Gospel Story Finder

Sarah Thompson was hurrying to gather the laundry so she could get everything finished before her husband, Ted, got home from work. She opened Melissa’s bedroom door and hurried toward her closet to retrieve the multitude of shirts, blue jeans, and socks for the washer. When she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Why, Melissa, I thought you were outside playing with the rest of the children. What’s the matter, dear?”
Melissa had obviously been crying, and it took a while for her to choke out the words: “I—I don’t want to get baptized on Saturday.”
Sister Thompson quickly joined her daughter on the bed and took her in her arms. “Melissa, dear, it’s all right. But you’ve been talking about your baptism for months, and you could hardly wait for your eighth birthday. Why have you changed your mind?”
“I’m scared.”
Sister Thomspon smiled. “Melissa, you’ve been to baptisms before. What is there to be afraid of? Besides, your friends Ann and Sarah will be baptized on Saturday too. Won’t they help to give you courage?”
“But they’re different from me,” Melissa said in a soft, unsteady voice. “They’ll have their dads there to baptize them.”
Sister Thompson knew that Melissa’s nonmember father couldn’t baptize their daughter, but she had thought that Melissa was pleased that their home teacher had promised to do it. “I thought you liked Brother Adamson, dear,” she said. “He’s such a special man.”
“I love Brother Adamson,” Melissa sobbed, “but it’s not the same. He’s not Dad.”
“Sweetheart …” Sister Thompson tried to comfort her daughter. She loved her husband very much, but at the same time her own heart was breaking. She thought of all the times she had wanted to share special spiritual experiences with her husband but had been unable to. Now it was hurting their child. Maybe she had made the wrong decision when she had listened to the missionaries and had decided to be baptized. Yet she had received a strong testimony, and she had been sure that Ted would soon realize how true and good the gospel was. But that had been three years ago, and he still showed no sign of ever wanting to become a member of the Church.
“Melissa,” Sister Thompson began again gently, “do you enjoy going to Primary?”
“Oh, yes! I love the stories, and my teacher, Sister Westover, is so nice.” Melissa had stopped crying.
“Do you believe those stories?” Sister Thompson continued.
“Yes, of course I do,” Melissa answered confidently. “I know that the Church is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“How can you show that you know it is true?” her mother urged.
Melissa realized what her mother was trying to tell her, and she knew that she would be baptized on Saturday. But without her dad to share it with—it just seemed kind of scary. Melissa smiled at her mother and said, “Maybe Dad will come to see me get baptized on Saturday. I’m going to ask him just as soon as he gets home.” Melissa went outside to wait for her dad.
Sister Thompson remained sitting on the bed, deep in thought. Ted hasn’t attended a Church meeting yet. He has gone with us to several church socials, but nothing about the gospel has really interested him. She hoped that Melissa wasn’t in for another disappointment.
Melissa saw their car turn into the driveway, and she ran across the lawn to meet her father. Ted Thompson got out of his car, took his daughter in his arms, and gave her a big hug. “What’s my little one so excited about today?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, Daddy! I’m getting baptized on Saturday, don’t you remember?”
Mr. Thompson suddenly grew serious, “Yes, your mother told me about it.”
Melissa hurried on, not noticing her father’s concerned look. “Dad will you come and see me—will you, please? Everybody else’s father will be there. You’ll come, won’t you?” Melissa pleaded.
Mr. Thompson was caught off guard, and he didn’t know what to say. Finally he mumbled, “We’ll see. We’ll see. It’s still a long time until Saturday.”
Melissa was disappointed, but she decided that a “we’ll see” was better than a “no.” She gave her dad a final squeeze and ran next door to play with her friends.
Saturday was a beautiful, clear day, and Melissa thought that it was a perfect day for her baptism. She hadn’t talked to her father about coming with her since that day in the front yard. But he hadn’t said anything, so she assumed he would be there.
That afternoon Melissa took a long, hot bath, and her mother helped her get dressed in her prettiest Sunday dress. Hanging in the hallway waiting to be put into the car was the lovely white baptismal dress Sister Thompson had made for Melissa. When they were ready to go, Sister Thompson said, “We’d better hurry, dear, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll get Dad,” Melissa replied. But when she entered the living room, Melissa saw that her father was still in his work clothes, reading the newspaper. “Dad, aren’t you ready for the baptism? We’ll be late!”
Mr. Thompson looked at his daughter’s anxious face and said, “Melissa, dear, I can’t go to your baptism. I’d feel out of place. I just don’t belong there. Please don’t be angry with me.”
Melissa was out of the room and running for the car before he had even finished. Sister Thompson saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes, and for the second time that week she wondered if she had made a mistake in joining the Church.
There was great excitement in the girls’ dressing room as Ann, Sarah, and Melissa changed clothes for their baptism.
“I’m so excited!” Sarah exclaimed. “Dad gave me my very own Book of Mormon. It has a leather cover, and it has my name on it and everything!”
“That’s really neat,” said Ann. “My whole family’s going over to my grandma and grandpa’s after the baptism. Grandma promised to help me start on my Book of Remembrance.”
Sarah and Ann noticed that Melissa was very quiet. “What are you going to do afterward, Melissa?” Sarah asked.
“Well, I’m not sure.” Melissa knew that they would just be going home, but she added, “Mom and Dad are probably going to surprise me.”
Melissa slipped her white dress off its hanger, and as she began to pull it over her head, she noticed a piece of paper pinned inside. She unpinned it and saw that it was in her father’s handwriting! “My dear Melissa,” she read, “I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you today. I want you to know that I am very proud of you. You have made a very important decision in your life. I only hope that I can have enough courage to make that same decision some day. Please remember that I love you very much. Daddy.”
Melissa wiped the tears from her eyes as she finished dressing. When Brother Adamson helped her down the steps of the baptismal font, Melissa had the most radiant smile that her mother had ever seen. Sister Thompson knew then that she hadn’t made a mistake three years before when she, too, had entered that same baptismal font.

Wilford Woodruff was with Joseph before and after his death. He traveled thousands of miles with him and often acted as scribe for him—it was Brother Woodruff who wrote the revelation given through Joseph Smith concerning the Civil War. (See D&C 87.) In the Millennial Star he recounts the delightful and revealing first meeting with the Prophet Joseph:
“Before I saw Joseph I said I did not care how old he was, or how young he was; I did not care how he looked—whether his hair was long or short; the man that advanced that revelation was a Prophet of God. I knew it for myself. I first met Joseph in the streets of Kirtland. He had on an old hat, and a pistol in his hand. Said he, ‘Brother Woodruff, I’ve been out shooting at a mark, and I wanted to see if I could hit anything;’ and says he, ‘Have you any objection to it?’ ‘Not at all,’ says I; ‘there is no law against a man shooting at a mark, that I know of.’ He invited me to his house. He had a wolf skin, which he wanted me to help him to tan; he wanted it to sit on while driving his wagon team. Now, many might have said, ‘You are a pretty Prophet; shooting a pistol and tanning a wolf skin.’ Well, we tanned it, and used it while making a journey of a thousand miles. This was my first acquaintance with the Prophet Joseph. And from that day until the present, with all of the apostacies that we have had, and with all the difficulties and afflictions we have been called to pass through, I never saw a moment when I had any doubt with regard to this work. I have had no trial about this. While the people were apostatizing on the right hand and on the left, and while Apostles were urging me to turn against the Prophet Joseph, it was no temptation to me to doubt this work or to doubt that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God.” (Millennial Star, vol. 53, pp. 627–28.)

I don’t know how many times people had told us to make friends, but one day in Miss Cocks’s third grade class, that was exactly what Aubrey, Shanae, and I did. We actually “made” a friend.
At first our friend didn’t have a lot of personality. She was a little bit flat and colorless because we made her out of sheets of white drawing paper that we taped together and cut out into the rough shape of a girl. Then we drew a face on her, propped her up in a chair, and slid her up to the desk.
Shanae, Aubrey, and I didn’t actually need a friend. We just needed a body, someone or something to take up space so that Miss Cocks wouldn’t assign another someone to sit with us.
All of the desks in the classroom were arranged in groups of four. There was an odd number of students in the room. Two groups had only three students, and Aubrey, Shanae, and I felt lucky to end up together with no one sitting in the fourth desk.
We really didn’t want anybody else joining us. So when Shanae took a note to the office for Miss Cocks and saw a new student, she hurried back to class with the awful news.
“Brittany,” she whispered to me, “there’s a new boy in the office, and I think he’s coming to our room. What if we get stuck with him?”
“A boy will ruin everything,” I muttered.
That’s when Shanae, Aubrey, and I decided to make our friend. We had to work fast, but we had her propped in the empty chair when Mr. Yost, the principal, escorted Jesse to our classroom.
Miss Cocks’s gaze settled first on our group. We all giggled. “Our group is full,” I announced. “We made a friend during art, and she’s sitting right there—see?”
“I didn’t know that you girls could make a friend so quickly,” Miss Cocks said, trying to hold back her own smile. She was sort of used to Aubrey and me, because she was the Primary president in our ward. She shrugged. “I guess Jesse will get to sit by Melissa in the other group.”
After Jesse was properly introduced to the class, Shanae, Aubrey, and I fixed up our friend, carefully using our scissors to give her a better shape. We got out our crayons and colored her face and glued on yellow construction-paper hair. We also painted a dress and shoes on her.
Later, when Miss Cocks started our social studies lesson, she turned to us. “Oh, by the way, Brittany, you girls haven’t had a chance to introduce your friend to the class. After all, she’s new, too.”
She caught all three of us by surprise. At first we just sat there. Then I got an idea. My favorite cousin’s name was Kerstin, so I took a deep breath, stood up, and pointed at our homemade friend. “Class,” I explained, “this is our new friend, Kerstin.”
“Where did she live before she came here?” Miss Cocks wanted to know.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, she lived in a big, dark forest. In fact, I think she was a tree.” I grinned.
Shanae stood up next to me and added, “And we hope all of you will be especially nice to her. She’s not used to being around so many people.”
“She doesn’t talk very much,” Aubrey joined in. “She’s very shy, so if you’d like to tell her something, you’ll have to talk to one of us.”
Most of the guys in the class rolled their eyes and the girls mostly snickered. Miss Cocks raised her eyebrows but only said, “Kerstin, I’m glad that you were able to get out of the big, dark forest. It’s nice to have you in our class. And,” she added solemnly, “I hope some of your quietness will rub off onto your three friends.”
That’s how Kerstin came to be our friend. We might have forgotten all about her, wadded her up, and thrown her into the trash at the end of the day. But as Miss Cocks was passing out our social studies crossword puzzle, she skipped Kerstin. Shanae raised her hand and pointed out, “You didn’t give Kerstin one.” She covered her mouth to hide a grin.
“Does Kerstin know how to do crossword puzzles?” Miss Cocks asked. “Coming from the big, dark forest, she probably doesn’t even know what the states are, and a person has to know the states in order to do this crossword puzzle.”
“Kerstin is a little slow,” Aubrey spoke up.
“But we’ll help her,” I volunteered. “That’s what friends are for.”
Miss Cocks considered a moment, then set a crossword puzzle in front of Kerstin. “Kerstin,” she said slowly, “if you have any questions, just ask one of your three very silly friends.”
Shanae, Aubrey, and I hurried through our own puzzles. As we worked together on Kerstin’s, we carefully explained to her what we were doing and why. The rest of the kids in the class shook their heads and muttered under their breaths.
When it was time for recess, I raised my hand.
“Is it all right if Kerstin stays in during recess? She has a bad cold.”
“That’s why she’s so pale,” Aubrey joined in.
“Besides,” Shanae added, “she doesn’t have a coat.”
“Then I think Kerstin had better stay in,” Miss Cocks agreed. “She can keep me company.”
When we returned from recess, Miss Cocks announced, “Only one person had a hundred percent on the crossword puzzle. Our new student Kerstin got every one of them correct.”
“If she got a hundred,” I protested, “the rest of us had to get a hundred, too.”
Miss Cocks shook her head. “Well, you missed 7-Across, Shanae missed 17-Down, and Aubrey missed 22-Across.” Miss Cocks smiled at Kerstin. “Maybe tomorrow you can help your friends a little with their work. They seem to need it.”
The next day Kerstin was still sitting patiently in her chair, just as we had left her.
During language arts, when Miss Cocks was explaining the difference between singular and plural nouns, Kerstin answered a question and Reggie Burke muttered loudly, “Kerstin’s got to be the ugliest, dumbest looking girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t you ever talk about our friend that way,” Shanae fiercely burst out. “She can’t help the way she is. Maybe if you had grown up in the middle of some trees, you’d look just like she does.”
Aubrey and I nodded and glared at Reggie. Miss Cocks smiled and added, “That’s right, Reggie, we don’t want anyone in our class speaking unkindly about anyone else.”
He sank down in his seat. “It’s only a dumb paper doll.”
After that, a few more boys tried to make fun of Kerstin, but we stood up for her. We even redid her face so that she’d be prettier. We changed her clothes and said nice things to her. When Bobby Rice pointed out how skinny she was, we decided that from then on, we’d take her to lunch with us. We made her a paper jacket and took her out for recess. We even picked out an imaginary birthday for her that was a week away and posted it on Miss Cocks’s “birthday board.”
The day of Kerstin’s birthday, when Mr. Yost announced students’ birthdays over the intercom, he said, “And we have a new student in Miss Cocks’s class who is having a birthday today. Happy birthday, Kerstin!”
Kerstin was one of the most wonderful things that happened to us in third grade. Each day we thought up something new to do with her, and Miss Cocks and the rest of the class played along with us. Kerstin even won the math game. She was voted the best-behaved student in class. Hers was the best art project.
It seemed as though Kerstin had always been with us. So it was a shock one Monday morning to discover that Kerstin was no longer at her desk.
Miss Cocks motioned for us to follow her outside the classroom. “Kerstin moved away,” Miss Cocks said softly. She held up her hands and shook her head when we started to protest. “It happened rather suddenly.”
“You mean we can’t have her in class anymore?” Shanae asked sadly. “We’ll try not to be so silly.”
Miss Cocks shook her head. “It isn’t that. Kerstin wanted me to tell you all how much she appreciated your special kindness these last few weeks.” She looked at Aubrey and me. “Do you remember in Sharing Time yesterday how I talked about treating others the way Jesus Christ would want us to treat them?”
Aubrey and I nodded.
“Well, I thought of you three girls and Kerstin when I was saying those things. I think that you’ve learned that lesson well.”
Miss Cocks was quiet for a moment. “Kerstin wanted to ask a special favor of you three. I think it’s the same favor Jesus would ask if He were here. There’s another girl coming today. She’s a bit shy. She isn’t from a big, dark forest—she’s very real. Unfortunately she doesn’t live with her mother and dad. She lives in a foster home. Life hasn’t been easy for her. More than anything, she needs a safe, kind, loving place to go to school. Kerstin thought that this was the very best place in the world, and she was sure that no one could find three better friends than Shanae, Aubrey, and Brittany. Of course, I agreed.”
For a long time we were all quiet, truly missing Kerstin, but happy about making a new, real friend. It felt good to look forward to new people, rather than try to avoid them.
Aubrey asked, “What’s her name?”
“Brandy. And if you treat her the way you treated Kerstin, she will think that this is the most wonderful place in the world.”
“I guess we’d better get her desk ready. When will she be here?”
“I think that Mr. Yost will be bringing her in a few minutes.”
“If I were a new student,” Aubrey said, “I don’t think I’d want the principal to escort me to class. I’d want my three new best friends to go to the office and get me.”
Miss Cocks smiled. “I think you’re right. I think that Brandy would want that very much.”
That is how Shanae, Aubrey, and I made our second friend in third grade. And as we brought Brandy to our room, helped her with her assignments, took her to lunch, and protected her from the boys’ teasing, I sometimes thought of the One who is a very special Friend of us all.

When I was 17, Sabrina and I went to the same boarding school in Uruguay. I was going through a difficult time and didn’t want to have anything to do with anybody. But I did make a few friends.
Sabrina in particular stood out. She was nice to everyone. She invited me to play volleyball at her church, and she smiled even when I made excuses not to go. As I felt more comfortable with her, I thought maybe I should go.
Then one day I was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis. After surgery, I couldn’t go to school for 15 days. When I returned, Sabrina wasn’t there. She had moved back home. School wasn’t the same without her, so I wrote her a letter.
I asked her to forgive me for not playing volleyball. I told her that I’d always felt good around her and that I missed her.
Soon I received a letter and a package. In the letter, Sabrina told me she was happy that I’d written to her. She also told me about a tragic bus accident in which several people she knew had been killed. Then she wrote something that would change my life:
“We should always be at peace with God, because we never know when He will call us to His presence. Please read the book I sent with this letter. Ask God if it is true.”
In the package was the Book of Mormon. I started reading and I did ask if it was true. I felt so wonderful I thought my heart would burst. I’d never felt that way before. I went to church and started meeting with the missionaries. Soon I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That was 15 years ago. Today I still have a firm testimony. Thank you, Sabrina, for inviting me to play volleyball. Even though I never did come to play, your example helped to bring me to Jesus Christ.

President Eyring gave a devotional talk here at Brigham Young University that had a powerful effect on me. He told of a young man who needed to repent and had come to him when President Eyring was a bishop. After a lengthy time, Bishop Eyring interviewed him and found him worthy to hold a temple recommend. But the young man was going to be married in the temple to a young lady who was sweet and clean, and he needed to know if his sins had been remitted—if he had forgiveness from the Lord. How could he get that revelation?
Bishop Eyring said it was a good question and that he needed some time, so the young man gave him a deadline—less than two weeks.
During those two weeks Bishop Eyring went to a social function that then Elder Spencer W. Kimball also attended. Elder Kimball found Bishop Eyring and said, “Hal, I understand that you are now a bishop. Do you have anything you would like to ask me?”
President Eyring continued:
I said that I did, but I didn’t think that was the place to talk about it. He thought it was. It was an outdoor party. My memory is that we went behind a shrub and there had our interview. Without breaking confidences . . . , I outlined the concerns and the question of this young man. . . . Then I asked Elder Kimball, “How can he get that revelation? How can he know whether his sins are remitted?”
I thought Elder Kimball would talk to me about fasting or prayer or listening for the still small voice. But he surprised me. Instead he said, “Tell me something about the young man.”
I said, “What would you like to know?”
And then he began a series of the most simple questions. Some of the ones I remember were:
“Does he come to his priesthood meetings?”
I said, after a moment of thought, “Yes.”
“Does he come early?”
“Yes.”
“Does he sit down front?”
I thought for a moment and then realized, to my amazement, that he did.
“Does he home teach?”
“Yes.”
“Does he go early in the month?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Does he go more than once?”
“Yes.”
I can’t remember the other questions. But they were all like that—little things, simple acts of obedience, of submission. And for each question I was surprised that my answer was always yes. Yes, he wasn’t just at all his meetings: he was early; he was smiling; he was there not only with his whole heart, but with the broken heart of a little child, as he was every time the Lord asked anything of him. And after I had said yes to each of his questions, Elder Kimball looked at me, paused, and then very quietly said, “There is your revelation.”

Another member, many miles away, shared the gospel in correspondence to a friend in Richmond, Virginia. A wonderful experience followed. Two missionaries were tracting one day in Richmond. One had been ill; the other felt uneasy as they walked the streets, knowing that his companion was not at his best. Both desired to persevere, however.

After two hours of having little success, they knocked on a door and introduced themselves as missionaries with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Oh, yes,” the woman replied, “Ann Smith sent you.” The elders looked at each other, shook their heads, then told her they were just knocking at the doors in the neighborhood and that no person in particular had sent them to her. She invited them in; the husband and other family members were present in the room.

She then told the missionaries something that caused them to marvel. She said, “Just an hour or two ago I finished reading a letter that I had received today from my dearest friend who lives in California. A year ago her husband and she were converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were recently married in the temple. When we last heard, their marriage was falling apart, and she confided in me the sad situation. But today I received this ten-page letter telling me all about your church and the marvelous change it has made in their lives.”

She allowed the missionaries to read the contents of that letter, which covered Relief Society, Primary, Sunday School, MIA, and much, much more. Then they read a short note at the bottom, which said, “I will be sending two missionaries to your house to teach you more about the Church.”

After hearing the elders’ message, she said, with tears streaming down her face, “I believe the Lord sent you to us.”

When members and missionaries work faithfully together, they become as one and the Lord can use them to achieve his purposes among his children. The Lord had united as one the efforts of this faithful member and these diligent missionaries, to bring this family instruction which, if followed, will bring them joy and peace beyond measure and lead them back into the presence of our Heavenly Father.

Lindsey M. suffered from epilepsy. “Every morning, I would beg my Heavenly Father to take the seizures away,” Lindsey says. But they didn’t go away. While Lindsey waited to be healed, she received priesthood blessings, which brought her peace. And that peace was a miracle itself. “When we turn to our Heavenly Father, He will undoubtedly be there for us, spreading miracles and offering comfort,” she says. Lindsey eventually received a surgery that helped with her seizures.

Obviously, The Ranch isn’t your typical ranch. Sister Lou Cille Hamnett, who runs the place with her husband Von and her son Scott, tells about the dream she and her first husband, the late Neil Carlisle, shared when they purchased the property. Over the years, ward groups from the surrounding states clamored for the opportunity to have activities at the site.

“When you walk around here and the sandhill cranes are flying overhead and the Canadian geese are flying and the ducks are out there on the lake and it’s quiet, well, there’s no place like it,” Sister Hamnett said. “People are living such a rat race that they don’t stop to smell the roses, they don’t stop to feel, really, the reverence of the soil and the clean air. I think that’s what you get up here. There is a special spirit here.”

Because of that special spirit, even after Brother Carlisle passed away in 1985, Sister Hamnett wanted to keep The Ranch going. But she had her doubts about whether it could be maintained.

Then Bishop Blake Wride and the youth of the 19th Ward came to the rescue.

“They knew what a large responsibility the upkeep and improvement of The Ranch would be for me. So he got all of his kids together and suggested coming up for a service project. I thought, ‘Well, why not?’ But I thought I would probably be baby-sitting them. Instead, this group has just been marvelous. Neil always said that giving to others was the most important thing. I knew we were giving by having these church groups come up here, but now someone’s giving in return.”

Jeff wanted to be a missionary just like his older brother who was on a mission in Colombia. But how can I be a missionary when I’m afraid to talk to people? Jeff wondered.
Just last week the Primary president asked all the children to be missionaries and bring somebody new to Primary.
“We have a wonderful Primary,” she told the children, “but think how much better it would be if we had more children to share our Primary with.” Then she asked the boys and girls to raise their hands if they thought they could bring a friend the next week. Jeff raised his hand. Now he wondered why he had done it. How was he ever going to get the courage to talk to anyone at school about the Church?
Jeff and Jimmy were the only two LDS boys in the fifth grade. They were also the only Blazer boys in the Primary. They had a good teacher and Jeff knew that one of the reasons why he had raised his hand to be a missionary was to please her. He knew that if other boys came, they would like Sister Fillmore and the good lessons she gave.
Jeff remembered two full-time missionaries in their sacrament meeting one time telling them about the good feeling they had when they shared the gospel with others. Jeff wanted that good feeling too. But how was he ever going to have it when he was so timid?
Jeff walked into the kitchen and slumped down in a chair by the table where his mother was decorating some dish towels with her textile paints. Jeff asked, “Won’t that paint wash out of the cloth, Mom?”
“No, Jeff, the paints are made to stay right in the fabric.”
“Hey, that’s neat. Can you paint anything on the towels you want to?” asked Jeff.
“Sure, son. You sound excited about something,” replied Mother.
Jeff was excited. He had an idea. “Mom, can I paint something on my yellow T-shirt?” he asked.
Mother laughed. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but go ahead.”
Jeff was back in a few minutes, grinning and waving his shirt. He laid it on the table and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Then, with Mother’s black painting pen, he drew on the front of the shirt a great big face with two round eyes and a large smile. Underneath the face he wrote, HAPPINESS IS GOING TO PRIMARY.
When the paint was dry, Jeff turned the shirt over and on the back he printed in large letters, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PRIMARY - WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE? He could hardly wait to wear his shirt to school.
The next day when he walked into the coat hall there were several boys there already. As Jeff took off his jacket and hung it on the hook, one of the boys was quick to notice the bright yellow T-shirt with the big face painted on the front and the letters on the back. “What does your shirt say, Jeff? Let me read it.” said Andy.
Jeff stood still, his heart pounding. All of a sudden he thought, What if they make fun of me?
Andy read the words on the shirt out loud. “Primary?” he questioned. “What’s Primary?”
Here was Jeff’s big chance. He prayed inside that he would say the right thing. “Well, in Primary we learn to—” Jeff’s voice tightened up on him and the words got stuck in his mouth.
All of a sudden, Greg, one of the other boys, interrupted. “Hey, Jeff, isn’t Primary where you learn about Scouting and other neat things you were telling me about the other day?”
“Scouting?” questioned Andy. “My dad was an Eagle Scout and he wants me to be one too. Can I go to Primary with you Jeff? Can just anyone go?”
Before Jeff could answer, Greg said, “Me too! I never have anything to do after school. My parents both work and nobody’s ever home.”
Jeff could hardly believe what he was hearing. His voice came back and he felt relaxed and happy. “Sure,” said Jeff, “anybody can come—the more the better. It’s on Tuesday and we learn lots of neat things besides Scouting. You’ll really like our teacher. She’s just great.”
The bell rang and the boys filed into the classroom. Jeff’s seat was by his Primary friend Jimmy. As Jeff sat down, Jimmy looked at Jeff’s shirt and said, “Do you think that’s going to work?”
Jeff’s smile got bigger and bigger as he whispered, “It already has!”
At recess Jeff told Jimmy about Andy and Greg. He could hardly believe what had happened. Jimmy became excited about painting a missionary T-shirt too.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “If we can get the whole Primary wearing these shirts to school, a lot of kids will soon be interested. Our Primary will grow bigger and bigger.”
Even shy boys can be missionaries. It just takes some doing, Jeff concluded.
Already Jeff was beginning to have that good feeling that the missionaries had talked about. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they heard about the first T-shirt missionary!

A recent letter from some concerned parents is typical of some others I have received. It illustrates some of the problems to which I refer. This letter reads:
Dear President Smith:
Some time ago we received a phone call from our daughter. She is in the army. She was crying over the phone. In fact, she was almost hysterical. She felt she had not one friend on earth. Those she thought were her friends had deserted her and were in fact persecuting her unmercifully—for one reason, because she is a Mormon. To say “we were in despair” is an understatement.

A second letter was enclosed with the letter from these parents, and let me read it to you in part:
I am your daughter’s Relief Society visiting teacher. My companion and I were at first unable to locate her. When we did, we found a depressed and mixed-up young lady. I’m not connected with the military, and I soon had my eyes opened to the unfortunate circumstances in which young girls in the military may find themselves. How very difficult it would be to keep gospel standards in my mind when one was continually subject to the rowdy, cigarette-filled barracks, the regimentation of being dumped into a job for which one is neither suited nor trained.

Since that initial visit, and on following visits as she became aware of the Church here, a distinct change came over her. As far as her work would permit, she attended many ward functions, and all were aware of her friendly presence. One could almost measure the light that came back into her lovely eyes. She began to smile as she realized that people cared.

You’re going to be welcoming home a very special daughter, and I shall miss her because she is my friend. I shall always be grateful to her for showing me the change that can come into one’s life when he grasps firmly the iron rod.

I would like to share a story of how I was like Laman and Lemuel in my childish pride and patience:
I was getting ready to go to high school. Mom and I were out in the family lot gathering fragrant leaves and seeds to make Tongan oil. I kept questioning mom whether it was worth all the hard work we were going through. I was not too enthusiastic about crawling through the shrubs and bushes looking for the ingredients.
At one point as I took every step with murmuring. Like Laman and Lemuel, I complained that we could easily buy a bottle in the market for only 10 cents. Being desperate and fed up with my complaining, mom threw the basket on the ground and said.

"If you do go to school without a shirt, people would acknowledge that you must come from a poor family; but if you don't have any oil to anoint your hair and to keep your skin fresh, people would say you don't have a mother. It's OK for people to know that you are poor, but it's a shame that your mother is considered dead when she is still alive. I am dead in the face others if my role is NOT fulfilled respectfully."

Here I learned that Mom's aspiration to fulfill her dreams and her duty to her children finally humbled my pride.
Almost twenty years later, while in graduate school in Provo in 1982, Mom had a chance to come up and stayed with us. Sheila and I had only one child then and it was Auguste. Every night I came home from school, I made it a habit to walk in the baby's room and check on Auguste. I could not wait to come home to see this new addition; one of my dreams.
Quite often I found the baby missing from the crib. Whenever the baby cries, I guess, grandma would pick him up and rock him to sleep on her bed. However it happened too often and I decided to talk to her about it. I was concerned that it would become a bad habit for the baby. It would be better, I presumed, to let him cry himself to sleep and not get used to being pampered at all times.
Mom was willing to do that for awhile but didn't last long. A few nights later I found the baby missing; he was again in grandma's bed. The baby was sound asleep as if grandma's arm was made for him. The baby was sleeping peacefully with her. For the first time, a silly thought crossed my mind - my son would probably be more attached to grandma than to us as his parents.
Finally one day I talked to mom about it again, and she knew from the tone of my voice that I was serious. She turned to me with a stern look on her face and with an emphatic tone in her voiced and said:

"Viliami, listen to me and listen closely. I will do it, if you promise me one thing. If you promise that you will not do this to your son's child, someday. You may not understand why I do this to the baby. But I want you to promise me that!"

I could not say a word; evidently she got me off guard. I stood there for a while dumbfounded. I was translated momentarily in time as if I was seeing a vision. For a while I was lost and unfamiliar with myself as to who I was.
Perhaps I was too preoccupied with everyday chores of life that my vision was blinded by my ambition and I could not see beyond the wall of our little basement apartment, and the screaming sound of the baby every night. It was too far advanced for me to imagine my infant son being a father to his own child; it was beyond my dream and I could not see myself as a grandpa then, especially when my son was still an infant. For the first time I finally could see the Lord's Plan of Salvation from my Mom's perspective.
I'm glad that Auguste is here and his wife; Elsie is expecting their first child. I think I have enough courage not to go into the baby's room some day, a promise grandma could not get out of me twenty three years ago. At least, that's what I think, since the baby is not here yet. However, if I pick up the baby from the crib some day, Auguste and Elsie, it will be to see how grandma felt when she was holding you in her arm and rocking you to sleep

When I was 16, most of my friends at school weren’t members, but they knew that I was a member of the Church. They started to smoke and do other things I wouldn’t do. So things began to change between us; our types of conversation were very different, and our thinking and activities weren’t compatible.

One day my father asked me, “Why aren’t you thinking about your friends’ effect on you?” He counseled me to be careful and think about the necessity of changing my friends.

When I started at the university, I became very busy and didn’t spend a lot of time with my friends, but one time when we were together, they decided to do something bad. We were in a car, and they drove really fast. A policeman pulled us over, and I was scared. I remembered the words of my father about taking care of the future. That experience helped me make a decision about the kinds of friends I wanted to have.

I became very involved in Church activities. Attending Mutual was wonderful because I decided to have those kinds of friends. I learned that my father was right—that I should take care of my relationship with good friends. I needed friends who would help me prepare for a mission.

Hi! We’re Kynzley and Jayme. We did a service project to help a family in our ward. We raised a lamb and a pig and then sold them at our county fair.
Our friends’ dad was really sick. He went to see the doctor many times. Their family couldn’t go to church for a long time. We missed our friends in Primary. We wanted to help!
We decided to give the family the money we made when we sold our animals at the county fair. The money could help them pay medical bills.
We worked for nine months on our project. We prayed and fasted that we would pick good animals to raise. As we raised our lamb and pig, we spent a lot of time planning for the county fair. We made shirts, walked in parades, asked for donations, and helped organize the sale.
On the day of the fair, our animals were healthy and strong. We did a great job showing them at the livestock show. We were happy we could give the money we made to the family. We ended our project with a fast for them.
Working on this project helped us come closer to Heavenly Father. We learned to trust Him more. We did our best and let Him help us as we listened to the Holy Ghost. We struggled when our animals did not do what we wanted. But we remembered why we were raising them. We did our best to earn as much money as we could. We relied on the Lord and just worked hard.
We know that Heavenly Father cares about all of us and wants to help us. We are glad that we could help others too!
Illustration by Kiersten Eagan

True worship is a deeply satisfying experience. Some years ago I went hiking in the Catskill Mountains with some young people to pick huckle. On this mountain there was a spring near the berry patch, so we didn’t carry any water with us. When we arrived at the spot, we found lots of big berries, but we couldn’t find the spring. After a while our thirst became almost unbearable. We quickly picked our pails full and made the long descent down the mountainside. Near the place where we had parked our car there was a crystal-clear spring of cold water. We stretched out on the grass and drank. I will never forget the intensity of my thirst and how deeply satisfying it was to drink from that spring. Worship can be like this to the true believer in Christ. The Savior told a woman in Samaria who had come to a well to draw water, “… whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.” (John 4:14.)

My 14 year old is an avid reader. She was hooked on reading romance novels, and her interest in these books led me to be very concerned that my daughter was getting the wrong impression of what a relationship between a man and a woman should be. This concern led to many talks, lectures, and fights between the two of us. After discussing the situation with my sister-in-law, she asked if I had given my daughter a subscription to the New Era. I was inactive at the time and had not thought of this. The next thing I knew, my brother and sister-in-law had purchased a subscription to the New Era for her. Now a year later I am not having the same battles with her over what she reads and I am no longer so concerned about what she is learning about relationships. She now understands she does not have to settle for an empty, go-nowhere relationship based on sexual attraction. She is no longer disappointed to be a young woman and now understands the differences between the way the world and the Lord tells us relationships should be. I contribute this change to the magazine’s layouts and stories on temple marriage and respecting your mate, whether you are dating or married. Thank you for doing what the Lord has asked of you.
Name Withheld (via e-mail)

An important component of integrity is honesty. An outstanding example of honesty was set by an American who served his country as an artilleryman in World War I. After the war, he and a partner established a men’s clothing store in Kansas City. At first the store prospered, but in the postwar depression of 1921, the two partners fell on hard times. The business failed in 1922, approximately $35,000 in the red. One of the partners filed for bankruptcy, but the other stubbornly would not. He resolved to payoff his creditors as best he could, little by little. Fifteen years after the store went under, he was still paying business debts and was generally strapped for money for twenty years. But he knew where his duty lay. In later years he did rather well for himself. His name, of course, was Harry S. Truman, the thirty-third president of the United States (see David G. McCullough, Truman [New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992], pp. 145–51). Significantly, on President Truman’s desk was a sign, “The Buck Stops Here.”

Here is an example. On a recent flight from Salt Lake City to New York City, my seat assignment was changed at the last moment—in this case, perhaps not without purpose.

I asked my new seat companion if she was traveling to New York or Milan, the plane’s final destination. The question opened a conversation. After explaining she had spent her life as a bilingual, bicultural Italian-English translator, she began quizzing me about Italian art and culture.

As she queried me about Michelangelo, I remembered a BYU humanities class with Professor Todd A. Britsch. I was able to say that in Michelangelo’s statue Pietà, the same piece of Carrara marble feels alive and lifeless at the same time. Mary is alive with compassion while the body of her son, our Savior, hangs lifeless.

My airplane companion nodded approvingly. We then talked about the Sistine Chapel, where God’s vibrant hand touches Adam’s limp hand, and about Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece The Last Supper in Milan.

Then we talked about Dante. After studying Shakespeare for five years in London, she thought Shakespeare might approximate Dante’s genius and accomplishment. What did I think?

I remembered BYU classes on Shakespeare with Professor Arthur Henry King and others, but I diplomatically suggested both Shakespeare and Dante were great literary figures.

Then something unexpected happened. Seemingly out of the blue, this good woman quietly asked, “You want to know how my son died, don’t you?”

We had been discussing Italian art and ­literature—her language of love. I am an amateur in that language, but perhaps because I was willing to try to listen with my heart, she felt she could say, “My son committed suicide. I am going to Italy to make arrangements.” She then added, “I feel you are a man of God. God put you here today because I have no one I can talk to about these things.”

For the rest of the flight we spoke tenderly about God’s plan of happiness, the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and how families can be together forever. I testified of ordinances and covenants found in the holy house of the Lord and invited her to visit the Manhattan New York Temple or, someday, the Rome Italy Temple.

Thank you, BYU, for teaching general and discipline education and the language of the heart. Such enriches our lives and, in unexpected times and places, allows us to connect with others in ways they understand and value.

One of the lessons he taught me was the importance of paying tithing. He told me about my father, who was born in 1912, and my uncle, who was born a few years later. Both of these boys grew up in the Depression, a tough time. Because of the economic circumstances of the time, most of the young people didn’t get a chance to serve missions or they had to serve missions late.
Despite these circumstances, my grandfather said, “You know, we were really blessed because both your dad and your uncle got to go on missions. And I’ll tell you why they got to go. Because we were always honest in paying our tithing, so the Lord blessed us.”
He said they never had enough money, and people wondered how they sent not only one but two boys. He told me that they worked hard and saved money and were very careful, but they were also very blessed. He emphasized that the blessings were evident because they didn’t have any money fly out of heaven. Instead, grandfather was always able to get extra work and extra jobs.
He was a hard worker and had always worked 12 hours a day six days a week and sometimes more. He said, “Every time we thought that we’d be out of money, somebody would call me and ask me to build a room on their house or ask me to build a set of stairs or to do some painting for them.”
Because of those blessings, my father and his brother were both able to serve missions. I have a copy of my father’s missionary journals, and I saw the record he kept during his mission of when he got money from home. Although those dates were somewhat sporadic, they are evidence of my grandfather’s testimony of tithing.

Last November, I had the privilege of being invited—along with President Henry B. Eyring and Bishop Gérald Caussé—to attend a colloquium on marriage and family at the Vatican in Rome, Italy. In attendance were religious representatives from 14 different faiths and from six of the seven continents, all of whom had been invited to express their beliefs on what is happening to the family in today’s world.
Pope Francis opened the first session of the assembly with this statement: “We now live in a culture of the temporary, in which more and more people are simply giving up on marriage as a public commitment. This revolution in manners and morals has often flown the flag of freedom, but in fact it has brought spiritual and material devastation to countless human beings, especially the poorest and most vulnerable. … It is always they who suffer the most in this crisis.”1
In referring to those of the rising generation, he said it is important that they “do not give themselves over to the poisonous [mentality] of the temporary, but rather be revolutionaries with the courage to seek true and lasting love, going against the common pattern”; this must be done.2
This was followed by three days of presentation and discussion with religious leaders addressing the subject of marriage between a man and a woman. As I listened to the widest imaginable variety of worldwide religious leaders, I heard them agree completely with each other and express support for one another’s beliefs on the sanctity of the institution of marriage and of the importance of families as the basic unit of society. I felt a powerful sense of commonality and unity with them.
There were many who saw and expressed this unity, and they did so in a variety of ways. One of my favorites was when a Muslim scholar from Iran quoted two paragraphs verbatim from our very own proclamation on the family.
During the colloquium, I observed that when various faiths and denominations and religions are united on marriage and family, they are also united on the values and loyalty and commitment which are naturally associated with family units. It was remarkable for me to see how marriage and family-centered priorities cut across and superseded any political, economic, or religious differences. When it comes to love of spouse and hopes, worries, and dreams for children, we are all the same.
It was marvelous to be in meetings with worldwide presenters as they universally addressed their feelings of the importance of marriage between a man and a woman. Each of their addresses was followed by testimonies from other religious leaders. President Henry B. Eyring gave a final testimony at the colloquium. He bore powerful witness to the beauty of a committed marriage and to our belief in the promised blessing of eternal families.
President Eyring’s testimony was a fitting benediction to those three special days.

Illustration by Melissa Manwill
Iren was having fun visiting Taiwan. His grandfather, his Yéyé, took him and his little sister, Ila, to the zoo and on a ferry ride to a small island. They went to beautiful gardens filled with mango trees and orchids. And they visited a mountain where monkeys tried to steal their food! The monkeys made Ila nervous, but Iren thought they were awesome.
Yéyé was teaching Iren and Ila all about where their family came from. He took them to meet all of their relatives and to restaurants to try new foods. Iren had been practicing with chopsticks. He was getting really good.
One day Yéyé took Iren, Ila, and their parents to a special place. It was a big building with large, open doors and shiny wooden floors. Before they went in, Iren and his family took off their shoes. “This is a place where you have to be reverent,” Mom said. “Just like at our church.”
“Is this a church?” Iren asked. It sure didn’t look like any church he’d ever seen. The building’s colorful roof had curled-up edges. People in dark blue robes walked quietly through the doors.
“Sort of,” said Mom. “It’s a Buddhist temple. But people don’t get married or sealed here, like in our temples. It’s a church building for Yéyé’s religion. He comes here to learn the teachings of Buddha and to help people.”
Dad added, “Do you remember the earthquake in Taiwan we saw on the news a month ago? Yéyé and the other volunteers at this temple all helped after the earthquake was over.”
“What did they do?” asked Ila.
“I think they brought water to people and cleaned up rubble,” said Dad. “They also helped people who lost their homes find a place to stay.”
“Whoa,” said Iren. He looked at Yéyé. “That sounds like a lot of work!” Yéyé smiled and nodded.
When they went in the temple, Iren noticed how quiet and peaceful it was. He looked around and saw a large wooden statue. Ila and Iren stopped and stared.
“Is that Buddha?” Iren asked.
Mom nodded.
Yéyé said something to Dad in Chinese, pressed his hands together, and bowed in front of the statue of Buddha three times.
“Yéyé is teaching us how he shows respect for Buddha,” Dad said, his voice just above a whisper.
Iren scrunched his eyebrows together. “Isn’t that … ?” He tried to remember something he’d heard before. “Isn’t that worshipping idols?”
“Buddhists don’t actually worship Buddha,” Dad said. “Buddha was a great teacher, and they visit his statue to remember what he taught.”
“When people bow here, they’re showing respect—sort of like shaking hands,” Mom whispered. “Yéyé bows to show respect for Buddha and what he taught.”
Mom put her arms around Iren and Ila. “And do you know what?”
“What?” Ila asked.
“These are all God’s children. He loves them. He loves what they’re doing to help each other.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
Iren looked over at Yéyé and all the other people sitting quietly. He felt warm and good inside and knew what Mom said was true. Iren said a little prayer to Heavenly Father: Thank you for helping me meet more of your children.