Junior Relief Society had begun. They met every Saturday at two o’clock in the Washburns’ grain house. They worked hard like they had seen their mothers work in Relief Society. They started making their very own quilt. Every week they brought cloth and thread and even eggs to trade for calico fabric from the store. They eventually presented two fine hand-sewn quilt tops to the Manti Relief Society.
The girls loved to sing while they sewed. Lorena and Anna wrote a special Relief Society song just for them:
Hurrah, hurrah, our quilts we have begun!
Hurrah, hurrah, we are having lots of fun!
And while we are united, together we will come
In the old board granary of Washburns.
After a few years, Lorena moved away, and the Junior Relief Society came to an end. Lorena was sad to leave her friends behind. But she got to visit often, and it was always like coming home to family.

My mother tried to teach me when a small child to sing but failed because of my inability to carry a tune. When I joined a singing class taught by Professor Charles J. Thomas, he tried and tried in vain to teach me when 10 years of age to run the scale or carry a simple tune, and finally gave up in despair. He said that I could never, in this world, learn to sing. Perhaps he thought I might learn the divine art in another world. Ever since this attempt, I have frequently tried to sing when riding alone many miles from anyone who might hear me, but on such occasions could never succeed in carrying the tune of one of our familiar hymns for a single verse, and quite frequently not for a single line. …
While listening to Brother Horace S. Ensign sing, I remarked that I would gladly give two or three months of my spare time if by so doing it would result in my being able to sing one or two hymns. He answered that any person could learn to sing who had a reasonably good voice and who possessed perseverance and was willing to do plenty of practicing. My response was that I had an abundance of voice and considerable perseverance. … I would take my first music lesson of two hours upon the hymn, “O My Father.” Much to my surprise, at the end of four or five days, I was able to sing this hymn with Brother Ensign without any mistakes. At the end of two weeks, I could sing it alone, with the exception of being a little flat on some of the high notes. …
One Sunday, at the close of a meeting, upon telling Professor Charles J. Thomas that Brother Ensign informed me that I could sing, he said: “Didn’t you tell him I said no?” I answered, “Yes.” He said, “Why, you can’t even run the scale.” I said, “I am aware of that fact, having tried for half an hour this morning and failed.” My voice at 10 years of age must have made a deep impression upon Brother Thomas, seeing that he had remembered it for 33 years. Noticing that he seemed quite skeptical, I asked him to walk over with me into the corner of the building, so as not to disturb the people who had not yet left the meetinghouse when I sang to him in a low voice, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way.” At the close he said, “That’s all right.”
At the end of two or three months, I was able to sing not only “O My Father” but “God Moves in a Mysterious Way,” “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” and two or three other hymns … (Hymns, nos. 292, 285, 30).
It required a vast amount of practice to learn, and my first hymn was sung many hundreds of times before I succeeded in getting it right.
Today, my musical deafness is disappearing, and by sitting down to a piano and playing the lead notes, I can learn a song in less than one-tenth the time required when I first commenced to practice. …

I recall attending the funeral of an older man who had taken his life. His wife had died years earlier, and as his health declined, he felt he had less and less of a reason to live. Gradually he found himself confined to the four walls of his home. A semi-invalid, he was unable to visit friends or go grocery shopping. His food was delivered to his door. He missed going to church, missed regular fellowship with other members of his priesthood quorum.
Although he wasn’t able to get about, the doctor assured him he could live many more years. “You neither smoke nor drink,” the doctor said. “You’ve taken good care of yourself. Other than the fact that you’re confined to your house and wheelchair, I give you a clean bill of health.”
While the doctor was trying to be encouraging, the man felt discouraged. This good brother felt his earthly life no longer had any value, and he wanted to join his beloved wife in the spirit world. The more he thought about death, the more appealing it became to him. He had been a faithful member of the Church all his life; he had served two missions and had been diligent in several leadership positions at different times in his life. But as he thought about the release he would find through death, his mind became confused. He obviously concluded that taking his own life would solve his problems.
I visited with the family after the funeral. As you might expect, they were greatly disturbed by what their father and grandfather had done. Their feelings ranged from grief to anger to guilt. “I should have noticed how depressed he was,” one daughter said. “Then I could have helped him and prevented this.”
One son spoke rather harshly. “I never thought my father was a stupid man. But what can you say about this? If he loved us, he would never have done such a thing!”
A comment by the youngest son captured the despair they all felt: “There is no hope for dad now, is there,” he said. It was more a statement than a question. “All the good things he did throughout his life don’t matter anymore. Now that he’s taken his life, he will be in the telestial kingdom throughout eternity.” Then he wept.

Toward the end of World War II, my father was drafted into the German army and sent to the western front, leaving my mother alone to care for our family. Though I was only three years old, I can still remember this time of fear and hunger. We lived in Czechoslovakia, and with every passing day, the war came nearer and the danger grew greater.
Finally, during the cold winter of 1944, my mother decided to flee to Germany, where her parents were living. She bundled us up and somehow managed to get us on one of the last refugee trains heading west. Traveling during that time was dangerous. Everywhere we went, the sound of explosions, the stressed faces, and ever-present hunger reminded us that we were in a war zone.
Along the way the train stopped occasionally to get supplies. One night during one of these stops, my mother hurried out of the train to search for some food for her four children. When she returned, to her great horror, the train and her children were gone!
She was weighed down with worry; desperate prayers filled her heart. She frantically searched the large and dark train station, urgently crisscrossing the numerous tracks while hoping against hope that the train had not already departed.
Perhaps I will never know all that went through my mother’s heart and mind on that black night as she searched through a grim railroad station for her lost children. That she was terrified, I have no doubt. I am certain it crossed her mind that if she did not find this train, she might never see her children again. I know with certainty: her faith overcame her fear, and her hope overcame her despair. She was not a woman who would sit and bemoan tragedy. She moved. She put her faith and hope into action.
And so she ran from track to track and from train to train until she finally found our train. It had been moved to a remote area of the station. There, at last, she found her children again.
I have often thought about that night and what my mother must have endured. If I could go back in time and sit by her side, I would ask her how she managed to go on in the face of her fears. I would ask about faith and hope and how she overcame despair.
While that is impossible, perhaps today I could sit by your side and by the side of any who might feel discouraged, worried, or lonely. Today I would like to speak with you about the infinite power of hope.

Three weeks ago I was assigned to host an open house at the Orlando Florida Temple for leaders representing the clergy, press, government, education, and business. Before I escorted these prominent guests through the temple, I explained to them the position and basic doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted them to know why the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored to the earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith, so they could understand the divine purpose and the eternal significance of the temple. My message this morning is to remind Church members of what we have and to invite nonmembers to understand the need for the restoration of the gospel.
During the Orlando temple tours, I explained to our guests who were not of our faith that I understood if they found this message a bit overwhelming. I taught my new friends in Orlando, as I teach here this morning, that either the gospel has been restored or it has not. Either the Savior’s original church and its doctrine were lost or they were not. Either Joseph Smith had that remarkable vision or he did not. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ or it is not. Either the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored to earth through God’s chosen latter-day prophet or it was not.

“How many pennies are equal to a nickel?” Mrs. Connor, the kindergarten teacher, asked.
Christopher’s hand shot into the air, but Mrs. Connor acted as if she hadn’t seen him. She called on Tony, who wasn’t even raising his hand. Tony fidgeted in his seat, staring at the floor. “Five?” he asked doubtfully.
“That’s right! Good job, Tony.” Mrs. Connor walked over to Tony and mussed his hair a bit. That was something she did when she was happy with you. Tony smiled with relief.
Christopher sat poised for action as the next question was asked.
“How many pennies are equal to a dime?”
Christopher raised his hand high above his head, but Mrs. Connor called on Caroline.
“Next question: How many pennies equal a quarter?”
Christopher waved frantically. “I know, I know,” he chanted in a half whisper.
Again he was overlooked. Disappointed, he slumped back and gave up. He didn’t even raise his hand for the next two questions, though he knew that the answers were fifty and one hundred. “Why doesn’t she call on me?” he wondered. “She must not like me.”
“Christopher.”
She was calling on him! His heart leapt with excitement. He sat up and faced the teacher, ready to answer any question she might ask.
“How many pennies are equal to five dollars?”
“Wow!” Christopher thought. “That’s a new question.” He paused, thinking hard. Then he saw how it worked. “Five hundred,” he answered.
“Very good, Christopher! How did you know that?”
“I have an electronic brain—just like my dad!”
Mrs. Connor smiled. “Well, I guess you must.”
Christopher grinned as the class moved on to the next subject. Mrs. Connor still liked him. He was smart. He was happy with himself.
When the final bell rang that afternoon, Christopher quickly stuffed his homework into his backpack and ran for the door. He couldn’t wait to tell his mom that he had answered the hardest question. Maybe he would even call and tell Dad.
Mom was waiting just outside the kindergarten room. “Hurry, Son,” she called. “We need to get you to soccer practice.” Christopher had forgotten about practice, but he was eager to go. It was his first year playing soccer, and he was looking forward to his first game on Saturday.
“How was school?” Mom asked in the car.
“Great! Mrs. Connor asked me how many pennies were in five dollars, and I knew that the answer was five hundred.”
“That’s wonderful, Chris. How did you know that?”
Christopher shrugged. “I guess I’m just the smartest person there is—except for Dad.”
“Oh, Christopher.” Mom was using her worried voice. “That kind of attitude will get you in trouble. I’m glad you do well in school. You are very blessed, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than anyone else.” She stopped talking, seeing that he wasn’t really paying attention.
Christopher was thinking about Saturday’s game. He imagined himself powering past the other team, scoring goal after goal. He could almost hear the crowd cheering him on to victory.
Saturday morning, Christopher got up early and dressed in his soccer uniform—shin guards and all. The game was at 11:00, and he wanted to be ready. At 10:30 he was sitting in the car, water bottle in hand, wishing Mom and Dad would hurry.
“There’s my coach!” Christopher shouted as they neared the school yard. The grassy playground was divided into six small soccer fields. Christopher ran ahead to join his teammates as they took turns kicking the ball into the net. The excitement level was high.
The referee called the two teams to the center of the field for the coin toss. Christopher looked at the player across from him and was surprised to see Tony. “Hi, Tony!” he said. “I didn’t know you played soccer.”
“Oh, hi, Chris,” Tony answered, equally surprised.
Tony’s team won the coin toss and chose to kick off. Christopher was surprised to see Tony lining up to kick the ball. A team’s best player usually did that. At the signal, Tony nudged the ball gently, and one of his teammates kicked it back to him. Then Tony took over, dribbling the ball down the field and blasting a shot into the net. Christopher’s team tried to stop him but couldn’t. Just that fast, the score was one to nothing!
Christopher was amazed. Tony was the best soccer player he’d ever seen!
Now Christopher’s team got to kick off. Taylor, the best player on the team, ran and kicked the ball with all his might. Christopher ran along with Taylor, surprised at how different a game was from practice. In practice you could take your time, plan your passes, and move steadily down the field. In a game everything happened quickly. There was no time to stop and think. Christopher stayed with the mass of players kicking the ball back and forth, and managed a few good kicks. When the referee signaled the end of the first half, the score was five to one. Christopher’s team was losing.
Tony continued his stunning performance in the second half. Christopher did pretty well. He almost scored a goal, but the ball bounced off the goalpost. The final score was eight to two.
The two teams lined up to give each other high fives. Christopher stopped when he reached Tony. “Congratulations!” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You’re an awesome player. Where did you learn to play like that?”
“From my dad. He’s the greatest soccer player ever. He plays with me every night.”
“I wish I was as good as you,” Christopher said. “You scored more goals than my whole team!”
Tony smiled. He held his head high as they left the field.
Christopher was quiet on the ride home.
“What are you thinking about, Son?” Dad asked.
“About Tony,” Christopher answered. “He’s in my class at school, and he can’t answer math questions very well. I always thought he was, well, sort of dumb. But he plays soccer way better than I do, and I’m the smartest one in my class. How can that be?”
“Everyone is different, Chris,” Dad began. “We all have different talents. What’s important to remember is that we should always do our best. You may never be as good at soccer as Tony is, and he may never be as good at math as you are. But if you both try hard and do the best you can, both of your parents will be proud of you. We’re Heavenly Father’s children, and He doesn’t demand that we all be math whizzes or score ten goals. He only asks that we do the very best we can with the talents He’s given us.”
Christopher thought for a moment. “But what if our best isn’t good enough?”
“That’s the point, Son,” Dad explained. “Our best is always good enough.”

For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming—even the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of twenty-three years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he felt when he witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.