Gospel Story Finder

I was born in Fiji. My parents were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but they went to another church.
When I grew up, I married my wife, Anita. She was a member of the Church. She kept inviting the missionaries over to meet me.
One day I told them they could come to dinner for the next three nights. I said they had to use only the Bible to answer my questions. Their answers were perfect. On the third night, they asked me a question.
“If you had a grocery store, what would you call it?”
“I would call it the Wakolo Family Grocery Store because it’s my store,” I answered.
“Who should a church be named after?” they asked.
It was a great question. And I knew the answer with my heart and soul. The true Church would be named after Jesus because it’s His Church. And The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was named after Him!
I had just one more question: “When can I be baptized?” One week later, I was.
When I was baptized, I took upon myself Jesus Christ’s name. That means I became a member of His Church and promised to follow Him. I try my best every day to live as He did. I know that this is Jesus Christ’s true Church.

Since 1964, when missionaries first arrived in Bolivia, the Church has been helping Bolivian people make the transition from old ways to new. Carmen and Luis Molina were among the first to join the Church in Bolivia. “Two missionaries stopped at my door and invited me to Relief Society, which was held in a home,” explains Sister Molina. “I felt happy at the meeting. I went home and told my husband about it.” Luis was cautious at first, but the family joined the Church in 1965, and he became the first man to be ordained an elder in Bolivia.

“One of my earliest memories is of our family preparing for church,” recalls their son Rolando Molina, who today serves as president of the El Alto Bolivia Satélite Stake. “I loved Saturdays. We ironed; we prepared. And on Sunday we went to church. We walked slowly so all the children could keep up. It took an hour each way. I have fond memories of those walks together.”

One afternoon, Vereckei Krisztina, 16, was home alone. “I love to feel the Holy Ghost, to feel that this Church is true,” she says. “But that day, I wasn’t feeling it, and I missed it a lot.” She tried listening to Church music, reading the Book of Mormon, and praying. But for some reason, she still wasn’t feeling the Spirit.
“I went to visit my friend, Seres Brigitta,” she says. “I asked her to come and walk with me. As we walked, we talked about Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. Without thinking about it, I told her my testimony, and she told me hers. We sat on a city bench for two or three hours, sharing our testimonies with each other. As we sat there, with lots of people going by, we could imagine that God was looking at us and that He was proud of us because we were talking about Him. I felt the Holy Ghost and felt that my testimony had been strengthened. I was very happy after that.”

The young men and young women in Welland, Ontario, Canada, get excited about seminary. Winters in Welland are long and harsh, and during the greater part of the school year, going to seminary means a trek to the church in the dark and cold. Of course, teenagers in Welland are no different than teenagers anywhere else. Getting enough sleep is a paramount concern—something that can be a bit of a challenge when you get up for an early-morning class. But a few years ago, the Welland seminary students had a teacher who changed their lives, and their mumbling and grumbling about the early hour seemed to shrink, while their excitement about seminary seemed to grow.
Despite the fact that he had been ill with cystic fibrosis all his life, their teacher, Brother Ron Cunningham, wouldn’t have traded his calling as a seminary teacher for anything. In terms of his health, some days were better than others. But every day he taught seminary, he said, was a good day.
“He was our friend,” says James Burton, 17. “We all had such a good time, even though he was sick. He had such a great sense of humor, even about things that made him look silly. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of class before everyone was fully awake, he would fall asleep—while he was teaching.”
Because cystic fibrosis fills the lungs with fluid, breathing is difficult, causing extreme fatigue. Consequently, it seems that just about everyone has a favorite “Brother Cunningham fell asleep” story.
There were other ways he filled the seminary with laughter and fun, too. There were games and contests for scripture mastery, treats and stories to make lessons easier to understand.
“One year, Brother Cunningham brought an entire set of army men for us to use to reenact battles from the scriptures,” says Craig Dumoulin. “At first we thought it was crazy since none of us have played with toys like that since we were little, but it really did make it easier to understand. And it was a lot of fun.”
But Brother Cunningham taught his students much more than how to have a sense of humor. Make no mistake, the gospel was his life, and he wanted to help his students feel the same way.
“Because of his illness, he was pretty small physically,” says Matthew Glanfield, 18. “But I have never known such a spiritual giant.”
It was that spirit, that great feeling, that kept the students excited and happy about getting up before dawn to study. Even in the Toronto area’s brutal and icy winter. Even during exams when time was scarce. Even when it would have been easier to stay in bed and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Everyone knew that no matter how hard it was for them to get out of bed in the morning, it was harder for their teacher. If he could do it, they knew they could too.
The young men in the ward seemed especially responsive to his style of teaching. Although he didn’t fit the stereotype of macho strength and he was unable to participate in many athletic activities, the young men all say that he was exactly the kind of man—an honorable priesthood holder who was married in the temple—that they all aspire to be.
“There were a lot of things he couldn’t do, but he worked hard at the things he could do,” says Matthew. “He always told us that it was his number one wish for us to go on missions and be great missionaries. He couldn’t go on a mission because of his health, but he could contribute to the missionary effort by training others to share the gospel.”

A ward member told me that one day she saw a car driving by and, thinking I was the driver, she waved. A moment later, she thought, “How silly! Laurie’s blind; she can’t see me wave.” Her mind didn’t find it at all odd that I could be driving the car. “I felt so silly when I thought of it later,” she told me. “But then, I always forget you are blind.” Perhaps that is the greatest compliment I am ever paid—when people think of me as they would any other individual. “I forget you’re blind”—that’s one of the nicest things I could hear.

In addition, we should “sufficiently retain in remembrance” experiences from our own life. I believe we need to have a memory of our own lessons learned and our own personal feelings felt. Let me give you an example. In 1987 I suffered an accident when I fell 19 feet from the roof of our neighbor’s home onto a concrete driveway. In the middle of a six-hour surgery, Dr. Robert Jackson left the operating room to tell my wife that he would probably have to fuse my ankle bone and that I would not be able to bend my ankle ever after. Try walking without bending your ankle. He returned to the operating room, and he said that as he resumed his efforts, he imagined a way—in his mind’s eye—to fashion 11 screws and 2 plates into a working ankle joint depending almost solely on that hardware because there were no solid pieces of bone with which to work.

I spent almost two weeks in the hospital at that time, and I remember very clearly the overwhelming feelings of an experience that I had one week after the surgery. The nurses had carried me to a chair that Sunday evening to watch television. It was tuned to KBYU, and a program entitled “How Rare a Possession” came on. As I watched that production, a swirling of simultaneous emotions swept over me. I felt gratitude for an outstanding doctor. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and His Son. I felt a powerful reaffirmation of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As a result, I felt a strong feeling of recommitment to be a better person and to serve the Lord in any way he desired. I will never ever forget the tears that poured from my eyes as I felt those feelings and learned some valuable lessons. As I look back on it, I know that I was given a gift that without the accident I would not have received. There will be events and happenings in all of our lives that will become defining moments for us. You will know them when they come. We need to “sufficiently retain in remembrance” such times.

That strength is given to those who are older as well as the young. I know a widow more than 90 years of age. She is in a wheelchair. She prays as you do, pleading for help to solve problems beyond her human power to resolve. The answer is a feeling in her heart. It draws her to keep a commandment: “And behold, ye shall meet together oft.” So she finds a way to get to her meetings. People who attend there have told me, “We are so glad to see her. She brings such a spirit with her.”
She partakes of the sacrament, and she renews a covenant. She remembers the Savior, and she tries to keep His commandments. And so she takes His Spirit with her, always. Her problems may not be resolved. Most of them come from the choices of others, and even the Heavenly Father who hears her prayers and loves her cannot force others to choose the right. But He can send her to the safety of the Savior and the promise of His Spirit to be with her. And so I am sure that she will, in the strength of the Lord, pass the test she faces, because she keeps the commandment to gather often with the Saints. That is both the evidence that she is enduring well and the source of her strength for what lies ahead.

“Should we pay our tithing or make our farm payment?” That was the dilemma facing my father, Henry L. Smith, in 1920.
Like the others who had settled the small Latter-day Saint community of Virden, New Mexico, my parents were hard-working people who trusted in the Lord. But we were not financially prosperous. A few sacks of grain were usually about all we had to show for a year’s work.
After many prayers and lots of hard work, we had a good wheat harvest in 1920. But the demand and the selling price were very low. Through bartering, we had enough to eat. Then the mortgage payment came due. It was important that all of the families who had purchased the farmland together make their payment on time—or everyone’s property would be in jeopardy.
My parents, like most farmers, had to wait until harvest time to pay their tithing. Unfortunately, they realized that they could pay their tithing or the farm payment, but not both. Daddy did have several sacks of wheat he could sell, but he had no interested buyers.
“We felt we had to pay our tithing, but we could not fail with our land payment,” he wrote in his journal. “We went to the Lord and placed our problem before Him. When we were through, we had the impression we should pay our tithing first.”
According to Daddy’s journal, a few days after he had paid the tithing, “a man whom I had never seen before came and purchased all of our wheat at a good price. We now had the money for our land payment.”
Where the man came from or where he went, Daddy never found out. Nor did he learn why the man was willing to pay such a good price. His journal simply records: “We felt the Lord had a way of taking care of us if we were faithful and put our trust in him.”
The Lord had indeed opened the windows of heaven and poured us out a blessing.

“Should we turn back or move ahead?” This was the question that dominated the thoughts of the pioneer company on the night of 3 December 1879. Church President John Taylor had called this group of pioneers to settle the San Juan Mission, in the southeastern part of what is now the state of Utah. But at this point in the trek, there seemed to be no clear answer on how to proceed.
The pioneers were camped at 40-Mile Spring, located on a high plateau. Silas S. Smith, the president of the company, realized how serious their situation was. Camped in some 80 wagons were nearly 250 men, women, and children. Hundreds of cattle were also part of the caravan. Winter was upon them, and they had too few supplies and other resources to remain at this encampment until spring.
President Smith sat in his tent and deliberated with other leaders. Turning back seemed impossible. Behind them, to the west, heavy snows had buried the road through the Escalante Mountains, as well as any foliage the livestock could eat. Besides, the pioneers took seriously the calling President Taylor had given them to settle the San Juan Mission, which was part of President Brigham Young’s original plan to establish settlements throughout much of the West. Who among them would refuse such a call?
Ahead of the pioneers, to the east, lay more than 300 kilometers of rough terrain with no road and little water. A decision to go forward would force them to travel through Hole-in-the-Rock—a crevice in the west wall of Glen Canyon at a high plateau above the Colorado River. It was a dangerous shortcut, but the only other trail was more than 600 kilometers long. An exploring party’s report had been pessimistic. Going through Hole-in-the-Rock would mean taking wagons and cattle on a trail that dropped 610 meters, one-third of that drop at a 45-degree angle.
Most felt it was impossible. After much discussion, one of the men made the motion to leave the decision to “President Smith and the Lord.” A unanimous vote reflected the faith of those present that the Lord would inspire their leader.
The next morning, President Smith called a meeting to announce the decision to move ahead. “The miracle of this decision went through the company like an electric shock,” wrote Kumen Jones, a member of the group, “and all was good cheer and hustle.” In the meeting, many bore testimony in support of moving ahead. Someone began to sing. Others joined in, and soon the chilly December air rang with “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning!” (Hymns, 1985, number 2).

When I was a child, my mother introduced me to the nature of God with a story from her own childhood: “As a little girl, I walked home from school with my brother. We always took a shortcut past a large black dog that chased us as we ran by his house. If we ran at just the right time, we could make it to a fence and to safety. My brother would tell me when to run.

“One day I was alone and didn’t run at the right time. The dog threatened me, and I froze on the sidewalk in terror. As he lunged toward me, I cried out as loud as I could, ‘Heavenly Father, help me!’”

Suddenly, my mother recalled, the dog halted as if his way had been barred, and she crawled through the fence to safety. She knew her prayer had been answered.
That story told me much about the God my mother worshiped. It gave me a sense of security, a comfort I could not have put into words.

Take the case of Brother Arvin, for instance. He was young, scarcely out of college. He was a mild-mannered and happy-go-lucky sort of fellow and was never known to have been very serious about anything before; in fact, he was considered to be the community jokester. It is little wonder that the Sunday School superintendency was a bit nervous about his first teaching assignment. Would he use his classroom to act like a stand-up comic and waste the precious and valuable time of his students? Would he study his lesson manual and be prepared to teach the precepts contained therein?
The fears of the superintendency seemed to be well-founded when Brother Arvin appeared for his first lesson with two large suitcases in tow. From past experience, they knew these leather-covered boxes could have contained anything from crumpled newspapers to a live snake.
With the aid of a class member, Brother Arvin set up a table in the classroom, and before prayer, meeting the entire table was littered with a collection of many miscellaneous items, some of which looked as though they had recently been snatched from a quiet resting place in the nearest trash can.
After prayer meeting and opening exercises, a member of the superintendency accompanied Brother Arvin to the class to introduce him. After the opening prayer and an appropriate introduction, Brother Arvin stood before the group. He smiled his infectious smile so broadly his molars were visible. Then he began one of the most interesting and absorbing lessons ever witnessed by anyone in that classroom. The subject matter had been fully mastered, and every point was reinforced through the aid of one of the items Brother Arvin had brought in the suitcases.
He hoisted an old ruler aloft. It was so dim with age and handling by countless hands that the numbers identifying the inches were no longer distinguishable. After everyone in the class had looked at the item, he simply asked, “How do you go about measuring the effectiveness of prayer?”
Spurred on by the sight of that old ruler, the class members were drawn into a most interesting and provocative discussion. Even class members who often were content merely to sit and listen week after week without contributing to discussions voiced their views. Lesson manuals that had heretofore never been opened since they were purchased were scanned for clues to words to communicate the thoughts of those class members who sometimes find it very difficult to put their own thoughts into words.
In subsequent lessons, Brother Arvin used more items, smiled more smiles, and taught superb lessons with the aplomb of a master teacher. Perhaps none quite had the creative magic of the first lesson, but his students readily agreed that the lessons got better as time went on.
Why was Brother Arvin successful? Was it possibly because he was so interesting and unpredictable that no one ever knew what he would bring to class in those suitcases?
Brother Arvin’s success was the result of a number of well-applied precepts. In the first place, his lessons were truly creative. His introduction to a subject was so stimulating that his entire class became caught up with enthusiasm. Brother Arvin was always enthusiastic, and the class sensed it and became enthusiastic also. This, in turn, bolstered his own feelings of well-being and drove him to even greater heights of enthusiasm. The entire process was a delightful circle with creativity as the hub.

Learning to Be a Southerner
Lana Gabrylczyk, 18, Sevierville Branch
When I first moved here, I didn’t think I would ever pick up the accent. Now I live with my mom in a true Tennessee holler. I really picked up the accent. When I went back to Idaho to visit, my friends there all laughed. I would say, “Hey, what ya’ll doing tonight?” They would answer, “We all aren’t doing anything tonight.” They teased me about saying “ya’ll.”
I’ve learned to make biscuits and gravy. There is an old lady that lives at the end of Mom’s holler. I called her one day and said, “Cora, how do you make biscuits?”
She said, “Take about a cup of milk.” Then she kept telling me a pinch of this and a scoop of that.
I asked her, “How much is that?”
She said, “As much as you want.” I just threw up my hands. I finally had to go visit and watch her, but mine still don’t turn out as good as hers.

WELCOME!I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
I’m sorry, Mei Lin. The answer is still no.You don’t understand me. Nobody does!
LaterMei Lin, It’s true that your mom and I don’t understand you perfectly, but it isn’t true that nobody does.
Isaiah wrote that Jesus Christ has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. Whatever you suffer, He has suffered. He understands you completely.
I wish you did.So do I. But isn’t it nice to know that Somebody does?Yes.
You know, maybe I don’t understand you and Mom perfectly, either.That’s all right. Somebody does.
Mei Lin, we do try to understand you, and we’ll try even harder.I’ll try harder, too.

For me, taking upon myself the name of Jesus Christ means remembering that His Spirit can always be with us and that we must choose to do what is right. Once at a birthday party, my friends were drinking, and they offered me an alcoholic drink. I said no. Then one of my Church friends came and told them that we do not drink alcohol because of our religion. Remembering the Savior always brings the Spirit close to me and keeps bad things away from me.
Miguel C., 16, Paraná, Brazil

Like Jared Carter and Stephen Burnett (see Doctrine and Covenants 79 and 80), modern missionaries also need a witness that they are called of the Lord.
Thousands of missionaries had their mission calls changed because of the coronavirus. For example, Curtis and Ramona Miller were reassigned to a different mission because of the virus. They testified: “We have a strong testimony that it does not matter where we serve but that we are willing to serve. As we allow the Savior’s hand to guide our life, He qualifies us for this work.”
Jared Carter (1801–49)
Baptized by Hyrum Smith in 1831 in Colesville, New York.
Preached in Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and Vermont in 1831 and 1832.
Went to Hiram, Ohio, to ask Joseph Smith what the will of the Lord was for him.
Joseph Smith received a revelation directing him to preach again in the eastern United States (see Doctrine and Covenants 79).
Stephen Burnett (1813–85)
Baptized by John Murdock in 1830 in Warrensville, Ohio.
Ordained a high priest at age 17.
Appointed to preach with Eden Smith (see Doctrine and Covenants 80:2), but Eden became ill.
Began his mission instead with Eden’s father, John Smith.
Curtis and Ramona Miller
Looking at options on the Church’s senior missionary website, the Millers selected eight possible locations—most of which were in Polynesia and Europe.
Their call came to serve in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
They would need to learn French.
After three and a half months in Africa, the Millers were reassigned to serve in Georgia, USA, because of COVID-19.

Laura slid her feet daintily into Mother’s out-of-fashion high heels—her glass slippers—straightened the cardboard crown on her head, and twirled past the mirror to see if the old chiffon gown made her look like Cinderella.
“I’m just not sure about the shoes.” She frowned into the mirror. “They’re so clunky and so … so purple!”
“This is Halloween, not a grand ball,” Mother laughed. “Besides, if your shoes fall off while you’re trick-or-treating tonight, you’ll be even more like Cinderella. Now get a move on. Tammy insisted on going early tonight, so she’ll be here to pick you up at any minute.”
As Laura dabbed some of Mother’s makeup on her face—wearing lipstick and eye shadow was the best thing about Halloween—she thought of her new friend.
Tammy had recently moved to town. Everyone in school knew that she lived in the run-down duplexes on Horne Street, and though she was always clean and neat, her clothes looked worn and plain.
Sister Kerby, Laura’s Valiant teacher, had challenged the girls in her class to do missionary work. After prayerfully considering the names of several friends at school, Laura was impressed to get to know Tammy better, in hopes of introducing the gospel to her. She seems nice enough, thought Laura. Even though her family is poor, it won’t hurt me to be her friend.
Laura’s exuberance and Tammy’s gentleness proved a winning combination. Every day the two girls rode bikes, climbed trees, or baked their all-time favorite—chocolate chip cookies. Laura’s attic was their retreat. There they munched countless cookies, solved world problems, and shared innermost dreams.
But sharing a cookie is sure easier than sharing the gospel, Laura thought to herself now as she whisked a little blush across her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to talk to Tammy about her beliefs.
“The gospel of Jesus Christ is the greatest gift you can give,” Sister Kerby had said. “You must listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost so that you will know when the time is right to invite Tammy to church. Be a good example, and she will want to hear about the gospel.” Laura wondered if the “right time” would ever come!
The doorbell rang. That has to be Tammy. Laura quickly brushed her thoughts aside and sprinkled a pinch of glitter in her hair.
Scurrying down the hall to open the door for her friend, Laura could feel the soft flutter of chiffon around her ankles. She wondered what Tammy would be wearing. Her family probably doesn’t have money for costumes and makeup.
“Wow—you look gorgeous!” Tammy squealed when she saw Laura.
“And you look … crazy,” Laura laughed, poking at Tammy’s homemade paper-bag pumpkin costume. “We’re a real pair! I guess I’m Cinderella and you’re my coach.”
“Got your treat bags?” Mom asked.
“Here’s mine!” Tammy grinned, holding it high.
“That’s huge!” Laura exclaimed, a little embarrassed by the size. “It looks like a pillowcase.”
“It is,” giggled Tammy. “And I plan to fill it right to the top. I love Halloween!”
Laura smiled weakly, relieved that her parents had bought the pretty plastic trick-or-treat bag she held.
“Off with you then,” Mother said, giving them a wink and shooing them out the door.
After an hour of running from house to house, Laura’s patience with her clumsy “glass slippers” wore thin.
“Let’s quit, Tammy,” she panted, as they rounded yet another corner. “Honestly, I can hardly keep up with you. And just look at all this candy!”
Tammy stopped. Her usually serene eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. “The real fun is just beginning,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Yeah, now we get to eat our loot!”
“Oh no!” Tammy smiled. “The fun starts when you give your treats away.”
Laura looked at Tammy in amazement.
“You mean, you give all your candy away?”
“Sure,” Tammy shrugged. “It’s still early. If I hurry home, I can be there to give out my treats to all the neighbor children who come trick-or-treating to my house. It’s fun!”
Laura’s heart swelled with love for Tammy, who stood without guile before her in the homemade pumpkin costume. Laura wondered how she could ever have thought that money made one person richer or “better” than another. All these weeks she’d thought that she was preparing Tammy to receive the gospel—doing Tammy a favor by being her friend. She hadn’t taken time to notice that Tammy was ready and waiting for the gift; a gift she suddenly felt almost unworthy to give.
“Can I come and help you hand out the Halloween treats?” Laura asked softly.
“Sure!” Tammy smiled, slipping her arm through Laura’s as they walked toward Horne Street.
“And while we’re giving out the candy,” Laura said with new resolve, “I have something precious to share with you, Tammy.”

At a time when I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo, the Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 A.M., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 A.M. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for it at that early hour, there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car at the stop light.
The thought crossed my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one else would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:
“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

Illustration by Elizabeth Thayer
The young women were excited. In fact, the entire ward in southern France was excited. To encourage greater unity, leaders were planning a ward social, with dinner and entertainment. Knowing that the Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels had already been learning songs and dances during some of their activities, the leaders invited them to provide the evening’s entertainment.
And so the ward’s young women began practicing in earnest—all of them but one. Manon would not be able to perform. She had been undergoing cancer treatments for more than two years.
Manon C., age 16, still came to meetings and activities as often as she could, and she always shared a bright smile despite what she was going through. But during chemotherapy she was sometimes too weak to do much more than rest. Ward members had fasted and prayed several times on her behalf. No one expected her to practice or to dance.
But she could attend the dinner. So why not dedicate the evening to Manon?
The idea quickly caught on.
“We wanted Manon to feel the ward’s love and support for her,” explains Emma S., 16. “If our ward wanted to become more unified, what better way to do it than by working together to show our love for Manon?”
The entire ward became involved in the preparations. Families received assignments to bring food for the dinner; the Relief Society helped make costumes for the young women; the young adults provided technical support (lighting, sound, and background videos) for rehearsals and the final performance; and priesthood brethren helped set up tables and chairs.
All of this work was done by ward members spread out over a large area. “The youth in the ward are very close in spirit, but we live far apart,” says Aiolah V., 16. “We don’t see each other in school because we live in different parts of town, so we make an extra effort to ensure that no one gets left off to the side.”
“We also stay in touch all the time, thanks to cell phones,” says Inka S., 15. “We teach each other by sharing our different experiences. We know we can count on each other, and we try to set good examples for each other.” The young women, who love being together whenever they can, found that rehearsals for the dinner show provided additional opportunities to deepen friendships.
“Before we started rehearsing, I was quite shy,” Inka explains. “I was afraid of making a mistake. But when we danced as a group, I put my shyness aside. I knew it was time to show the ward how hard we had worked.”
Manon, for her part, was both humble and gracious. “When they told me about the dinner and show and that I’d be the guest of honor, I thought I’d be bothered that they were making a fuss,” she recalls. “On the other hand, I was excited to be there!”
Soon the evening arrived, and it was a perfect occasion to offer love and support for Manon. “The food, of course, was excellent,” Aiolah says. “This is France, after all!”
And then the entertainment—called a spectacle in French—lived up to its name. Games, vocal presentations, and dances delighted the audience. Then the young women, as a combined choir, provided the highlight of the show. They dedicated a song to Manon, a song Emma wrote and composed herself. The lyrics in the chorus sum up the love and support everyone wanted Manon to feel:
Please don’t give up,
’Cause we believe in you,
And don’t forget who you are,
’Cause we believe in you.
As the young women performed the song, it was as if everyone in the ward were singing along, at least in their hearts. It felt like Emma’s simple song was transformed into an unsung chorus that resonates in the hearts of Latter-day Saints wherever they are—an anthem of courage and compassion; family and friends; unity, faith, and hope; a never-ending prayer that is heard in heaven.
The leaders’ intent in organizing the social was to unify the ward. Dedicating the evening to Manon not only helped to accomplish that goal but also generated an enduring sense of support for Manon and her family and an understanding that every child of God is important. “It is the goal of the Church to help us be closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” Aiolah says. “We know that They love us and that we are never alone.”

A few months ago, while participating in a service activity I was able to observe a sister who was heavily expecting. I wondered how much she would be able to offer while carrying such a physically demanding load. The agility and energy with which this sister moved to help lift a load for another needing relief, seemed to have lightened her own load. President Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985) observed, “Only when you lift a burden, God will lift your burden. Divine paradox this! The man who staggers and falls because his burden is too great can lighten that burden by taking on the weight of another’s burden.”3

“My teacher is going to be tardy,” said Cindy to herself as she sat on her front steps, watching teacher after teacher go into the school building. Today was the day that only teachers went to school. Teachers from all over the city were coming to a meeting. But where is my teacher? she wondered.
She had already seen smiling Miss Green. Now she waved to quiet Mr. Black, and he nodded his head at her.
“Have you seen Miss Martin yet?” called Mother.
“No,” replied Cindy. “I think my teacher’s going to be tardy!”
“Oh, dear,” said Mother.
Just then the school bell rang loud and long, as it always did at half past eight. A few teachers were still scurrying inside for the meeting. But where’s Miss Martin? Cindy wondered.
She stood up and walked down to the corner. She could see black cars, green cars, blue cars, tan cars, but she did not see her teacher’s little red car.
“Miss Martin,” said Cindy in Miss Martin’s you’d-better-listen voice, “Miss Martin, you are TARDY!”
Just then someone came into sight way down the street. It was Miss Martin running down the sidewalk with some papers in her hand.
Then just as Miss Martin reached Cindy’s corner she tripped and fell—WHUMPH! It was just what Cindy sometimes did on the playground. She ran to the corner, and there was poor Miss Martin, rubbing her ankle and looking very sad. And her papers were blowing all over the street!
Cindy hurried to pick them up. One paper went under a parked car. One was stuck on a tree branch. A cat grabbed one paper and was playing with it. Cindy finally gathered all the papers together and ran back to her teacher with them.
Miss Martin stood up, but the heel had come off one of her shoes. Her stockings were torn, and she began to rub her ankle again.
“Oh, Cindy,” said Miss Martin. “My car broke down. I have to give a report at the meeting so I started running to make sure I wouldn’t be late, and now look what’s happened.”
“Here are your papers,” said Cindy. “I’ll help you walk, Miss Martin; you can lean on me.” Cindy felt very important.
The teacher limped along for a few steps. Then she stopped. “Oh, dear, what am I going to do?” she questioned. “I can’t go to the meeting like this.”
Miss Martin looked at the heel that had come off her shoe. She looked at her torn stockings. Then she looked at Cindy.
“Let’s go to my house,” suggested Cindy. “My mom can help. And maybe I can get your heel back on.”
“I can give you some stockings,” said Cindy’s mother when she saw what had happened.
Cindy glued the heel back onto Miss Martin’s shoe with some quick-drying cement while Miss Martin changed her stockings. Mother helped Miss Martin put her papers in the right order again. And Cindy offered to help her into the schoolhouse.
So that’s how Cindy happened to go to the teacher’s meeting. It was a good thing Miss Martin was the last person on the program. She and Cindy arrived just in time!
Miss Martin’s report was all about good habits.
“One of the things children must learn is to be on time,” she said at the end of her talk. She looked straight at Cindy and smiled a big smile.
“That goes for teachers too!” said the tardy teacher.