Gospel Story Finder

“Being the oldest of six children, I was often left in charge of the others,” says Ruth Ann Wheelwright of Fort Worth, Texas. “I seemed to find it difficult to ‘preside’ in peace, so I yelled a lot. I even yelled at my friends. My parents didn’t like my yelling, and I didn’t like it, either. I tried not to yell, but there were times when I felt I would self-destruct if I didn’t yell at someone.”
When Ruth Ann went to Brigham Young University, her religion teacher challenged the class to read the scriptures for thirty minutes every day. However, they were not just to read the scriptures; they were to feast on them. Being an avid reader, she accepted the challenge easily.
“When I went home for the summer,” Ruth Ann says, “I continued my scripture reading during the week. But on Saturday and Sunday I neglected my reading. Guess what happened? I began yelling at my brother and sisters again. I was shocked. I immediately spent thirty minutes reading the Book of Mormon. The rest of the day went fine. Over the summer, my impulse to rid myself of my frustrations by yelling began to fade, and our family life was much calmer. I could not have conquered my yelling sprees without the help of the Book of Mormon.”

Many young children look forward to the day they’ll be able to serve a mission. However, some young men and women must come to terms with disappointment when they find that a teaching mission is not possible due to their health. Others face the same challenges when they fall ill during their missions and have to return home early.
Recent changes to the missionary program now make it possible for all worthy young men (18–25 years old) and young women (19–29) to serve a mission regardless of their physical, emotional or mental health.
Under the direction of The First Presidency, the Melbourne and Brisbane missions in Australia are part of a pilot program that integrates service missions for young people with teaching missions. This allows them to join around 180 other missionaries under the same mission president.
In their daily work, service missionaries work with charitable organisations, Church operations, and within the community.
Paul Thomas, president of the Australia Melbourne Mission also implements the same key measures with his service missionaries as he does with the teaching missionaries:
Regular interviews with the mission president
Personal scripture study challenges, Zoom meetings for Preach My Gospel, and prayer meetings
Accompanying the teaching missionaries as they teach the gospel
Sharing meals with other missionaries in someone’s home
Joining in preparation day activities with other elders and sisters in their district
Attending zone conferences
“When service missionaries are included and know how to be involved in the mission, that is the most powerful message,” President Thomas says. “This approach can be a huge blessing to families who know that their prospective missionaries can serve in many of the same ways that teaching missionaries do.”
Elder Domonic McKendry, a 23-year-old Melbourne missionary, has loved these experiences. He is excited about these changes and is grateful to be included. It has given him a greater sense of purpose. “I have learnt there are always new skills to learn and new outcomes to come.”
Some of his daily service includes weeding, planting, and beautifying the grounds at the Melbourne Australia Temple. Elder McKendry also works at a local charity, serving meals to individuals going through hard times, including some experiencing homelessness.
“It’s a very good mission to learn a lot about yourself and know your true potential.”

After returning from his mission to Scotland, he married his college sweetheart. On a cold morning in January 1901, he and Emma Ray Riggs arrived in a horse-drawn buggy at the Salt Lake Temple, there to be married in covenant before the Lord. So well were the promises of love and honor kept between them that over sixty years later, their suite in the Hotel Utah was affectionately referred to by some as the bridal suite. “Sixty-nine years is none too long for a honeymoon,” they agreed, “especially when you are planning to be married forever.”

It was a beautiful day, and many people were there with their children. I was introduced to a few families and was asked if I wanted to meet the bishop. I entered the chapel and I remember the aroma to this day: it was the fresh smell of lovely, polished wood, old wood, and the smell of cakes baking in the oven. I’m not even sure if they were baking cakes that day, but that is what I smelt. It was lovely and clean and smelt homely.
When I walked through the building towards the bishop’s office, I had this overwhelming feeling of pure love and protection. I was very nervous, yet I felt such a strong sense of belonging. I will always remember the big beautiful smile on the bishop’s face, as if he was waiting for me to return home. I felt emotional and frightened at the same time because I didn’t know what to expect. These feelings were all new to me, but I felt this was a major part in my journey, my destiny, while not knowing at that time how my life would turn out. I was only 16 but I remember exactly how I felt that day. My dad had told me about these dangerous religious organisations, but there was no danger here. I only felt love, a love that I yearned to feel forever.
Feeling such love, I felt safe. I felt I was home. I knew this was so right.
This kindhearted man, the bishop, told me his name and spoke with authority, and he made me feel safe and very welcome.
He drew me in with his godly spirit. He drew me in with his smile. He drew me in with his love. He drew me in with his fatherly influence in the way he spoke to me. He drew me in.
He was a good decent man, and a fatherly influence on my shattered, insecure soul. It has taken me years to be who I am today. I was a canny, quiet kid, yet fiery when anyone hurt me. I carried so much pain. So, I love with my heart and soul, and am so overjoyed at the fact that I allowed Bishop Barratt to draw me into the gospel with his beautiful strong spiritual soul. He indeed saved me that day.
I dread to think how my life would have turned out if I had not been introduced to the Church at that time. Although I have had periods of inactivity, I have always stayed loyal to the teachings of the gospel. I have never stopped believing that the gospel is true, and during those times of inactivity, I knew with all my heart and soul that I would return.
Years on, I met my husband, and we were sealed for time and eternity. Bishop Barratt was a very important part of our gospel journey, yet sadly he was too unwell to make trips to the temple; but he did give many beautiful and sacred blessings to my husband. Over the years I would choose him to bless my children. As my children got older and had children of their own, they would also choose Bishop Barratt to bless their babies too.
Brother Ronald Barratt died in early 2021. His beautiful wife, Mary, gave my husband a few of Bishop Barratt’s tie pins, which will be treasured; it’s an honour to have something of his. It has been many years since Brother Ronald Barratt was bishop, but he brought honour to the title.
The Barratts carried out many acts of service in spreading the gospel and teaching people. They were firm examples. They stood strong in the Church through difficult times. They worked hard. Bishop Barratt also had an amazing operatic voice which could drown us all out when singing.
We all have amazing experiences with people in our lives who have been such wonderful examples. I am so grateful to many people in my life. Heavenly Father certainly knows what He is doing. He brings people into our lives for specific reasons. We are never alone, even if we sometimes feel we are.
Cherishing our surroundings and those who have helped us on our way is so important. Each person met on life’s journey can be vital to one’s spiritual growth and emotional wellbeing. Even in challenging times, people are helping to move us forward, to learn from one another through the good and the bad. Everything has its purpose. We see the beauty in others and in ourselves. We are all God’s beautiful precious creations.

Little Sarah Palmer ran to meet Joseph when she saw him walking across the clearing toward their home. Propped against his shoulder was a basket made of white oak splints. “Hello, Sarah,” he greeted. “Is your father home?”
“He’s over in the field with the boys. They went out after supper to work till the light is gone. Are you coming to help?” she asked eagerly.
“Not tonight. I’m just delivering this basket. But tell your father we’d be happy to come and help whenever he needs an extra hand. Outside work has been a bit scarce lately.”
“I know why. Pa says it’s because of your vision in the woods,” she stated frankly.
“I’m not surprised. Lately folks have been piling hate on my shoulders. They refuse to believe in visions or revelations in these days.”
Young as she was, Sarah caught the note of concern in Joseph’s voice. “I believe you, Joseph.”
“Not many folks will go along with you, I’m afraid.”
Sarah sighed and said, “You’re right, I reckon. Our preacher came to see Pa the other night. They talked about you and your vision. He was angry with Pa for having you over so much. He said, ‘I don’t like your family’s close friendship with that Smith boy.’”
Distress clouded Joseph’s blue eyes. He sat down on a stump by the Palmers’ log house.
“But Pa likes you anyway,” Sarah hurried to add. “He told the preacher you were the best help he’s ever found, that when you work with my brothers the work goes faster, and he gets full worth for the wages he pays.” She stopped to catch her breath.
“Most folks have turned against me.”
“Well, our family likes you, but …” There was a trace of sadness in her voice. “I’m afraid even Pa thinks you only had a dream. He told the preacher he couldn’t understand why there was such a fuss over the sweet dream of a pure-minded boy.”
With the heel of his boot, Joseph hammered at the gnarled root of the stump. Sarah sat down in front of him, using a clump of wild mustard as a cushion. “I know you saw God, Joseph.”
“Yes, I did, Sarah, as plain as I see you. But folks hate me for saying it, especially the ministers.” His voice was puzzled. “I can’t quite figure it. They used to seek me out and try to help me find the truth. Why, they were ready to take me right up the path to heaven. Then, when the heavens opened and I saw Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus—and even talked with Them—the ministers wanted no part of me. In fact, now they’ve turned against me.”
“I’d never do that, Joseph.”
His face softened. He took her by the hand in an effort to still her worry. “Don’t fret, Sarah. Things will work out. Come on.” Joseph pulled her to her feet. “Let’s take this basket to your mother. It’s getting dark. You need to be inside and I need to get back.”
As Joseph crossed the dooryard to his home a short time later, he was still thinking about his talk with little Sarah. How my life has changed, he pondered.
Suddenly a shot split the stillness, whistling right past him! Then another shot cut the air in front of his face, and he dashed for the house. Cold terror chilled Joseph through, for he knew the shots were meant for him.
Yanking on the latchstring, he pushed the door open with a bang. “Someone just tried to kill me!” he shouted. “The shots came so close I could feel them!”
His father dropped the metal lantern he was making and pulled Joseph away from the door. He was a man not given to showing his emotions, but now his eyes blazed with anger and his jaw was set. He ran out into the dooryard. There was no movement, no sound except for one of the cows bellowing over by the barn. He called to his boys. “Hyrum, search the barn and sheds. Alvin, you go around back. I’ll take the road.”
When Joseph made a move to follow, his father said, “No, son. You stay inside with the family.”
As the men of the family disappeared through the door, Catherine’s seven-year-old face puckered. “Why did they go out there? They might be killed!”
She began to cry hysterically. At the sight of her tears little Don Carlos also began to weep although he didn’t know why. Sophronia, now as tall as her mother, settled herself on a bench and gathered the little ones into her arms. Joseph locked the shutter while his mother bolted the door and pulled the latchstring inside.
Eight-year-old William drew close to his mother.
Outside, Hyrum crept toward the barn, as wary as a painter (cougar). Easing himself inside the door, he listened in the near darkness. The sheep were huddled in a corner with their noses up tilted toward him, bleating softly. Off in the hay, a setting hen lifted her head in nervous jerks. As Hyrum cautiously searched the barn and loft, the hen clucked her complaint. If a stranger had run in here to hide, he reasoned, the animals would have made a ruckus.
Alvin, whose search took him over to the well and down along the rock wall to the apple tree, had also failed to find the fugitive. Once he heard a sound like a pinecone dropping to the ground. When it came again and again, he remembered that a man could make the same sound if he put his foot down flat all at once. It was an Indian trick. But when Alvin followed the sounds, no one was there.
Joseph’s father was a gentle man, but his great, kindly heart was hammering against his chest in a strong, determined beat. His weathered hands were clenched into fists. If I could lay my hands on that scoundrel, I’d give proof to what folks say about me being one of the strongest men hereabouts, he thought.
By the time he had searched the woods and road in front of their cabin, the shadows had thickened into night. He found no one.
Looking further would be as useless as hunting thunder in a storm, he decided. If it were day, I’d search every tree and bush, every hill and hollow, until I found the would-be killer.
Joseph’s father turned and walked back to the house, his shoulders drooping with the weight of a new worry. He called to the boys, “Alvin, Hyrum, you’d best come in now. We’ll look again first thing in the morning. We just might find a clue.”
Next morning, about an hour before sunup, Joseph’s father and the boys were examining the area surrounding the dooryard for clues. As yet there had been nothing to help them discover who it was that had tried to shoot Joseph the night before.
Hyrum was the first to call out. “Hey, over here … under the wagon. The brush has been trampled.”
Joseph’s father hunched down to examine the underbrush, still flattened against the ground.
“He must have been lying here for some time just waiting for Joseph,” their father surmised.
Alvin was perplexed. “But why would anyone want to shoot him?”
Inside, Joseph’s mother heard their discussion as she raked the hot coals from under the ashes in the fireplace. Laying aside the poker, she hustled outside and over to the wagon. Her words echoed the question. “Yes, Alvin, that’s what I’ve been wondering. Joseph is a well-disposed boy who wouldn’t harm anyone.”
They turned to look at Joseph, almost as if they expected an answer.
Joseph shrugged and shook his head, bewildered.
It was the next morning before any further discoveries were made. Joseph had gone to the barn to do the milking. Suddenly he appeared at the barn door. “Father, come quick!” he called. “Come see what I’ve found!”
His excited call brought immediate response from the family. His mother arrived first, carrying Don Carlos. The others came panting in from the field where they had been harvesting potatoes.
Joseph pointed to one of the cows. “Look … here on her neck … and there on her head.”
Carefully, his father examined the cow. “She’s been wounded somehow. There’s been some bleeding, but it’s not very recent.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Joseph explained. “While I was milking her, she kept shaking her head as if to toss off a bothersome fly. She kept doing it—crazy like—so I looked her over. That’s when I found the wounds.”
After further examination his father took out a knife. “There’s something lodged in there,” he said. “Fetch some new ashes, Samuel. Alvin, put a rope over her back and draw it tightly under her flanks so she’ll lie down easily.”
Joseph’s father talked to the cow with gentle words as the boys tied her legs together. The he skillfully cut into the crusted wounds. Fresh red blood brightened each incision. Catherine gasped and sunk her head into the folds of her mother’s skirt. When Father Smith had finished, he showed the family two lead rifle balls.
“How in thunder? …” Alvin began, but Joseph interrupted. “I’ll wager they’re from the gun that was shot at me. I heard a cow by the barn when I was crossing the dooryard that night. If this was the cow, she’d have been opposite the wagon.”
His father nodded. “Must be. There’s no other way to explain it.”
As soon as Samuel returned with the ashes for a poultice, his father dressed the wounds so they wouldn’t fester. Then he untied the rope and the cow struggled to her feet.
When Father Smith turned from the cow he looked at Joseph, an expression of concern on his face. “I wonder, Joseph,” he said, “if we’ll ever find the coward who tried to kill you.”
“No, I don’t think you ever will,” Joseph answered. “It was the devil.”
His father gave him a troubled look. “The devil? What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean it was the devil in the hearts of the people that did it. That’s the only way to account for such wickedness.”
His father stood silent a moment. Then he said, “I guess you’re right, Joseph.”
And Joseph, though young, had learned something else: that God would protect him and that the truth of the vision would stand, even if people turned against him.

Mother always kept a cow so that her sons would have what she called “some real responsibility.” This included milking the cow every morning and every night, pitching hay down into the stall for the cow to eat, and watering her morning and night at a nearby stream. Unless we did these chores, the cow would be hungry and thirsty.
There were times when I would be a little late getting home, and then I’d wish I didn’t have to take care of that cow.
One evening when I returned home, I found that she had broken down the fence and run away. I looked in all of the usual places, but I could not find her. I looked everywhere imaginable—but no cow.
It started to grow dark, and I was desperate. I knew that my mother would be worried if she knew the cow was lost. We sold milk to some of our neighbors, and I could picture them waiting for me to take them their fresh milk.
How well I recall that evening! I had been taught to pray, and I knew I could ask the Lord for help. There was a little clump of bushes near the canal, and so I took off my cap, got down on my knees, told the Lord my problem, and asked Him to help me find our cow.
After my prayer, I started walking down the canal bank. And only a few yards from where I had prayed, I found our cow. She was almost hidden in the tall willows by the canal because she was about the same color as the willows. I was grateful my prayer had been answered and that our Heavenly Father had guided my footsteps down the canal bank to where she was.
The many nights my mother knelt by my bed to teach me how to pray helped me learn to talk to our Father in heaven. Ever since the night I prayed for help by that clump of bushes, I have continued to pray for His guidance.
And I know the Lord answers our prayers.

My family joined the Church when I was seven years old, and it was because of my reading and valuing the Liahona that I met my husband.
When I receive the monthly issue of the magazine, I take it with me everywhere so I can read it. One day I was calmly reading it on the bus to work when a young man stopped at my side and asked, “Are you a member of the Church?” I didn’t quite trust him, so I answered yes, then asked him what stake he belonged to. (I assumed if he wasn’t a member he wouldn’t know what a stake was.) He told me the name of his stake, and we talked until we got off the bus.
Some time after this, a regional choir was organized to prepare for the visit of the prophet. That was when this young man and I started to see each other more frequently. Later we were married and went to the Guatemala City temple to be sealed. We’ve been married for almost three years. The gospel has given me the opportunity to have a very special husband, who is faithful in the Church. I am very happy to have the gospel in my life.Rebeca Sierra de Zelaya, Fraternidad Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake

At age 19, Bruce served a two-year mission in the Eastern States Mission. After returning home he attended school at the University of Utah, earning his B.A. degree, and later his juris doctor degree. It was while walking to and from school at the university that he developed a habit of study that was of great value to him. He would think of a subject in the gospel such as repentance and would then, in his mind, make up an outline for a sermon on the subject, adding the appropriate scriptures and supporting material. Doing this daily as he walked gave him practice in analysis of doctrinal subjects. This careful organization and logical progression was evident in his sermons.

During this past summer, over 200,000 of our young people all over the world grew in faith at one of the hundreds of weeklong sessions of For the Strength of Youth, or FSY, conferences. Coming out of pandemic isolation, for many it was an act of faith in the Lord to even attend. Many of the young participants seem to follow a similar upward arc toward deeper conversion. At the end of their week, I liked to ask them, “So, how’s it been?”
They sometimes said something like this: “Well, on Monday I was so annoyed with my mother because she made me come and do this. And I didn’t know anybody. And I didn’t think it was for me. And I wouldn’t have any friends. … But now it’s Friday, and I just want to stay here. I just want to feel the Spirit in my life. I want to live like this.”

I affirm to you, my young brethren and sisters, that that principle of revelation is a constantly operative principle, and I close with one other experience.
I was organizing a stake in Samoa. There appeared before us in the interviews these wonderful Samoan brethren. One of them, a branch president, stood there—white shirt and tie, lava-lava tied around his waist, barefooted. I told him we were organizing a stake and seeking a stake president and asking his suggestions on men. He said, “Yes, I know. I’ve prayed about this.” And he said, “I’ve come to know, by the voice of the Spirit, that Bishop Iona will be our new stake president.”
He was right. But I wasn’t anxious to have him make the announcement and so pressed him for another name.
He said, “No, just one name.” And I said, “Suppose he were not available or not eligible? Won’t you suggest another name?” He stood there for a few minutes, and then, looking at me, he said, “Elder Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?” This wonderful man was possessed of that Spirit, as all of us can be, each of us answering the calls that come.

Once, I skipped a few days of class because I got into an art contest at my school. I missed a lot of lessons. When I came back, I struggled to understand our class discussions. My grades started falling.
Not understanding the lessons frustrated me, and I began questioning my self-worth. I felt like I wasn’t good enough because of my low scores, and I cried a lot. I didn’t know what to do.
Finally, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me accept and overcome my trials.
Right after I prayed, I got a text from my friend Shiella. “Hey, are you doing OK?” she asked. “How are you?”
I told Shiella I was struggling. She’s at a different school, but we’re in the same grade, so we take the same classes. She helped me understand the lessons I missed.
I knew Heavenly Father saw that I was hurting, and He sent Shiella to comfort me. It made me realize that Heavenly Father uses other people to show that He really cares about us.
This also taught me that I don’t need to be successful at all things. When we have challenges, Heavenly Father can help make us stronger. That doesn’t mean He doesn’t love us. I’ve learned that it’s better to try something and fail than to do nothing, because I can learn from failure. Now, I’m happy with my scores because Heavenly Father helped me overcome that trial.

Jacy stared at the night-light. It was too bright. She couldn’t sleep. She pulled her blanket over her eyes. Now it was too dark! She couldn’t sleep.
Jacy grabbed her teddy bear. It had a little bell inside that made noise. Jacy shook the bear. Ting, ting, ting went the bell. That didn’t help her sleep either.
She was so bored! There was no one to talk to! And it was too quiet and too dark.
Jacy started to cry. She would never fall asleep!
Just then her door opened softly.
“Jacy?”
It was Daddy! He came and sat by her on the bed. “What’s the matter?” Daddy asked.
“It’s too quiet! I can’t sleep. My brain just keeps thinking of things!” Jacy wiped the tears off her cheeks.
Daddy rubbed her back. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I sing my favorite song. And then I count my blessings.”
Daddy started singing. He sang, “Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your blessings, see what God hath done.”
Jacy hummed along. She liked this song too.
“What are some of your blessings?” Daddy asked.
“Um, my teddy bear,” said Jacy. She waved the bear to make the bell jingle.
“That’s a good blessing,” said Daddy. “What else?”
“Daddy!” said Jacy. “Daddy is a blessing.”
That made Daddy smile.
“And Mommy,” said Jacy. “And baby Darel. He’s kind of a blessing.”
Daddy laughed. “How about your warm bed and your night-light?”
Jacy nodded. She was starting to feel sleepy.
Daddy pulled the blanket up to Jacy’s chin. “You are a blessing too, Jacy. I love you.” He gave her a kiss and closed the door behind him.
Jacy hummed the song again. “Count your blessings, count your blessings …”
And soon she was fast asleep.

My name’s Cindy. I laugh a lot. I like flowers and dogs and cats, even though Daddy says I love them too hard. And I like to blow out candles on birthday cakes. I’m twenty years old now. I watch Mickey Mouse on TV and other cartoons too. I can tie my shoelaces all by myself. It makes me happy when I hear other people laugh. Then I laugh.
You know what makes me smile most? When Mama says she called me her little china doll—I was a baby then. I don’t remember much about that but I remember some kids saying, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah,” and making funny faces, and Mama shooing them away and then holding me against her and crying. I don’t understand it yet.
I can go real high in the swing, and I like to have a shower bath and let the water run over my head.
I remember when Daddy worked on the new chapel in the evenings and he took me with him. He was a bishop then. He gave me a little bucket and I’d pick up things. Daddy would put me on his shoulders when we’d go home. That would make me laugh too.
“Cindy’s helping build the chapel,” he’d tell Mama and swing me down. “It’s Cindy’s chapel too.”
That made me feel funny inside, and sometimes I’d feel like I was bursting; but try as hard as I could, my words wouldn’t come out right, and Mama would look sad and turn away. I would be sad too because they couldn’t understand what I was saying.
I’ve been riding on a horse, and I’ve seen a circus. I was afraid of the big elephant. But I wasn’t afraid of the clowns. They fell down and I laughed.
I remember when a strange man came to our house when the chapel was finished. He was from Salt Lake.
“He’s an apostle of God,” Daddy told me. I stood and stared at him and pinched his arm until Mama pulled me away.
“Don’t bother Brother Kirkham, Cindy,” she said.
“It’s all right, Sister Abbott,” he said. His eyes twinkled and he lifted me onto his lap. He put one hand on my hand.
“Cindy’s no bother.” He smiled, and I felt something warm inside of me. “Brother and Sister Abbott, this spirit is so special in God’s eyes,” he went on, “that she was sent to earth for her mortal body in such a way that she cannot be tempted by this world. She will return to God as pure as she came. You have been chosen to take care of this special spirit. Try to understand her for she certainly holds hands with God.”
Mama didn’t cry as much after the apostle went away, and Daddy began to whistle. The children didn’t say, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah” anymore. They took my hand and said, “Come and play with us, Cindy.”
Once I followed the children to school, but they wouldn’t let me stay in school, so Mama bought me a book with pictures in it. There were pictures of Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery and Brigham Young, and I looked and looked at them while Mama told me stories, and sometimes at night I’d think about the book and try to remember what Mama said.
In church I’d hear a name and I’d find the picture in my book and pull on Mama’s sleeve.
“That’s very good, Cindy.” She would smile.
I wanted to stand up in testimony meeting and tell everyone I knew the Church was true too, but when I tried to stand up, Mama and Daddy held me down.
“The children will laugh at you, Cindy,” they said. I would cry until Mama had to take me out.
I can ride a bike and go to a school now. I’ve learned to stuff envelopes, and I have some money in a bank.
Every testimony day I tried to stand up, and Mama kept taking me out. One Sunday night after fast meeting, after I had cried all afternoon, Mama said she didn’t know what to do about me; maybe they shouldn’t take me to fast meeting anymore. No one seemed to understand. The turmoil inside me was more than I could stand, and I didn’t know what to do about it, but I knew I had to stand up and bear my testimony. Then all of a sudden there was a light in my room, but I knew Mama had turned out the lights. I got up to see if the moon was shining. I felt so strange; the light around me was warm and I got on my knees and prayed. Then I felt a hand touch mine, soft and warm like the light in my room.
“Cindy, Cindy, what is it?” I heard Mama’s voice. She helped me up, and Daddy put his arms around me because I was crying. For a long time Daddy and Mama sat on the bed talking about how they could help me; I wanted to tell them about the light and the hand that touched mine.
“If Cindy feels that deeply about bearing her testimony,” Daddy said, “then next month she must stand up. We surely can’t deny her the right or privilege to share her testimony with others.”
I felt calm inside and went to sleep.
I go on picnics with the school, and we go on big yellow busses. I have friends and we laugh at each other.
It seemed like a long long time before testimony meeting came around again, and I sat there calm and listened. Then Mama handed me the microphone and smiled. I stood up.
“I love my Daddy. I love my Mother and I love my brothers and sisters. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
I said it just like I’d heard the other children say it. No one laughed. It was quiet for a long time. Mama was crying. Daddy too. Then a man stood up in front.
“These spirits are special in God’s eyes,” he said. “They are sent to earth for their mortal bodies in such a way they can’t be tempted by this world. Cindy will return to God as pure as she came. We don’t know how deep their emotions run, but we do know these special children hold hands with God.”
I felt a warm soft hand close over mine. This time is was my daddy’s hand.

Matt wasn’t alone at the fire. All of the youth and youth leaders of the Orem (Utah) Fourth Ward were there, each alone with his or her thoughts on the last night of the river trip.
Joseph Free, the Young Men president, was glad for the calming effect of the flames. He tugged at his jacket, amazed at how quickly mountain air can turn cool, and he breathed in deeply.
“It’s been a great week. But somehow, on a youth trip, there’s always one more last-minute thing. Have we all got life preservers? Check. Make sure the ranger knows we’re here to do the service project. Check. Prepare a talk for the fireside. Check. Remember to delegate. Check.”
Now the only checking left to do was to make sure everybody got home safely.
“I think the kids have had fun,” Joe Free thought, looking at the group. “But have they learned anything? Has it been worth it?”
Some sparks shot up.
At the far side of the circle he saw his son.
“I think he’s making some important decisions,” Brother Free thought. He looked at his son again and was proud.
“It’s been worth it,” he said.

Elder McKay’s horse Dandy wasn’t as wise. He could escape any pen or corral by opening the latch or chewing off the lead rope.
Elder McKay: That horse has done it again.
Dandy wandered into the street and was hit by a car. He survived but did not learn his lesson.
Elder McKay: That should teach you not to go running off, Dandy!
One day Dandy escaped again. He and another horse wandered into an old house used to store grain and started eating poisoned oats—bait for gophers.
Elder McKay was very sad to lose his favorite horse. He often told Dandy’s story to show the danger of disobeying rules.
Elder McKay: Young people, you must always know where the limits are. Keep the commandments and you will be safe.

I can say as Nephi said, that I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). During World War II my father was captured by the Germans when they invaded our country of Belgium. He escaped from them and disappeared into the Underground (a group opposing the invaders). As a young child, I remember seeing my father only once or twice. He made very short visits, then disappeared again into the Underground, where he was a radio operator.
Even when the war was over, he didn’t come home right away but went to Germany with the Belgian Army. Then he was assigned to another city in Belgium. Fortunately my mother was a very strong and faithful person. When my father was away, she was the head and the strength of the family.

In the topsy-turvy world of the emperor of China, everything that is called just and beautiful was declared unjust and ugly and everything that is considered mean and hideous was declared fair and lovely.
One day Prince Ling found a blooming rosebush in a distant nook that had been overlooked, and this led him to the discovery that everything in his father’s kingdom was the reverse of what it should be.

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.
During such a race, we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly, the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it.
The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

Ever since I was young, I knew I wanted to serve a mission. And when I opened my mission call, I felt the Spirit stronger than I ever had before.
During the time I was preparing to receive my mission call, I had the opportunity to attend a devotional where Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke to a group of youth and young single adults. I had no idea that he’d be coming, and when I saw him, I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He said he wanted to have a question-and-answer session. And when he asked for questions, I jumped at the opportunity.
“What is the most important thing I can do to prepare to be an effective missionary?” I asked.
He looked right at me and said, “Get over yourself.” At first I was taken aback. I had to think twice to make sure I hadn’t said something wrong, thinking maybe I was being scolded a little.
But then he explained that serving a mission is not about me; instead, it’s about serving the Lord and completely losing myself in that service. This advice completely changed my missionary preparation and my outlook on missionary service.
For future missionaries, including me, it can be easy to become prideful and say, “I can’t wait to baptize lots of people.” But this isn’t a good mind-set to have. Instead, it would be better to say, “I can’t wait to serve the Lord. I will do what He wants me to do because I’m serving Him and He is giving me a chance to participate in His work.” It’s all about getting over yourself and serving others.
Since Elder Bednar gave me that advice, I’ve thought about it every day. If I’m ever tempted to not read my scriptures because I’m too tired, I imagine Elder Bednar saying, “Get over yourself.” While it would be nice to get some extra sleep, studying the scriptures is something that Heavenly Father wants me to do every day. Besides, it’s not about me; it’s about serving Him.
I’ve also started putting more effort into my scripture study since I received this advice. My goal is to not just read them, but also to understand them so I’ll be more prepared for my mission. Now when I read my scriptures, I take out my journal and write down a question. As I read, I look for answers to that question and write those answers down. One time I wrote down the question, “What are the traits of an effective missionary?” As I studied the scriptures, I learned about traits I can develop as I prepare for my mission.
I can’t wait to serve a mission. I’m excited to lose myself in missionary service as an instrument in God’s hands. It’s a chance to just focus on the Lord and His people. It’s not about me. It’s about doing all of the small and simple things the Lord wants me to do.

My first week at college was difficult. I had never been away from home before, and now I was living in a different state. I was away from family, friends, and everything familiar to me. To make matters worse, my new roommate had yet to arrive. I was lonely—very lonely. I missed my family a lot.
Most of all, I missed my mother’s hugs. Each day before I went to school, and each day as I returned home, my mother embraced me. Her hugs reassured me of her love, made me feel safe, and reduced all the stresses I had felt during the day. I would then talk with her about all that had happened. She was always there to listen to me and help me feel better.
Now, when I came home from school, all I found was an empty apartment. I would sit on the edge of my bed and cry because I felt so alone. I longed for her hugs.
The only thing I felt I could do was pray. I knelt and explained to my Heavenly Father how I felt. I talked with Him as I had with my mother and told Him of all the events in my day—of the new and exciting things, the stresses I felt, and the worries I had. I then told my Heavenly Father I desperately needed a hug. I felt the warmth of His Spirit flow through me. And although I could not see His arms, I knew they encircled me. I felt as though my mother had just hugged me. All the fear and loneliness was washed away, and I felt loved. The scripture from 2 Nephi 1:15 came into my mind: “I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.”
After that day, whenever I feel lonely or need someone to talk to, I talk to my Heavenly Father. I gained a testimony of the power of prayer and the reality of the knowledge that my Heavenly Father really listens. I know I am never alone. No matter what my needs are, my Father in Heaven will help me.