Gospel Story Finder

As a bishop or branch president, through motivating interviews you can bless the life of every young man in your ward as well as appropriate couples by encouraging them to prepare for full-time missions. Not only will you bless those potential missionaries but you may answer the prayers of parents who have a maturing son not yet committed to a mission despite their efforts to encourage that desire. For example, from childhood through maturing years, our daughter Mary Lee heard her parents speak of our treasured missionary experiences. We had explained how challenging missionary opportunities had enriched our lives and laid the foundation for all that we treasure in life. Yet we taught that it was her decision whether she would serve or not. Through her growing years, it was clear that she intended to be a missionary. However, as missionary age approached, her exciting experiences in the university began to present attractive alternatives. Once when she mentioned wrestling with that uncertainty, she was counseled to talk to her bishop. An appointment was arranged. As she sat down before a choice bishop, she asked, “What do you think of my serving a full-time mission?” The bishop jumped from his chair, clapped his hands on the desk, and said, “That is the greatest thing I could imagine for you.” That comment tipped the scales.

Mary Lee served a most effective mission in Spain that unveiled hidden capacities, matured her spiritual development, and caused to flower capabilities that have blessed her as a wife and mother. The bishop that had such a profound influence in my daughter’s life is J. Willard Marriott Jr., currently an Area Seventy. But we remember him most for what he did for our daughter Mary Lee. Now in her own family with the strong examples of a returned missionary father and mother, a son and a daughter have fulfilled exemplary missions. The remaining son will clearly be a missionary, and the last daughter will in time make the proper choice. Another grandchild, following in the footsteps of his father, was recently called to serve in the Mexico Cuernavaca Mission.

At one stage in my life, I had just finished a tertiary course in horse husbandry. I had one job offer and another person keen to interview me. Not sure which job to take, I prayed fervently. I was strongly prompted to return home and pursue a completely different career. Not really wanting to go and not sure I was going to be able to get a job in the accounts field, I relied on the Lord as the prompting was so strong. I have never regretted that decision as I now have an excellent job.
The Lord will guide you. He has never failed me.
Natasha Abram, 20Auckland, New Zealand

I close with a tender yet simple experience. Each time I would visit Mattie, a dear friend and an older widow whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been, my heart grieved at her utter loneliness. One of her sons lived many miles away, halfway across the country, but he rarely visited her. He would come to Salt Lake, take care of business matters, see his brothers and sisters, and leave for his own home without visiting his mother. When I would call to see this mother, she would make an excuse for her boy and tell me just how busy he was. Her words did not carry power or conviction. They simply masked her disappointment and grief.

The years passed. The loneliness deepened. Then one afternoon I received a telephone call. That special son was in Salt Lake City. A change had occurred in his life. He had become imbued with a desire to help others, to adhere more faithfully to God’s commandments. He was proud of his newfound ability to cast off the old man and become new and useful. He wanted to come immediately to my office that he might share with me the joy in service that he now felt. With all my heart I wanted to welcome him and to extend my personal congratulations. Then I thought of his grieving mother, that lonely widow, and suggested, “Dick, I can see you at four o’clock this afternoon, provided you visit your dear mother before coming here.” He agreed.

Just before our appointment, a call came to me. It was that same mother. There was an excitement in her voice that words cannot adequately describe. She exuded enthusiasm even over the phone and declared proudly, “Bishop, you’ll never guess who has just visited me.” Before I could answer, she exclaimed, “Dick was here! My son Dick has spent the past hour with me. He is a new man. He has found himself. I’m the happiest mother in the world!” Then she paused and quietly spoke: “I just knew he would not really forget me.”

Years later, at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

Since I lived in a small Arizona town with a predominantly Latter-day Saint population, missionaries and Church members often approached me about the Church. They frequently invited my children and me to attend church, read the scriptures, or both. I had no interest in accepting their invitations but politely thanked them for their interest in my family.
As I got to know the woman I would later marry, she told me she was a Latter-day Saint. I admired her spirituality and agreed to attend church with her after we married. True to my word, I started attending regularly and even enjoyed the atmosphere and camaraderie. But even though I studied the scriptures, attended church, and prayed alone and with my family, I still doubted God’s existence. No matter how hard I tried, I felt as though I couldn’t shake my agnostic roots. Because I felt no closer to God than when I had started, I declined all invitations to be baptized.
After I had attended church for six years, my father, who had been in the U.S. Army, passed away suddenly. My family and I wanted to have taps played at the grave site, and since I am a professional musician, I was asked to perform the song. I had performed at hundreds of grave site ceremonies, but because this was my father’s service, I knew it would be different for me. I also knew from my mother’s funeral that my heightened sense of emotion would affect my ability to play. I was determined not to let my emotions interfere with the music as they had during her service.
Minutes before the ceremony started, I nervously tried to warm up. Just a few practice notes had escaped my lips when I realized I was repeating my previous failure. Tears formed and I started to cry. My sobs impeded my breathing. How would I be able to perform?
I wasn’t concerned with accolades for myself, but I did want to honor my father. As I started to play, I found I couldn’t take a complete breath. It was uncharacteristic of me to ask for help, but at this point, I didn’t know what else to do. The first note that came out was weak. Inwardly I pleaded with my Heavenly Father: “Please.” As I played the second note, my lungs filled with air, and the sound rang out of my horn with a startling, beautiful tone. Throughout the rest of the piece, I played well beyond my ability. When I finished the last note, I was suddenly out of breath and choking for air through my tears.
As a musician, I am aware of my strengths and weaknesses. Simply put, I couldn’t have played that well even under the best of circumstances. It was obvious to me that Heavenly Father had answered my plea and blessed me with the strength and ability to honor my earthly father. I was given a special witness that Heavenly Father answers us in a manner that we can understand. His answer in my time of need helped me realize that He had always been eager to communicate with me.
After several months I cleared my agnostic hurdle and joined the Church. Although it was a leap of faith to be baptized, I knew that Heavenly Father would bless me. My experience while playing taps taught me that He will answer my prayers according to my needs and understanding.

I started working a second job to earn money for my mission, but I wasn’t treated well, and it was coming at the expense of my schooling and happiness. When I fasted and prayed, the answer I got was to hand in my resignation immediately and that everything would be OK.
Now I’ve received multiple other work offers, including some for photography. I honestly believe that God is fulfilling His promise because I was obedient to His prompting.

When Lucy* and I were little, we were good friends and played together often. As time passed it became harder and harder to get along with her. She was often negative and critical of me. It seemed like she really enjoyed stirring up trouble among our friends, and there were lots of hurt feelings. I decided I didn’t want to be around her anymore, and we stopped talking to each other. I felt really uncomfortable each time I passed her in the halls at school.
This past year as I became a Beehive and began to study about divine nature, individual worth, and good works, Lucy started coming to my mind. I decided I should forgive her for the way she’d acted and the things she’d said and done.
I started small by just saying hi to Lucy in the hallways when we passed each other. After doing this for a few weeks, I felt I was ready for the next step. I called Lucy and asked her if she’d like to go to the temple with me early in the morning to do baptisms. She was excited and said she’d love to go. We had a great morning at the temple and going out for breakfast!
I’ve found that as I’ve done my part to forgive Lucy, Heavenly Father has changed my heart and blessed me with ideas on how I can strengthen our friendship again, and I’m happy, because I know that by forgiving her, I’m following my Savior.

Christmas of 1977 was not a happy one for me. No family members were close enough to visit, we had almost no money, and we had no pretty decorations to boost my spirits—only a scraggly little Christmas tree strung with colored paper and popcorn chains. If not for the wide-eyed hope of our small children, I probably wouldn’t even have bothered with the tree.
My husband had to drive our car about 45 minutes to get to work, taking with him our only means of transportation. I was stuck at home all day, every day, miles away from anything and everything. The nearest town was a 20-minute drive over insanely twisting mountain roads. The chapel and most of the members of our tiny branch were nearly an hour away.
We had moved to this isolated Appalachian valley in a spasm of youthful idealism and adventurousness. My husband heard of cheap land in Virginia, and before I could say, “Middle of nowhere,” we had moved there. He built us a little house on the side of a mountain, with water piped in from a nearby spring.
We did have neighbors, though they were few and far between. The closest house was an 1801 log cabin, rented for a short while by a young family from our branch, the Andersons (names have been changed). They were poor like we were. Donald, the dad, was working six and sometimes seven days a week. Donald and Ruth had three small children, as we did, and Ruth was in a constant state of exhaustion.
It was a fairly precarious hike from my house to Ruth’s, over a deeply rutted, muddy road. For either of us—with a baby in our arms and two small children in tow—visits were a bit tricky. On one of our rare visits, however, Ruth mentioned to me that they hadn’t been able to get a Christmas tree. Donald left home before dawn and didn’t get back until late evening. Ruth just wasn’t up to traipsing about the countryside in search of a tree.
One evening just before Christmas I was struck with a sudden, passionate urge to find a Christmas tree for the Andersons. Out of nowhere the idea hit me—I just had to get them a tree. As pathetic as my own tree might be, it brought at least a portion of the Christmas spirit into our home.
I spent the rest of the evening making paper chains, popcorn strings, and, of course, a yellow star with glitter for the treetop. In the morning I hiked out onto the mountainside and searched until I found a small tree. I hacked it down and found an old can to decorate and fill with dirt for a base. The end product was more laughable than beautiful, but it looked cheery enough—if you sort of squinted your eyes.
I called to ask Ruth if I could come down, then bundled up my kids and made the hike down the mountain. I somehow managed to balance the tree and the children without major mishap and arrived safely at the cabin door. When Ruth answered my knock, she took one look at my comical little tree and burst into tears. I entered the house very much afraid that my idea had not been such a good one after all.
When Ruth regained her composure, she explained her tears. It was late the evening before when Donald finally arrived home from work. With nearly empty cupboards, the family had piled into the car for the long ride to the store. After a while three-year-old Michael said, “Daddy, can we say a prayer?”
Donald asked Michael if he would like to say it. Then with the simple faith of a child, Michael asked Heavenly Father to help them get a Christmas tree. After saying, “Amen,” Donald and Ruth looked at each other, knowing they would have to try harder to satisfy the longing of their little boy’s heart. They were not able to come up with a plan that night and went to bed more than a little perplexed.
So it was that when we appeared with the little tree, we were an answer to more than one prayer. As soon as the Anderson children caught a glimpse of us, they squealed with joy and made a place of honor for the funny looking tree. There could never have been a Christmas tree more loved.
The miracle of that Christmas, however, was not just the prayer that bounced from a little boy’s heart to heaven and back again to the heart of someone who could help. It was also the healing power I found in the act of giving.
From the moment the thought of finding a tree for the Andersons struck me, the spirit of Christmas began to fill my own heart. I was grateful that the Lord loved me enough to try to get through to me and teach me. And I was reminded anew that it is in losing ourselves that we find ourselves. As we serve, we find that “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds” (Ps. 147:3).

Not long ago, Jason was visiting San Diego, California, USA, for a cancer treatment. Even though it was a hard time for him, Jason says, “The morning of my flight I prayed to have a chance to share the gospel with someone who was prepared.”

He took a taxi to the airport and started a conversation with the driver, Robert. Pretty soon Jason expressed his faith in God and shared that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Robert got excited and told me he had seen our temple near the freeway,” Jason says. “He had prayed and asked to learn more about our beliefs. I told him his prayer had been answered.”

Jason offered to introduce Robert to the missionaries, and he readily agreed. Jason used the “Send a Referral” feature on the Member Tools app to send in Robert’s information. A few months later, Jason received a message from missionaries in San Diego. “They informed me that Robert was baptized the day before. It was awesome!”

I was baptized when I was a young medical student at the University of Arizona. The first time I attended Church meetings at the LDS institute, I looked around hoping to find a familiar face. Thank goodness another medical student recognized me and came right over to say hello. His name was Phil Freestone. Phil sat with me and introduced me to other Church members. It is not easy to be a newcomer, and Phil’s friendship meant a great deal to me at that important time in my life. I came to understand what the Savior meant when He said, “I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:35).

As I came into the kitchen, my big brother Matt was saying to Mom, “I think just you, Dad, me, and Abby should be in on it. I don’t think he can keep a secret.” He was talking about me! “I can too keep a secret!” I said.
Mom smiled. “On Monday nights, the Family Night Phantom secretly leaves treats on people’s doorsteps. How would you like us to become the Phantom?”
“What a great idea!” I wanted to go right then, but Mom said that we had to wait until Monday.
Tonight we decided to deliver cookies and notes from the “Phantom” to two new families in our ward, the Kennedys and the Jensens. With Mom at the wheel to make a quick getaway, Dad and Abby did the ringing and running at the Kennedys’. Then it was my turn. Matt and I walked quietly up to the Jensens’ porch, laid the cookies down, rang the doorbell, and ran. The Phantom was a success!
For this week’s adventure, Mom said, “Why don’t you each choose a family?” I wanted to phantom my best friend, Kyle Stephens.
During the family home evening lesson, Abby talked about how Jesus helps lonely people. That made me think.
“Mom, do you think Sister Hart would like chocolate cupcakes?” She was an older lady in the ward who lived alone.
“I’m sure that she would, Jeremy. Why?”
“I changed my mind. Let’s leave the treat at her house instead.”
We had a great time phantoming. Sister Hart almost caught me! I was at the edge of her driveway when I heard the door open, so I dove behind the hedge. I heard her say, “How nice! What a wonderful treat.”
Later that week, Matt said that his friends thought that the Phantom was the Bennetts.
“Well,” Dad said, “I think that puts the Bennetts on the top of our list to phantom next week!”
I came home from school on Monday to the wonderful smell of homemade bread, our Phantom treat for the week. “Who should we phantom tonight, besides the Bennetts?” Mom asked me.
I had been thinking about it all day. “The Barneses are moving and are probably busy packing. And Sister Bradley has been sick, so her family could use a treat.”
Mom gave me a kiss and said, “You’re really something. Tonight it’ll be bread for the three Bs!”
A few days later, Dad came home from a meeting at church. He had seen a note on the ward bulletin board marked FAMILY NIGHT PHANTOM. It read: “Thanks for the bread. We didn’t have a family home evening dessert planned, so it came in handy. Keep up the good work. From the Barneses.” Mom said that we had to secretly remove the note and put it in our family scrapbook.
During dinner on Sunday, Mom told us that after church Sister Simpson and Sister Bennett had discussed the Phantom. They wanted to get “revenge,” but on whom?
On Monday, I had news of my own. “Tyler Bennett asked me who I thought the Phantom was. It was hard not to smile! Then he said his family is going out tonight armed with 10 loaves of banana bread.”
“We can’t match that, but I do think it’s time to phantom ourselves,” Mom said.
“Great idea,” Matt agreed. “If the Phantom visits us, no one will suspect us!”
That night I delivered popcorn balls to my own door. We were sitting in the kitchen munching away when the doorbell rang. Matt opened the door to find a plate of cookies on the porch and not a person in sight! “Are you sure Tyler said that his family was delivering banana bread?” Mom asked.
We decided to hurry and finish phantoming before we ran into other Phantoms. We chose Bishop Stephens’s family (including Kyle!) and the Garcias.
Back at home, we began our family home evening lesson. Mom asked us to name activities that draw a family closer. Dad said, “Family prayer.” Abby thought of scripture reading. Matt mentioned camping together during the summer. “Don’t forget the Family Night Phantom,” I said. “That has brought us closer.”
“I think you’re right, Jeremy,” Dad agreed.
“So serving together brings a family closer,” Mom concluded.
Our night wasn’t over. When we were almost settled into bed, the doorbell rang—for the third time! We all ran for the door. On the porch was a loaf of banana bread. What a night!
No one has accused us of being the Phantom, so I think our secret is still safe. Tonight we have brownies, ready for delivery to three more unsuspecting ward families. The Family Night Phantom rides again!
“Loving service anonymously given may be unknown to man—but the gift and the giver are known to God.”President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, “‘Anonymous,’” Ensign, May 1983, 57.

Becky came to the dinner table and sat down quietly. No one noticed that she was not trying to get her fair share right along with her three older brothers. No one really gave Becky a second thought until she spoke. “Mom, I want to wear a dress to school tomorrow.”
The noise and dinnertime confusion came to an abrupt stop. The silence was so complete Becky could hear the waves pounding on the shore of Dease Lake. Her brothers were staring at her, stunned. What’s wrong with her? was written on everyone’s face.
Becky’s cheeks turned the color of her red hair. “Well, what’s wrong with wearing a dress?” she demanded glaring back. “You act as though I just asked Mom to cut off my legs!”
“You have to admit, Becky,” her mother said, “that this comes as a bit of a surprise. I was under the impression that you had forgotten you were a girl.”
Becky ignored that comment because it hit home all right. She was the president of the Dease Lake Stampeders and proud of it. Sheila, Becky’s best friend, had suggested the name in honor of Becky’s grandfather, who had fired their imagination with tales of the Yukon gold rush. He was one of the first settlers at Dease Lake, an isolated community in northern British Columbia. The girls thought Grandpa Dease was about the neatest man around.
Becky could do most things as well or better than any boy in their small one-room school. She could ski with ease or climb the tall pines surrounding the school yard. With three older brothers, Becky had had lots of encouragement. She was happiest when she and her handpicked pals were outdoors pretending to be explorers or gold miners. All the girls except Liselotte wanted to be in the club and even some of the boys.
Becky remembered the first time she had seen Liselotte walk timidly into the strange schoolroom. She was dressed in the latest style with a pretty pinafore over a frilly blouse. Her large eyes were framed by a cascade of dark curls. Becky wondered if the girl were actually dumb enough to curl her hair every night.
Liselotte never talked much because she was French Canadian and her English wasn’t very good. But Becky and her gang talked plenty. “Did you see that dress?” asked Sheila during recess, making a face.
“Yeah,” replied Becky, “she’s going to freeze this winter when it’s thirty degrees below zero if she doesn’t get countrified and start dressing right.” She looked approvingly at Sheila’s jeans and boots that matched her own.
And so, for Liselotte’s own good, Becky and the club members set to work trying to countrify her. They threw snowballs at her, sat on her, and tried to stuff her curls into a toque. They put her lunch box up in the highest pine tree so she would have to climb for it. Becky wasn’t really mean, she just figured Liselotte didn’t know what fun she was missing.
Liselotte had borne all of this quietly and with good humor, but she did not convert and seemed incapable of comprehending Becky’s good intentions. As for the lunch box, she asked one of Becky’s brothers to get it down for her. He did so willingly because all of the older boys were in love with Liselotte. That was OK with Becky, they were all welcome to her.
Anyone who would rather sit inside reading during recess instead of working on a snow fort was hopeless. Hopeless or not, over the winter Becky had slowly begun to admire Liselotte, who took the girls’ rather rough treatment good-naturedly, even laughing at herself with them. She never once went to the teacher to tattle or complain. Yet there was always a sort of sadness in Liselotte’s eyes that wasn’t quite disguised by her apparent sunny nature. But even that had not been enough for Becky to actually befriend the lonely girl. She had her own reputation to think of and her duties as president of the Dease Lake Stampeders. What would her gang think if she were overly friendly to someone who wore skirts!
Eventually Becky gave up on Liselotte and forgot about her as much as one could do in a one-room school. Once in a while, though, she would glimpse the small doll-like face peering out at them through the schoolhouse windows.
Then one day Becky realized that Liselotte wasn’t in school and hadn’t been for several days.
Later she asked Mrs. Parmenter who looked at Becky rather accusingly. “She is home and very sick,” she reported. “In fact, I rather doubt that she will be back.”
Becky, who had scarcely been sick in her whole life, could not imagine anyone being sick for more than a day or two. What does she mean Liselotte may not be back? Becky wondered. Is she going to die?
The rest of the day Becky couldn’t keep her eyes off the empty desk. The lonely chair seemed to accuse her, much like Mrs. Parmenter’s expression had when she asked about Liselotte. It tugged at her conscience, If I had taken more of an interest in Liselotte, the others would have too, Becky told herself. But she never wanted to do the same things we wanted to do. Still, quietly nagging thoughts wouldn’t go away. And added to them, Becky had to admit to herself, was a persistent wish that she were more like Liselotte. At least I’d like to be friends, she thought wistfully.
By the time Becky returned home from school, she had made a decision.
After dinner, Becky slipped up to her room. Her mother, sensing something was bothering her daughter, followed her to ask, “Is anything wrong, dear?”
“Yes,” she answered, “Liselotte is really sick and Mrs. Parmenter says she probably won’t be coming back to school.”
“Do you mean the little French girl? I am sorry to hear that.”
Becky turned toward the closet. “Mom, I’m going to wear a dress to school tomorrow so that I can visit her on the way home.”
Mom wondered what wearing a dress had to do with visiting Liselotte, but she knew her daughter well enough to keep such questions to herself.
The next morning, Becky felt uncomfortable when she put the dress on. “It’s going to be a rough day,” she sighed. But she did want to be more like Liselotte, and she hoped the dress would prove her sincerity.
She purposely waited until the last minute to join her brothers in the bus line. When Joey saw her, he said, “Say, you don’t look half bad in that dress today. Why don’t you wear one to school more often?”
She had not expected that and quickly looked to see if he were teasing. She could always tell if he were by the twinkle in his eyes, but her oldest brother’s face had a look of genuine sincerity. Maybe the day won’t go too bad after all, she decided.
Once at school, however, Becky was afraid she would face the worst ordeal. Sheila rushed up as soon as she got off the bus. “Hey!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Why on earth are you wearing a dress?”
“Mom is mending my jeans,” was Becky’s quick answer.
That was true enough, but Sheila wasn’t fooled. “You could have worn another pair.”
Nothing to do but tell the truth, Becky decided, and face the wisecracks that are sure to come. “I’m going to visit Liselotte after school. I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed in the house without a dress on.”
“Oh,” said Sheila, “I wish you’d told me. We could have gone together.”
“That’s great, Sheila,” Becky said, “Maybe we can go together again on Friday.”
The school day finally ended and Becky walked to the large Dalphond home located on a hill overlooking the brilliant blue of Dease Lake. It wasn’t far, which was good, because she was beginning to get cold feet. What will I say to Liselotte? she worried.
Walking up to the door, Becky knocked and half hoped no one would be home. But she soon heard light footsteps coming toward her on the other side. The door was opened by a petite, pretty woman who looked much like Liselotte. “Hello,” she said and smiled. “You must be here to visit Liselotte.”
Becky stepped in while Liselotte’s mother continued to talk in a thick French accent, not waiting for answers. “Lise is up in her room and will be delighted to see you. I’ll show you the way.” Mrs. Dalphond led the way upstairs. “Here we are,” she said, “and I’ll let you surprise her.” She patted Becky on the back and left her staring at the door.
Becky knocked and Liselotte’s soft voice said, “Entrez (enter).”
Cautiously Becky opened the door. Liselotte was sitting in bed with an enormous book in her lap. “Hi,” said Becky.
“Hello!” Liselotte said with a smile. “Why, you are wearing a dress, Becky. It’s nice of you but I think I like the jeans better.” Her huge eyes sparkled and Becky realized with a jolt that Liselotte was the only one all day who had teased her about wearing a dress. “I would prefer jeans, too,” Liselotte continued, “but Papa says we must dress civilized, even though we are in the wilderness. He is so … old-fashioned, is that the word?” She looked at Becky for confirmation.
Becky laughed. “That’s it,” she said. “What are you reading?” She bent over to look at the book. She was surprised to see that it was an illustrated encyclopedia of wild animals. “I didn’t know you were interested in wild animals.”
“Oh, yes!” Liselotte hopped out of bed. “Look at my wild animal collection.” She opened a little cupboard door and there, row upon row, were miniature wood carvings of wild animals.
Becky went over to examine them. She picked up a grizzly bear and ran her finger over the glowing, smooth wood. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!” she said, awed by the collection.
“My brother in Montreal carves wood for a living. He made them for me,” Lisolotte explained. Suddenly Liselotte began to cough and was forced to sit on her bed. Becky held her breath. Liselotte caught the expression on her face and gasped in between spells, “It’s OK. I have asthma. It will pass.”
“What causes asthma?” Becky asked.
Liselotte caught her breath. “This attack is due to all the pollen in the air at springtime. When I lived in Montreal it was far worse from the pollution. That is why we moved to Dease Lake.”
That reminded Becky of what Mrs. Parmenter had said. “Liselotte, aren’t you coming back to school?”
Liselotte looked at Becky with a puzzled expression. “Of course I’m coming back.”
“But I thought … Mrs. Parmenter said …” Becky stuttered.
“Oh, I know!” laughed Liselotte. “My father was almost transferred from his government job here, and you know how rumors get started. Mrs. Parmenter must have heard we were leaving.”
Becky knew well enough how rumors ran rampant in the small community. But before she had time to think about that she looked at her watch and said, “I have to run, Liselotte, but I’ll be back if I may. Get better soon, OK?” Becky waved at her new friend and hurried out of the room. As she took the steps two at a time she couldn’t believe how fast her hour with Liselotte had gone. And I was afraid I wouldn’t find anything to talk about, she thought in wonderment. But, oh, I’m so glad she’s staying in Dease Lake. She’ll be a great member of our club!

Ross Anslow said glowingly to his wife, “Ann, our three sons will make fine farmers. I’ll buy more land for Sam and Joey. And when Bob is old enough, he’ll have his share too.”
Sam and Bob smiled happily, but Joey said quickly, “No thanks, Dad, none for me. I’m going to be an ice skater.”
Bob snickered. “A skater!” he hooted. “You don’t even have a pair of skates!”
Sam laughed too. “What’s wrong with you, Joey? Why would you want to spend your time twirling around on the ice like a top, when Dad’ll buy you land to work?”
Joey answered his brother, “I don’t want land to work. I want to skate on the ice in a fancy costume and have crowds cheering for me.”
“Just because you went with your school to see an ice show,” his dad said irritably, “doesn’t mean that you’re going to make a career of ice-skating. You’ll get over it.”
Joey’s mom wasn’t so sure their son would get over it.
“Joey is different,” she cautioned her husband later that evening when the boys had gone to bed. “It could be that farming isn’t for him.”
“Certainly he’ll be a farmer,” Joey’s dad continued stubbornly, “after he gets this silly notion out of his head. I’ll let him grow a calf for the boy’s club. Then maybe he’ll show more interest in farming.”
That night Joey dreamed that the sun was hidden by a heavy mist and that he was running through it. Always ahead of him, just out of reach, moved a pair of glistening silver skates.
Joey thought about his odd dream all the next day. Will it always be like this for me? he wondered. Will I never get a chance to wear those silver skates?
When his dad told him he could have Nellie’s calf, Joey was pleased. He supposed it would be interesting to watch it grow, but he didn’t dance for joy like his brothers would have.
Joey began to daydream about the skates gleaming in the fog—leaping, twisting, bounding along just out of reach. He next imagined that he was clad in a sparkling costume and white boots with shimmering silver blades attached to them. Joey signed. Maybe it was best to forget his dream.
One cold winter morning Joey’s mother asked him to take a loaf of freshly baked bread to some new neighbors. To his delight Joey found that they had a girl his own age. She had sparkling brown eyes and dark hair. Her name was Sabrina.
Sabrina’s parents were pleased to find that they had friendly neighbors, and asked Joey to stay for lunch. When they were through, Joey and Sabrina talked about sports, and Joey found himself telling her about his longing to become a professional ice skater someday. Then with a rueful smile he admitted, “I don’t own any skates. I’ve never even had any on. But I always dream about skating.”
Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve something to show you,” she said, disappearing into another room. When she returned, Sabrina was holding up a pair of shining silver skates exactly like those in Joey’s dream!
“They’re my dad’s,” Sabrina explained. “He used to be a professional skater. He’s Don Carber—have you ever heard of him?”
Joey was excited. “Wow! He’s your dad? I’ve read about him!”
Sabrina nodded. “Would you like to see his scrap-books?”
“Would I!” was all Joey could manage to reply.
While they were going through the books, Joey imagined that he was Don Carber—leaping, spinning, and waving to the enthusiastic crowds.
Before Joey left, he told Sabrina, “I’m going to wear silver skates, too, someday. I want to be like your dad was—a star on ice.”
Sabrina smiled. “I know you’ll be a star, Joey, and I’ll help you.”
That night Joey summoned up the courage to ask his dad for a pair of skates.
Joey’s dad was unbending. “You’ll have to forget this nonsense, Joey,” he said. “No son of mine is going to waste his life scooting about on the ice.”
Joey persisted. “If I keep up with my chores and schoolwork, then earn the money for skates, may I sweep the snow off the pond out in the pasture and try to skate on it?”
His dad was going to say no at first, but then he thought that Joey might come to his senses and forget about ice-skating after a few falls on the ice. So he replied, “Go ahead, Son, but remember—chores and schoolwork first.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Don’t expect me to pay for lessons either; you do this on your own.”
The boy nodded. He decided not to mention that he was being encouraged by Sabrina and her father.
Joey worried about a job to earn the money for skates. If it had been summer, he’d have had longer evenings. But now the days were so short that by the time he finished his chores, he didn’t have time for a lengthy job. Joey asked his neighbors about a job, but any available work either took too long or was too heavy for him.
Then Joey remembered that he hadn’t asked Bill Jones about a job.
Luckily for Joey, Mr. Jones said that he could use some help during the evenings. And when Joey had earned enough money, Mr. Carber offered to help him choose the right skates to learn on.
His brothers teased Joey when they saw him with his skates. “We’ll likely be watching you on TV tomorrow,” they joked.
Joey smiled and answered good-naturedly, “Not tomorrow, but maybe someday.”
Dad remarked, “I could understand getting excited about playing hockey or skiing—but figure skating!”
Mom smiled and said, “They’re lovely skates, Joey.”
At first Joey was awkward, and he fell a lot. But whenever he became discouraged, Sabrina was usually there, skating with him and encouraging him.
Mr. Carber sometimes came to watch and to coach. He was amazed at how quickly Joey learned. Figure-skating movements seemed to come to the boy naturally.
With a broom and shovel kept close by to clear the ice of snow, Joey spent every available moment on the pond. Early mornings and late afternoons he practiced the motions suggested by Mr. Carber. Joey’s family took neither the time nor the interest to watch him.
Once, when she saw him hurrying out of the house with his skates slung over his back. Mom called to him, “Don’t try to learn everything in one season. You have years ahead of you.”
Joey answered, “No, Mom, I haven’t. I was late starting.”
His mom sighed. With Dad against the boy’s skating, and his brothers always teasing, things weren’t easy for Joey.
One Saturday afternoon Joey was busy sweeping the pond when he saw the tall figure of Don Carber striding between the snow-laden cedars. Mr. Carber took the broom from Joey and said, “You won’t be needing this today. You’re going to have a chance to try some better ice. I have business in town, so if it’s all right with your folks, I’ll drop you and Sabrina off at the rink for the afternoon.”
Joey felt so happy he nearly shouted for joy as he ran home. Rink ice for the first time!
When Mr. Carber finished his business, he went back to the rink to watch the children going through the movements he had taught them on the pond. He thought Sabrina was good, but Joey had a special talent. If only his parents could see him skating …
The remainder of the winter Don Carber took Joey and Sabrina to the rink often. Sometimes he skated with them, and Joey eagerly copied his movements.
In the spring a notice was posted in town announcing that an amateur skating contest would be held.
Before the contest Don Carber went to the Anslow farm to talk with Joey’s parents. He invited them to come and watch the competition.
Joey’s dad sputtered, “Really couldn’t. Chores, you know. Lambing time. Then there’s—”
His wife interrupted. “We’ll be there, Mr. Carber,” she stated firmly.
“Good!” Don Carber said happily. “And let’s surprise him.”
But it was Joey’s family who were surprised. When Sam and Bob saw their brother swoop down the ice, they were truly astonished.
Even before Joey won a prize, everyone at the rink knew that his sharp routine was the best one seen during the competition.
As the crowd cheered, Ross Anslow smiled proudly at his son.

A Johannesburg family shared their thoughts:
Dad: “The prophet’s words have made me more aware of the responsibility I have to teach my family. The onus is on us—not on the Church—to take our families back to Heaven Father. It is the same as with ministering, we need to look for opportunities, it is not about statistics. With this new awareness, I’m finding more ‘Sabbath’ to teach my children than the extra one hour could ever make.”
Mom: “Maybe it’s psychological—but spending less time at church in the morning makes it easier to have a purposeful family home evening on a Sunday. With all the children’s sporting commitments just having supper together on a Monday was a nightmare! At first, I missed the extra classes and the opportunity to chat with people in between. But now I am aware of the need to fellowship more and to connect better with other members.”
Teenage daughter: “I love that we now have ‘church’ every day at home instead of just once a week! It is also quite nice to have Young Women every two weeks—makes it more special to be together. I am definitely studying the scriptures a lot more than I did last year.”

My wife and I were married in 1981 in the Tokyo Japan Temple. Our life after marriage was not easy at first. I was grateful to have a job, but we had trouble meeting our expenses. We asked Heavenly Father for His help and did all we could to make ends meet and pay our tithing. We knew that if we trusted in the Lord, He would provide for us.
One week both my wife and my friend brought me the same small clipping out of the newspaper. It was an ad for a full-time English teacher.
I sent my résumé to the company and was asked to come in for an interview. At the end of the interview, the interviewer said, “You wrote in your résumé that you had been involved in volunteer work as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. So that means you go to church on Sundays, don’t you? If you had to decide whether to go to church or to work on Sundays, which would you choose?”
It was a difficult question because I needed a better job. But after pondering, I replied, “I would go to church.”
With a vague smile, the interviewer said, “Oh, I see.” Then he dismissed me with the promise that the company would make a decision by that evening and that I should call to find out the results. As I left the room, I thought I had failed.
Later that evening when it came time to call, I dialed the company’s number with great fear.
“What about the results of the interview?” I asked the secretary. “I failed, didn’t I?”
I was stunned but happy with her answer.
“We’d like to ask you to work for us,” she said.
About a month later I learned why I got the job. The secretary explained that the interviewer lived next door to full-time Latter-day Saint missionaries. He had often watched the missionaries briskly riding their bicycles to their work in the morning.
“He believed that you, belonging to the same church, would work for us just as hard as the missionaries worked for their church,” she said. “Lucky you!”
Since then our family has always had what we needed.
Whenever I think of this choice experience, I am encouraged and comforted. I know that God often uses other people to bless His children. I cannot adequately express how grateful I feel for my wife and my friend for their inspiration in bringing that newspaper ad to me, for those hardworking missionaries and their great example, and for our merciful, loving, and caring Heavenly Father, who has miraculous power to consecrate our experiences for our good.

When my wife, Kathy, and I were in Africa a few weeks ago, we visited Mbuji-Mayi, Democratic Republic of the Congo. Because the chapel was not large enough for the 2,000 members, we met out of doors under large plastic coverings supported by bamboo poles. As the meeting began, we could see dozens of children watching us, clinging to the bars on the outside of the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property. Kathy quietly whispered, “Neil, do you think that you might want to invite the children to come in?” I approached District President Kalonji at the podium and asked him if he would welcome the children outside the fence to come join us inside.
To my surprise, with President Kalonji’s invitation, the children not only came but came running—more than 50, perhaps 100—some with tattered clothes and bare feet but all with beautiful smiles and excited faces.
I was deeply moved by this experience and saw it as symbolic of our need to reach out to the youth who feel alone, left behind, or outside the fence. Let us think about them, welcome them, embrace them, and do everything we can to strengthen their love for the Savior. Jesus said, “Whoso shall receive one such … child in my name receiveth me.”14 In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

3 Satan did not want people to join the Church. He tried to plant negative feelings and seeds of doubt in the hearts of the investigators. One such nonmember was Newel Knight, son of Joseph Knight, who had befriended the Prophet Joseph Smith.
4 Joseph asked Newel if he would say the prayer at a future meeting. Newel said that he would.
5 But Satan caused Newel to become so fearful that he refused to pray at the meeting, saying that he was afraid to pray out loud.
6 Newel told the Prophet that he would go into the woods later to pray alone. But after several unsuccessful attempts to pray in the woods, Newel felt an evil influence. He felt uneasy and went home.
7 Newel’s wife was worried about him, and she asked Joseph Smith to come and help her husband. Joseph Smith used his priesthood power to bless Newel and to cast out the evil spirit that had invaded Newel’s body. Newel recovered quickly, and a short time later he was baptized.

President Benson’s testimony made a deep and lasting impression on a minister of that church, Father Alexander. A few years later, this minister told a Finnish member of our church, Sister Irma Airto, that of all the notable people who visited the Baptist church and signed the guest register, Ezra Taft Benson was the greatest. President Benson was visiting Russia as a high official in the United States government, but Father Alexander recognized him as a great spiritual leader. Father Alexander told Sister Airto, “When you meet Mr. Benson, tell him … that we know he is a man of God and I pray for him.” Sister Airto never expected to meet President Benson in person to convey this message. However, when he visited Finland and created the Helsinki Finland Stake in October 1977, she was able to deliver the message, strengthening her testimony that the Lord guides our affairs.

Amelia never expected things to be free or to come easily. She knew that most important things had a price, and she always felt that if she truly wanted something, the price was worth it. When she first wanted to take flying lessons, she was living in California. Her father told her that the thousand-dollar lessons were too expensive. Instead of being discouraged, Amelia found a job at the telephone company and worked long hours to pay for the lessons.
Amelia did as much flying as she could in those early days of aviation, and in 1928 she was invited to become the first woman to cross the Atlantic Ocean in an airplane. She was only a passenger then, but in 1932 she decided to cross the Atlantic again—this time as the first woman pilot to fly across it!
On the evening of Friday, May 20, 1932, she took off from Harbour Grace, Newfoundland. Early in the flight the altimeter, which measures the distance an airplane is above the ground or water, stopped working. It was a very dark night, and clouds blocked out the light of the moon. A lightning storm arose. Visability was poor, and Amelia couldn’t see how high above the water she was. She decided to try flying above the clouds where she would have moonlight and be safely away from the storm and the ocean. However, as she climbed through the cloud layer, ice formed on the plane’s wings. The extra weight caused the plane to go into a spinning dive. As the plane came closer to the surface of the water, the ice melted from the wings and Amelia was able to pull the plane out of the spin. But she had been close enough to the ocean to see the whitecaps on the waves.
Later during the same flight Amelia noticed flames trailing from a broken weld in the manifold of her engine. If the flames caused the manifold to weaken and break apart, the airplane might crash. Amelia could have turned back to Harbour Grace, but “there was nothing to do about it … ,” she said. “So it seemed sensible to keep going.” Although the flames never ceased and the manifold rattled steadily, Amelia made it to Ireland. She landed there in a pasture rather than continuing on to Paris as she had planned.
In her lifetime Amelia broke several long-distance flying records. She believed that one day everyone would fly from one part of the world to another and that nations and peoples would therefore come to understand each other better. She knew this could only happen if difficult exploratory flights were made first in order to learn important information about piloting, flying conditions, and airplane design and safety. “Every flight … is potentially important,” she said. “It may yield valuable knowledge. We can look at all flights across the Atlantic and see that each, in its way, has done some definite good.”
When she wasn’t flying, Amelia kept busy by lecturing, writing, counseling at a university, and helping to start a number of commercial airline services. In 1931 she married George P. Putnam, a book publisher.
In spite of her time-consuming activities, Amelia still felt that she needed to make one more long-distance flight. She told her husband that it would be her last long flight.
On January 11, 1937, Amelia started her flight by flying west from Oakland, California, to Hawaii. Then she had an accident while trying to take off in Honolulu, and she was delayed several weeks until major repairs were completed on her Lockheed Electra airplane. During this time it was decided that Amelia should fly around the world going east instead of west.
It was May 1937 when she finally took off from Oakland again. Amelia said she was just making a test flight. On board with her were Fred Noonan, her navigator; Bo McKneeley, her mechanic; and her husband. Things went so well, however, that they continued on to Miami, where on June 1 Amelia and Fred Noonan took off to finish the eastward flight around the world. A month later, on July 2, 1937, Amelia Earhart’s plane was lost while she was trying to locate Howland Island in the South Pacific Ocean. She had completed more than two-thirds of her around-the-world flight. Neither she, Fred Noonan, nor the airplane were ever found.
Amelia deserved the tribute that newspaper columnist Walter Lippmann had previously written about her: “The world is a better place to live in because it contains human beings who will give up ease and security, and stake their own lives in order to do what they themselves think worth doing.”

President Tanner: That’s right. It’s not the bones inside the sepulcher, but the whiting on the outside that is the problem. And I can give you a kind of embarrassing story on myself to show the problem. As a student, I once wanted to impress you that I was a spiritual person. And I was actually feeling spiritual, having just come from an inspiring Devotional. So I starting whistling a hymn, hoping you would notice. As they say in Portuguese: Que vergonha! How embarrassing even now to recall.

Fortunately, however, I caught myself in the act. I quickly realized that to truly BE holy, you can’t be trying to impress others that you are. You simply have to be good and not try to make others think you are good.

I had only lived in Tokyo, Japan, a little while. It takes an hour for me to get home from school on the bus. One day a friend said that if we got off at the first bus stop, he knew the way to my house and would guide me home. I believed him. So I got off the bus at the first stop, thinking that he would get off, too. But he tricked me. He didn’t get off, and I was alone.
I tried to remember the way to my house. I started to walk, but I came to a fork in the road, and I didn’t know which way to go. I felt very bad and scared. I said a prayer. I told Heavenly Father that I had made a mistake, and I asked Him to help me get home. I felt better, and He helped me choose the right way to go. I got home safely and was grateful that He helped me. I learned that He really listens to our prayers and helps us solve problems.
Ian Robert Evans, age 7Tokyo, Japan