Gospel Story Finder

A word of caution may be in order here, however. A friend of mine named Doug lost his father in an automobile accident when he was in junior high school. Though he knew they meant well, it was difficult for him to hear peers whose parents were still living say, “I know exactly how you feel.” The fact is they probably didn’t, and consequently their well-intentioned remarks sounded callous. A simple “I’m sorry” would have been more appropriate. Furthermore, Doug felt oppressed by those people who felt it was their duty to get him to “talk about it” every time they associated with him. Once he felt the concern and sympathy of his friends by their simple expressions of sympathy, he preferred to bring up the subject himself.

Great Britain has the world’s most regal (elegant) letter boxes. The tall cylinders stand like palace guards, their scarlet tunics emblazoned with a golden crown and the insignia of the queen. One such letter box stands sentry on Cottam Lane in Preston, in front of Ingol County Primary School. From time to time a pretty eight-year-old girl approaches and reaches high to drop in a letter addressed to Masha Melnikova in Mogilev, Belarus. The sender is Lorna Wilson, a Latter-day Saint, and Masha’s true friend.
Lorna’s father, Christopher, is a software designer who spends much of his spare time working for a charity called Medicine and Chernobyl. This organization provides medical aid for the Belarusian victims of a nuclear disaster in the nearby Ukrainian city of Chernobyl. Each year the charity brings a group of Belarusian children for a month-long visit to England. These children live downwind from Chernobyl, and their resistance to disease has been impaired. A month in a healthy environment helps them rebuild their physical and emotional reserves. Masha was one of these children.
Masha arrived at the Wilson home speaking almost no English. Lorna spoke even less Russian. Still, they managed to communicate with gestures and occasional help from a Russian phrase book. Within a day, somehow, they were best friends. Although Masha had her own room the first night, the two girls’ friendship blossomed so quickly that from the second night on, they chose to share a room. Lorna’s parents had to go in each night and persuade them to turn out the lights. They’d be talking away, drawing, and dressing dolls. Neither learned much of the other’s language, but they understood each other very well. On the morning Masha left to return home, Lorna was so upset that she couldn’t go to school.
That was unusual, because Lorna likes school. A very good student, her favorite subjects are art and math. When her school formed a group called the Troubleshooters from among the most able students, Lorna was the youngest person chosen. The Troubleshooters go to local businesses and help them solve problems. Lorna’s group first went to the Preston office of the Royal Mail. They were given two problems to solve. One was that the staff wasn’t looking at the notice boards. The other was that a stray letter was occasionally left in the bottom of a supposedly empty mail sack. The Troubleshooters went to work and produced many good suggestions, several of which were adopted. In a small way, Lorna was helping to speed her letters from the letter box on Cottam Lane to her friend in Belarus!
“Lorna’s an inspiration to me,” her mother, Helen, says. “I really do try to follow her example. When I go to a parents’ evening at school, her teachers tell me, ‘What can I say? She’s just wonderful!’”
Lorna wants to be either a zookeeper or an artist when she grows up. Whatever she chooses, she will do it well. She likes to do art and sewing, especially cross-stitch, and she always tries to do them perfectly. She has been taking ballet for three years. She also is a Brownie and a skilled Maypole dancer.
The oldest of six children, Lorna sometimes feels frustrated when a little sister wrecks a project or pinches (takes) her crayons. Even so, she loves her little brothers and sisters and takes good care of them. Her mother says, “We’re lucky Lorna is the oldest, because she’s a good example to the others. She isn’t perfect, but she’s very trustworthy, and she helps the others with reading and things like that.” In return, the younger children look up to her. Adam (6) is a football player and a dreamer. He has adopted all the older ladies in the ward. Hannah (5) is a gifted artist with a keen eye for beauty. Abigail (4) has her daddy’s sense of humor and likes to tease people. Sara (2) is sunny and outgoing. Everybody at church wants to take her home with them. Joshua (1) just started walking. He is a charming, happy boy.
The Wilsons are a close-knit family who take drives in the countryside when their busy schedules allow. They also like to play games together. Sometimes for family home evening they play a Book of Mormon game Sister Wilson made. It stretches clear across the floor. For many years they invited an elderly neighbor to each of their family home evenings and adopted him as their granddad. After his death, they began to invite a handicapped man from their ward. “He’s a lovely man with a beautiful spirit,” Sister Wilson says, “but he can’t speak. He has to use a machine to communicate.” The children welcome guests with open arms. At Christmas they invite in anyone they know is going to be alone. The family also goes caroling to some of the elderly people who live nearby.
Seeing firsthand the sorrows of others has helped the Wilson children appreciate their own blessings. When the Belarusian children came, they had very little in the way of clothing, and what they had was threadbare. Their diet in Belarus had been poor too. “We learned not to waste food,” Lorna says, “because some people have hardly anything.”
The family tries to read the Book of Mormon at breakfast each day, although sometimes it’s a struggle. Lorna’s favorite person in the Book of Mormon is Jesus Christ.
Preston and the surrounding areas were the sites of some of the greatest missionary efforts in the history of the Church. In 1837 Elder Heber C. Kimball led a group of missionaries there to begin the work in Great Britain. The Wilsons have stood by the River Ribble, where the first baptisms in Britain took place. They have walked through Market Square, where the missionaries preached. They have visited many places where the Spirit was poured out upon their land. It’s no wonder that they do missionary work whenever they can. They once had the favor returned when a nonmember referred them to the missionaries! One day the sister missionaries knocked on a door around the corner from the Wilsons where some older ladies lived. The missionaries asked them if they were interested in learning about the Church, and they said no.
“Well, do you know anybody who might be?”
“There’s a lovely family around the corner,” one of the ladies answered. “They have lots of children. They’d be good Mormons.”
She was right, of course.

Fans attending sports events at Amador High School in Pleasanton, California, will find the school bleachers have a new coat of paint thanks to the efforts of the Pleasanton 3rd Ward. As a community service project, 35 youth, their advisers, and the bishopric took paintbrushes in hand and alternated 40 gallons of purple and gold paint on the bleachers. The school bleachers never looked better for the beginning of another year of sporting events.

I went sledding with my family. We had a lot of fun. There were lots of kids on the hill. I noticed that a girl was going too fast and was going to hit the fence. As she hit the fence, I ran down the hill to help her because I knew she must be hurt. She wasn’t hurt badly but she was scared and crying. No one else was around to help her, so I helped her get off her sled and made sure she was all right. Later that night when I went to bed I had a warm feeling in my heart. I knew it was the Holy Ghost telling me I had done something good and that Heavenly Father was happy with me.

Once we reached Poland after an early start, our first stop was a retreat house, Dobre Miejsce, attached to the University of Cardinal Wyszynski in Warsaw. We stopped to buy sweets, colouring books, and pens for the 50 children we were about to meet. Dobre Miejsce looks after 95 women and children. The absence of men at the university refuge was noticeable and reinforced the awful concern of the women and children, not knowing if the men in their lives are alive or not.
We managed to spend a little time with the children for whom we had brought the packs. I will treasure the drawing that one little child gave us of the Union flag and the Ukrainian flag with a heart drawn around it; their little faces shining at such a simple gift is something I will remember for years to come.

Early in my youth, I was counseled in a blessing to stay close to my mother and to keep her advice near me, and I would be safe. I have always remembered that, but I often wondered about it because it was my father who seemed to give most of the advice. Then one winter when I was in the seventh grade, I had blood poisoning and became quite ill. My father was traveling at the time—in the summer he farmed, and in the winter he traveled, selling livestock feed. It was during this period that mother gave me some important counsel. It concerned moral cleanliness, and I’ll always be grateful for that advice. It helped me to set some personal standards early in my life.

Children, develop a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Pray, and Heavenly Father will send you the help you need. Listen to and obey your parents, who only want what is best for you. And when the time is right for you, get your patriarchal blessing and heed its counsel too.

Billy was sad—almost sad enough to cry.
“What’s the matter, Billy?” asked Grandma. “Why are you so sad?”
“Because tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I don’t have a present to give Mommy,” Billy replied.
“Don’t be sad,” said Grandma. “Here’s a lovely card. It says Happy Mother’s Day and it has a picture of a beautiful bouquet of violets. Print your name inside, and that will make Mommy happy.”
Billy printed his name in his very best printing. But he still felt sad. He loved Mommy so much that he wanted to give her a very special present.
Grandma could see Billy was still unhappy. She thought and thought, but she couldn’t think of a single thing that Billy could give his mother.
While Grandma was thinking, Billy had an idea. “I know what I can give her!” he cried.
“What?” asked Grandma.
“A bouquet of violets!” Billy said. “Just like the one that’s on the card!”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Grandma agreed. “I’ll help you pick some violets.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” said Billy, “but I’d like to pick the violets all by myself.”
“All right, Billy,” said Grandma. “But if you decide you need help, just call me.”
Skippity-skop went Billy’s happy feet out the door, down the steps, and right to the spot in the garden where the violets grew. He stooped down and began to pick.
He picked and picked.
He picked violets from here,
Violets from there—
From here,
From there,
From everywhere!
Billy began to get a little tired. I’ve picked enough, he thought.
But when he looked at his bouquet, he decided, This is only a little bouquet. I want a big bouquet for Mommy!
So Billy began to pick violets again.
He picked and picked.
He picked violets from here,
Violets from there—
From here,
From there,
From everywhere!
Billy’s back began to ache and his knees began to hurt. “I’ve picked enough,” he said to himself.
But then Billy looked at his bouquet of violets. This is only a middle-sized bouquet, he thought. I want a big bouquet of violets for Mommy!
So Billy began to pick again.
He picked and picked.
He picked violets from here,
Violets from there—
From here,
From there,
From everywhere!
Oh, thought Billy, I’m really tired and my back hurts. I think I’ve picked enough!
When Billy looked at his bouquet of violets, he was very happy. “Now I have a big bouquet!” he exclaimed. “A beautiful big bouquet of violets for Mommy!”
Billy forgot he was tired. Skippity-skop went his happy feet up the path, up the steps, and right into the house.
“See my big bouquet,” Billy said to Grandma. “Will you please tie it with a big ribbon, just like the bouquet on the card?”
“Of course!” Grandma answered.
As Grandma tied a pretty ribbon around the violet stems, she said, “This is a beautiful big bouquet, Billy. Mommy will like it very much!”
And Mommy did! When Billy gave his big bouquet of violets to Mommy, she gave him a hug and a squeeze and a kiss. She said it was the most beautiful bouquet of violets she had ever seen!

When it was announced on Sunday that the young men in my ward were going to do baptisms for the dead, I thought to myself, Too bad I can’t go. I never gave it another thought because I knew it would be too difficult for me to go. I have cerebral palsy.
After my mom picked me and my brother, Beau, up from school on the day the young men were going to the temple, she said we needed to hurry. The bishop would be picking us up at 5:30 P.M. I didn’t pay attention because I thought she was talking only to my brother.
Then she said, “Bart, you need to hurry and eat and get showered and into your Sunday clothes.”
I said, “What? I’m going?”
She told me the bishop didn’t want me to be left out. He thought it would be nice if I went and watched the other boys do baptisms for the dead. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to the temple!
As we hurried to get ready, I couldn’t quit smiling; just the thought of going to the temple made me happy. Rick Hansen, my teachers quorum adviser, drove me to the temple in his van. My wheelchair fit inside just fine.
The temple was beautiful. I had heard people say how strong the Spirit is in the temple, and they were right. As I watched the other boys being baptized, I wished I could be baptized, too.
Just then Bishop Homer came over to me. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you dressed.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant or where we were going. He took me back to a special dressing room for temple workers, and he and Rick tried to figure out how to get the baptismal clothes on me. They did a pretty good job. I looked down at myself and thought how wonderful it was to be dressed in white.
Then a temple worker gave me a card with my name on it. The bishop took me into the baptismal font area, where I waited for my turn. As I sat and waited, a special feeling came over me, I kept looking up at the ceiling and thanking my Heavenly Father for this chance he had given me. I also thought about the people I would be doing the baptisms for. I wondered what they would think about me being baptized for them.
Then my turn came. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I felt as if all eyes were on me. The bishop scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the baptismal font. It took both the bishop and Rick to baptize me because of my floppy trunk and stiff limbs. After the ordinance for each name was completed, the bishop made sure I was still breathing all right. I did a total of five baptisms. The bishop and Rick then dressed me and placed me back in my wheelchair, and the bishop even combed my hair with his comb. Beau told me that when the bishop pushed me out of the dressing room he had sweat coming down his face. I’m not sure the bishop realized how much work it was going to be to dress me.
As we went over to do the confirmations, I felt warm all over. I thought to myself, How could people not know that the Church is true? I am grateful my bishop cared enough to give me the chance to be baptized in the temple. It’s so beautiful inside the temple. The powerful feeling inside helped me know the Church is true.

Growing up, Matthew attended church in small branches. He and his wife, a convert from Ukraine, grew accustomed to multiple callings and full engagement with international LDS communities but then moved to the United States. Large wards and different cultural expectations made them feel “unneeded and adrift,” he recalls. “We seemed unable to fit in. We felt ignored, with a lack of uplift and connection on Sundays.”
Their frustration reached a breaking point when, after moving to a different city, Matthew and his wife looked forward to a visit from a local priesthood leader whose purpose in visiting ended up being to ask them to keep their lively toddler under control during sacrament meeting. Deeply hurt, Matthew contemplated never returning to the local meetinghouse. “What stopped me,” he explains, “was my testimony that this is the Lord’s Church and that the Savior wants me there. Participating in the gospel has consequences beyond any hurt or personal encounter I’ll have in this life.”
Matthew found this reliance on the divine crucial to staying active in the Church. “The only thing that’s kept me going sometimes is my testimony of Christ,” he explains. “The gospel is bigger than any of us. Christ sees what we cannot see, knows what we can become, and has room for all.”

When I was almost 18, I flew to a small town called Soldotna, Alaska, to work for the summer. This was my first experience living away from home. My parents had arranged for me to work for and live with their good friends the Wrights, who owned the local grocery store. I hoped to earn enough money for college. I also hoped to return home with an answer to a question that repeatedly entered my mind: Is there really a God?
I needed to obtain an answer for myself. So I resolved to pray every night and ask God if He was real. Somehow I felt that if God existed, He would answer my prayer. If I never received an answer, then I would know He didn’t exist. Simple, I thought.
At the Wrights’ home, I shared a bedroom with their daughter Lisa. She was home from Brigham Young University for the summer and worked at the grocery store with me. I admired Lisa from the start. She was beautiful, intelligent, confident, and enthusiastic about life. That summer we spent nearly every hour of every day together.
I loved listening to Lisa tell me about college life. Her life sounded fun and very independent. Lisa had her life organized and balanced, with the right priorities firmly in place.
My admiration for Lisa grew as I observed her reading the scriptures daily and praying each morning and night. I wanted to ask Lisa how she had obtained her faith in God but felt ashamed of my lack of faith. I remember lying in bed, wondering what Lisa talked to God about in her prayers.
Every night I knelt by my bed and said a quick prayer, asking God if He was there. Yet I didn’t feel anything special or spiritual. I did not hear a voice. I felt the same after my prayers as I did before them. This nightly routine went on for two months. Discouraged, I found my doubts in God increasing.
One night, when I was feeling deeply homesick, tears welled in my eyes. I desperately wanted to be near my family, friends, and familiar surroundings. Aching to talk to someone who knew and loved me, I knelt in prayer. “God, I really need You right now,” I began. For the next several minutes, I released my true feelings to my Father in Heaven. I told Him everything. I talked with Him as though I believed He was there.
A warmth wrapped around me. I began to feel as though Heavenly Father had come down and taken me in His arms. I was no longer alone. Love and peace embraced me. I knew there was a God.
I wondered why receiving an answer to my prayer took more than two months. Jeremiah 29:13 gave me the answer: “And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.”
I finally received an answer to my prayer after I dug deep into my heart. I placed faith in God’s existence. I searched high into the heavens with my words and tears.
My life has changed because of that one night. I served a mission and married in the temple. My faith in God’s existence continues to increase.
I often think back to that summer in Alaska. Without Lisa’s example, I might not have persevered through those months of praying. I might have quit and never discovered the love of my Heavenly Father. I will forever be grateful to Lisa and her example. She helped me come to know God and feel His love for me.

In another ward the young people were assigned to take care of sections of the meetinghouse garden. They grew their own plants, watered them throughout the summer, and weeded, pruned, and pampered them. Not only has the ward won civic beautification awards year after year, but “we never have any trouble with misbehavior in our building. Everyone knows it’s the Lord’s house and that it’s up to us to keep it clean,” said the ward custodian.

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

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

I was born and raised in Marin County, California—at that time the fifth-wealthiest county in the nation. Living just north of San Francisco, I grew up literally surrounded by great mists, since on most days a heavy, dark fog rolled in off the Pacific Ocean.

My parents raised me in the Episcopal Church. I was baptized by Father Ewald, my dad’s adoptive father. My godmother was my mom’s best friend, a wonderful Jewish woman named Ann, and my godfather was my Uncle Gene, who became an Episcopal priest. From age nine to twelve I served as an altar boy.

However, I stopped attending church at age twelve and spent my youth playing sports. I cared nothing for books or schooling, only for baseball, basketball, tennis—and girls. I lived the superficial and worldly life typical of teens in that time and place.

My dad was a police officer and my mom an office manager, so we had only moderate means. But I spent my youth surrounded by spacious designer homes, expensive cars, exclusive tennis clubs, and well-dressed wealthy people living the so-called good life of parties, vacations, and the partaking of substances that brought ephemeral pleasures. I aspired to have all this. My goals were to play professional tennis and teach at a fancy tennis club. In other words, I wanted to live in the great and spacious building.

Meanwhile, one of my mother’s coworkers, Mrs. LoDonna Leininger, shared a copy of the Book of Mormon with Mom. Mom did not read the book but put it on the top shelf of her bookcase in the living room.

One day, at the end of November 1977, when I was nearly nineteen and was a freshman at the local junior college, I was at home relaxing and watching TV. Then I had what was—for me—a most unusual thought: since I was now a college student, I should perhaps try to become an “educated person” and actually read a book not assigned by a teacher. I went over to Mom’s bookcase. My eyes were drawn to a blue paperback book in the left-hand corner of the top shelf. I had a strong feeling that I should read that book.

So I reached up and took the Book of Mormon down and began to read. From the first verse I experienced a strange, powerful, and wonderful feeling, kind of like shivers up and down my spine. I thought a window must be open, so I checked the windows for a draft. After about twenty minutes of reading, I had to leave for work.

When I got home that night, I had that same strong feeling to read the Book of Mormon. So I brought it up to my room, sat at my desk, and read. I read through the night until about six in the morning, repeatedly experiencing this strange, strong feeling. The next day I read for a few more hours.

That evening when I came home from work, I was very tired and looking forward to sleep. But again I had the strong feeling that I should read the Book of Mormon. So I sat at my desk and again read through the night. I had many questions: Could these things really be true? Could God really exist? I came to 3 Nephi 11 and was deeply impressed with all that Jesus said and did.

At about 5 a.m. I was out of energy, sore all over, and nodding off to sleep. At about twenty pages from the end of the book, I decided that I would get some sleep and finish the book later. Then I had an overwhelming feeling and a very clear thought to finish the book now.

At the same time, I felt renewed energy, and the soreness disappeared. So I stayed in the chair and continued reading. I came to some verses that Mrs. Leininger had marked. She had underlined the verses in red pen, highlighted them with a yellow highlighter, and written in the margin in all caps, “Very important verses. Read these carefully!”

So I carefully read these marked verses—yes, they were Moroni 10:3–5—that included the invitation “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true.”6 I had never prayed from my heart before, although as a kid in church I had knelt and recited written prayers from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. So I knelt at the side of my bed and, with faith in the Jesus Christ I had read about in the Book of Mormon, I asked God to forgive my sins and asked if the Book of Mormon was true.

It is not possible for me to adequately express what then happened, but I will try. I felt the same type of wonderful spiritual feelings I had felt since I first began reading the Book of Mormon but at an incredibly intensified level of power and depth. It was as if a river of pure water rushed through me, washing away all my sins. It was also like a ­raging fire purged away my old self. I felt completely clean and like an entirely new person.

Not only was there great power, but the depth of love I felt surpasses my ability to express it. I felt that although I did not know God, God knew me perfectly. And although God knew me ­perfectly—with all my sinfulness, pride, vanity, and selfishness—He still loved me perfectly. Likewise, the sure knowledge that the Book of Mormon was the word of God was seared into my soul.

I was changed in a profound way. I no longer wanted to be what I was and do what I was doing. I wanted only to do what God wanted me to do. I wanted only to love and serve others and tell them about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. In my mind’s eye I saw glimpses of myself teaching various people and groups about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. I somehow knew that this would be my future.

I climbed into bed but felt more wide awake and filled with enthusiasm than I ever had in my life. As I lay in my bed thinking about what had just happened, I heard Mom downstairs getting ready for work. I went down and told her I had read the Book of Mormon that her coworker Mrs. Leininger had given her. I asked if she would ask Mrs. Leininger to call me and answer some questions that I had about the book.

Mrs. Leininger called that evening, and we spoke for about three hours. She invited me to come to a “special church meeting” the next day, and I accepted.

I have been a member of the Church for about a year and a half, and I just want to say thanks very much for the New Era. I am the only member of my family in the Church. My parents and eight brothers and sisters are Catholic. One day I left a copy of the New Era on the living room table, and my dad picked it up and started to read it. He said it was a very good magazine. Then he started to ask me questions about the Church. Well, I’ve been trying to get my parents interested in the Church for quite some time now, and your magazine, the New Era, kind of unlocked the door so I can talk to them about the gospel.
I feel that the magazine is a great missionary tool, and I am thankful that my girl friend gave me a year’s subscription for Christmas.
Keep up the good work. I sustain you one hundred percent.
Elder Jim TilleyPennsylvania Mission

Plop! Plop! Bennett felt drops of paint hit his face as he pushed the paint roller up the wall.
“Oh great,” he grumbled. His arms ached, he was thirsty, and now he was covered in sticky paint spots. He turned to Mom.
“I don’t really want to do this anymore. Can we go home?”
Mom stopped painting and wiped her forehead with her arm.
“There’s still a lot of wall left to paint,” she said. “And we haven’t been here that long. If you could keep helping, that would be great.”
Bennett looked at the grimy wall. It seemed to stretch on forever. At first he had been excited to help with this service project, but now he was just bored and tired. Several other people were helping paint, but Mom was right—there was a long way to go!
“Fine,” he mumbled, picking up his paint roller.
“Why don’t we play Name That Song?” Mom said. She started humming.
Bennett smiled a little. He was really good at this game! He knew the tune right away.
“That’s ‘Nephi’s Courage’!” Bennett said. “We sang it in Primary last week.”
Mom reached over to give him a messy high five.
“I like that song because it talks about some of the hard things Nephi did,” she said. “Like getting the plates, even when he had to keep trying over and over again.”
“And building a boat!” Bennett said.
Mom nodded. “When we get tired today, maybe it would help if we think of what Nephi would do. We could try having a Nephi attitude.”
Bennett liked the idea of being like Nephi. Nephi was strong and brave and good.
Bennett imagined Nephi painting with him. He imagined Nephi standing on his tiptoes to help him reach the highest bricks. He imagined Nephi racing him to see who could paint the fastest with the least drips. He thought Nephi would probably like working hard to help someone else.
Little by little, Bennett and Mom kept painting the wall, playing Name That Song as they went along. Sometimes they took a water break under a nearby tree with the other helpers. As the sun got high and hot in the sky, Bennett realized that they were almost finished!
“Sorry I was grumpy,” Bennett told Mom as they sat in the shade. “I guess I feel like Laman and Lemuel sometimes.”
Mom laughed. “We all do! And I really appreciate your help. Thanks for not giving up.”
Bennett looked at the wall. Almost all of the grime and graffiti was now covered with fresh, clean paint. It made the whole block look brighter! Bennett grinned. He had helped make that happen!
There was just one part left to paint.
“C’mon, Mom,” Bennett said, taking a last gulp of water and picking up his paintbrush. “Let’s go and do!”
“You are a great power for good. You will make the world a better place.”

After my husband passed away, loneliness enveloped me. A heaviness pressed on my chest. Each time I served in the celestial room, I prayed to find solace. Little by little, grief lifted, and peace crept into my heart as I began to see a celestial view of life. I now find it a privilege to see couples holding hands, friends embracing, and families gathered in a circle, enjoying the Spirit. Because of the Savior’s Atonement and my covenants, I know the blessing of a forever family will be mine in eternity.

After Dr. Wilson and I concluded our February visit to Beirut, we traveled to Rome, where we met with Bishop Soro, our Assyrian friend. There, thanks to contacts he had established, we were able to meet also with Father Farina, the prefect of the Vatican Apostolic Library, regarding a project to digitize a portion of that library’s very fine collection of Syriac materials. It seems that there are no insuperable obstacles to such a project. Neither the prefect nor his ecclesiastical superiors—thanks to a remarkable series of contacts and experiences—appear to have any objection to admitting a group of Mormon scholars to their collection and jointly publishing an electronic selection of their manuscripts with Brigham Young University. (At this point, I would like you to consider for just a second how very noteworthy that is.)

Bishop Soro hopes that any work that we do with the Vatican on a CD will prove to be only the beginning. And, in fact, others at the Vatican have suggested that we move beyond their Syriac collection to their vast wealth of Greek biblical manuscripts.

The Thomas J. Pappas Elementary School in Phoenix, Arizona, isn’t a typical school. At the end of the day, students don’t go home, because they don’t have homes. After school, the buses drop them off at various homeless shelters, old hotels, or even under bridges.
When the stake youth committee of the Mesa Central Stake learned about this school, they wanted to do something for the students. They wanted to give them a day of fun and activities, so they planned a carnival with games, sports, and food. But the youth of the stake found that they gained much more than they gave.
On the morning of the activity, anticipation was high. What would students from a homeless school be like? What would they talk about? How would they act?
The youth from the stake were each partnered with a student from the school as a “buddy,” or mentor, for the day. After eating breakfast with their new friends, everyone was divided into groups to rotate through the different activities.
Most of the youth who participated in this activity had the same observation—in their efforts to give, they had received. They came away from the activity more grateful for their blessings. In their efforts to provide a day of entertainment for homeless children, they learned a valuable lesson in gratitude.

I once visited a mission in southern Europe. I arrived on the day a new missionary was preparing to return home at his own insistence. He had his ticket to leave the next day.

We sat together in the mission president’s home. The missionary told me about his challenging childhood, of learning disorders, of moving from one family to another. He spoke sincerely of his inability to learn a new language and adapt to a new culture. Then he added, “Brother Andersen, I don’t even know if God loves me.” As he said those words, I felt a sure and forceful feeling come into my spirit: “He does know I love him. He knows it.”

I let him continue for a few more minutes, and then I said, “Elder, I’m sympathetic to much of what you’ve said, but I must correct you on one thing: you do know God loves you. You know He does.”

As I said those words to him, the same Spirit that had spoken to me spoke to him. He bowed his head and began to cry. He apologized. “Brother Andersen,” he said, “I do know God loves me; I do know it.” He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. He knew God loved him. That priceless piece of spiritual knowledge was sufficient for his doubt to be replaced with faith. He found the strength to stay on his mission.

Whenever I think of excellence I remember a story that Sister Marjorie Hinckley liked to tell about a young girl who lost her parents when she was very young:

“She had been raised by her grandmother, who for some reason or other never bothered to tell her anything much about her mother. One day, when my friend was in her teens, she was going through some papers in her grandmother’s house, and she ran across a report card of her mother’s from grade school. At the bottom of the card in a space labeled “remarks” the teacher had written: “Excellent in every way.”

“This young woman clasped the card to her chest and waltzed around the room saying, “my mother was excellent. My mother was excellent in every way!” It’s all she ever knew about her mother, but it inspired her the rest of her life. It does matter, my dear young friends, that you are excellent in every way. It matters.”[1]