Gospel Story Finder

When I was preparing to serve a mission, my bishop called me to teach the Sunbeams. I had never before learned to love others more than myself until I had served those children in such a simple assignment. With time and patience I learned how to keep those seven children in their seats and listening to a simple lesson.
One day I invited Mike* to come to church and visit my class. Mike was my age but had stopped attending church completely by the time he was 12. We had remained friends over the years as I had served as the deacons quorum president, the teachers quorum president, and first assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. He had been the topic of many fellowshipping discussions and was often part of my prayers. Once in a while Mike would accept my invitations to come to an activity. It always surprised me when he did, so I kept inviting him.
I don’t remember when I invited him to my Primary class, but one day he showed up. At that time, Mike had long, black hair and a beard.
“Class, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mike,” I said to begin my lesson. “He is visiting us today.”
Mike sat next to me in front. The children sat in a semicircle around us with their eyes fixed on Mike. They were much quieter than usual. I was about five or six minutes into the lesson when one little boy got up from his chair and walked across the room and stood directly in front of my friend. He paused for a moment and then climbed onto Mike’s lap. I watched the two of them as I continued with the lesson.
The boy stared into Mike’s face. Mike was quite uncomfortable but did not interrupt the lesson or turn the boy away. The other children watched the two of them for a few minutes.
Then one of the girls climbed off her seat and approached Mike. I was intently interested in seeing how Mike would react, so I did not ask the two children to return to their seats. The girl stood with her hand on Mike’s knee looking into his face.
Then it happened. The boy on Mike’s lap reached up with both hands and turned Mike’s face directly to his. I stopped my lesson to see what was about to unfold.
With the innocence of a child, he said to Mike, “Are you Jesus?”
The look on Mike’s face was total surprise. It seemed, as I glanced at the children’s faces, they all had the same question on their minds.
Mike looked at me as if to ask, Help, what do I say?
I stepped in. “No, this is not Jesus. This is His brother.”
Mike looked at me in shock.
Then without hesitation the boy on Mike’s lap reached up and wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck. “I can tell,” he said as he hugged Mike.
The rest of the children smiled and nodded in agreement as their question was answered. Mike blinked back tears in response to the love he felt from this small Sunbeam. The lesson went on, but that day the teacher who taught the most was a three-year-old child.
Mike spent more than a year getting ready to serve a full-time mission. It thrilled me to learn he left for the mission field a few months before I returned. When I think of those Sunbeams, I think of the scripture in Matthew 18:5: “And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.”

In an early stake conference assignment, Elder Paramore and I were blessed to visit the home of a dear brother who, in a tragic industrial accident on August 26, 1958, fell from a cooling tower into a hole thirty-five feet below, where he landed on his head and became paralyzed from the shoulders down. In the intervening thirty-one years he has survived as one of the longest-living quadriplegics in medical history. He was unable to attend the conference meetings, but a brief, thoughtfully prepared video of his life and testimony was presented in the Saturday evening session of conference. He lies not in a bed but suspended on a circular metal rack, where he has received devoted nursing care twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, since this accident more than thirty-one years ago.
This brother, whose home we visited following the conference, praised his nurses, his priesthood leaders, his home teachers, and many others who during those long years stood by his side and ministered to his spiritual and temporal needs. A wise stake president had called him to be the regular correspondent to the missionaries and the servicemen from his stake. I have been inspired many times as I have read his letters sent to bolster the faith of choice young missionaries across the world.
May I quote two lines from one of these missionary letters: “Christ is the only way to heaven. All other paths are detours to doom. Commitment to Christ should go hand in hand with commitment to His Church.”

I drummed my fingers on the wooden chair’s narrow armrest, then twisted to the right and looked at the photograph of the First Presidency hung on the light-blue wall. Calm down, I said to myself. After all, I had requested this visit. I could hear a familiar voice grow louder as the bishop left the clerk’s office, crossed the hall, and came inside. He smiled and said, “Well, Jeff, how are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine,” I said out loud while thinking to myself desperately, What am I doing here?
Bishop Smith pulled his heavy chair from behind his strong, heavy, dark desk, put it alongside me, sat down, and smiled again. Bishop Smith was a big man, very round, and when he smiled, his whole body seemed to radiate right along with his face. I basked for a moment in all that warmth and then said, “Actually, bishop, I guess things aren’t all that great. I’ve thought a lot about our talk last month, a lot about a mission. And, well, frankly I just can’t go.”
“You don’t think you can go?”
“Yeah. I’m 22. I’d be 24 when I get back. I’d be too old.”
“Too old for what?”
“Oh, bishop. You know, I just graduated from state university. I’m a pretty good botanist. How can I work with someone who was a junior in some high school when I was worrying about passing Professor Gotlieb’s Advanced Plant Pathology? I can tell you anything you want to know about wheat germs.”
Bishop Smith looked at me for a moment, leaned forward, and asked in a gentle manner, “Is that your real reason?”
I wasn’t ready for that question. I had hope for a cheery smile and ready agreement. “Well, yes. Mainly,” I stammered. “I mean, basically.”
“Jeff, we’ve had some serious talks, you and I. Tell me, what are some other reasons to go with this basic reason?” The chair creaked as Bishop Smith leaned back.
“Oh, you know.” I spread my hands out in front of me and then picked some lint off my slacks. Bishop, I haven’t exactly made the best decisions in my life. Being inactive for seven years didn’t help any. How can I say to some investigator, ‘I just loved Sunday School when I grew up,’ or ‘I’ve always believed living the Word of Wisdom was important’? How can I talk about goals or loyalty or testimony?”
“Converts can talk about testimony and goals and loyalty, and they weren’t always active members.”
“But they choose to join, not to leave.”
“You chose to come back.”
I didn’t have anything to say at that moment, and all I could hear was a rustling out in the hall. After a moment the bishop said kindly, “I don’t quite understand. Are you worried about worthiness?”
“Bishop,” I replied firmly, “I’ve got my life going again. I have nothing to hide. I know the Lord loves me, and I love him. But at every sacrament meeting or general conference or whatever, I hear that the Lord wants only the best, the strongest, the most reliable to be his missionaries.
“I think in a small way I see, Jeff.” Bishop Smith paused and tapped his thick fingers against each other. “Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“Only a little. I guess I haven’t said much at all. At least I told him I was coming here tonight.”
“Jeff, maybe it’s time to talk to your dad. I know him; he’s a good man. Talk to him and then come and talk to me again. Okay?”
The interview hadn’t gone quite as I had planned it. Suddenly I really didn’t know what to do. “Okay,” I said, and we stood up. Bishop Smith walked me to the door, and just after he shook my hand, he gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“Remember,” he said, “come and talk to me again.”
As I left the building, I considered going to see some friends. I even thought about going up on the university campus and walking through the greenhouses. Although I had already graduated, I was still helping Professor Gotlieb work with some sunflower research. And then I decided to talk to my dad.
My parents are pretty understanding. We’ve always talked together fairly well. When I quit going to priesthood, and then Sunday School, and then Church completely, they never threatened or yelled at me. I’m sure they felt unhappy inside, but I always knew they loved me. I never really ignored my parents, but I had friends and things at school and got pretty busy. In fact, when I first started going back to church, because of two great home teachers, I didn’t say much about it to my parents. I remember the little pause the first time after I asked them to attend church with me at the institute, and then my dad said, “Are you sure?”
I was surprised when I got home and found the lights off and the car gone. But I noticed the backyard light was on, so I got out of my car and went around the side. Out back I saw my dad working on his pride and joy, his small, old sailboat. When I was little we would go sailing on Lake Lourraine, up north. The boat really wasn’t very much. Only one at a time could get in it, but we all liked to try it, even if we spent most of the time in the lake and not the boat. As everybody grew older, everybody got busier, and we didn’t take the boat out much. Finally, it sat pushed against the garage until my youngest brother scraped it with the car; then, we hid it under some waterproof canvas behind the house. Now that all the kids are gone, my dad’s interest in sailing has increased again. Late last year he started to work on the boat. A few weeks ago, I helped him paint it white.
“Ship ahoy,” I called as I walked around the house.
“Hey, what a surprise! Just what I needed, another hand.”
“Sounds fine. I was in the area and thought I’d come by. Where’s mom?”
“Oh, she’s over at the neighbors. Did you just see Bishop Smith?”
“Whatever happened to not asking direct questions?”
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about you tonight. Here, help me sand a little.” My dad gave me some yellow, fine-grade sandpaper. We both started to work.
“Well,” I said, “do you want to know what we talked about?”
“Whatever happened to subtlety?”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you tell him you’re too old?”
“Yes.”
“Was he fooled by it?”
I looked quickly at my dad. He was grinning at me. “No,” I said, “bishops aren’t fooled by much of anything. I guess dads aren’t either.”
“I guess not. So, what are your plans?”
I walked over to the back steps and sat down. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“What’s more important is what you think. It’s up to you Jeff. You and the Lord. Have you ever talked to him about your future, about a mission?”
The words weighed on me, and I played with a stem of grass I had pulled up. “No,” I said quietly, surprised that the night was so still.
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“I’m afraid he wouldn’t answer or want me. I’ve let him down before.”
My dad started sanding again, and I looked up at the sky and saw Venus burning brightly. “Isn’t she a beautiful boat?” my dad said.
I was glad to change the subject. “She sure is. A real beauty.”
“I hope you’ll go sailing with me sometime.”
“You can depend on that.”
“She might sink on us, you know.”
“Oh, no,” I laughed. “She’ll float just fine.”
“Well, she used to be a wreck.”
“But look at her now,” I said. “We’re proud of her. I’d be a fool not to sail in a boat as good as this one.” I paused for a moment and looked straight at my dad. “You know, I get the feeling you want to tell me something.”
“Son, we’d all be in pretty bad shape if we couldn’t start over when we make mistakes. We wouldn’t have a chance to become better.”
“I know, dad.”
“Why don’t you ask the Lord, Jeff. You might be surprised.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?”
“I promise you he will.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking at my dad’s hands still holding the sandpaper. “I mean it.”
“You know, Jeff, maybe you’d like to fast before you ask. Your mom and I would be glad to fast with you.”
We sanded some more, and I told my dad about work with Professor Gotlieb. When mom came home, we talked about fasting together. My parents supported me, and we agreed to do it. As I drove to my apartment, I could smell the scent of rain on the pines in the mountains mixed with apple tree blossoms. I thought of some things I’d like to do before I fasted. And for the first time, way back in my mind, I knew I’d be calling Bishop Smith soon, sooner perhaps than even he expected. And this time, I wouldn’t be going to his office with any excuses.

This is a change-about story. Color, then cut out the squares at the end of it and put them in a small paper sack or other container that you can’t see into, then read the story aloud with a friend or your family. Whenever you come to a blank, fill it in by drawing a word out of the sack.
From the time Benjamin woke up that morning, everything seemed to go wrong. To begin with, when he decided to wear ____________________ to school, he couldn’t find it because it was hidden under ____________________. So he had to put on ____________________, instead, even though it was upside down and inside out.
“It’s not funny!” Benjamin muttered grumpily when his reflection in the mirror showed ____________________ draped around his neck and ____________________ hanging down in front. He sighed. This was going to be a dumb, crazy, mixed-up day.
Just then Mother called, “Hurry, Benjamin, so you’ll have time to eat ____________________. Your teacher will be pleased if you have ____________________ for breakfast.”
“I’ll be late if I eat that!” Benjamin exclaimed. He snatched ____________________ out of the refrigerator and dashed out the front door, putting on ____________________ to keep him warm.
“Wait!” Mother called. “You forgot ____________________ and money for ____________________!”
But it was too late. Already ____________________ bus was rounding the corner and coming to a stop. Most of the seats were filled by ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________. In place of ____________________, the regular driver, ____________________ sat behind the wheel.
“Climb aboard!” he snapped, sounding just like ____________________. “We can’t wait here all day!”
With a great clashing of ____________________, the driver raced down the street, narrowly missing ____________________ and a lady pushing ____________________ in a baby buggy. In the back of the bus, a chorus made up of ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________ suddenly began to sing. There was no doubt about it—it was another dumb, crazy, mixed-up day!
At school, things were even worse. During math, the teacher asked, “Benjamin, what is nine times seven?” and he answered ____________________. During social studies, Benjamin tried to hand in ____________________ for his homework, and it spilled all over ____________________ on the teacher’s desk. And at noon he found that Mother had packed ____________________ and ____________________ for his lunch. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “When will this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day ever end?”
After lunch period it was time to practice with the band, one of Benjamin’s favorite classes. But when he reached in to take his horn out of the case, he found ____________________ there instead.
“Come, come, Benjamin,” the band leader scolded, “Whoever heard of playing that in a school band? If your horn isn’t here, borrow ____________________.”
Poor Benjamin was so embarrassed that he bolted out the door and ran blindly down the hall. On the way he bumped into ____________________ and ____________________. At last the bell sounded, and school was over for the day. Benjamin rubbed his jaw with ____________________ and sighed with relief.
After ____________________ bus took him home, Benjamin hurried into the family’s cheery kitchen. At least Mother always set out a delicious after-school snack. But not this time! There on the counter was ____________________ to eat and a glass with ____________________ in it!
Benjamin lost his appetite. “I’ll just put on ____________________ and go to bed,” he declared. “And I’ll stay there until this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day is over.”
And that’s what he did.

a purple puppy
a squashed skateboard
a green giraffe
a brass button
a prickly pelican
a limp lantern
a cuddly kitten
a wilted watermelon
a zany zebra
a dozing dodo
a pink porcupine
a leaping lizard
a helpless hippo
a jogging jackal
a snoopy skunk
a squeaky saxophone
a broken bicycle
a cinnamon camel
a strawberry soda
a toothless tiger
a sassy snake
an orange octopus
an angry alligator
a happy hobo
a nippy noodle
a crispy cracker
a leaky lemon
a rattling rollerskate
a grinning gorilla
a bouncing broom
a prancing pony
a dippy donkey
a frisky frog
some jiggling gelatin
a bent bucket
a polka-dot pumpkin
a croaking company
a rusty rainspout
a friendly fox
a dimpled doughnut
a quirky quince
an exotic explorer

I had a friend who was a really nice girl, but she didn’t wear modest clothes. One day she was wearing a really short skirt. I decided to talk to her and find out why. At recess, I asked her why she was wearing a short skirt. She said she thought it was cute, and she didn’t have a longer skirt. I told her that short skirts aren’t modest and she could wear leggings under her skirt. The next day when my friend walked into class, I was surprised! She was wearing leggings under her skirt. I am glad I could help my friend be modest.

At age 13 I was called into Bishop Murray Holt’s office, and he extended a call to me to serve as the president of the deacons quorum. He told me I needed to go home and pray about who my counselors should be. He taught me that the Lord would help me decide. He did. I then learned about counselors, and I began to see why the Lord has His Church directed by presidencies, not just presidents. I loved my counselors in the deacons quorum, and we prayed and worked hard to help the boys in our quorum. Bishop Holt taught me the pattern of presidencies and taught me how a presidency should operate and function in the Lord’s Church.

A few years ago, a modern jetliner faltered after takeoff and plunged into the icy Potomac River near Washington, D.C. Acts of bravery and feats of heroism were in evidence that day. The most dramatic of which was one witnessed by the pilot of a rescue helicopter. The rescue rope was lowered to a struggling survivor. Rather than grasping the lifeline to safety, the man tied the line to another, who was then lifted to safety. The rope was lowered again, and yet another was saved. Five were rescued from the icy waters. Among them was not found the anonymous hero. Unknown by name, “he left the vivid air signed with his honor” (Stephen Spender, “I think continually of those—” in Masterpieces of Religious Verse, edited by James Dalton Morrison, New York; Harper and Brothers Publishers, page 291).

Joseph Smith was a valiant servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. He was brave and courageous in standing for right. One time, the Prophet Joseph and several other brethren were taken from their families and put in jail. They were chained together and had to sleep on the cold prison floor.

During one of the long, cold nights of their imprisonment, Joseph and his friends were unable to sleep. For hours the guards had been boasting loudly about the horrible things they had done to Latter-day Saints. They bragged about robbing, shooting, and killing men, women, and even little children.

Suddenly Joseph, unarmed and in chains, stood up and spoke in a voice like thunder: “SILENCE, ye fiends [devils] of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and bear such language. Cease [stop] such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt [1938], 180).

The guards shook, and some dropped their weapons. Some of the guards begged Joseph’s pardon. All of them remained quiet until a change of guards.

On another occasion my father told the missionary class he was teaching that anyone could give the first discussion that was about the Godhead. He said, “To prove it, I’m going to have my 10-year-old son give you the first lesson next week.” All that week he gave me the opportunity to learn the lesson, and I successfully taught the discussion to his class. When I became a missionary I knew well the story of the First Vision and I knew how to talk about the Godhead.

In 1997 my husband was called to preside over the England London South Mission; we began our missionary service in July. Many things were new to me. Embarking on our first round of zone conferences, I hoped to get to know our missionaries, and I hoped they would get to know me. July 11 found us on the stand in the Maidstone stake center chapel for a conference with 75 missionaries.
As we sang the opening hymn, I was suddenly overcome with nausea and dizziness. I turned to my husband and told him I was sick. My husband, an ear doctor, noticed an abnormal jerking in my eyes. He quickly summoned two missionaries to help me out of the meeting and into a classroom. What an awful introduction! Becoming sicker by the minute, I received a priesthood blessing from my husband and a faithful missionary and was then taken to the mission home. Every bump in the road and motion of the car worsened the queasiness and vertigo I felt. Soon I had completely lost my sense of balance and could no longer hear in one ear. Medical tests indicated a probable inner ear blood clot and the possibility of never regaining my balance or the hearing in my right ear.
I was scared, worried, and angry. While I believed my husband and I had been called of God, I wondered, “How can I assist the Lord in this great work if I cannot hear or even walk?” With no other family members or close friends to turn to for help, I felt completely alone. I needed a miracle. Believing I had done God’s will in accepting callings and trying to do what was right, I pleaded with Him to make me well. I was sure I had sufficient faith for a miracle.
With treatment, my balance gradually improved. But the hearing in my right ear did not return, leaving me deaf in that ear. This made me feel more discouraged. Why me? I was serving a mission for three years! Did I deserve this? Unlike Joseph, I did not view this affliction as an opportunity for good. I was more like Joseph’s brothers who, upon finding their money in their grain sacks and fearing an evil stratagem, wondered, “What is this that God hath done unto us?” (Gen. 42:28).
I had forgotten that the same Lord who can turn water into wine can make our weak things strong (see Ether 12:27), that “all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory” (D&C 98:3).
Nine years later, with my own deeper perspective, I realize that countless blessings have come from those afflictions in England. For example, like Joseph of old, I was imprisoned—not by bars but by vertigo—in a land far from the help of my extended family. But just as Joseph found support from friends, I found support from my fellow missionaries. Senior couples whom we had barely met came to the mission home and assisted me with my responsibilities to greet arriving missionaries and bid farewell to those departing.
When you hear with only one ear, understanding others when they speak can be extremely difficult, especially if they are on your bad-ear side. By necessity I have become a better listener as I focus more directly on those speaking to me. Looking directly at them helps me better grasp what they are saying and sense what they are feeling.
Partially losing my hearing has helped me develop patience for others, especially those with disabilities. It has helped me find faith to accept affliction. It has given me clarity to realize that instant, miraculous cures are not always the Lord’s will. In fact, sometimes just the opposite is true.
Would I want to go through this experience again? No. Yet has my soul been stretched and expanded from this and other challenges like it? Absolutely. Of course, while the growth has come, my hearing has not; the residue of affliction often remains. What then?
In February 2002 I was sitting across the desk from President Gordon B. Hinckley. He asked, “Bonnie, how is your health?” I answered that my health was fine, although I could not hear in my right ear because I had lost that hearing in the mission field. He then asked, “How is the hearing in your other ear?” “Fine,” I said. “Well, then,” he replied, “just turn your head.” He then proceeded to issue my current call. President Hinckley understands the principle of doing the best with what we have and making adjustments when we need to compensate.
While afflictions are never easy, all of them can give us experience and can be for our good (see D&C 122:7). To grasp those blessings, we might need to turn our heads, lean a little closer, or listen a little better. Yet in those small, humble efforts, we will find that His grace is sufficient (see Ether 12:27).

As a 16-year-old young man, I started to become more interested in members of the opposite sex. It was my fifth form year, which is the equivalent of a sophomore here in the US. I had been pursuing a young lady for several months, and we were “going out” as we called it back then. As somewhat typical teenagers, we were being tempted to participate in inappropriate behavior, and the pressure to do so was building. In an attempt to mitigate the growing temptation, we decided to make a promise to each other, and God, that we would not break the commandments, we wrote it down. In making this promise, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of complete peace, joy, and love. I did not fully understand what I had experienced; at the time, I even wondered if this was God telling me that this was the girl I was supposed to marry.

The girl moved away shortly thereafter, and for some reason, there were no more girlfriends for me in my teenage years. In fact, I blamed the adversary for having no girlfriends for the next three years as I thought Satan had just given up trying to tempt me. What I did learn from that experience is that God is a God of covenants. He is a covenant maker and covenant keeper, and when we choose to honor our covenants, he is bound to bless us.

A narrow dirt path leads into the trees and down a steep hill. At the bottom, the sound of a fast-moving creek rumbles in your ears. Sunlight winds its way down to the tall grasses and shrubs along its bank. A perfect place to spend your summer. Actually, 14-year-old Abram Sorensen does spend almost all summer here. It’s his backyard, but he’s not just playing. He’s working on an archaeological dig. This is the place where he made his first big discovery.
For as long as he can remember, Abram has loved to dig. He can’t say exactly why, but he’s been digging and collecting since he was four. His official project began when he was nine. He saw something poking out of the ground in his backyard. He dug a little and found some bits of pottery, metal, and glass. Not much, but it was enough to spark his curiosity. “I just wanted to know why the stuff was there in the first place. I thought it was pretty cool,” he says. So he kept digging. “He dug all summer,” Abram’s dad, Roger, recalls.
Eventually Abram found more than pieces of glass—lots more. After four years of digging, Abram has collected over 10,000 objects. “That’s when I stopped counting,” he says.
What has he found? Marbles, buttons, farm tools, glass medicine bottles, dishes, nails, even a toy car. “This is the first thing I found—this lock,” Abram says as he holds up the dark gray pieces. “I found all the pieces, and I fit them together. It had broken up while it was in the ground.”
Why was all this stuff in his backyard? “It’s an old pioneer dump site,” explains Abram’s mom, Rebecca. “The early settlers used to dump along the creek banks.” In 1869, pioneers began developing the area of the Salt Lake Valley where Abram’s home now stands. Some of the objects Abram has found come from those first pioneers.

Elyssa Portillo (9) of Tucson, Arizona, has many talents. She dances, sings, draws, crochets, cooks, and acts out plays she makes up herself. But her greatest talent may be the talent of gratitude. She is grateful for good friends, good food, and the beautiful desert scenery that surrounds her home. “And I’m thankful for the Prophet Joseph Smith, President Gordon B. Hinckley, the Church, and the Book of Mormon,” she declares.
“Most of all, I’m thankful for my family. I’m thankful for my mom. Whenever I need her, she’s there. I’m thankful for Nana (her grandmother). She’s a teacher, and whenever I need help with my homework, she helps me. I’m very thankful for my dad. I like to take walks with him. I’m thankful for my tío (uncle). I like to sing with him while he plays the piano. I’m thankful for my dog, Pixie. I love them all.”
Elyssa lives in her grandmother’s home with all these loved ones, who love her right back. “When Elyssa’s around, we’re always laughing,” Uncle Eric says. “She makes us laugh when we least expect it. She’s very creative, and you never know what she’s going to do next.”
Nana recalls, “When Elyssa was young, instead of watching TV we just sat around watching Elyssa and her puppy. She liked the attention and started creating games and plays. She would dress up as Cinderella or Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz and act out the part. She filled the whole house with her personality. When she went out, the house was empty and too quiet.
“She’s sensitive to others and sees people’s needs. If I’m walking, she makes sure that I don’t trip: ‘Nana, wait. There’s something in your way.’ She often reminds her mom to put on her seat belt and to not lock her keys in her car. She likes to open doors for the elderly, and at church, she’s always helping mothers with their young children. I feel very safe with Elyssa around.”
“I love her dearly,” her mom says. “She’s my little companion, my little shadow. Everywhere I go, she’s right behind me. She’s a happy child.”
Elyssa also loves her tata (grandpa). When Elyssa was a baby, Tata would play the guitar for her. Later they sang together. Tata was with her a lot because he developed a serious disease and couldn’t go to work. Each day, he picked her up after school and took her to eat at a place of her choice. When Pixie was missing one stormy night, Tata comforted Elyssa, prayed with her, and kept searching until her beloved pet was found safe several days later.
Since Tata couldn’t go to work, he did much of the cooking at home and became a really good cook. Elyssa helped him and became a good cook herself. Their specialty was empanadas, a sort of meat pie that is held in one’s hands. Nana remembers her working beside Tata, flour all over her little face.
“They grew very close,” Nana recalls. “She was his life.”
When Elyssa was eight years old, Tata died suddenly of a heart attack. Elyssa took it very hard. “I felt lonely inside and was crying in my heart. I had a hard time at school. But the teachings of Jesus Christ have helped me to know that someday I will see my tata again. I know that if I keep the commandments, I can be with my family forever.”
In spite of having felt grief—or perhaps because of it—Elyssa has developed a talent for feeling joy. She remembers her baptism as an especially joyful experience. “I’m thankful that I get to have the Holy Ghost with me all the time. Every child in the world deserves to be blessed with the Spirit.” She was grateful that her dad and his parents came to the service to show their love and support, though they are not members of the Church.
Elyssa likes to use her talents to help others feel happy. She studies the violin and guitar and sings in the Little Mariachis at school. (Mariachi bands play traditional Mexican music with brass and string instruments.) Like her dad, she draws well, and she uses this gift to create greeting cards for her friends and family. She uses another talent to crochet purses for people.
She also helps her friends by setting a good example and sometimes by reminding them to choose the right. One day, she came home and reported, “My friend said a bad word. I told her that she shouldn’t say those things.”
A good student, Elyssa isn’t sure yet what she will do when she grows up. Three possibilities are “a police officer to protect the community, a firefighter so I can help others, or a teacher like Nana because I like to help people learn things.” She plans to follow the example of Uncle Eric by serving a mission. “And I plan to get married in the temple and raise a righteous family.”
In the meantime, in the words of a proud Nana, “Elyssa brings us all a lot of joy. We love her, and she knows it.”

“Marionette,” called out the teacher.
Lucia stood before the class, her dark eyes shining and her hands clasped before her in eager anticipation. Her only opponent, Susan Hanley, spelled quickly, “M-a-r-i-o-n … ” She hesitated a moment before finishing, “e-t.”
“I’m sorry,” said the teacher, “but that’s the wrong spelling.”
Lucia felt sorry for Susan, whose crushed expression and flushed face mirrored her disappointment. Should I misspell the word and end the contest in a tie? Lucia wondered.
Lucia didn’t want to begin her first week at a new school making an enemy. She wondered if Susan was like Donna at her former school. Donna and Lucia had battled constantly for first place in everything.
“Marionette,” the teacher repeated.
Lucia tore her gaze from Susan and began to spell the word: “M—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and began again, “M-a-r-i-o-n-e-t-t-e.”
“The winner is Lucia Martin!” declared the teacher.
Lucia smiled weakly and looked at Susan. Susan’s eyes were downcast, and her complexion was a dull brick red. Lucia’s stomach lurched. I did the wrong thing, she decided.
Just then the recess bell rang, and the fourth grade class spilled out onto the playground. Lucia trailed with heavy steps, her eyes following Susan. I don’t want to compete with her, she thought. I just want to be friends. But she knew how hard it was not to compete. She could never resist trying to beat Donna.
Lucia found herself standing near Susan and another girl.
“Too bad about the spelling bee,” Susan’s friend was saying. “Up until now you hadn’t lost any. Will your folks be upset?”
Susan picked nervously at the buttons on her coat. “I suppose so,” she muttered dully. “My parents get upset whenever they think I’m not doing as well as my sister Sylvia. The trouble is, my sister’s good at everything! I’m tired of trying to keep up with her.”
Poor Susan, Lucia thought. At least I don’t have those problems.
“Let’s play jump rope,” Susan’s friend suggested. “Everyone knows you’re the best rope jumper in the school!”
Immediately a game of jump rope was started, and Lucia asked to turn one end of the rope. Before long she forgot her troubles and was shouting the chants with the others.
Soon it was Susan’s turn to jump. The girls counted out the turns of the rope together. On and on they counted. Lucia found herself cheering for Susan with the rest. “Hit two hundred!” she called. “You can do it!”
The girls counted excitedly, “193, 194, 195, …”
Susan’s face was the color of a ripe tomato. Lucia could hear her gasping for breath as the girls called out, “198, 199, 200!”
As the girls cheered the exhausted jumper, Susan’s shoe caught the rope and she went down on one knee.
Lucia put out a hand to help Susan up. But Susan jerked away, looking triumphant. “Let’s see you beat that!” she whispered.
Lucia’s face burned. As she took her turn jumping the rope, a familiar anger tightened her stomach. It was happening all over again.
The only sound was the slap of the rope and the tap of her leather shoes on the cement as she easily jumped to fifty. The rope arched up and down, over and over again, making a whooshing sound as it cut through the air.
The girls began to count aloud now, “101, 102, …”
Lucia’s breath came in shallow pants. Her hands clenched and unclenched automatically. Her leather shoes beat out a pattern on the concrete. The perspiration on her forehead trickled down her nose. She wiped it away quickly.
Above the roar in her ears she heard, “189, 190, 191, …” Her legs felt heavy now, and there was a tingling numbness in the soles of her feet. She felt a strange elation. “… 195, 196, …”
Then Susan’s face loomed before her. She saw the crumpled features and brimming eyes of her defeated opponent in the spelling bee. Lucia knew what she must do. When “199” rang out, she dragged one foot just as the rope hit the ground. She fell to her hands and knees gasping for breath. The girls crowded around her expressing sympathy.
Lucia gazed into the gray eyes of her opponent, noting Susan’s look of satisfaction. Then Susan’s eyes widened as she recognized Lucia’s sacrifice to win her friendship. A flush crept slowly up Susan’s cheeks before she lowered her eyes.
Please understand, Lucia pleaded silently. People are more important than winning or losing.
When Susan looked up again, her eyes had softened and tiny twinkly lights glinted in their depths. She smiled warmly and held her hand out to Lucia to help her up.

I was born in Armenia when it was part of the Soviet Union. My parents taught me and my two siblings to be honest, good, and morally clean, and they did everything to give us a good education. But one of the first things I learned in kindergarten was a philosophy that religion is the opium of the people. And until I was 12 years old, I never knew there was a God.
When I was 12, a terrible earthquake destroyed 90 percent of my hometown, killing more than 50,000 people. I was in school when the noise became louder and louder, and everything around us began to shake. I was pulled into the crowd, trying to escape the building. Amid all the confusion, I suddenly realized I might never see my family again. In that moment, I saw a red knit scarf my mother had made for me hanging in a large hallway to the right of the stairwell. Following an impression, I broke from the crowd and went to retrieve the scarf. In that instant the ground shook for the third and last time, and I witnessed the stairwell collapse with all my friends in its ruins. Upon regaining my senses, I found that the whole school was a huge mass of rubble—with the exception of that tiny area housing me and my red knit scarf.
My entire family of five survived. When my father saw my mom, my eight-month-old sister, my seven-year-old brother, and me sitting in the middle of the street after seven hours of searching for us, the only thing he said was, “Blessed be Thy name, God.” I had lost my home, but for the first time I heard the name of God.
Eleven years passed. I had just graduated from the medical university in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, where I was a medical resident in ophthalmology. While doing some volunteer work, I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries and we became good friends. They were welcomed in our home just as anyone else, but as soon as they started to talk about God, the whole atmosphere became tense. My parents told me that missionaries “teaching their religion” were not welcome in our home. Personally, I was not interested in religion, but I had not stopped them because there was something different in the eyes of those missionaries—something so innocent, pure, and magnificent. I was very interested in finding the source of the light I noticed in their eyes.
After my parents expressed their disapproval, I avoided meeting with the missionaries and finally arranged to meet them at their church building but just to say I was too busy to proceed with our discussions. Arriving at our appointment one hour early, I entered a room with lots of chairs and about 15 people in it. As I sat quietly, trying not to disturb anyone, I was astonished by the unusual but unbelievably familiar feelings. I felt just like I had when I was five years old and could run home, hug my mom, and tell her all that I had done—certain that she loved me, that she would always be there for me, and that everything was all right. After the long years of wandering in spirit, I knew I was home.
That night for the first time in my life, I knelt and prayed to God. If there was a Heavenly Father, I wanted Him to answer me, to tell me if the things the missionaries taught were true, to show me why I felt so different. It is hard to describe what happened next. I had never before felt the presence of my Heavenly Father so tangibly. I knew He loved me. He knew me. He had always been there. I slept that night knowing with all the strength of my heart that I had found my way home.
I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.
The following year was full of blessings. In addition to responsibilities in my branch and much volunteer work, I found work in a private hospital and was able to continue my education. My mother came to Church meetings several times after my baptism, and she joined the Church five months later. But most important, I had my Heavenly Father’s love as part of my life, and I had the assurance that I was finally on my way home.

You’re a relative newcomer to archery, yet you compete at a world-class level. How did it all start? I’ve been doing archery for about four years. My brother had a bow, and I started shooting and liked it more than he did. I would go into the backyard and shoot at the tree stump. I started competition about three years ago. At first I went to a youth league. Then they sent me to JOAD [Junior Olympic Archery Development] because it’s more advanced.
What was it like competing in the Youth World Championship in Turkey? It was fun. My mom went with me. It was my first time going anywhere outside of the states around us. It was a totally different culture. It was fun and interesting to see how other people live. I met some good friends on other teams, and we keep in touch.
Did you have any experiences that strengthened your testimony? We were about the only Church members at the competition, so that was kind of weird for me. But it makes you stronger. Others would ask, “Why don’t you want to go and drink with us?” or “Why don’t you want to wear the short shorts?” And I would say, “We don’t do that.” I’m glad for what we have. Also, my mom and I were happy that we were safe the whole time. We prayed a lot. My grandma prayed every day that we’d be OK. Prayer works.
How do you relate archery to the gospel? It takes a lot of hard work and sticking with it. You have to always believe you can do it, even if you think you can’t. You also need a lot of concentration. If you lose concentration, you miss the shot. A tiny jerk can throw it off. In the gospel, you need to be steadfast and sure.
Would you like to share a favorite scripture? 1 Nephi 3:7. You can go and do anything you’re supposed to. You can do whatever the Lord wants you to. If He wants you to do it, you can do it.

When President Thomas S. Monson asked those new members of the Seventy and the Young Women general presidency to come up and take their places on the stand, I remembered vividly April 1970, when I was called to be an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve—which was a surprise to me. I’d only known about it for just a few hours. As I was invited to sit in one of the red chairs in the old Tabernacle, the choir started to sing “O Divine Redeemer.” As I listened to that pleading song with that wonderful melody, I silently asked the Savior to accept me as I am and remember not my failures, my shortcomings, and my sins (see Ps. 25:7). What a wonderful day that was! That flashed through my mind as President Monson made that invitation today.

Let me give you a story of a woman in São Paulo, Brazil. She worked while going to school to provide for her family. I use her own words in telling this story. She says:

“The university in which I studied had a regulation that prohibited the students that were in debt from taking tests. For this reason, when I received my salary I would first separate the money for tithing and offerings, and the remainder was allotted for the payment of the school and other expenses.

“I remember a time when I … faced serious financial difficulties. It was a Thursday when I received my salary. When I figured the monthly budget, I noticed that there wouldn’t be enough to pay [both] my tithing and my university. I would have to choose between them. The bimonthly tests would start the following week, and if I didn’t take them I could lose the school year. I felt great agony. … My heart ached. I had a painful decision before me, and I didn’t know what to decide. I pondered between the two choices: to pay tithing or to risk the possibility of not obtaining the necessary credits to be approved in school.

“This feeling consumed my soul and remained with me up to Saturday. It was then that I remembered that when I was baptized I had agreed to live the law of tithing. I had taken upon myself an obligation, not with the missionaries, but with my Heavenly Father. At that moment, the anguish started to disappear, giving place to a pleasant sensation of tranquility and determination. …

“That night when I prayed, I asked the Lord to forgive me for my indecision. On Sunday, before the beginning of sacrament meeting, I contacted the bishop, and with great pleasure I paid my tithing and offerings. That was a special day. I felt happy and peaceful within myself and with Heavenly Father.

“The next day I was in my office; I tried to find a way to be able to take the tests that would begin on Wednesday. The more I thought, the further I felt from a solution. At that time I worked in an attorney’s office, and my employer was the most strict and austere person I had ever met.

“The working period was ending when my employer approached and gave the last orders of the day. When he had done so, with his briefcase in his hand he bid farewell. … Suddenly, he halted, and looking at me he asked, ‘How is your college?’ I was surprised, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The only thing I could answer with a trembling voice was, ‘Everything is all right!’ He looked thoughtfully at me and bid farewell again. …

“Suddenly the secretary entered the room, saying that I was a very fortunate person! When I asked her why, she simply answered: ‘The employer has just said that from today on the company is going to pay fully for your college and your books. Before you leave, stop at my desk and inform me of the costs so that tomorrow I can give you the check.’

“After she left, crying and feeling very humble, I knelt exactly where I was and thanked the Lord for His generosity. I … said to Heavenly Father that He didn’t have to bless me so much. I only needed the cost of one month’s installment, and the tithing I had paid on Sunday was very small compared to the amount I was receiving! During that prayer the words recorded in Malachi came to my mind: ‘Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it’ (Mal. 3:10). Up to that moment I had never felt the magnitude of the promise contained in that scripture and that this commandment was truly a witness of the love that God, our Heavenly Father, gives to His children here on earth.”

I hope each deacon is given a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling, as I was. This occurred when the bishopric asked that I take the sacrament to a shut-in who lived about a mile from our chapel. That special Sunday morning, as I knocked on the door of Brother Wright and heard his feeble reply, “Come in,” I entered not only his humble cottage but also a room filled with the Spirit of the Lord. I approached his bedside and carefully placed a piece of bread to his lips. I then held the cup of water, that he might drink. As I departed, I saw him smile as he said, “God bless you, my boy.” And God did bless me with an appreciation for the sacred emblems, which continues even today.

In 2009, shortly after Bro Beharrell’s passing, June records. “I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, but instead of shedding tears, I thought, ‘I am going to the market on Saturday, and I am going to collect for the Severn Hospice just as Gordon would have done.’”
From 2009, June continued to collect donations in Shrewsbury Market by sitting in the hall entrance from 9 am until 2:30 pm almost every Friday and Saturday, whatever the weather or temperature. In the winter, when the cold wind would blow through the entrance, June would take a rug to keep warm. In 2020, amidst the COVID-19 national lockdown, June was not able to collect in the market, so her family helped her set up an online fundraising account which proved very successful.
Now that things have been returning to normal, June has returned to the market to continue collecting donations. Kate Gittins, Shrewsbury’s market hall manager said: “The market’s customers love her; for some, she has become their confidante, for others, particularly those visiting the market for the first time, she provides a warm welcome with her charming smile and generosity of spirit.” The Shropshire Star reported that “her fundraising over the years has helped to fund the general running costs of the hospice and enhanced the care of thousands of people over the years.”