Gospel Story Finder

Vitaly: When I had been home from my mission for a few months, I was asked to be a counselor at a local youth conference. Steven C. Smith, president of the Russia Novosibirsk Mission, called me into his office. I anticipated a new calling or a formal interview of some kind. Instead, President Smith told me about someone he wanted me to meet—a young woman who had recently completed her mission and returned home to another part of Russia but who would be in town for the conference.
I had never seen Katya before, but once I arrived at the conference, I introduced myself, and we casually chatted for a few minutes. Later that night I asked Katya for a dance. The next day I asked her for another.
Katya: Growing up, I didn’t know many young, single priesthood holders, but I always hoped that the Lord would provide a worthy young man for me to marry. I had no idea when or how we would meet, but I had confidence in the Lord and His promises.
After my mission, I was invited to help chaperone a youth conference. When I saw Vitaly at the conference, I was immediately interested in getting to know him. We spent the most wonderful and unforgettable three days together at the conference.
I felt a strong prompting early on that Vitaly was the man I was to marry. Of course, not everyone will experience this kind of feeling so early in a courtship. So how do we know we are heading in the right direction? I learned on my mission to recognize the Spirit and to follow His direction without any doubts. So when I felt promptings that I needed to get to know Vitaly, I decided to follow them.

Denver says service is not the only opportunity weight lifting has given him: “Anywhere you excel, people are going to notice, and that will give you missionary opportunities.” Recently at a national meet, a world-class power lifter asked Denver why he wasn’t coming to the next meet. Denver told him about his mission, and the power lifter surprised him by encouraging him to put God first. Denver later told his mother, Tammy, “I could be known as Denver the weight lifter, but I’d rather be known as Elder Brown in Mexico.”

Many of you have gone on full-time missions, and many of you are preparing to go out soon. Relying on the Spirit is the best preparation for missionary work. In 1974 two missionaries who were in Italy came and knocked at my door. My mother was alone at home that day and, before letting them in, she looked through the peep hole of our door on the seventh floor of the apartment building in which we lived. You see, the week before one of her friends had been attacked in her home while she was alone. Two young men had introduced themselves as employees of a utilities company, and the woman allowed them in the home to check the gas lines. They seized her, hit her in the forehead with a gun, fired a shot in the air to scare her, and robbed her of all her jewelry. My mother had gone to visit that friend in the hospital just a couple of days earlier. Now, she was not going to let those two young men with a foreign accent into the house, especially when no one else was there. She told them that she was the maid and that she was not allowed to let anyone in.

The two missionaries left, marked my address with a check, and went on to the next home. A few days later they happened in my neighborhood again, and the same scenario followed. My mother was home alone, and the missionaries were not permitted to enter. All you returned missionaries can relate to this experience, and I am sure that you remember how disappointed you were in similar situations. Well, as you know, after two or three unsuccessful tries, missionaries usually don’t go back to the same place. They look for friendlier people! Those two missionaries were later assigned to a different neighborhood and for awhile worked in another area of the town.

Some time went by, and one day my mother saw a missionary street board in the main square of our town. Her interest was immediately drawn by the pictures and the writings on the board, and she began talking to the missionaries. Suddenly it started to rain, one of those thick and abrupt rainstorms of central Italy that keep the country beautifully green but that also catch you by surprise. My mother ran away to take cover. She still had many questions in her mind but didn’t have the time to give her name or address to the missionaries.

The next day or so, the same first two missionaries happened—and I emphasize “happened’—into my neighborhood. They were still working in another part of town, but that day they decided to take a different way home. As they were walking down my street, one of the missionaries asked the other one if they should try that building on 71 Carducci Street again—on the seventh floor. His companion told him that it would be a waste of time; they had already tried three times! The first missionary then replied, “I don’t know why, but I know that we have to go back to that residence. I have no explanation, no reason—I just feel that we have to try again.”

So they went up the stairs, rang the doorbell, and waited outside for a little while. My mother was alone again, but that day, that time, she did open the door, and she let them in. That missionary is the reason why I am here today, why I began attending this church, why I was baptized, and why now I have been married in the temple for time and all eternity, with a beautiful family and eternal blessings awaiting me. That missionary listened to the Spirit, and he could hear the Spirit because he was ready to listen. My life is a miracle, a miracle made possible by the faith of another, and by the love of the Lord for me.

A few years ago as our youngest daughter was preparing to leave for her mission, she asked if I had ever tried to contact the young missionary who had taught me.
“I have thought about him over these many years,” I replied, “but I don’t know how to contact him.”
Within 10 minutes she came back and said, “Here’s his phone number.”
When I got ahold of him, we had a long conversation. He asked for my email address so he could “bring me up-to-date on his life.” In his email the next day, he told me he hadn’t been a member of the Church for more than 40 years and hoped I wasn’t disappointed.
“How could I be disappointed?” I immediately emailed him back. “You changed my life!”
We exchanged more emails and agreed to meet. Soon I drove to his home, where he invited me in and introduced me to his wife. As we talked about our past, I asked him if he had a Book of Mormon. He went upstairs and returned with a copy. I took the book, looked him in the eye, handed the book back to him, and said: “I know this book is true! If you read Moroni 10:4 and pray about it, you can also gain a testimony of its truthfulness.”
Over the next several months, he read, prayed, and repented. Soon his 18-year-old son rebaptized him, and I had the blessing of confirming him.
I know that my daughter was inspired to ask her question, and I know that Heavenly Father prepared the two of us for a 45-year reunion. I have learned the power of the Book of Mormon. I have also learned to never give up on someone who has wandered from the Church.

May I remind you of something that occurred some 15 years ago at BYU-Provo. As President Howard W. Hunter was standing up to speak, a man claiming to have a bomb jumped onto the stage and threatened to explode it right then and there. President Hunter did not flinch but showed great courage. He helped the security guards subdue the assailant. He then walked to the podium and spoke: "Life has a fair number of challenges in it-as demonstrated. Indeed, You may be feeling that you have more than your share of problems ... These concerns may be global difficulties, such as devastating famine we see in Africa ... or the incessant sounds of war ... these past few years we have seen our fair share of economic difficulties and recession in every nation. Sometimes these economic difficulties get translated into very immediate problems for college students and those trying to earn a living, and perhaps start a family ... Contrary to what some might say, you have every reason in this world to be happy and optimistic and to be confident. Every generation since time began has had things to overcome and problems to work out ... I promise you in the name of the Lord whose servant I am that God will always protect and care for His people" (BYU, February 1993).

I was born into a family of all boys, I married into a family of all boys-I even have a twin brother-and I am the mother of all boys! That is a lot of boys! When our sons were 7, 4 and 1, our family planned a trip to Palmyra, New York. For months prior, we spent almost every family home evening studying about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the significance of the historic sites that we had planned to visit.
We found plane tickets that were too good to be true. Well, they were true, but not necessarily good. It took us two layovers and almost 18 hours of travel time for our young family to safely arrive from Salt Lake City, Utah to our hotel room in Rochester, New York.
After baths, brushing teeth, bedtime prayers, and pure exhaustion-from mom and dad, our three little boys giggled excitedly as they climbed into a shared hotel bed. We then kissed them and said, “Now go to sleep, because the first thing we are going to do when we wake up tomorrow morning is visit the Sacred Grove.”
Young Eli, only 4 years old, enthusiastically sat straight up in bed and declared to his older brother, “Did you hear that Briton! Tomorrow we are going to see Heavenly Father and Jesus!” My dear husband and I looked at each other with tears slowly running down our cheeks. Oh, the faith and purity of little children!
Later the following day while visiting the Grandin Building, where the first five thousand copies of the Book Mormon were printed, a missionary was sharing her testimony of Jesus Christ. I then overheard little Eli tell his older brother, “Even though I didn’t see Heavenly Father and Jesus in the Secret [Sacred] Grove, I sure felt Them there.” To which Briton responded, “Eli, you can feel Them anywhere.”

“I am fifteen years old and have been a member of the Church for four years. I was contacted by the lady missionaries and joined the Church. I was the only member of my family who joined, and at first my father wouldn’t let me attend church. But when I missed church, the members, leaders, and missionaries would come to my home to find out why I wasn’t there. This impressed my father, and finally he started letting me go to church. I am happy to say that three months ago the rest of my family joined the Church. It is so good to go to meetings together. Now my father is in the branch presidency.”
Jose Ricardo Martinez, 15Santa Ana, El Salvador

A man came into the mission home one day asking to know more about our church. “I sat on an airplane next to one of your members,” he said, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. He told me about his family and the love they had between them. His face almost glowed as he talked.”
This man was far more worldly than the average man on the street. “I know I will have to make some drastic changes in my life, but I want what that man has. My family means a lot to me,” he said.
If we live what we believe, our example may serve as an effective missionary for us and for the Church, especially for those who are searching for the “more excellent way” (Ether 12:11). There are many people who admire our way of life and our standards of conduct. They want this way of life for themselves and for their families.
Doctrine and Covenants 123:12 [D&C 123:12] tells us that “there are many yet on the earth among all sects … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” So how can we help them find it? How can we be effective member missionaries?
It just might be that your best method is to be your best self. Be friendly and be sharing. Invite those around you who are not members of our church to share with you the fun and the joy that they may be secretly wishing they could also have.
Instead of losing friends, you may develop friendships that will endure through this life and the life to come.

“At the beginning of middle school, I met another member of the Church who was very spiritually strong. He was an Aaronic Priesthood holder and seemed like a good example of someone who lived the gospel. We became good friends and talked a lot about the Church. As we got older, his self-worth and ability to uphold his standards started to deteriorate. Though we were still somewhat friends, he associated with others who were not very good influences. I would hear him curse frequently and joke about immorality and other inappropriate things. Several of his friends were atheists and would talk rudely about ‘Mormonism.’ Later, he became addicted to tea and, at age 13, got a girlfriend.
“I didn’t know what to do. I tried telling him in a friendly way of my concern for him several times, but he brushed me aside. Still I didn’t give up. I upheld my standards and tried to be an example for him. I didn’t want to stop being his friend, but as things got really bad, that path started looking better and better. Eventually, I got on my knees several times in prayer for his safety.
“Then his father got a job in another state. This upcoming move caused my friend’s eyes to be opened to all he had done. All I had tried to tell him for three years, he suddenly understood. During the next few weeks, he worked hard to undo his past as much as he could. When I spoke to him, he thanked me for my example and willingness to not give up on him. He was the happiest he had been in years and truly understood what it means to be a Latter-day Saint.
“For any friend who falters, I think it’s best to alert him of his actions. But if, like my friend, he won’t listen, don’t give up. This is probably when he’ll need a real friend the most. Keep your standards, even if he tempts you to do otherwise. Pray for him. I know that you can gain strength through this, and that you won’t be alone in your efforts. It’s easy to feel weak and out of place when we stand for good. But through the weak, the Lord will do a mighty work.”
Collin Z., 16, Wyoming, USA

Rebecca Swain Williams heard several Book of Mormon witnesses in Ohio beginning in 1830. She bore her testimony to her father and brothers: “I have heard the same story from several of the [Smith] family and from the three witnesses themselves. I heard them declare in public meeting that they saw a Holy Angel come down from heaven and brought the plates and laid them before their eyes.”

When her family members rejected her testimony, Rebecca did not cower. She continued to love them, pray for them, and value her father’s good counsel. She also continued to testify to him that the Book of Mormon witnesses told the truth: “They are men of good character and their word is believed. … They have seen an angel of God and conversed with him.”2

In the late 1830s, a period of widespread dissent in the Church, Rebecca remained faithful, choosing to abide by the precepts of the Book of Mormon.3

Years ago, when I played soccer for BYU, I learned a lesson that changed how I prioritized my “double heritage” and my desire to be both a good student-athlete and a good disciple. We were playing at Notre Dame—a big game I had circled months before on the schedule. I was determined and driven to play my best. But that night nothing went right. It was quickly turning out to be the worst game of my life. I felt out of sorts, as if I were playing with two left feet. By halftime, the coach pulled me aside and told me to get it together or I’d find myself on the bench.

It didn’t get better. No more than 10 minutes had passed in the second half when I heard my name called from the sideline: “Cuv!” A substitute was coming in for me. My night was over. Frustrated, I exited the field, muttered a few words of contempt, and kicked a chair because I knew kicking the coach would’ve only satisfied me for a moment.

The coach pulled me aside and said, “Cuv, settle down. There’s another reason I took you out.”

He directed me behind the bench, where my teammate Hugh Smith was lying flat on his back—pale as a ghost, struggling to breathe, and covered in hives. The coach told me that Hugh was about to be taken to the emergency room and asked me to give Hugh a priesthood blessing.

In that moment, being a soccer player became inconsequential. The game didn’t matter. My performance on the field didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that I held the priesthood of God and could act in His name. And under a tent covering a bench during a game in Notre Dame’s soccer stadium, I knelt next to Hugh, laid my hands on his head, and gave him a priesthood blessing.

As I’ve reflected on that experience and others, I’ve learned that what once seemed urgent becomes secondary, and what once seemed small becomes sacred. When we align our desires with the Savior, our perspective changes.

One sister struggled with negative feelings after a divorce. She found it difficult not to dwell on what she no longer had. Her marriage had fallen apart—along with so many hopes and dreams. She would sit next to families at church and wonder what was wrong with her. During this difficult time, she remembered the counsel of her patriarchal blessing: “Sister, be grateful for all your blessings.” And so she sincerely tried to be.

Each day, as she paused to thank God for all He had given her, a healing took place in her soul. She was able to fight off feelings of bitterness and despair and feel an outpouring of God’s love. “Gratitude,” she says, “kept my heart soft.”

Like most of the youth on Takaroa, Tetuarere works on the pearl farms. He has to get up as early as 4:30 a.m., and he spends the day diving and swimming, lifting heavy strings of oysters into boats. Others, like young women (right) Hinanui Tehina, 14, and Tapiu Tino, 15, work all day long tying oysters to nylon strings so that others can put them back in the water. That’s how the pearls are grown, and that helps keep the economy alive on Takaroa. “We are needed here,” Tapiu explains. She went to boarding school for a while but found there were a lot of negative influences, so she returned to be with her family, surrounded by those she loves.

My father and I hadn’t always gotten along perfectly, but things were getting better. Then one day he confessed to our family that he’d been unfaithful to my mother for some time.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing—the words wouldn’t register in my mind. For the next several weeks I felt sick every time I thought about my dad. I was mad at him for doing such a horrible thing, for disrespecting my mom so completely. I often couldn’t even fall asleep at night, wondering how I could ever trust a person again after this.
Anger was all I could feel, and I realized that it was making me think of everything in my life negatively. I began to pray, asking Heavenly Father to help me deal with this situation. I knew my dad was wrong and that I deserved to be upset with him, but I also knew that I couldn’t keep obsessing about it.
An account early in the Book of Mormon came to me as I was thinking about how to handle the problems in my family. Nephi’s brothers Laman and Lemuel got angry with him and then tied him up and planned to kill him. Only a few verses later, Nephi says that he “did frankly forgive them all that they had done” (1 Nephi 7:21). Nephi was able to quickly forgive his brothers for treating him maliciously.
I also thought about the Savior, who said on the cross, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Both Nephi and Jesus didn’t hold on to anger over what had been done to them—instead they forgave.
It didn’t happen overnight, but as I wanted to forgive my dad and prayed for help doing it, I stopped thinking about his sins all the time. I felt sorry for him for making such a terrible decision, and I felt a desire to support my mom. Heavenly Father softened my heart and helped me forgive him instead of being torn up by anger and revenge.

While I never experienced any sort of physical trial like these saints endured, hiking hundreds of miles with little food or water, I have experienced my own “disappointment, temptation, and loss.” [13] These trials have shaped me into someone who better understands God’s timing and trusts more fully in His purposes.

About 10 years ago, I remember applying for a job I really wanted. I prepared carefully and went through several rounds of interviews. I just knew that this opportunity was the right next step for my career. But when the call finally came, I didn’t get the job. At the time, it was disappointing and hard to understand. When I think about it now, I can see that Heavenly Father had something better in store. The very next time I applied for a position—the one that brought me here to BYU–Hawaii—it was the right opportunity, and I am so grateful He guided me here instead.

Looking back now, I can see that my time here hasn’t just been about a job. The mission of BYU–Hawaii is to prepare students to be disciples of Jesus Christ and leaders in their homes, communities, and nations.[14] But I’ve realized that this mission has also helped to shape me. Being here has helped me become a better disciple of Christ. I’m far from perfect, but I try to be a little bit better each day. Some days are better than others. I’ve made temple attendance a regular part of my routine, and thanks to the example of many of you students, I now serve as a temple ordinance worker, and my husband and I are preparing to serve a mission at the end of the year. I’m several years away from retiring, and most people have wondered, “Why now?” But the impression to serve now is clear. I don’t think these habits, new opportunities, and blessings would have happened anywhere else.

When the family returned home and began rebuilding their lives, this Japanese woman started searching for answers about God. She gradually kindled a belief in Jesus Christ and the need to be baptized. However, she was concerned about her loved ones who had died without a knowledge of Jesus Christ and baptism, including her mother, who died giving birth to her.
Imagine her joy when two sister missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to her house one day and taught her that people can learn about Jesus Christ in the spirit world. She was captivated by the teaching that her parents could choose to follow Jesus Christ after death and accept baptism performed on their behalf in holy places called temples. She and her family were converted to the Savior and baptized.

1. “Lunch is ready!” Mom called.
2. Three-year-old Trevor raced to the kitchen and quickly sat down on the stool.
3. His eyes flew past his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and apple slices to the shiny green glass full of milk.
4. “Hooray!” he exclaimed. Trevor and his five-year-old sister, Andrea, both liked to drink from the beautiful green glass. Since there was only one green glass, they took turns. Today was Trevor’s day.
5. “But, Mom, I really wanted to have that glass today!” Andrea declared. The look on her face was stormy and disappointed as she stomped to the counter.
6. “I’m sorry, it’s Trevor’s turn today,” Mom said.
7. Trevor looked at his sister. He knew she had a cold and didn’t feel well. She was always loving and kind to him. She was quick to share, and she was a great playmate. Trevor knew he loved the green glass, but he loved Andrea more.
8. “Here, sister,” he said simply as he slid the glass by her plate. “In nursery, the teacher said when people are sad, we share.”
9. “Oh, Trevor!” Andrea said with a smiling face as she gave him a hug. Trevor knew her happy face and warm hug were better than drinking from the green glass.

“Triple, tap, step. Triple, tap, step.” Tanya could hear Mrs. Nimitz’s dance students in the adjoining room clicking their tap shoes in time to her instructions.
For as long as Tanya could remember, she had wanted to take tap dancing lessons, but her parents had never been able to afford them. Now she had a chance to earn them for herself.
Today while Mrs. Nimitz was teaching her advanced class, Tanya was baby-sitting for her. If everything went well, she would have the job of tending two-year-old Cathy from three until five on Monday and Wednesday afternoons.
Mr. Nimitz came home early on Fridays, so he watched his little daughter during his wife’s class for beginners. And Tanya intended to ask Mrs. Nimitz if instead of paying her, she would allow her to be a member of that Friday afternoon class.
Nine-year-old Tanya had never baby-sat before, but she was sure that she could do the job.
Cathy was napping, so Tanya relaxed and decided to fix herself a snack. Mrs. Nimitz had said that it would be OK.
Tanya carefully lifted the lid of the cookie jar and smelled the sweet aroma of butter and cinnamon. As she reached in for a cookie, she thought how good it would taste with a cup of hot chocolate.
I bet I could make some, she decided. I’m sure Mrs. Nimitz wouldn’t mind, as long as I clean up after myself.
She measured a cup of milk into a saucepan and placed it on the stove. She had just turned the burner on, when slam!
That sounds like the bathroom medicine cabinet! Tanya thought as she dashed down the hallway. “Cathy?” she called. “Is that you?”
She found Cathy standing on the clothes hamper by the sink, peering intently into the medicine cabinet mirror.
When Cathy saw Tanya’s reflection in the mirror, she said, “I like lipstick!” Turning to face Tanya, she added, “See! I pretty!”
Tanya couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t heard a sound until the cabinet door slammed, but there stood Cathy, her face painted bright red from cheek to cheek. Her hands were streaked with lipstick, and the bathroom sink was ringed with red fingerprints.
If Mrs. Nimitz sees this, Tanya thought, I’ll never get my lessons. Oh, how can things go so wrong so quickly!
“Cathy! Look at you! You’re a mess!” Tanya scolded.
“Mess?” Cathy giggled as she held two chubby hands out to have Tanya help her down off the hamper.
Tanya smiled in spite of herself. “Come on, let’s clean you up before your mother sees you.”
She had the lipstick off Cathy’s face and was starting to scrub her hands when she heard a splashing, sizzling sound. “The milk!” Tanya cried, dropping the washcloth and racing into the kitchen.
The pungent odor of scorched milk stung her nostrils. She grabbed a pot holder and was taking the smoking pan from the burner when the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Nimitz peeked in.
“I thought I smelled something burning,” she said.
Tanya wished that she could sink out of sight. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Nimitz. I was heating some milk for hot chocolate when Cathy woke up. I went to get her and forgot about the milk. I’ll clean it up.”
“Mama!” Cathy cried out as she toddled into the kitchen. “See! I mess!” Then she held her lipstick-red hands out to her mother. Mrs. Nimitz walked past Cathy and into the bathroom.
Tanya choked back the tears. “I’m sorry, I …” But Mrs. Nimitz didn’t seem to hear Tanya.
“Never mind. I’ll have to clean it up later,” she said, greatly irritated.
As quickly as she had appeared, Mrs. Nimitz disappeared, shutting the door hard behind her.
Tears of disappointment spilled down Tanya’s cheeks. She slumped into the nearest kitchen chair and began to sob as if her heart would break.
“Don’t cry.” Tanya felt a tiny hand patting her arm.
She pulled the little girl to her and gave her an affectionate hug.
“It’s OK,” she said through her tears. “I guess I just expected everything to go perfectly.” Then, trying to be cheerful, she added, “Come on, Cathy, let’s see what we can do to straighten things up around here. I may not get any dance lessons, but at least I won’t feel like running and hiding every time I see your mother coming.”
Tanya gently scrubbed the lipstick from Cathy’s hands and arms. Then she put a heavy plastic bib on the little girl and let her help scour the bathroom sink.
In the kitchen, Tanya assigned Cathy to rinse out the cleanup cloths. Cathy was so enthusiastic that Tanya had to mop up the spills. But as the mop was returned to the closet, Cathy clapped her hands and proclaimed, “All clean!” Everything was too. Not a hint of lipstick or scorched milk could be seen.
An hour later the kitchen door opened. Tanya braced herself.
Mrs. Nimitz glanced at the kitchen range. “I’ll get my purse and pay you for today,” she said as she started down the hall.
Mrs. Nimitz paused just a moment outside the bathroom doorway before going on to her bedroom. As she came back down the hall, Tanya watched intently. But Mrs. Nimitz’s expression told her nothing.
“Tanya,” Mrs. Nimitz began in a serious tone. “I can’t believe what a responsible little girl you are. If I hadn’t peeked in earlier, I wouldn’t have ever guessed that you had had any trouble today. You did a fine job of cleaning up. And Cathy hasn’t even been at the door once crying for me.” She smiled at Tanya. “Yes, I think that you’re just the girl for this job. Would you like me to pay you each time you come or by the week?”
“Pay me? No. I mean … I’d like to … Oh, Mrs. Nimitz, could I take dance lessons instead of being paid?”
“Dance lessons? Why, yes. A lesson for one day’s work would be a good trade. But I’ll pay you for the other day. All right?”
“That’s great!” Tanya exclaimed, hardly able to keep herself from jumping up and down.
As she skipped home, she thought, I guess dreams really can come true. You just have to work at them a little.

“In through the top loop, bring the yarn through, catch the yarn a second time, and pull it under two.”
Mariana chanted softly as she wove the yarn around her crochet hook. The rhyme helped her remember the steps. She glanced around. Some of the moms and daughters had finished already! She tried to make her fingers work faster. She wanted to make sure she got done in time to see the beginning of the general women’s session of conference. But the crochet hook was slippery, and the gray yarn kept getting tangled.
Mom had taught Mariana how to crochet so they could help with the stake Relief Society project. Their stake had a goal to crochet 500 squares. The squares would then be joined together to make quilts. They’d be given to hospital patients, people without homes, and anybody else who might need a warm blanket. Mariana was excited to help. But what if she didn’t finish her square in time?
Mariana kept crocheting. In through the top loop, bring the yarn through, catch the yarn a second time, and pull it under two.
“Looks like you’re almost done,” Mom said a few minutes later. Mariana counted each row of stitching. Mom was right! Her square was the right size! Mariana finished the row she was on and proudly held up her work.
“Way to go!” Mom said. She showed Mariana how to tie off the last bit to avoid loose threads. Then Mariana was done!
Mariana skipped to the front of the room. A table was stacked high with finished squares. She stopped and stared at the colorful mountain of bright, fluffy squares. They were every color of yarn, and they all looked straight and even. They looked like they had been made by experts!
Mariana looked down at the plain gray square in her hands. She had messed up a few times. It was crooked on one side, and not nearly as pretty as the squares on the table. She thought about shoving her square in her pocket. With all those pretty, colorful squares, no one would miss her lumpy gray one, right?
“Is that another square for us, Mariana?” Sister Garcia smiled and held out her hand. Mariana gulped. But she nodded and held out her gray square.
Sister Garcia cleared her throat. “Sisters? May I have your attention, please? We’ve just received our one-thousandth square!”
People gasped. Then they started clapping and cheering. Mariana’s jaw dropped as she stared around the room. A thousand squares? That was double their goal! Mariana grinned. She knew they weren’t just cheering for her one gray square. They were cheering for all the hard work they had all done together.
Mariana watched Sister Garcia place the slightly crooked gray square on top of the pile. Mariana felt proud of her square. It was a part of something special! Her square was going to help someone. She hoped that whoever it helped keep warm would feel all the love that went into making it.

I had an experience when I was in the southern states that helped me to realize what I think the Lord meant. I received a letter from a good brother from down in Phoenix. He was quite an elderly man. He said that his grandfather was one of the first converts in the state of Mississippi back in 1840. He said, “Since that time my father and his descendants have given over 100 years worth of missionary service to the Church.” There were then 15 in the mission field, and we had three of them in our mission.
I told that story in a missionary meeting after I was appointed Presiding Bishop in 1940—just 100 years after the grandfather joined the Church. His grandson happened to be in that meeting and I didn’t know it. He came up to me after and said, “Brother Richards, it is now 165 years of service.” When you get to adding 10 or 15 years at a time, it doesn’t take long to add another 100 years.
This was my thought: If that missionary who waded through the swamps of Mississippi back in 1840, when they traveled without purse or scrip and many of them contracted malaria fever, had only brought that one man into the Church, he might not have thought that he had done much. But in 100 years there was 165 years of missionary service from that one man and his descendants, without counting all the converts he had made and all the converts they had made. How can you “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal” (Matt. 6:20) in any better manner than by performing a service like that?