Gospel Story Finder

Years ago I spent quite a bit of time gathering information for my four-generation family group records. The information on one of my group records was eventually complete, with the exception of a great-uncle named Edward. I had searched extensively for his birth and death dates without ever finding a real lead. Every time I glanced at this record, the white space where Edward’s information should have been stared out at me.
Several times I despaired of ever finding his information, but I prayed for inspiration to know what I should do. I asked Heavenly Father to help me find a record or a person who would be able to help. After praying I felt that I must not give up.
One day, after having tried every other source I could think of, I picked up a postcard and addressed it to the “Rector of the City Cemetery” of a town where Edward’s family had lived for a while. On the back I simply asked if there was a grave with Edward Oren Tarbutton’s name on it. I wasn’t even sure a cemetery existed in that town, yet as I sent the postcard I suddenly felt free of frustration.
A few weeks went by without any answer to my postcard, and I did not expect one. Then one day I felt unusually excited. At the normal mail delivery time, I ran out to pick up the mail. The stack was big that day, but I stood at the open box and looked carefully at every piece. In the stack was my postcard, and on it was Edward’s missing information!
As I gazed at the long-sought-for dates on the postcard, a warm feeling embraced me. I felt that Edward was somehow close to me in that moment, and I could feel his great joy.
I will never forget the prompting to send the postcard and the circumstances of its return. Later I learned that the town I had sent the postcard to had no rector and no official cemetery. Realizing no one in the town would know about my ancestor, the postmaster almost stamped the card Return to Sender. Then, on second thought, he decided to search for the grave himself. He remembered once seeing headstones in a field near a small church. It was there he found Edward’s headstone and copied the inscription.
This experience deepened my love for my ancestors and helped me understand how much they long to be linked permanently to their families. And as I have encountered disappointments in the following years of family history research, I have thought of the postcard and kept going.

One day in my P.E. class, a boy and a girl began saying the Lord’s name in vain. I told them I didn’t like them saying it, and that our church teaches us not to. For the rest of the day, they teased me about it and said it even more. When I got home, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father that they would not continue to say it and tease me. They haven’t teased me about it again! I’m thankful Heavenly Father answered my prayer. I’m thankful I can be a good example even though the other students were making fun of me.

As my senior year of high school was coming to an end, I knew that yearbooks were going to be available soon. As I considered what I would write to my best friends, the idea came to me that I could write my testimony in every yearbook that I would sign.
But I didn’t know how appropriate it would be to write my testimony. What if they didn’t take it seriously? So I prayed and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. I felt a warm burning inside. I was determined to do it.
When yearbooks came out, I wrote my testimony in the books that were handed to me to sign. One day, after school, my friend Mike’s younger brother, Ben, asked me to sign his yearbook. I barely knew Ben. I considered not writing my testimony in his yearbook since I didn’t really know him, yet I felt impressed to go ahead.
Two days later, as I was walking home from school, I felt restless. I decided I wanted to play basketball. As I was thinking of whom to call, I heard someone walking behind me. I looked back, and it was Ben. He wanted to talk to me. I suggested that we play basketball, and he agreed.
As we began to play, I was joking around and having fun. Suddenly, Ben asked, “Are you a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. No one had ever asked me that before. Many people had asked me if I was Mormon, but nobody had ever known the entire name of the Church. Today I was not thinking about sharing the gospel. My attention was on basketball and having fun. I shrugged and said, “Yes,” and started dribbling the ball.
A bit later, he asked, “Where is the church that you go to?”
Still thinking of basketball, I offhandedly answered him before dribbling by him to score.
A little flustered, Ben asked, “When does church start?” Then it dawned on me that he just might be interested in the Church. I offered to give him a ride the next Sunday. He said that he would like to do that.
After church, Ben and I watched part of a church video at my house before he had to go home.
The following Sunday, my Sunday School teacher was giving us a ride home. Out of the blue, Ben asked, “What does it take to be baptized?”
My teacher slammed on the brakes. I was stunned as well. “You have to have a testimony, I said.” Then I realized how silly it was in light of the fact that Ben already believed.
My Sunday School teacher called the missionaries. They set up a time to meet Ben and teach him the gospel at my house. He accepted the baptismal commitment without hesitation.
Ben was baptized about one month after I had signed his yearbook. He asked me to give one of the talks at his baptism. His parents came to his baptism. It was an exciting experience for me.
I am thankful that the Spirit of the Holy Ghost prompted me to go ahead and share my testimony in Ben’s yearbook. I am thankful for the opportunity to be an instrument in God’s hand in bringing the gospel to one of his beloved children.

As colder weather settled over Winter Quarters, Brigham prayed often to know how to prepare the Church for the journey beyond the Rocky Mountains. After almost a year on the trail, he had learned that organizing and equipping the Saints for the road ahead was vital to their success. Yet setback after setback had also shown him how important it was to rely on the Lord and follow His direction. As in the days of Joseph, only the Lord could direct His Church.
Soon after the start of a new year, Brigham felt the Lord open his mind to new light and knowledge. In a meeting with the high council and the Twelve on January 14, 1847, he began recording a revelation from the Lord to the Saints. Before Brigham went to bed, the Lord gave him further instructions for the coming journey. Taking out the unfinished revelation, Brigham continued recording the Lord’s directions for the Saints.39
The next day, Brigham presented the revelation to the Twelve. Called the “Word and Will of the Lord,” it emphasized the need to organize the Saints into companies under the leadership of the apostles. In the revelation, the Lord commanded the Saints to provide for their own needs as well as work together on their journey, looking after widows, orphans, and the families of Mormon Battalion members.
“Let every man use all his influence and property to remove this people to the place where the Lord shall locate a stake of Zion,” the revelation directed. “If ye do this with a pure heart, in all faithfulness, ye shall be blessed.”40
The Lord also commanded His people to repent and humble themselves, treat each other kindly, and cease drunkenness and evil-speaking. His words were presented as a covenant, directing the Saints to “walk in all the ordinances,” keeping the promises made in the Nauvoo temple.41
“I am the Lord your God, even the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham and of Isaac and of Jacob,” He declared. “I am he who led the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt; and my arm is stretched out in the last days.”
Like the ancient Israelites, the Saints were to praise the Lord and call on His name in times of distress. They were to sing and dance with a prayer of thanksgiving in their hearts. They were not to fear the future but to trust in Him and bear their afflictions.
“My people must be tried in all things,” the Lord declared, “that they may be prepared to receive the glory that I have for them, even the glory of Zion.”42
The apostles presented the new revelation to the Saints at Winter Quarters a few days later, and many rejoiced when they heard it. “The Lord has once more remembered His servants and favored them with a revelation of His will,” one woman wrote to her husband in England. “Peace and unity reign in our midst,” she exclaimed, “and the Spirit of God is prevalent amongst us.”43

I fidgeted impatiently in the backseat of the car, excited as much by the prospect of an end to our long ride from California to Kansas as by the thought of seeing my grandparents again.
“Do you think she’ll like my hair short? Last time she saw me I was wearing it in braids. Can you imagine? I must have been about ten or eleven. I hated those braids! Remember when Grandpa offered to cut them off with the hedge clippers?”
My mother exchanged glances with my father. “Don,” she began.
Dad cleared his throat and spoke to me in the rearview mirror. “Tara, you realize that they’ve changed. People do as they get older. You’ve changed, and they will have, too. You have to expect that.”
“I know, I know.” Impatiently I brushed aside the warning in his voice. “But I’m eager to see them.”
“So are we, dear,” Mom said, but there was an edge to her voice that I didn’t understand.
We reached the edge of the little town where my grandparents lived, and Dad turned down their street. Grandpa was waiting for us on the front porch.
I shot from the car and hugged him as tightly as I could. He seemed thinner than I’d remembered, almost fragile, so I released my grip on him.
He held me at arm’s length. “Tara, you look wonderful. But whatever happened to those beautiful braids?”
“Well, one day I was trimming a hedge and they just happened to get caught in the clippers,” I teased.
We laughed and hugged again.
“How’s it going, Dad?” Mom asked him. “You holding up okay?”
Grandpa kissed her soundly on the cheek. “You bet.” He turned to Dad and clapped him on the back. “Good trip out?”
Dad shrugged. “Can’t complain.”
I couldn’t stand this exchange of pleasantries any longer. “Where’s Grandma?” I interrupted.
Grandpa looked at Mom and she nodded.
“She’s at the rest home by the courthouse. We can see her tonight,” he said.
“Oh, can’t we go now?” I begged. “I want to see her.”
“Well, Tara, you’ve come all the way from California, and your father probably wants to rest after such a long drive. We’ll go tonight.”
“Please?” I wheedled. “Pretty please with sugar on top?” It had been my favorite childhood phrase when I had wanted something very badly, and I could see him weakening.
Dad solved it. “Let me unpack the car. You three go, and I’ll snooze a bit while you’re gone.”
I threw my arms around Dad. “You sweetie!” I turned to Mom and Grandpa enthusiastically. “Let’s go!”
We pulled up in front of the sedate red brick rest home. As Grandpa got out of the car, my mother leaned over the back of the seat to speak to me.
“Don’t forget,” she cautioned in a tight voice, “she’s not the same grandmother you remember.”
Not the same grandmother? Of course she was. Oh, I knew from Grandpa’s letters that sometimes her memory slipped and she couldn’t remember people’s names, but she was still my grandmother, the same one who had read me Winnie-the-Pooh when I had scarlet fever, the same one who had let me name the barn cats, the same one who had taught me how to make the world’s best grape jelly. The same one.
I leaped from the car and began to sprint across the vast green lawns of the nursing home, until I remembered that Grandpa was with us, so I waited patiently in the quiet Kansas afternoon for him to catch up to me.
My grandfather led us confidently, like a tour guide, through the cool halls of the nursing home, holding a jar of peaches he had put up himself. “They’re her favorite, you know,” he said. “Bring her some each time I come.”
We stopped outside Grandma’s room, and Mom reached over to squeeze my arm, perhaps to reassure herself as much as me. I ignored her touch and opened the door.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost engulfed in a flowered robe that was much too big for her. She looked up as we entered.
Her eyes looked past me and found my grandfather. “Oh, there’s the nice man with the peaches,” she said.
My mother dropped on the bed beside her and put an arm around her. “Hey, Mom,” she said, “remember me? I’m Annie.”
Grandma ignored her and held out her hand for the peaches. “It’s so nice of you to bring me peaches each time you come.”
I wanted to say triumphantly to Mom, “See? She does remember. She is the same grandmother.”
Then Grandma cocked her head and looked quizzically at Grandpa. “Now, what did you say your name was?”
I wanted to leave. I wanted to be outside in the cleansing heat of the summer day, where the sun could burn this scene from my mind. I wanted to forget it had ever happened. It was changing my entire world.
But my grandfather was speaking to Grandma. “I’m Frank. And this is your daughter, Annie, and your granddaughter, Tara.” He spoke slowly and patiently.
“Hello,” Grandma said politely to Mom, and held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Tara,” I blurted.
A smile lit up her face, and my heart with it. She remembered me!
“Why, that’s my name, too!” She peered closely at me. “Will you be going to my school?”
I looked helplessly at my mother. She was crying silently, her face in her hands. My grandfather touched my shoulder and gently nodded.
I took a deep breath. “I hope so,” I said.
“Good. We’ll have great times. I hope you don’t live too far from me.”
I didn’t know what to do. She obviously expected me to say something. Suddenly I decided what to do. I plunged into her world.
“Tell me about the other people who go to the school,” I prompted.
Grandma’s eyes looked back 60 years. “Well, there’s Edith Scott. She’s nice and has the most beautiful red hair. And there’s Rob Anders, but stay as far away from him as you can. He’s trouble. And there’s Frankie Gleason.” A sly smile stole over her face. “I’ll bet he goes for you in a big way.”
My grandfather caught my eye and winked.
“Oh, no, I don’t think he will,” I said. “I think he likes you.”
Grandma blushed and smoothed the lap of her robe. “Well, some have thought so, but I don’t know. He is a nice fellow, though.”
“Why, I’ll bet that one day you and Frankie Gleason get married and have a beautiful daughter,” I teased. My mother looked up at me startled, and I wrinkled my nose at her. I was beginning to enjoy this.
Just then a nurse walked in. “Are you ready for your lunch, Mrs. Gleason?” she asked my grandmother.
Grandma’s face brightened. “Can I have peaches?”
In the middle of the night, the phone rang. A few minutes later my mother came into my room and sat on my bed.
“Tara, that was the nursing home. Grandma’s had a stroke, and it’s a bad one.” Her voice broke. “They don’t expect her to make it to morning.”
I sat up, suddenly awake. “Are we going?”
Mom touched my forehead, smoothing away stray hairs. “You don’t have to go.”
“But I want to go!” I cried. “She’s my grandma!”
Mom bit her lip and looked at me before she nodded. “Okay. Get dressed. We’re going right away.”
The nursing home looked different at night. “It looks so asleep!” I burst out. Grandpa patted my arm.
As we crossed the lawn, I noticed something in Grandpa’s hand.
“Peaches,” he said, embarrassed. “Her favorite. Bring her some each …” His voice cracked.
It was my turn to pat his arm.
Inside, the only person in the lobby was a nurse, who nodded understandingly at us and said softly, “Go ahead.”
Grandma’s room was brightly lit, and a doctor stood beside her bed.
“How is she?” asked my mother.
The doctor shrugged helplessly. “I never know what to say. It’s been a massive stroke, and her heart isn’t strong.”
Grandma looked very small on the bed. She looked past my mother and my grandfather to me. “Tara! How kind of you to come see me.” Her voice faltered. “I don’t think I’ll be in school tomorrow. I don’t feel very good.”
“That’s all right,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “I’ll explain to the teacher. By the way, I brought someone with me to see you. Frankie Gleason.”
We stood in a stiff line at the cemetery to “accept condolences,” as my mother put it. I felt numbed, yet painfully aware of what was happening. Grandpa seemed to shrink even more as his friends filed by to lay gnarled hands on his shoulders and wordlessly offer looks of understanding with eyes that had seen other loved ones laid to rest in this same grassy stretch. This man who had been the strongest man in the world to me when I was a child suddenly looked vulnerable, and I moved closer to him, instinctively wanting to protect him.
After the other people had left, Dad cleared his throat. “They’re serving lunch at the church. Come on, Tara.”
I hung back, reluctant to let Grandpa stay there alone, yet not wanting to hurry him into a premature separation from Grandma.
“I’ll wait and go with Grandpa,” I said.
Mom looked up sharply. “Tara …”
Grandpa stopped her. “Let her stay, Ann. We’ll meet you at the church after I say . …” His voice wavered. “After I say good-bye.”
When we were alone, I told Grandpa I’d wait for him in the car. He nodded absently. In a rush of empathy, I put my arms around him. He held on to me, and I could feel his thin shoulders shaking. Tears collected in my eyes, and I blinked helplessly as they ran unchecked down my cheeks.
“I’ll miss her, too,” I said. “But you know what makes me feel good, really good? Out of the millions of people in the world, I got her for my grandma. I feel very lucky and very grateful to whoever picks grandmas.” I leaned my head against his. “And grandpas.”
Grandpa lifted his head and smiled at me. “And granddaughters.” He took a large white handkerchief from his suit pocket and blew his nose.
I patted his arm. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
When he got to the car, I offered to drive. I started the car, and as I pulled out of the parking lot, something rolled out from under the car seat and tapped my foot. I stopped the car and reached down to pick it up. It was a jar.
“Peaches,” Grandpa said. “They’re her favorite, you know. Bring her some each …” He buried his face in his hands.
I laid my hand on his arm. “Let’s take them to her.”
Grandpa raised his head and looked at me. Then he nodded.
He carried the peaches in one hand and held my hand with the other. Together we walked back to the grave.
Grandpa knelt with difficulty and placed the jar of peaches in the midst of the flowers. Then he turned to me.
“Looks kind of simple here with all those showy flowers.”
I smiled at him. “You’re a nice man, Frankie Gleason.”

While he was attending a religious boarding school in Nigeria, Elder I. Raymond Egbo’s older sister kept inviting him to “come and see” what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had to offer. At 14 years old, he started going to seminary in the evenings.
While reading the seminary course of study, Elder Egbo came to Doctrine and Covenants 135 and the martyrdom of Joseph Smith.
“Something powerfully touched me, and I knew that the Prophet Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I knew he was killed for the truth,” said Elder Egbo, who soon joined the Church. “I still feel right now how I felt that day when I read it.”

The service and interdependence among members in the Galápagos Islands that have created such unity led to rich blessings in 2007. That year David and Jeanneth Palacios escorted five branch families, nearly 25 people in all, to the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple.
“To see those families sealed, I felt as though we had been transported to the heavens,” says Jeanneth. “We felt the presence of the Lord so profoundly. All five of those families are very active today.”

It is time for Ana to go to bed.
It is also time for Papa to go to work.
Mama sings Ana a good-night song.
Papa gives Ana a drink.
Time for family prayer!
Ana feels peaceful after family prayer with Papa and Mama.
Ana’s papa drives a bus in Fortaleza, Brazil. Can you follow his path through the city? Can you also see the Fortaleza Brazil Temple?

Freda was glad to be home. It was good to be with her family again. She had been away to a special school for a while so she could learn how to read braille and take care of herself without bumping into things. She had also learned that the only way she was different from other people was that she could not see.
Still, Freda found it difficult to adjust to another school. She had books printed in braille so she could learn along with the other students. But she wanted to join in some of the other activities, particularly the art contest the teacher had announced at school today.
Freda couldn’t paint a picture. She didn’t even know what blue looked like, though people had tried to tell her. The sky could be blue, red, orange, or yellow, for all she knew.
After arriving home from school Freda went into her room, sat in her rocking chair, and tried to think of something she could make for the contest. Her cat Fluffy jumped onto her lap and cuddled down to have his ears rubbed. As Freda rocked and petted Fluffy, she began to feel sad because she couldn’t see to paint a picture.
Then an idea started running through Freda’s mind. Suddenly she stopped rocking and began to laugh.
Fluffy, who had been purring contentedly, sat up in alarm and nudged Freda with his paws to remind her to pet him some more. “Not now, Fluffy,” Freda said putting him on the floor and hurrying into the kitchen.
“Mother, could you buy me some clay so I can make a statue for the art show?” she asked excitedly.
“That’s great idea, dear. I’ll buy the clay tomorrow,” her mother promised.
The next afternoon Freda’s mother gave her a box and told her, “You add water to the clay until it’s the right consistency to mold, then you can model whatever you want. When you’re finished, we’ll put it in the oven so it will harden like stone.”
Freda covered the table with newspapers and started to work. When she had the basic shape completed, she called Fluffy, who hopped into her lap. She petted the cat, molded the clay, and then she petted him some more.
Fluffy loved it and purred happily. He didn’t remember when he had been petted so much.
Day after day, Freda went to her room after school and worked on her statute. At last she was satisfied. Freda picked Fluffy up, hugged him, and said, “Thank you for being such a good model.” Then she carried her statute into the kitchen and placed it on a cookie sheet so her mother could put it into the oven to bake.
“It’s beautiful,” her mother told her when she took the statue out of the oven.
“I can hardly wait till it’s cool so I can see it, too,” Freda commented.
Then they both laughed—to Freda, “seeing” meant touching.
The next morning she ran her fingers all over the statue before carefully wrapping her entry in tissue paper to carry to school.
The judges for the art show studied the entries and then placed ribbons on the winners. In each grade there was a red ribbon for first place, a blue one for second place, and a white one for third place. A red, white, and blue ribbon would be awarded for the best entry in the whole school.
Finally, it was time for Freda’s class to go to the auditorium to see the display. Freda was happy that she had been able to enter the contest.
Everyone agreed with the judges’ choice of Freda’s clay cat as the top award.
“That cat looks almost real,” one boy said, admiring Freda’s statue. “You want to reach out and pet him.”
Freda smiled. She was glad Fluffy looked to others the same way he looked to her fingertips.

Over a century later, such religious feeling guided founders of a new nation on the American continent. Under God’s hand, they secured religious freedom for every citizen with an inspired Bill of Rights. Fourteen years later, on December 23, 1805, the Prophet Joseph Smith was born. The preparation was nearing its completion for the Restoration.

How was this book brought forth?
On the 22nd day of September 1823, near Palmyra, New York, an angel of God revealed its resting place to an eighteen-year-old boy named Joseph Smith, at this time as yet an unlearned, uneducated farm laborer, but now called of God to be His modern prophet.
The book was of metal having the appearance of gold. It consisted of metallic pages as thin as common tin. Each page measured about seven by eight inches, and all were bound together at the back with metal rings which allowed the pages to be turned over easily. The book was about six inches thick. Each page was covered on both sides with ancient writing in small but beautifully engraved characters. The book lay in a stone box which had protected it from the elements for centuries.

Another very popular activity was a session with a panel consisting of members of the stake presidency, stake Young Men, Young Women and Primary presidents, as well as members of the high council who answered questions posed by the youth related to doctrine, sharing the gospel with others, and missionary work. The panelists taught the youth in a way they could understand and learn.
Susheel Meda from West Marredpally Ward said, “The session taught me many things such as how to prepare for a mission and build friendship. Knowing these things helps me see how the world is. It gave me strength and a lot of courage.”

“Let’s grab the gear. It’s fishing time!” Dad said.
Hayden grinned as he looked around. Everything was bright and buzzing. They had the whole lake to themselves!
Following Dad, Hayden walked behind the car and lifted the big fishing tackle box out of the trunk. It was heavy, but he didn’t mind. He’d carry one twice this heavy if it meant fishing with Dad.
Fishing poles rattled together as Dad pulled them out. “Looks like Dan fell asleep,” he said. “Will you wake him up?”
Hayden held back a sigh. “Uh, sure.”
He’d almost forgotten that his little brother, Dan, had come too. Dan was always running around and talking loudly. He’d scare all the fish away!
He looked in the open window. “Dan, time to wake up.”
But Dan was still fast asleep.
Hayden paused. With any luck, Dan might sleep right through the whole trip.
Hayden quietly hauled the tackle box to Dad’s fishing spot on the shore.
“Here’s the bait, worms and all!”
Dad took the tackle box from him. “Great, thanks.” Then Dad looked up. “Where’s your brother?”
Hayden glanced at the car. All of a sudden he wondered how he would feel if he woke up alone in a new place. Not good, Hayden decided. In fact, he’d probably feel pretty scared. And Dan was only five.
“Just a second, Dad. I’ll be right back.” But when he looked in the car, Dan was gone!
Hayden couldn’t hear the buzzing insects anymore. Everything seemed to go quiet.
“Dan’s not here!” Hayden yelled.
Dad hurried over and quickly checked the car.
“He’s probably just looking for us,” Dad said. “It’s only been a minute. He won’t be far.”
Hayden tried to stay calm, but his stomach was turning somersaults. “Can I say a prayer?”
“I think that’s a very good idea.”
Hayden thanked Heavenly Father for his little brother and asked that they would find Dan right away so that he wouldn’t feel afraid.
When Hayden finished, his heart stopped feeling so tight.
Dad put a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. “What if you were Dan? Where would you go?”
Hayden noticed the door on the other side of the car was open. Dan probably hadn’t seen them on the shore. Hayden pointed to a trail nearby. “I’d probably start walking that way,” he said.
They hurried along the trail.
Every second felt slow and heavy. As he walked, Hayden kept saying prayers in his heart. After a few steps, they came around a bend in the trail and saw Dan up ahead.
“Dan!” Hayden shouted.
Dan spun around and smiled. “Hey, where did you guys go?”
Time sped up again. Hayden raced to Dan and hugged him tight.
“I’m so glad we found you,” Hayden said. He said a quick prayer of thanks in his heart.
Dan just grinned. “Where are the fish?”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Hayden said. His feet were itching to run to the lake. “Let’s see who can catch the first fish. I’ll help you bait your hook.”

Born in Cortez, Colorado, USA, on July 22, 1960, to Sunny Kimballa Luther Perkins and Larry Lazelle Perkins, Elder Perkins says the family didn’t settle in one spot until he was 13 years old. There, in Farmington, New Mexico, USA, he first met his future wife, Christine Abbot, who overwhelmingly defeated him in student body elections. They later dated, wrote throughout his mission, and were married in the Salt Lake Temple on November 21, 1981.

“My turn!” Johnny called, jumping up and down.
“Yes, Johnny,” said Mom. “What did you do with your Popsicle?”
“First I ate it.” Johnny giggled, showing his red tongue. “And I had to think for a while to get an idea too. As I was thinking, somebody called to me. It was Jeffrey—the boy in my class who has to stay in a wheelchair. He was on the porch of his house and asked me to come over. He seemed pretty sad. I thought that if summer vacation gets boring for me, it must really get boring for him: no bike riding, no baseball, no swimming. So when I went over to his house, I knew what I was going to do with my stick. His mom got me a piece of heavy paper and a pin, and I folded a paper airplane. Then I worked the pin through the middle of the Popsicle stick and stuck it into the nose of the airplane to make a propeller. I gave it to Jeffrey, and do you know what? Even though he has some pretty neat toys, he thought the airplane was great.”
“And you’re pretty great, too,” said Mom. “Good job!”

I didn’t want to go.
It was that simple. I was 16, and everyone was talking about this “mini mission weekend” our stake was running. I didn’t see the point. I wasn’t planning on serving a mission—not then, not ever.
My mum really wanted me to go. My leaders were encouraging me. They said, “It’s just a weekend, Tyra!” The night before, I cried. I was like, “Why am I doing this to myself?”
I only said yes because I didn’t want to disappoint people. But in my heart, I was already counting down the hours until it was over.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. We did workshops, practiced teaching, got paired up with missionaries for study sessions. I remember thinking, “OK, I can survive this.” But I was still not emotionally invested. I told myself, “I’m just here so people will get off my back.”
Then came the second day.
My companion was Sister Fale. We went to the city, right around Town Hall Station, for some street contacting. I followed her lead as she stopped and talked to this guy about the plan of salvation. I stood next to her, awkward and quiet, thinking, “This is her thing, not mine.”
But something shifted.
She looked at me mid-conversation and nodded, like it was my turn. I opened my mouth . . . and my testimony just came out! I didn’t even think about what I was saying. I just spoke.
And the Spirit was so strong.
It hit me in that moment. I was 16, standing in the middle of a busy street, talking to a stranger about Jesus Christ, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.
That feeling didn’t go away. It stayed with me all weekend. Every teaching moment, every group prayer, every gospel conversation with strangers—I felt like something inside me was waking up.
I came home from that weekend changed.
The moment it really sank in—what the mini mission meant for me—was when I was back home, alone, writing in my journal. I just started crying. I felt the Spirit so deeply. That’s when I realised the revelations I had received were real. He had spoken to me. And I had listened.
I didn’t tell everyone straight away, but in my heart, I knew. I started going out with the full-time sisters every week. I wanted to feel that Spirit again—that sense of purpose. Eventually, I began working on my mission papers.
Now I’m 19, turning 20 this year. I’m studying Construction Project Management at University of Technology Sydney and serving as a YSA rep in my ward. I also took part in the Australian Association of Pacific Studies Conference 2025, and I’m learning how to integrate my faith with my career and culture and hopefully help share His gospel even more.
I haven’t left on my mission yet—but I will. That decision is still a little scary, but it’s also sacred. And every day my testimony grows stronger.
I know that all I’ve been able to do—every achievement, every step forward—is because of His mercy and His love. I hope that I can be a pillar of hope to others, because He has touched my life. And that, more than anything, is why I want to serve.

One day, I started writing down
My blessings one by one.
I filled both sides of seven sheets
And still did not get done.
I wrote down, “friends and family,
And legs that run and hop,
A cozy bed and clothes to wear,
And, of course, my mom and pop.”
I’m grateful for so many things—
For sunsets, trees, and rain,
For eyes to see and ears to hear,
For being free from pain.
I wrote the name of Jesus down—
I’m thankful most for Him—
Then added, “scriptures, music, love,
And my new puppy, Tim.”
And now whenever I feel down
And don’t know what to do,
I get my blessings notebook out
And add a page or two.

In the Japanese translation of the hymn “Called to Serve” (Hymns, no. 249), the English words onward and forward are translated as susume. That word has significant meaning for me because of something that happened a few years ago when I was a stake president in Fukuoka, Japan.
The President of the Church, Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), was visiting, and I was asked to accompany him. During one meeting, 300 full-time missionaries gathered to listen to the prophet. The Holy Spirit filled the chapel, and many of us shed tears of joy. We sang “Called to Serve” in Japanese, repeating over and over again susume, susume. President Hinckley asked the mission president, seated next to him, “What does susumemean?”
“It means ‘go forward,’” the mission president replied.
The meeting was wonderful. President Hinckley encouraged and motivated the missionaries. Afterward, he waved to them in farewell and left the building. As he got into my car to go back to the hotel, he said one word to me, in Japanese: “Susume!”
That word became a motto for me: “Go forward! Be positive! Face the future with faith!” It is the same message given to the youth of the Church in the concluding section of For the Strength of Youth. After reviewing the blessings that come from obedience to the Lord’s standards, in a section titled “Go Forward with Faith,” it says: “As you do these things, the Lord will make much more out of your life than you can by yourself. He will increase your opportunities, expand your vision, and strengthen you. He will give you the help you need to meet your trials and challenges. You will gain a stronger testimony and find true joy as you come to know your Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, and feel Their love for you” ([2011], 43).

The Wild Christmas Reindeer Most of the year, Santa’s reindeer run wild. It is Teeka’s task to catch, retrain, and care for them until Christmas Eve. The art for this Ukrainian folktale is magnificent and includes borders of North Pole workshop activities for each day in December.Jan Brett5–7 years

I have an uncle who was continually seeking to improve and increase the gifts and talents he had received from Heavenly Father. Let me share one story from his life that has helped me to see how spiritual gifts and talents are developed and magnified.
One day when my uncle Ben was at work at a copper mine, he noticed an old piece of bent metal lying by a railroad track. He asked his boss if he could have it. His boss said, “Ben, that old piece of metal is worthless. You are wasting your time to even pick it up.”
Uncle Ben smiled and said, “I see much more than an old piece of metal.”
With his boss’s permission, he took it home. In his workshop he heated the metal until it was red hot. Then he was able, with a great deal of work, to mold and bend it until it was straight.
When it cooled, he drew a large knife-shaped pattern on it. With a hot blowtorch, he cut the metal into the shape of a knife. Uncle Ben then began knocking off the rough edges, working hour after hour to cut, grind, polish, and refine that old piece of metal.
Day after day he worked on what his boss had called a worthless piece of metal. Slowly the blade began to take shape and become a beautiful, shining masterpiece.
All it lacked now was a handle. Uncle Ben went to the woods and found an elk antler. Back at his workshop he cleaned, cut, and polished the antler. When he was done, it was smooth and beautiful. Carefully he attached the handle to the knife. What was once an old, rusty, bent piece of metal became a beautiful knife that won several awards.