Gospel Story Finder

“I remember going to the mountains to get our Christmas tree. We decorated it with little candles that fastened to the tree in little tin holders. A fire committee was appointed in the family to make sure the tree didn’t catch fire. We children each had a stocking and received one present for Christmas. Of course, there was the special Christmas dinner and the singing while my sister played the piano and I played the violin.

It was freezing outside, and the cold air bit the cheeks and noses of the Stevenson family. After a fun day of skiing, they walked through the snow toward their car. They looked forward to getting in the car and warming up with the heater.
But when Elder Stevenson reached into his pocket, the car keys were gone! Where are the keys? he thought. Everyone anxiously waited for him to unlock the car. Without the keys, they were locked out! They couldn’t open the door or start the car. They couldn’t turn on the heater.
The first thing Elder Stevenson did was say a prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help them find the car keys. Next he thought as hard as he could about where he might have dropped them. Suddenly he thought of a ski jump he had gone off earlier in the day. Maybe the keys were there in the snow.
Some of the family went back with Elder Stevenson to the top of the ski slope and skied down the run. By the time they got to the bottom of the ski jump, the sun was starting to go down. They searched for the keys as it grew darker. To their amazement, they found the keys just before it got too dark!
Praying and finding the keys to their car reminded Elder Stevenson that Heavenly Father will not leave us without help. He gives priesthood keys and authority to leaders of the Church to help lead us all safely home to Him.

I remember vividly, after undergoing surgery in 2018 and upon returning to work, I was in the parking garage at Church headquarters. Suddenly, I heard the voice of President Russell M. Nelson calling, “Taniela, Taniela.” I ran toward him, and he asked how I was doing.

I said, “I am recovering very well, President Nelson.”

He gave me counsel and a hug. I truly felt the personal ministry of a prophet to the “one.”

In 1978, Anna-Liisa Rinne returned home to Finland, only to receive another mission call. In 1979 she left for Scotland as a proselyting missionary. “I had only young companions, and I was their trainer. We had a rule that the senior companion had to prepare breakfast until the junior companion learned the discussions. I always made Finnish oatmeal for breakfast, so these American girls learned the discussions very fast,” says Sister Rinne, laughing. For health reasons, she had to interrupt the mission after eleven months, but this did not mean a slowdown in her activity—just the opposite.
After twice serving as a volunteer temple worker in the Swiss Temple, she received a 1982 call to a temple mission. “It was valuable to me to work with older people who have had a long experience in life and to try every day to be pure in heart.” Then she was called as a counselor to the temple matron. “After completing my mission I still went back to work in the temple, and I would probably have stayed who knows how long, except that it was difficult to take care of my health there,” Sister Rinne says.
After returning from Switzerland to Finland, Anna-Liisa Rinne became involved with an assignment she had received even before she was called to temple work, writing a history of the Church in Finland. But before the work was finished a call came again—this time to the Stockholm Temple.
If Anna-Liisa Rinne’s work career has been exceptionally varied and broad, her hobbies have not quite been ordinary either. This grandmother of sixteen likes surfing, and last summer she taught almost all her grandchildren to surf. She also owns a small sailboat, and has passed a coast-guard class which finally resulted in an international sailing permit. A diving class and pistol shooting are still in her plans.
Looking back over her life to this point, Sister Rinne says, “I have continually sought my own identity in all phases of my life: who and what am I?” It is the gospel that has provided the answers to Sister Rinne’s quest. “In some ways, I have been a very lonely person, but this has forced me to seek Christ for protection. I have had to depend on him many times, and I have always received help from him,” she says.
In return, Anna-Liisa Rinne has been ready to serve wherever the Lord has needed her. And in so doing, she has verified Christ’s words: “He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

Alison and Dad chatted about ballet, school, and work as they crossed Topham’s Bridge on their way home. Then Dad asked, “Alison, would you like to go with me to Birchington Ward this Sunday? President Hicks wants me to see how everything’s going there. I also have some interviews there for temple recommends and Melchizedek Priesthood advancements.”
“Just me?”
“Just you. You’re pretty good company.”
“Sure!” Alison was pleased that Dad had asked her. In all the years he’d been on the high council, and now as a counselor in the stake presidency, she’d never gone on a trip with him by herself.
“It’s a good hour’s drive up to Birchington, and I ought to get there a little early, so we’ll need to be ready to leave by 7:30 A.M. You might want to bring along a book or two for company.”
“OK,” Alison agreed cheerfully. She was eager to visit another ward and to spend time with Dad.
By seven-thirty Sunday morning Alison had eaten breakfast, brushed her teeth, dressed in a skirt and jacket Mom had made her, and combed her hair. She had also gathered her scriptures, a notepad, a pen, and two library books.
“You’re really guarding against boredom!” Mom said, smiling as she looked at the bulging shopping bag. She smoothed Alison’s hair and gave her a kiss. “Have a good time.”
Alison pulled out a book as soon as they were on the interstate highway, setting it down occasionally to look at farms and forests. Once they were in Birchington, she put the book away so she could watch for the meetinghouse.
“It’s not hard to spot it,” she remarked as she glimpsed the steeple through some trees. “Most LDS meetinghouses look alike.”
“Yes, they do,” Dad agreed as he parked the car. In the building he knocked quietly on one of the office doors. In a minute a tall, gray-haired man Alison recognized from stake conferences appeared and warmly welcomed Dad with a burst of greetings, comments, and questions.
Alison shifted from one foot to the other, feeling a little awkward. Dad reached out and pulled her close to him. “This is my daughter Alison, Bishop Nightingale.”
Alison politely shook the bishop’s hand.
“So you’re the youngest of the Tanner bunch,” he said. “Nice of you to come. It’s always nice to have visitors. I like to have them speak.” He winked at Dad. “It’s a change for the ward, and it means I don’t have to talk so much.”
Alison looked at Dad and smiled. He was always being asked to talk—so often that he would joke, “I feel like a walking tape recorder! Just plug me in, and I speak. Rewind me every so often, and I’ll even repeat myself.”
Dad and Bishop Nightingale disappeared into the office, and Alison strolled curiously up and down the halls, examined the items on the bulletin board, and then settled down in a chair to read. The foyer gradually filled up with people. Soon Dad emerged from the office and, in between shaking hands and chatting with ward members, told Alison, “Meet you up on the stand.”
The stand? Alison walked slowly into the chapel and up the aisle. She rarely got to sit up front, and she was both excited and apprehensive. It was fun to be able to see all the ward members—but then, they could all see her too!
As she got settled, Bishop Nightingale leaned over and shook her hand again. “Remember what I told you about visitors,” he said.
Alison smiled and nodded, but she didn’t know why he was making such a fuss about it. Dad was used to speaking.
The meeting proceeded smoothly until the bishop introduced the last speaker on the program—and added, “Before our closing song, we’d also like to hear briefly from Alison Tanner, who’s here from New Salem Ward with her father.”
Alison gasped.
“I didn’t know he was going to do that, honest,” Dad whispered, putting his arm around her. “I’ll talk if you’d rather not.”
“I should have guessed,” Alison whispered back, remembering Bishop Nightingale’s comments and his twinkling eyes. Why had she been so quick to assume he’d meant Dad was to speak? She rubbed her hands, suddenly cold and damp, on her skirt. Her heart was thumping wildly. It would be easy to let Dad talk, but if she did, she’d never be able to face Birchington Ward again. “What can I say?”
“You could tell a scripture story or tell something you learned in Primary. And give your testimony. You’ll do OK; you’ve given talks before,” Dad whispered reassuringly.
Just in Primary, not in front of a whole ward! And not without any time to prepare, Alison thought. She pressed her trembling legs together and thought desperately. Primary—scriptures—Nephi! That’s it! We talked about Nephi not too long ago. She quickly opened her Book of Mormon.
“Amen,” the speaker said, and Alison swallowed hard. Dad gave her a reassuring pat, and she stood up. Reaching the podium, she waited while Bishop Nightingale adjusted the microphone. The chapel was a sea of faces—smiling, pleasant faces. Alison took a deep breath and began.
“One of my favorite scripture stories is about Nephi and about how he and his family left Jerusalem.” Alison briefly retold the story, managing to include the most important details. She finished and was momentarily tongue-tied. Primary! she remembered, relieved. “I’m glad I can go to Primary each week and learn about Nephi and other people; and I’m grateful for my teachers and for my family …” She concluded with her testimony, then, still feeling shaky, sat down.
Dad hugged her as the organist began playing the closing hymn. “Fantastic!” he whispered. “You handled it like a real pro!”
Alison leaned against him and whispered back, “I did it! I can’t believe I did it!”
After the meeting everyone on the stand and many people from the congregation congratulated Alison on her fine talk. When the bishop approached Alison, she tried to frown at him, but he looked so cheerful that she couldn’t.
“I was scared to death!”
“Now, now, I warned you. And you did a tremendous job. Next time it will be much easier.”
Next time? Alison thought as she walked down the aisle. Of course, there will be a next time—if not in Birchington or New Salem, then somewhere else.

Everybody’s doing it! And the nice thing about it is that nearly everybody can do it. I’m talking about cross-country skiing or ski touring.*
The basic technique is fairly simple, it comes fast, and the satisfactions are immense. If someone had suggested to me two years ago that I should trade a Saturday of Alpine skiing for something called ski touring, I’d have said, “Sorry, no way.” But then one late spring day, on our final run, I took the ill-fated little fall that turned into months in a cast and strict orders to stay off the slopes for a year. In desperation I bought a pair of those skinny little touring skis, found someone to show me the basics (it took about 30 minutes), and I was off and running. Remembering my early days of Alpine skiing (about the first ten years or so), I kept expecting some agony. But there wasn’t any. I could do it right off the bat. The only thing that has proved any problem at all has been deciding on where to stop for lunch—and how to stop, period. Straight striding and running is a snap, if you don’t mind working a little.

Lately I have become good friends with my Grandmother Brocklebank. It all started a little over a year ago, when she completed my four-generation program. Then after she was baptized, I would go over to her house and we’d talk about different things. Her favorite thing to talk about is Church history. Sometimes when I listen to her, I’m awfully glad that Brigham Young never lived long enough to meet my grandmother. He would have found his match in Mrs. Brocklebank.
Mom and I were standing inside the front doors of the Alberta Temple, and a man in white clothes was checking our recommends. It was peaceful and quiet in the temple, and the man said that he was happy that we had come. I had just finished telling him that it was our very first time and that we were getting sealed, when Dad came in from parking the car.
“Mother won’t come in,” Dad said.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked as the man gave our recommends back to us.
“I don’t know,” Dad said. He had a pained look on his face, the kind of look that he gets every time Grandma Brocklebank does something that doesn’t make any sense.
“She’s just nervous about coming into the temple,” Mom said. “She needs to be reassured.”
“Maybe you should go out and reassure her, then.”
“If you can’t do it, I doubt if I can,” Mom told him.
“I’ll go talk with her,” I offered.
Mom looked pleased. “That’s a good idea,” she said.
I went out to the car. Mrs. Brocklebank was sitting in the back seat. I climbed in beside her.
With Mrs. Brocklebank you have to watch what you say. I’ve learned that the most successful way to talk to her is to let her do most of the talking. I sat for a while, looking out the car window at the big white temple rising up into the sky. Finally she said, “Forever is a long time to spend with someone, don’t you think?”
“Not if it’s your family,” I answered.
“Your Grandfather Brocklebank might not agree.”
I looked over at Mrs. Brocklebank. I had never heard her talk like this before. Maybe she didn’t really like Grandfather Brocklebank. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him forever. “Did you have a fight with Grandfather Brocklebank before he died?” I asked.
Mrs. Brocklebank was looking at the temple too. I could tell by her eyes that she liked it just as much as I did.
“We had one or two while he was alive,” she said in a sad voice. “I guess that maybe sometimes I’m not a very easy person to get along with.”
I didn’t want to agree with Mrs. Brocklebank, but I didn’t want to disagree with her either, so I didn’t say anything.
“I suppose that they’re all ready to begin in there,” she said after a moment.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, open the car door, then,” she snapped. “What are you waiting for!”
I got dressed in white clothes, then waited for two hours while the grownups went through the temple. They told me that I wasn’t allowed to do everything with them until I was older. I waited in a room where there were a lot of Church books and some Church videos. After a while I got tired of watching the videos, so I found some paper and made a paper airplane. I didn’t fly it, though. I didn’t think that Heavenly Father would want me to fly a paper airplane inside the temple. Finally a lady came and took me to a room upstairs. Dad and Mom were there, and so was Mrs. Brocklebank. I looked into the mirror on one wall and saw a mirror just like it on the opposite wall. I could see a whole bunch of me going off into the distance. I tried to look past myself to see how far I went, but every time I moved my head, the row of me in the mirrors moved their heads too.
A man dressed in a white suit came in and shook my hand and told me that he was President Spackman, the president of the Alberta Temple. He had a kind face and eyes that sparkled. He stood in front of us and talked about marriage, and I decided right then that when I grow up, I’m going to get married in the temple. Then he told Mom and Dad to kneel at the altar, and he sealed them so that they would never be apart. Then they all turned and looked at me.
“Come here, please, Kenneth,” President Spackman said.
I knelt beside Mom and Dad, and we joined hands on top of the altar. Their hands felt warm and strong. I don’t remember everything that was said, because I was too nervous, but I remember the part about me belonging to Mom and Dad from now on. After it was over, we all stood up; then it was Mrs. Brocklebank’s turn.
Things were a bit confusing because Grandfather Brocklebank was already dead, which meant that my dad had to take his place. Dad was pleased about it, though. I watched as Mrs. Brocklebank knelt at the altar and took his hand. Suddenly I realized that there was something that I wanted to say to my grandmother. I wanted to tell her that I knew now that everything was going to be all right. I knew that Grandfather Brocklebank wanted to be with her. He wanted to be with her because that was the way it was meant to be. Sometimes people in families get mad at each other, but that isn’t important. What’s important is that families are together. I held up my arm and waved to get her attention. She looked up into my eyes and smiled at me. All the Mrs. Brocklebanks in the mirrors smiled too. I realized that I didn’t have to tell her anything at all. She already knew.

I have been putting off this letter for almost a year now, and I feel it is time for me to finally write and tell you the feelings I have for the Church and the New Era. I first met a member of the Church a year ago. Before then I had never heard of the Church. In his own silent way, mostly through his example, this brother brought me to a better understanding of myself. It was all too soon (about two weeks after we met) that I left him and Cape Town to go on a holiday.
I asked my friend to give me something to read on my two-day train ride. He arrived at the station with a whole folder of New Eras, pamphlets, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. For two days on the train I read the New Era. I read every one (there were about 12) from cover to cover, and then read the pamphlets. Something very exciting was being opened up to me, and I could feel it. I spent that whole three-week holiday in constant prayer and reading. Let’s not forget the crying and laughing either. Before the holiday was over, I knew without a doubt that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true church of God.
Unfortunately, my parents aren’t as enthusiastic as I am, so I still have to wait six months to be baptized. But I couldn’t be happier than I am, just having the knowledge that I do. It is so refreshing and filling.
I think the New Era is the greatest magazine ever published. I find it the most comforting and most spiritually moving work of art in the world today. Thank you, New Era, for giving me the beginning of the most precious eternal gift of truth, and also for filling my life with such precious, beautiful words I could ask for nothing more. I am studying at a university where I am the only Latter-day Saint, and I can truly say, New Era, you are my best friend.
Annie GroblerCape TownRepublic of South Africa

When I was 12 years old, the missionaries met me and my family—my parents, brother, and two sisters—and they talked about family. They said that Church members have a family night and explained family home evening.
My father said, “Thank you for coming, but we are not interested.” I was very sad, but he explained: “Son, we have seven family nights in our family, and they told us that we need to have only one. They have nothing to teach us.”
Five years later, when I was 17, I got a job in another city and lived alone. While I was away from home, the missionaries knocked on my parents’ door again. This time, my family listened and was baptized. When my parents told me, I said, “I have no interest in religion right now.”
Another five years passed, and I came to stay at my parents’ home while I was changing employment. My father was the ward mission leader, and every afternoon the missionaries would visit him briefly to update and coordinate plans. One day they asked him, “Who is that young man there?”
He said, “That’s my older son.”
“Is he a member?”
“No.”
“We need to talk with him.”
But I said, “No, I’m not interested.”
Then one day my father agreed to let the missionaries teach a lady in our home. They came around 5:00 in the afternoon and began teaching her—and they knew that I was in the next room making a sandwich before leaving to see my friends. They taught about a boy prophet—Joseph Smith—and the First Vision. And from the other room, I listened.
When I eventually left the house, the Spirit started to work in my heart and some questions came into my mind: “Why don’t you do what the sisters taught this lady? Why don’t you study the history of Joseph Smith and ask the Lord if he was a prophet?” And I said to myself, “I’m happy. I’m doing good things. I don’t need it.” But the Spirit started to wrestle with me, and I decided not to see my friends that night. I went back home.
I asked my mom, “Where can I read the history of Joseph Smith?” She gave me her scriptures and showed me the Joseph Smith—History, and I read and prayed. I read the first paragraph, pondered, and asked Heavenly Father if what’s there is true. I did this with every paragraph until I completed the whole thing. My heart was anxious for an answer. I read and prayed all night, until 9:20 the next morning.
The Lord revealed to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I had a very sacred experience. As I finished praying, I promised that I would find the missionaries and be baptized because I had this sure knowledge.
I told the sisters, “I need to be baptized now.” They explained the lessons I needed to have and commitments I needed to make. But I said, “I don’t want to lose a single day with the knowledge that the Lord has given me that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
The sisters called their zone leader. He agreed to an accelerated schedule for the lessons. He scheduled the baptismal interview and told me he’d also need to talk to the ward mission leader, and I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk with the ward mission leader. He’s my daddy. He’s been praying for years for me to be baptized.”
My baptism was an experience I will remember forever. What a sweet and wonderful feeling. I felt that I was a new man. I was clean. I felt so close to God, and I was very happy.
Because I have a firm testimony about what happened in the Sacred Grove in 1820, I have always been active in the gospel and the Church. I started to serve, fulfill callings, and give all that I had to the Church.
Two weeks after my baptism, my stake president called me as the leader of the young single adults in my stake (though I had to ask him what a stake is). In another two weeks, I was organizing a regional singles conference. This was the best singles conference in the history of the Church, because I met my wife there.
One year later we were married. We have been happily married for 38 years now. We have four children and 10 grandchildren, and all the blessings we have are because of a decision we made. Before we married, I asked her, “Will you support me in being absolutely 100 percent obedient to the living prophets?” She said, “Yes.”
After I was baptized, the first talk I heard from the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), was about being self-reliant and being wise with your money. He also said to provide a good education for your children.1 These two things have been taught in our family and have been great blessings. My children are in good situations today—not because I’m so smart; I just chose to follow the prophets.
I love to serve the Lord and my fellowmen because that’s what I learned from the prophets.
Follow the prophets. Listen to their words and practice what they teach, and you will be happy. My faith and knowledge about the Church and the gospel came from my testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
I love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It’s my desire to be with Them forever. That’s why it’s important to listen to the prophets—they know the way back to the presence of God.
I think all young people should read the history of Joseph Smith with real intent, with an open heart and an open mind, and ask Heavenly Father. And I am sure the Lord will give the answer, as He gave to me. If you read the version we have in the scriptures, you can gain a strong testimony. Then you can read the other versions too.2
Joseph Smith saw the light, he saw God the Father and Jesus Christ, and They spoke to him. This is divine knowledge that comes from God, through the Spirit.
After you’ve had this confirmation in your heart, set a goal to know the words of the living prophets. Study their words in the scriptures, general conference, For the Strength of Youth, Church magazines, and LDS.org. Learn their counsel in seminary, Sunday School, and quorum or class meetings. Make goals based on prophetic priorities. Then just do it.
You will feel closer to the Lord. You will feel your intelligence expand for school and for all things. And remember you are never alone. You have supportive people around you who are ready to help, including your bishop or branch president. And the Lord and His Spirit will be with you.

“By our standards the villagers of San Gabriel had very little, but they gave beyond their means. We were constantly showered with gifts of flowers, food, and mementos. But our first realization of how much they cared was exemplified by a six-year-old girl. As we were leaving the village after our fourth visit, young Cielo ran up to us with a bouquet of flowers. Before she could speak she burst into tears. After moments of surprise and confusion we were told that she had to return to school the next week and would not be able to attend our lessons again. Her unexpected display of emotion touched us deeply. As we tried to hold back our own tears, we assured her that we would visit her on Sunday.
“There were other such incidents during those weeks that also left lasting impressions, but our final visit was a fitting climax. As we sat in that humble, one-room chapel for the last time and felt the rain trickle in through the leaking roof, we were moved. We couldn’t hold back the tears as the members presented each of us with an onyx necklace they had made themselves. Through her tears one sister commented, ‘The chapel cries too because you must leave us!’
“As one man handed us each a box of candy, he earnestly asked us to convey the love of the Mexican people to the Saints in the United States.
“He wanted us to know that they too love the gospel. He wanted the world to know that Saints exist in San Gabriel.”
Carol Peterson, Fort Worth, TexasStana Smoot, Centerville, Utah

(Shayla) My husband Spencer and I met in third grade and were good friends all through high school. After graduation, he left on his mission and I went to Ricks College. By the time he came home, I was almost finished with my associate’s degree. Spencer was just starting college when he proposed marriage to me. He hadn’t gone to university at all before his mission so I knew it would be a long haul for us. Although he was quite the jokester in school, my parents knew he was a hard worker and that he would continue that work ethic when he started his university experience. Biology was a favorite so he began his search for a possible career with that in mind. I worked at a bank and was able to support us until I had our first daughter, Madilynn. I found a job as a nanny where I could take Madi with me and still earn some money. Spencer was still on the hunt for what he wanted to do when he grew up and it ranged from college professor to landscape designer to something in the medical field. He finally narrowed it down to dentistry. I continued to be a nanny until our second daughter, Devanee was born and then it was time for me to stay home. Spencer earned scholarships to pay for school and we moved into a studio apartment that my parents had off their garage. It was a bit stressful living in such a small place with a two-year-old and a new baby. Luckily, we could spend a lot of time with my family. By this time, Spencer had been accepted to the University of Iowa dental school. I had always lived within five miles of my family, now I was going to be 20 hours away from them. This was what Heavenly Father wanted us to do and I knew we would be watched over and blessed.

Those years in dental school were hard but memorable. We never had money. We lived in a little townhouse, but we learned to rely on the Lord. Somehow, we always had enough. I continued to stay home with our daughters. School was tough for Spencer and there were times when I didn’t see him very much. He had board tests to study for and take and internships to go on where he was away from the family for weeks at a time.

We had been in Iowa and dental school for just a few months when our little family was asked to serve as stake specialists in a branch about an hour outside of Iowa City. We attended that branch every Sunday and fulfilled callings because there weren’t enough members in the branch to cover everything. I worked in the Primary and Spencer served with the Young Men. This meant we were driving an hour to and from our home twice a week. We loved the people in the Belle Plaine Branch. We met in a little church where we could shoot a basketball from the pulpit and make it through the hoop. It was the closest experience I had to serving a mission. We loved the members and loved serving with them. We received many blessings during the 14 months of going to Belle Plaine. One of those blessings was that we had gas in our van every time we needed make the hour drive. To me, it was a miracle.

There were about 10 LDS students in Spencer’s dental class and we all had kids and not a lot of other family around. We spent a lot of time together and relied on each other as if we were family. We decided that we were going to go to the temple every month. We would drive two hours to the Nauvoo temple. Two couples would watch the kids and the other couples would go to a session and then we would switch the next month. We went almost every month. Our friends kept us going. We loved being with each other. The friends we made were answers to many prayers and the friendships continue and are treasured even today.

By this time, many friends back home were buying their first homes and starting their careers. On days that I would get frustrated or felt sorry for myself, I would call home and cry to my mom. She gave me the best advice that kept me thinking of the bigger picture. She would always say, “Don’t give up what you want most, for what you want now.” I knew that the sacrifices that we were making now would pay off in the future.

Life didn’t automatically get easier after graduation. Our first job in Washington state didn’t work out and we found ourselves moving once again to a little town in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming. It wasn’t the first place we would’ve chosen to move to, but there was a good job. We found many things to be grateful for when we moved to Riverton and started to see our sacrifices finally paying off. I’m so grateful for those years in school where we were far from family and money was tight. We made good friends who were in the same position as us and learned to have fun without money. Most importantly, we learned to rely on the Lord and knew that we were doing what we were supposed to and we were blessed.

I didn’t really mean to bring the cow to Primary that Sunday morning. I didn’t even know who the cow belonged to. On my way to Primary, this silly Holstein cow suddenly lumbered up behind me, mooing at the top of her lungs.
“Go home!” I shouted, trying to shoo her away. “Go home!” Not that I knew where her home could be. Cows usually didn’t just wander around our small town.
I ducked my head and started jogging, hoping that none of my friends would see or hear the noisy cow following right on my heels. But things only got worse. Rounding the corner, I saw Sister Allred, my Primary teacher, sitting on the church steps, crying.
Now I’ve really done it, I thought. Sister Allred is already a nervous wreck because of our class’s behavior. And now I’ve brought a cow to Primary! I thought about last week’s Primary class. It had been so bad that I’d even told my dad about it. Tony and Jimmy had been throwing chalk, tipping over chairs, and snickering whenever Sister Allred asked a question.
“In my day,” Dad had said, fuming, “those boys would have gotten a good whipping with a willow branch for not respecting their elders.”
I could almost feel the sting as he spoke. But I hadn’t told him the complete story. Scott and I had been in on those pranks too. Sure, I wanted to be nice to Sister Allred, but being part of the group was even more important to me.
“Hello, Phillip,” Sister Allred called, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“Hello,” I murmured, hoping that she would mistake the cow for an extraordinarily large Dalmatian.
With her eyes all teary and puffy, Sister Allred didn’t look as pretty as she usually did. I had always thought that widows were supposed to be ancient. But Sister Allred wasn’t much older than Mom.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, hoping that her tears had blocked out the sight of the cow.
“Oh, nothing, really,” she said, starting to sniffle again. “I’ve just been thinking that maybe I’m not the right person to teach your Primary class.”
“I know how you feel,” I said. “The last teacher who resigned from our class dubbed us the ‘Frightful Four and Sweet Emily Clawson.’” I squirmed when I said “Frightful Four,” because there were only five boys in our class and Brian Tennyson never came. That meant that I was one of the Frightful Four, and right then I wasn’t particularly proud of it.
Suddenly the cow planted her forelegs on the step right beside Sister Allred and mooed loudly in her ear.
I was aghast, but Sister Allred didn’t seem to mind. “Phillip,” she said, “you never told me that you had a cow.”
Just then I saw Sister Parkin, the Primary president, and a redheaded boy heading toward us. Where can I hide the cow? I agonized.
But Sister Parkin looked right past the cow and shouted to Sister Allred above the cow’s mooing. “I want you to meet another member of your class.”
I looked at the redheaded boy, who was staring at the ground.
“This is Brian Tennyson,” said Sister Parkin. Then she fled.
My heart seemed to skip a beat. So this is Brian—the boy Mom and Dad are always telling me I should fellowship. While I was staring at him, a rubber band whopped the side of my head. I turned and saw Tony and Jimmy gleefully loping toward me.
Now I was in real trouble. I was caught between an obnoxious cow, a crying teacher, a shy boy who needed my example, and the two worst terrors of the Primary. To make matters worse, Emily Clawson came bouncing up to Sister Allred and smugly announced, “I read all the scriptures that you talked about last week.”
“Say, Emily,” taunted Tony, “we’ve finally found another girl to read scriptures with you.” He jerked his thumb toward the cow. “Want to ride her into class?”
Sister Allred cleared her throat and said, “I think that we can manage without the cow.”
After opening exercises, the lesson started with no major catastrophes, but only because Scott’s dad stood just outside the door for a while. The loudest sound came from Emily answering questions. I wondered how long it would last. It didn’t last long. Suddenly there was a terrible bellowing outside our window. The cow had found us. She was stamping her hooves and mooing louder than ever.
“I know what’s wrong with that cow!” Sister Allred exclaimed. “It’s past her milking time. The poor thing’s in pain.” She started gathering up her lesson materials.
My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Why, I’m going to milk her,” Sister Allred replied. “I can just as well teach a lesson outside while I’m milking.”
“You know how to milk a cow?” chortled Tony.
“I used to do it all the time when we had the farm,” she answered.
Tony wrinkled his nose and gave one of his “Oh, sure” looks to Jimmy.
“But I need your help. Would you and Jimmy please find me some pans in the meetinghouse kitchen?” she said.
“Who, me?” said Tony, pointing at himself unbelievingly.
“Yes, you!”
Grumbling, Tony and Jimmy shuffled down the hall.
Brian tugged hopefully on Sister Allred’s sleeve. “May I help too?”
She smiled. “You and Phillip can find me some paper towels and a pan of warm water.”
The bellowing cow was dripping milk in a puddle by the time we gathered around her. Sister Allred stroked the cow gently. “Don’t worry, Bossie. We’ll take care of you.”
Tony and Jimmy brought half a dozen pans from the kitchen, and I brought warm water in the biggest bowl I could find. We thought that we had lost Brian until we saw a cowlick of red hair sticking up behind a tremendous moving pile of paper towels.
“It looks as if we’re well stocked,” laughed Sister Allred. “Now, does anyone know what we do first?”
Brian was standing beyond the circle of the group. Finally he cleared his throat. “I know,” he offered shyly. “You need to wash the cow’s udder with that warm water.”
“That’s right,” said Sister Allred. “Have you milked cows before?”
“No,” replied Brian. “But my grandpa used to have cows, and I watched him.”
Soon everyone was helping to wash and dry the cow’s udder—everyone except Tony. I could see him hanging back, watching us silently.
“What’s next?” asked our teacher.
“Milking!” we exclaimed in unison.
Expertly, Sister Allred began to squeeze the cow’s teats with both her hands. Thick, warm milk squirted into a pan. Soon she pushed back her chair. “Anybody else want to try?”
“I do!” Brian piped up. A freckled grin creased his face as he squeezed a trickle of milk into the pan.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tony edging closer. He began patting the cow’s neck. He cleared his throat again. “Before he died, my grandpa told me about milking cows too. He said that it’s important to always be gentle and kind to them.”
Sister Allred smiled. “Tony, I’m certainly glad that you’re here today. You’ve just taught my Primary lesson. It’s about being gentle and kind.” She chuckled. “Well, it doesn’t exactly talk about cows. But it does say that we should be gentle and kind to everyone, and that must include cows.”
“Does that also include Primary teachers?” blurted out Brian.
Sister Allred looked at Brian in surprise. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Of course, it’s easy to be kind to you. You’re the best Primary teacher I’ve ever had!” He lowered his voice. “You know what else? You’re the best cow milker I’ve ever seen.”
Sister Allred leaned down. Her smiling blue eyes looked prettier than I’d ever seen them. “You know what, Brian? I bet you can all learn to be great cow milkers.”
Soon we were all taking turns milking, even Emily. We must have lined up a dozen times.
“Wow,” said Tony, “I wish my grandpa could see me now.”
Suddenly we heard a voice behind us. “Anybody want a job? I never guessed that I was going to find my cow in the hands of such good milkers.”
We all looked up. A stooped old man was gazing at the pans filled with warm, creamy milk.
“I heard that my cow had headed in this direction, but I never thought that she’d get this far.” He paused and rubbed his gray chin. “I’m serious about that job offer. I can’t even get this much milk out of her myself. Oh, you wouldn’t have to milk very often—only when my wife and I want to get away for a day or two. Betsy here is our last cow, and we don’t want to give her up. She’s mostly a pet.”
“I’d love to milk her,” said Brian.
Tony ground the toe of his shoe into the dirt and motioned toward Sister Allred. “I wouldn’t mind doing it if our teacher helps us. She’s real good at milking. I’m sure that you could trust us to be gentle and kind to Betsy.”
Sister Allred smiled and put her arm around Tony. “I think that my five boys, Emily, and I could handle a job like that.”
I patted the black and white cow, and Betsy gave a final, contented moo.

My years at Ricks College, during which I tried to seek God’s will and do it, kept the pavilion from covering me or obscuring God’s active role in my life. As I sought to do His work, I felt close to Him and felt assurance that He knew of my affairs and cared deeply for my happiness. But as they had at Stanford, worldly motivations began to present themselves to me. One was an attractive job offer, extended just as I was finishing my fifth year as president of Ricks College. I considered the offer and prayed about it and even discussed it with the First Presidency. They responded with warmth and a little humor but certainly not with any direction. President Spencer W. Kimball listened to me describe the offer I had received from a large corporation and said: “Well, Hal, that sounds like a wonderful opportunity! And if we ever needed you, we’d know where to find you.” They would have known where to find me, but my desires for professional success might have created a pavilion that would make it hard for me to find God and harder for me to listen to and follow His invitations.
My wife, sensing this, had a strong impression that we were not to leave Ricks College. I said, “That’s good enough for me.” But she insisted, wisely, that I must get my own revelation. And so I prayed again. This time I did receive direction, in the form of a voice in my mind that said, “I’ll let you stay at Ricks College a little longer.” My personal ambitions might have clouded my view of reality and made it hard for me to receive revelation.
Thirty days after I was blessed with the inspired decision to turn down the job offer and stay at Ricks College, the Teton Dam burst nearby. God knew that dam would burst and that hundreds of people would need help. He let me seek counsel and gain His permission to stay at Ricks College. He knew all the reasons that my service might still be valuable at the college and in Rexburg. So I was there to ask Heavenly Father frequently in prayer that He would have me do those things that would help the people whose property and lives had been damaged. I spent hours working with other people to clear mud and water from homes. My desire to know and do His will gave me a soul-stretching opportunity.
That incident illustrates another way we can create a barrier to knowing God’s will or feeling His love for us: we can’t insist on our timetable when the Lord has His own. I thought I had spent enough time in my service in Rexburg and was in a hurry to move on. Sometimes our insistence on acting according to our own timetable can obscure His will for us.

Two little children were put early to bed on a winter’s night, for the fire had gone out, and the cold was pouring in at the many cracks of their frail shanty.
The mother strove to eke out the scantiness of the bed-covering by placing clean boards over the children. A pair of bright eyes shone out from under a board, and just before it was hushed in slumber, a sweet voice said, “Mother, how nice this is! How I pity the poor people who don’t have any boards to cover their children with this cold night.”

An interesting way to practice what is preached about etiquette was discovered by the youth of the Murray Third Ward in Utah. An evening’s lesson on social awareness was given to Laurels and Explorers. A week later a full-scale formal dinner was hosted by MIA leaders and the bishopric. In a lovely home a long table was covered with fine linen, and crystal, silverware, and complete china settings were laid. Guests came in their party best. Boys had called the girls on the telephone properly for the date. Boys attended to the girls’ needs and even gave their “orders” to the waiters (members of the bishopric!). At the end of the evening each was warmly appreciative, seeking the hosts out to express thanks. (An extra touch of niceness is a note of thanks the following day.)

It was such a successful event that now everyone is wondering what they can learn next that they can put into practice with as much fun.

Let me take you to my native Finland, known for her countless blue lakes and white snow; a beautiful land of light in the summer and darkness in the winter. With endless white summer nights and long dark winter days, coming home for supper, when the sun went down, was not a particularly useful rule for my mother to give us children. If we had followed that advice, we would have stayed home all day in the winter and outside all night during the summer. My mother was a chemist and her explanations had a scientific foundation. She taught us how to read different shades of light and darkness to tell time. She explained how to observe nature to know what time dinner was ready, or when we had to return home to sleep. Before we were given watches, we could tell time based on the sights and sounds of nature surrounding us.

We also learned to work while the days were light and get ready for the long period of darkness that always followed the pleasant summer days. Our storage of food and supplies, a safe home, and fun memories, gave us faith and peace. We knew that it didn't matter if the sun was behind clouds, because eventually, there would be a break. Moments of glorious sunlight made the darkness of winter bearable and kept hope alive that spring would surely come, followed by another summer with its long days of light.

Today Finns have a saying: "There is no cold weather, just poor clothing." However, when I was born, Finland was still paying war reparations to Russia and was rebuilding the country after three devastating wars. I can't remember lacking anything as a child, but there were times when I was cold, even though I had the very best and the prettiest clothing available. My mother will turn 86 years in two days, but when she was younger, she walked fast, held her head high, and scanned the sky above the treetops. She was always aware of her surroundings. She recently told me that she was looking for possible air attacks and other dangers. Fear of war was ever present in the minds of her generation, but she never showed that fear to me.

I only remember the beauty of the Northern Lights above trees, the sound of cold, crunchy snow under my feet, and joyful laughter as we watched nature's display of colors and movement. Running to imitate the dancing Northern Lights on the black sky soon left my body warm and my heart filled with delight. I learned to take "heart photographs" - to capture images and memories so vividly in my mind that when the dark days of life came with trials and disappointments later on, I could just close my eyes for a second and happiness filled my heart instantaneously.

Standing and waiting for a bus was a different story. If there were any signs that I was cold, Mother's instructions were short: "Turn Your Face and Feet to the Light."I obeyed and tried to find the sun. In the process, I turned my back to the bitter north wind to feel the sun's warm rays. Soon this behavior became automatic. I just watched adults who stood towards the light, moved to keep the circulation going, and I was never cold again.

We must be careful of the misuse of credit. The use of credit cards in many places has increased consumer debt to staggering proportions. I am reminded of the story of “an elderly farmer [who] wrote to a mail order house as follows: ‘Please send me one of the gasoline engines you show on page 787, and if it’s any good, I’ll send you a check.’
“In time he received the following reply: ‘Please send check. If it’s any good, we’ll send the engine.’”

On the eve of his martyrdom, the Prophet turned to Dr. Willard Richards and said:
“If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?” The doctor answered, “Brother Joseph you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.” Joseph said, “You cannot.” The doctor replied, “I will.”
How does one explain the depths of this love and loyalty? Joseph’s friends loved him because they knew the extent of his love for them. Nothing in Joseph’s life was more important than friendship.

When I was young, my mother was the only member of the Church in our family. Each Sunday she would go to church alone because my dad wanted his children to go to the Methodist Church. But my dad didn’t go to church at all.
Things changed in 1989. I was baptized, and within two months of my baptism, my dad was converted to the Church as well. He later became my bishop.
It was an amazing change for my dad, and I remember it very well. I now want to be like him. Here’s why.
Before my dad became a Church member, he was doing all the bad things of the world. He drank all the time. I saw my dad drunk. I saw him smoke. He just stayed home and watched TV. We weren’t very happy.
It’s totally different now. He’s very calm, and he talks to me about incorporating the teachings of the gospel into my life. Every night before we have our evening prayers, he talks to all of us about the gospel and its importance.
Before, we used to try to have evening prayers, but my dad wouldn’t participate. He didn’t seem to care. But now he makes it a priority that we all gather together each night to thank Heavenly Father.
It’s been great to see the change in my family that the Church has brought. Because of the age I’m at, I know if my dad had gone on as he was before—not obeying the Word of Wisdom and smoking and drinking—I might have followed his example and felt like those were the things I should do. And he couldn’t have told me to stop because he was doing it too.
But he’s a member of the Church, and because he lived that other life, he knows that it won’t bring me happiness.
My dad also stresses that since I’m the oldest son, my younger brothers and younger sister are looking up to me. He says that they will follow me and I need to be a good example so they will follow me in righteousness. That’s what I’m trying to do.
It’s been a real blessing to me to have a father who honors the priesthood. He always talks to me about the priesthood before I give a talk or bless the sacrament. He reminds me that I’m a priesthood holder and that I should be proud of it because not all men have the priesthood.
So many teenagers here in Western Samoa drink and smoke and do things they shouldn’t. My dad’s example is like a protection to me.
With my dad leading the way, it’s been so much easier following the teachings of Jesus Christ. And for that I’m grateful.

Ten-year-old Jesse Brewster of Lakeview, Oregon, made a step toward keeping his baptismal covenants by following the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” (See Mosiah 13:22; Ex. 20:15.) While Jesse was at the store with his mother, he saw a candy bar he really wanted but did not have any money to buy it with. He knew that his brother had some money saved in his room, and when he got home, he took some of that money, went back to the store, and nearly bought the candy. He realized at the last minute how wrong that would be. He put the candy bar back and bravely confessed to his brother.

By being honest, Jesse showed that he was willing to live by the covenants that he had made when he was baptized. He learned from this experience that “following what I know is right is always better than a candy bar.”