Gospel Story Finder

“No way!”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
“That’s never going to happen!”
That’s what Andrea, Erick, Kristofer, Suzett, and Yuridia of Provo, Utah, might have said if you had told them they would play the piano for their next Primary sacrament meeting presentation. After all, only one of them had ever played the piano before!
But their Primary pianist, Sister Perry, gave them the challenge—and they were willing to accept it.
Once a week, each child had a piano lesson with Sister Perry, except for one child who already had a teacher. At home they practiced on electric keyboards. Soon they were learning simplified versions of the songs for the sacrament meeting presentation. They also practiced in Primary as other children sang along.
Finally, the big day came. Each child played one or two songs. Were they nervous to play in front of the whole ward? Definitely! But that didn’t stop them.
“I felt really nervous,” Kristofer said, “but I kept having faith.”
Thanks to their faith and hard work, everyone did well that day. And the best thing about it?
“It feels good to be able to help in church,” Andrea said. “It’s a great blessing for me.”
Now the children can play during family home evening, at baptisms, and when their families sing in sacrament meeting. Awesome!

For Morris Overstreet II, the LDS institute is a place to find answers to his gospel questions. He had only been a member of the Church for a year when he became concerned about being the only black member at the institute. “I wanted to know when and if the gospel was ever going to reach the black community,” Morris says. “Having grown up in a black community, I know they need it.” So Morris talked with Brother McMullin about his worry. “He helped me realize that just by being involved in the Church, I will have a great influence with the blacks around me. It’s made me realize I need to be doing the right things so that I can be an influence.” Morris leaves on a mission this year.

When I was about 10, we were on vacation in Mexico with another family. My friend and I made a lunch and took some games. Then we pushed ourselves out into the bay in a little rubber yellow raft. We ate lunch in the raft.
We finally looked up and realized we’d drifted a long way from shore. We were passing the edge of the bay. We thought, Oh no, the tide is going out! We knew we had to hurry and get back. We started rowing and rowing.
All of a sudden I saw a fin pop out of the water. Right away I knew it was a shark!
I thought, We need to tell Heavenly Father we’re in danger. So we said a prayer and kept rowing.
Soon two other fins popped up. But their shape was different, and their color was lighter. They were dolphin fins!
The dolphins swam around our boat until we reached shore. They kept the sharks from coming close. Then the dolphins drifted onto the sand, and we were able to get out of our raft. Our families hurried and helped the dolphins back into the water.
To me, the dolphins were Heavenly Father’s answer to my prayer. I’ve never forgotten that. It’s given me the courage to pray, no matter where I am.

Almost two years later, in April 1981, my father died unexpectedly. Among his effects I discovered a ring that bore his initials, CMY, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing it on his hand. He must have worn this ring as a young man while serving on a Canadian Navy minesweeper during the war.
Now, upon his death, I was the only living person appearing on my one-page pedigree chart, so I had to rely on extended relatives to gather more information. One of these was Betty, a sister-in-law of my grandfather, still living at the family home in Bexleyheath, Kent, England. I had always hoped to visit and learn more about my mother’s family, but as a single college student, I did not have the financial means to do so. Now, with the modest amount bequeathed to me after my father’s passing, I could fund a trip across the ocean to visit.
On the day I went to visit Aunt Betty for the first time I felt nervous. Would she understand my great desire to learn more about earlier generations? I looked at my father’s ring, now on my own right hand, reflected in the window of the double-decker bus I was riding in. It brought me comfort, as if his hand were resting on my knee in support of my errand.
Happily, Aunt Betty received me warmly and revealed many new and helpful details about my family, including the fact that my great-great-grandfather had built the home she was living in. That night I even slept in my grandfather’s childhood bedroom. I never met him, but from the photos she shared, I learned that I bear an uncanny resemblance to him. She generously gave me some of these old family photos, letters, and a family Bible listing the full names, birthdates, and birthplaces of two generations of my ancestors starting in the 1830s.
It has been over 25 years since that rainy September afternoon in England, when my tentative steps took me from the bus stop to an uncertain welcome at my ancestral home. Since then I have discovered a treasure trove of information from extended family members about my ancestors on both sides of the Atlantic, allowing me to ensure their temple ordinances have been done.
I will always remember walking up to the front door of number 32 Oaklands Road and seeing my own reflection in the glass. Now I know that the familiar face reflected back at me was not unlike the young face of my grandfather welcoming me home.

As exciting as “Welcome to the Valley” was, it wasn’t the end of the trek experience—not really. In many ways, the trek started friendships with neighbors and community members who had watched the youth over the last 72 hours or heard about the trek through local news coverage.
Anna Parker had an opportunity to connect with neighbors as she and her peers passed through one community. Anna immediately noticed that some of the women there were on horseback, so she told them how much she loved horses. She also explained to them what the youth group was doing and then invited the women to join the youth that night for country dancing. One of them came and even stayed for a short devotional afterward. She was so impressed by the youth that she asked to learn more.

“A puppy?” I asked, excited. “Sister North wants to give us a puppy?”
“That’s what she said,” Mom assured me. “But we have to check with Dad when he gets home from work before we say we’ll take him.”
How can Dad say anything but yes? I wondered. We were finally living in a house. All the other times we’d asked him for a puppy, he had said, “Not while we’re in an apartment. A dog needs a yard to run in.” Now we had a yard, and we had the chance for a puppy. He just had to say yes.
When Dad came home that night, my three brothers and I jumped all over him, shouting, “Can we have it? Can we have the puppy from Sister North?”
“Whoa,” Dad said. “A puppy is a lot of responsibility. Who’s going to feed and water it?”
“We will,” we promised.
“I guess it’s about time we had a puppy.”
“Hurray!” we yelled.
That night Mom took a box to Sister North’s house. When she brought it home, squeaking noises were coming from it. Mom reached in and gently took out a brown and black puppy and placed him in my arms. He licked my hand and wagged his tail.
We tried calling him all kinds of names to see which one fit the best. “Why do we call him a dog?” I asked Mom.
“Because that’s what Heavenly Father told us to call him,” Malcolm answered.
“Not quite,” Mom said. “The Bible tells us that Heavenly Father had Adam name the animals. Let’s read it.”
I got the Bible off the shelf in the living room. Mom turned to Genesis 2:19 [Gen. 2:19] and read, “‘And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.’”
“Wow!” I said. “How did Adam think of all those names?”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, “we’re having a hard time thinking of a name for just one animal.”
“Maybe the name book will help,” Mom suggested. She got the book she uses when we name new babies. After reading for a few minutes, she pointed to one and said, “Here’s one that fits him—Caleb.”
“What does it mean?” we asked.
“It means ‘as fearless as a dog,’” Mom said.
And that’s how Caleb got his name. About six weeks later, Caleb acted real tired all day. He hung his head. He didn’t wag his tail. While we were eating dinner, he got off his blanket in the kitchen and walked on shaking legs over to the table. Then he started to throw up. Dad put him back on his blanket, cleaned the floor, then called the vet. After he talked on the phone for a while, he wrapped Caleb up in a large towel and took him to the dog hospital.
Dad came home alone. “Caleb’s very sick,” he told us. “I had to leave him there so the vet can find out what’s wrong with him.”
“Is someone petting him there?” I asked.
“No,” Dad said, “they have him in a cage.”
I hated to think about our Christmas puppy in a cage with no one to hold him and talk softly to him when he cried. “Mom,” I asked, “does Heavenly Father love puppies?”
“I’m sure that he does, honey,” she said. “He must love everything that He created.”
“Then it’s OK if I pray for Caleb, isn’t it?”
“Remember when we talked about Adam naming the animals?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Well even before Heavenly Father created Adam, He planned that it would be man’s job to care for the animals. Let’s read it from the Bible.” I got it from the shelf, and she read Genesis 1:26 [Gen. 1:26]: “‘And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.’”
“What’s dominion?”
“That’s a way of saying Heavenly Father gave Adam the job of seeing that all the animals were protected and taken care of. Heavenly Father wants us to have dominion over our animals too. I think it would make Him very happy to know that you love Caleb enough to pray for him.”
That night I asked Heavenly Father to help Caleb get well so that he could come home to the people who love him.
The next morning the vet said that we could visit Caleb in the afternoon. When we got there, a lady in a white coat took us into a little room, then brought Caleb in. He wagged his tail but didn’t even try to get up. They had shaved a patch of hair off one of his front legs. Dad said that that was so that they could put a special kind of needle called an IV into his veins and put fluid into them because he wouldn’t eat or drink anything. We held him and talked to him for about ten minutes. Then the lady came back and said that it was time for Caleb to go get his medicine. As soon as she picked him up, he started to whine. I could tell that he wanted to stay with us and not go back to that cage.
The next night Dad brought Caleb home. We were to shoot water into his mouth with a syringe and feed him little bits of food so that he wouldn’t need an IV anymore. But we could do even more—we could love him and pray for him.
That night Dad slept on the kitchen floor in a sleeping bag with Caleb next to him. The next morning we folded a blanket and placed it in the sunshine in the living room. Caleb spent hours sleeping in the sun. Every time the sun moved, we moved the blanket. When he woke up and cried, someone picked him up and loved him. Every morning and every night we prayed for him.
One morning when we woke up, Caleb was gone from his blanket. We found him in the kitchen, wandering around under the table. He was getting well enough to go exploring. Before long he was his old self again.
Now Caleb is a full-grown dog. He loves to play soccer. He can flip the ball up in the air with his nose. He jumps as high as my bike to get it when Dad kicks it to him. I think that we’re doing a pretty good job of having dominion over Caleb. And I think that Adam would have liked our dog.

6. Listen for spiritual promptings. We can be alert for opportunities to help our children welcome the Spirit’s influence—opportunities for them to feel gratitude, to reflect on blessings, to receive inspiration. One mother shared a story that illustrates the way parents can give gentle guidance in situations like these.

After a school carnival, her younger sons, Richard and Joe, were excited that they each had won a twenty-five-cent balsa-wood airplane, and her oldest son, Sam, was elated at having won two of them. But as the boys climbed into bed, Richard accidentally knelt on his airplane and broke it into pieces. He seemed inconsolable. The mother suggested that Sam share one of his planes. “Mom,” he replied, “how could you ask me to do something so hard?”

Gently, she reminded him of the gift of the Holy Ghost he had received after baptism. “Listen to your heart,” she added. “You will be able to decide what to do.”

A few minutes later, Richard wiped away his tears as he thanked Sam for the gift. And Sam wrote in his journal: “When I was getting the airplane for Rich, I felt a smile and a warm feeling in my heart. It was so warm I was about to burst. I could barely sleep that night ‘cause I felt that super amazing burst in my heart.” He told his mother that he knew the Holy Ghost had helped him make the decision.

While I was serving as the Presiding Bishop, a good sister brought her son to my office to be interviewed for his mission. At that time she had a son in the mission field in Europe and a daughter in another mission field. She looked rather poorly clad, and I said: “Why don’t you wait until your other son comes home before sending this boy?” Her answer was: “Bishop, if you will see that my son gets a call, I will see that he gets the money to keep him in the mission field.”

While I was a bishop in California, I used to admire a good mother who worked in a bakery shop in her clean, white uniform year after year while she kept three of her sons in the mission field. One of them later became president of a mission, and the other two are active in the Church.

We have many wonderful members in the Church who are contributing toward the support of missionaries in the field when they do not have sons and daughters of their own to send. Many have also contributed to the missionary fund at Church headquarters to help young people in foreign countries who are not financially able so that they can fill missions, as well as our boys and girls here in the United States.

I have a number of friends who I know are doing that consistently. One good sister, a widow, has kept many missionaries in the field. I have a relative who aims to keep ten in the mission field all the time, but he daren’t tell his wife about it. I have always felt badly, because she should be able to share that great joy with him.

I talked along this line some time ago in a conference. Following the conference, I received a letter from a schoolteacher enclosing sufficient money for a month’s keep for a missionary and indicating that she would send a like amount each month for two years to keep a missionary in the field.

I was thrilled recently in interviewing a young man for his mission in California to learn that his parents are both Catholics, and yet they were putting up the money for their son’s mission.

In 1971 I wrote an article on missionary work and received a letter from a fourteen-year-old girl from Los Angeles in which she said: “Brother Richards, I want to go on a mission.” I wrote and told her she couldn’t expect to go on a full-time mission at the age of fourteen but that there was plenty of missionary work she could do right at home, that there were so many nonmembers there that if she would invite one of her nonmember friends and his parents to go to Church with her, they could there meet the missionaries and then be taught the gospel.

A few weeks later I received a letter from this girl’s mother, who is president of the Aaronic Priesthood YWMIA in her ward, thanking me for the letter I wrote to her daughter and saying that the daughter had followed my advice. She got one of the families to go to church with her, and they had later set their baptismal date.

Experiences such as this can be related all over the world, for this is God’s restored truth to the earth, never to be thrown down nor given to another people but to prepare the way for the second coming of Jesus when he will reign upon the earth for a thousand years, as the scriptures declare.

Another time, Kim and Christy’s 13-year-old cousin and her parents dropped in unannounced from Los Angeles.

“They invited us out to dinner and we talked about the Church,” Christy said. “Our cousin seemed really interested, and her parents said it was okay for her to listen to the missionaries.”

Kim told about a home evening during which the missionaries taught about Christ, baptism, and temple work. “She was excited about her family being sealed together,” Kim said.

Now the cousin is being baptized. “And she’s working on her parents too,” Christy said.

“It doesn’t just have to be adults who are responsible for getting their families sealed,” Kim said. “Share the gospel with children and teenagers, and their parents may get interested too.”

I was first exposed to pornography at age 13. I found it accidentally on social media, not knowing what it was and not understanding it. I went from unintentional exposure and curiosity to intentionally seeking it out.
At that time, my leaders’ messages about pornography seemed to be saying that it was something only boys struggled with. This left me feeling a lot of shame. I thought I’d never be able to tell anyone about my struggle. I knew about Jesus Christ’s Atonement, but because I thought that I was the only girl with this struggle, I felt like my situation was out of the Savior’s reach. I felt like the exception.
During those years, in places like seminary or devotionals—wherever the Spirit was present—I often felt prompted to set up a meeting with my bishop. For so long, what kept me from doing this was the idea that I had a reputation to uphold as a good kid from an active family. I thought he would see me for who I was—and I didn’t believe that person was lovable. I thought I would be met with instant punishment.
When I finally set up that meeting, it went very differently from how I expected. Instead of handing out punishment, my bishop told me: “You are still a daughter of God. You are still just as loved, and you are still just as valued.”
My bishop told me: “You are still a daughter of God. You are still just as loved, and you are still just as valued.”
I remember feeling overwhelmed with love. That was the first time I had felt the power of the Savior’s Atonement so strongly in my life. Looking back, I understand why those words my bishop said were so important.
When you’re struggling with pornography, you go through a cycle of shame. For me, I would feel out of touch with my own identity and then use pornography to deal with those negative emotions. Then I would feel shame and isolate myself from others, and the cycle would repeat.
For so long, I tried to rely on my own willpower to “just stop.” But I couldn’t do it on my own. My bishop helped me remember my identity—that I am a beloved daughter of God. As I met with him and remembered that truth, I started to make genuine progress.
Photographs courtesy of Madelyn and her family
Madelyn knows pornography won’t be her only mountain to climb. With the help of the Savior and the right tools, she keeps finding strength to overcome life’s challenges. This photo was taken right before she climbed a glacier in Alaska, USA!
At first, I was afraid to pray. I saw Heavenly Father as a God of justice and anger. But going through the process of continual repentance has helped me understand the nature of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Knowing that repenting one time doesn’t make me immune to this struggle has allowed me to me keep relying on Their divine help. Heavenly Father already knew about and understood my trials; I just needed to reach out to Him.
I learned that both Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are merciful and understanding. As you turn to Them, They will walk alongside you and hold your hand every step of the way.
Understanding God’s nature also helped me understand Satan and his tools and how they work in direct opposition to God. One of Satan’s most powerful tools is shame, which is different from guilt or “godly sorrow” (2 Corinthians 7:10). When you feel guilt, you realize you’ve made a mistake. But shame links the negative feelings you have about yourself when you sin to your identity, like you are those feelings.
Satan wanted me to believe that I could overcome this challenge on my own. This lie was something that kept me from talking to my bishop about my struggle with pornography. I felt like I couldn’t meet with him until I could say it was something I had struggled with in the past. Satan uses your individual weaknesses to make you feel unworthy to seek the Savior’s healing power.
I learned that Satan works on us when we’re isolated, so our best defense is connection. Sometimes it’s as simple as reaching out to others and spending meaningful time with good friends. Connecting with Heavenly Father, with yourself, and with others (especially with those who see you the way Heavenly Father does) is the best way to remember your true identity: a valued child of God.
Eventually I started getting promptings to help other young women who are struggling with pornography. I felt a higher purpose. I decided to care more about what Heavenly Father thinks than what others around me might think, so I started speaking openly about my experiences.
Once you feel the undeniable joy of continual repentance, you want to share it with others! Now I continue to share this joy as I serve as a full-time missionary.
Madi was assigned to labor as a full-time missionary in the Singapore Mission, speaking Malay.
You are never alone, and there is hope.
This struggle is something you can overcome with the help of the Savior, trusted loved ones and leaders, and the right tools. Get yourself out of isolation and reach out to someone who sees you through God’s eyes. Ask them what they see in you!
No matter what your fight is, you are never beyond the reach of the Savior and His Atonement. You are redeemable. Heavenly Father loves you completely, and it’s worth it to keep repenting.
You are never alone, and there is hope.
“Jesus Christ has the power to help you resist pornography and repent. Turn toward Him; turn away from darkness. Your bishop can help you receive strength and forgiveness through the Savior.”
For the Strength of Youth: A Guide for Making Choices (2022), 20.

Life sent me a hurricane of sorrow in December 2016. Our oldest grandchild, Derek, stopped breathing, and his parents rushed him to the hospital. With a measure of confidence, I asked Heavenly Father to bless little Derek. As I was praying, the Spirit gently impressed on my mind, “Little Derek has returned home to heaven.”
Photograph courtesy of Cordon family
Wait, what? Despite my reeling shock, an instant “peace of God” (Philippians 4:7) came to my heart and mind.
The week after Derek’s passing, I was scheduled to do ministering visits at a children’s hospital. I felt overwhelmed and didn’t think I could walk back into those medical sights, sounds, and smells. But as I checked in, a sweet peace came over me. The Lord knew my willingness even though I was hurting, and He orchestrated an extra dose of love for me. I was guided to visit a young child fighting cancer. He had written on his whiteboard: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).
To this day, that scripture is a reminder that Heavenly Father knows and loves me. I still have a hole in my heart for Derek—and will until I see him again. But until then, I gain solace in the Lord and keep moving forward.

My older brother, Gary, is two years my senior and was born mentally retarded. He attended public schools until about fourth grade. Part of my early years were spent defending him from the teasing and taunts of his classmates. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling of his situation. Because of my experiences with my brother, I developed a sensitivity to people who are different in any way. We all need to be like Jesus and reach out to those who are different from us. Thinking about the Savior and making Him a part of our lives helps us develop compassion. Jesus ought to be our best friend. Through prayer and thinking about Jesus, we can develop a greater sensitivity to other people and their needs.

Sarah walked along the wagon rut. She could see the dust from the wagon train in the distance. Granny Glover walked beside her in the parallel rut. The two lines of wagon tracks wound ahead through the prairie grass as far as they could see. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be walking in these ruts forever, Sarah thought. She and Granny had been walking since their family left Florence, Nebraska, three weeks earlier. Sarah looked out for Granny; Granny looked out for Sarah.
“Put your bonnet on, lass,” Granny said. Her Scottish brogue rolled across the emptiness of the prairie and was lost in the sway of the grass. Sarah pretended not to hear. “Sarah Jane Skelton, put your bonnet on your wee head, before you’re cooked like a bit o’ back bacon.”
“Oh, wouldn’t back bacon taste good right now?” Sarah exclaimed, looking up at the sky as if she was searching for bacon in the clouds.
“Aye, lass, it surely would.” Granny followed Sarah’s gaze to the clouds. “But we’ve got naught but dust to eat for many a mile, so slip that bonnet back on your head or you’ll be seeing stars long afore the sun goes down.”
Sarah dutifully pulled her bonnet back onto her head. “Granny,” she said, “what day is it?”
“It’s Saturday. Tomorrow we rest.”
“Do you think we’ll get into camp early enough to wash in the river? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to wash this dust away?”
“Aye, lass. Surely it would be fine.” They walked on in silence.
At first, Sarah’s mother had insisted that Granny Glover ride in the wagon. However, the first day’s ride bumped and jostled her so much that by the end of the day she could not stand.
“I’m old, but I’m not feeble,” Granny had said the next morning. “I’ll walk if you please.”
“Sarah, stay with Granny,” was all Sarah’s mother had said. So Sarah walked every day with Granny. She longed to play alongside the wagon with her younger sisters or watch the hens with the other girls her age, but her mother said that Granny must not walk alone. Granny walked even more slowly than the oxen pulling the wagons. When the wagons stopped for the night just before sundown, Sarah and Granny usually had an hour’s walk in darkness before they made it to camp. The sounds of the songs of Zion often greeted them long before they reached the wagon train.
The first week, Sarah was so tired and her body ached so much that all she could do at day’s end was eat a bit of biscuit, wrap up in a quilt, say a short prayer, and fall asleep. Now she was much stronger. She knew that the Lord was helping her and that if she had to, she could walk across the prairie forever. But she dreamed of the day they’d reach the Valley. Her Uncle William was already there. He had written to them about the Zion the Saints were building “in the tops of the mountains.”
A comfortable quiet settled over the prairie. Sometimes Granny talked about the days when Sarah’s mother was a little girl and they were homesteading in Nova Scotia, Canada. Sometimes she told of her own lively childhood in Scotland. Often they sang their favorite hymns and folk songs. Or Granny recited one of the poems of Robert Burns; she was teaching them to Sarah.
Today they were happy to just walk quietly together. Sarah pushed her bonnet off her head, letting it hang down her back. Granny Glover pre-tended to not notice.
Granny and Sarah kept up their slow, steady pace all day. The sun sank lower and lower in the prairie sky. “Do you see the wagon?” Granny asked when it was just about sundown. Sarah’s sharp eyes scanned the trail ahead.
Sarah’s parents pulled out of the wagon train and waited for Sarah and Granny whenever they could, but Mother was expecting a baby, and Sarah’s three younger sisters were often hungry and tired at the end of the long day’s march. Father had camp duties to attend to on many evenings.
“No, Granny, just dust.”
The sun slipped beneath the horizon, and darkness blanketed the prairie. It was hard to see in the dim starlight. Granny stumbled, and Sarah took her arm to steady her. “Thanks, darlin’. It won’t be far now,” she said.
They walked slowly on through the darkness, carefully following the wagon ruts. In the distance a mournful howl broke the silence. One wolf. Then another. Then another. A chorus of howls filled the lonely night air.
Granny and Sarah continued their slow pace. The wolves howled again. Sarah gripped Granny’s arm tighter. “Oh, Granny,” she said with fear in her voice, “please hurry. The wolves will get us.”
Granny placed her hand over Sarah’s and squeezed. “Don’t worry, lass,” she said. “The wolves won’t get us.”
Sarah turned and looked at Granny. She could see her calm green eyes looking intently at her through the darkness. “We’re on the Lord’s errand, lass. The wolves won’t touch us. There be angels a-guardin’ us all the way to Zion.”
A calm, peaceful feeling flooded through Sarah’s body, washing her fear away. The wolves continued to howl, but their eerie music no longer frightened Sarah. The peace that enveloped her crowded out her fear. From a distance they heard the Saints singing, “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear,”* and saw the flickering campfires glowing against the darkness.
“All is well, lass,” Granny said. “All is well.” Sarah smiled, filled with a happiness and peace she had not known before.

Sister Eileen Waite attended the same stake conference where Dave Orchard told of his conversion experience. Throughout the conference, all she could think of was her own family and particularly her sister, Michelle, who had long been away from the Church. Michelle was divorced and trying to raise four children. Eileen felt impressed to send her a copy of Elder M. Russell Ballard’s book Our Search for Happiness, together with her testimony, which she did. The very next week a friend told Eileen that she too had felt that she should contact Michelle. This friend also wrote Michelle a note, sharing her testimony and expressing her love. Isn’t it interesting how often the Spirit works on several people to help one in need?

Time passed. Michelle called Eileen and thanked her for the book. She said that she was beginning to recognize the spiritual void in her life. Eileen told her that she knew that the peace she was seeking could be found in the gospel. She told her that she loved her and wanted her to be happy. Michelle began to make changes in her life. Soon she met a wonderful man who was active in the Church. They married and a year later were sealed in the Ogden Utah Temple. Recently her 24-year-old son was baptized.

To the others in Michelle’s family and all others who do not yet know that this Church is true, I invite you to prayerfully consider whether the Church is true. Allow your family and friends and missionaries to help. When you know that it is true, and it is, come join with us by taking the same step in your life.

The end of this story has not yet been written, but blessings have been given to this wonderful woman and her family as those who love her acted on a prompting and in a natural and normal way shared their testimony and invited her to come back.

A powerful experience in my own life involved an impressive Maori lady in New Zealand when I served a mission there. Seriously ill, she was taken to the hospital to have an operation. It was doubtful that she would survive, because of her heavy weight and her advanced age.

She requested that I bless her, saying: “I know I’ll be all right if you’ll give me a blessing, Elder!” I sensed deeply the responsibility, and prayed at her bedside before assuming it. Then a blessing came to her through me that surprised both my companion and me by its positive nature—and I worried, fearing that I had been carried away by my own desire for her recovery. She held my hand and said, “Thank you. I’ll see you at church next Sunday.”

I did not believe her. Yet the operation was successful and her recovery complete—and she did attend testimony meeting the following Sunday. Though physically weak, she stood to eloquently thank the Lord for helping her at a critical hour. In this instance, her faith was a central factor in the blessing.

I provide full-time care for my mum, who is blind. I have coeliac disease, so I have to be very careful what I eat. During the pandemic, I had to stand in all the queues for the shops, and I would do this alone as we were encouraged to do.
One week, I was exhausted but still needed to do some things for my mum. This week, I felt that she needed to come with me and help a little bit. I was really concerned about it, as she has a bad back. I didn’t think it would be able to withstand all the standing around I was doing.
My mum said, “It will be fine, we shall say our prayers and it will be okay!”
So off we went, the first time my mum had been to the shops during lockdown. To our surprise, there wasn’t a single queue anywhere. We got into every place we had to go with no problems. Even at the tills, the queues were very quick.
It was a miracle that day. I’ve not forgotten it.
It never happened again, only on this day. Jesus does know each of us and what we need.

Amy shuffled along the sidewalk. Her hand measured the spaces between the slats of the picket fence that outlined Sister Pedersen’s yard. It’s not fair, she thought. Why do I have to be cooped up inside reading the news to an old blind lady while everyone else is going to the movie with Emily. And how can I ever be Emily’s friend if I can’t go to the movie with her?
Grudgingly Amy unlatched the gate, trudged up the sidewalk to Sister Pedersen’s porch, kicked the newspaper off the steps, then relented and picked it up before rapping on the door.
The door swung open, and there stood eighty-year-old Sister Pedersen.
“It’s me, Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Bring the Chronicle, and come in, Amy. Sit down here in this armchair. I believe in business first, pleasure afterward. Shall I pay you a dollar each day?” Sister Pedersen asked, reaching for her purse.
“No, ma’am. Mother said that I shouldn’t take money. In family home evening we agreed to work on serving others, and you’re my assignment.”
Sister Pedersen snapped her purse shut, nodded her head, and said, “You may read now.”
Amy struggled through the newspaper’s front-page articles. She wondered how anyone could consider this a pleasure.
After about forty-five minutes, Sister Pedersen interrupted, “Let’s stop now, Amy. Do you like treasures?”
“I guess so. What kind of treasures?”
“Follow me upstairs, and you’ll see,” Sister Pedersen told her.
“My treasure room,” Sister Pedersen announced, ushering Amy into a small room with several curio cabinets. A pedestal table loaded with beautiful small figurines stood in front of the window.
Amy gasped with delight. Her eyes danced from one lovely object to another. Each cabinet was crammed with collectibles: red goblets, silk flowers in painted vases, tiny dolls in native costumes, crystal paperweights, and bright blue plates. “It’s like an antique shop!” she exclaimed, rushing from one cabinet to another to peer at the treasures.
“You probably wonder why a blind lady keeps so many knickknacks,” Sister Pedersen said. “You see, when I touch the smooth glass objects or the soft silk fabrics, my fingers experience beauty.”
Amy watched the old lady gently rub a delicate bird fashioned of blown glass. She traced the china roses on a pink vase. Then she picked up a crystal ball etched with an intricate geometric pattern.
“Go ahead. Touch them, Amy,” Sister Pedersen coaxed.
Fascinated by the beauty of the bird, Amy timidly picked it up from the table. It was a swan with its neck arched proudly and its wings spread wide, anticipating flight.
“This swan is wonderful!” Amy whispered.
“A glassblower made it for me when I was very young. He fashioned liquid glass into that lovely bird by blowing through a long metal tube. He let me feel all the glass figures in his booth, and he even helped me blow a glass bubble. Since that day, whenever I touch my swan, I know that I, too, have seen beauty. Now, you look around, and don’t be afraid to handle everything. I’ll go fix us some refreshments. I remember how hungry young people are after school.”
Amy held the swan and imagined herself a young blind girl. Hearing peals of laughter outside, she set the swan down and leaned over the table to look out the window. Emily and all her friends were returning from the movie. Amy didn’t feel as bad about missing it as she thought she would. As she turned away from the window, Amy’s hand accidentally bumped the swan, knocking it to the floor. She scooped up the pieces and frantically shoved them into her pocket.
Sister Pedersen called, “Come downstairs, Amy, and have some biscuits and milk. Then you’d better hurry home, or your mother might not let you come again.”
Amy gulped down her snack nervously. She was too afraid to say anything about the precious bird. She said good-bye and raced down the sidewalk.
What should I do? she wondered. I can’t go back, no matter what Mother says. As Amy shut the gate, she looked up and saw Sister Pedersen waving to her. It made her feel worse, somehow.
Walking home from school the next day, Amy passed Sister Pedersen’s house and sighed with relief. At least she wasn’t supposed to read to Sister Pedersen until next week. But she still felt awful, and when she got home, she dumped all the money out of her old tin-can bank onto her bed and counted it carefully. “I hope it’s enough,” she muttered as she went to find her mother.
After school Monday, Amy slowly approached Sister Pedersen’s porch, clutching a white box. When the door opened, she said, “It’s Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come in, Amy. I didn’t think this was the day for your visit, but you’re welcome anytime.”
After they sat down, Amy carefully opened the box and placed the new swan in Sister Pedersen’s hands. Swallowing nervously, Amy said, “This is a replacement for the one that I broke. I’m awfully sorry. It was an accident.”
“It’s all right, Amy. I heard it break. I’m glad that you told me, though,” Sister Pedersen said, adding, “I’m sure that this bird cost you dearly, and I want you to keep it. Keep it and its beauty—you have given me something more beautiful. You have been an honest and good friend.”
When she left to go home, Amy happily walked down the sidewalk and turned at the gate to wave good-bye to Sister Pedersen, her new friend, who stood in the doorway, waving back.

Christmas was just three days away, and there were huge piles of snow by the barn and corrals. Grandpa had pushed them there with his tractor so that Mom and Grandma could go to the store when they needed to. The windows in the house were covered with frost, and my brothers, Alma, Aaron, and Jared, and I knelt on the sofa and pressed our hands against the glass to melt little peepholes so that we could look out into the night.
Grandpa’s haystacks looked like huge cupcakes topped with white sugar frosting. His cows, huddled under the sheds, were blowing big puffs of steam from their noses and bunting each other to find a warm place on the straw.
“Well, have you seen any deer?” Grandpa asked, coming up behind us.
“Deer?”
“Sure,” Grandpa said, winking. “I’ve never seen as many deer as I have this year. There’s so much snow in the mountains that the deer can’t find enough to eat, and they come down and dig in the fields and meadows for grass. Sometimes they even nibble at my haystacks.”
“Really?” I asked.
Grandpa nodded his head. “That’s a fact, Jarom. About this time every evening they start coming down the mountain.”
We pressed our faces against the icy glass until our noses and cheeks were numb with cold.
“It’s too dark to see much,” Aaron said, still squinting through his peephole.
“Do you really think there might be some deer now?” Alma asked.
Grandpa laughed. “Why don’t you boys get your boots and coats on. We’ll go out and turn on the Christmas lights. Maybe we’ll see something.”
Before Grandpa could say another word, all four of us were racing for the kitchen closet. We pulled on our boots, squeezed into our sweaters, tugged on our coats, and jerked our knit caps down over our ears. Finally we were ready to go.
Grandpa carried Jared, who is only two, and took me by the hand, while Alma and Aaron led the way outside. The cold burned our cheeks and made our eyes water. As we clumped across the snow, it crunched and chittered under our boots and made us laugh and want to stomp on it some more.
We tromped around to the back porch, and Grandpa flipped a switch. Suddenly there were twinkling yellow, red, blue, and green Christmas lights everywhere! Grandpa had tiny lights around his windows, along his roof, on the shrubs, and in the trees. He had a big fat Santa on an old poplar stump. And out in the middle of the lawn, under the apple tree, was a lighted manger scene.
For a while we just stood on the back porch and admired Grandpa’s lights. Then Grandpa motioned for us to be quiet and to follow him. We crossed the lawn and came to the alfalfa field fence. Grandpa slowly pulled a big flashlight from his coat pocket.
“Watch,” he whispered. He turned on the flashlight, and a skinny finger of yellow light jabbed into the night, cutting across the field. At first we couldn’t see anything but a few fuzzy shadows. Then we saw some orange sparkles out in the field.
“What’s that sparkling in your field, Grandpa?” Aaron asked, pushing against the fence so he could see better.
“They look like eyes,” I said.
“They are eyes, Jarom.” Grandpa chuckled and squeezed my hand.
“They are?” I asked. “Whose eyes are they?”
“They’re deer eyes. My alfalfa field is their favorite spot.”
“Do you think they belong to Santa?” Alma asked with a grin. “Maybe he lost them.”
Grandpa laughed. “Well, if Santa needs any deer, there are plenty of them here. There are probably twenty or thirty in the field right now.”
That night when my brothers and I went to bed, we couldn’t sleep. We each wrapped up in a blanket and crept to the bedroom window. Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa were still talking in the kitchen.
None of us said anything for a while. We just stared out the window at Grandpa’s lights and squinted to see if we could spot any deer. Soon Jared fell asleep, and Alma and Aaron carried him to his bed. Just as they were covering him up, I whispered, “Look! A deer!”
Alma and Aaron hurried back to my side. “Where?”
“Out by the old poplar tree stump, where Santa Claus is standing. It’s just a shadow now, but it was moving.”
“I can’t see anything,” Aaron grumped. “That’s just—”
“It moved!” Alma cut in. “It is a deer!”
“He must have come to see Grandpa’s lights,” I joked.
“It doesn’t look very big,” Alma said.
For a long time we watched the deer wander around the bushes and trees, sniffing and nibbling. It even stopped by the manger scene and looked in at Joseph and Mary and the Baby Jesus. In fact, it ambled up to the house and stopped right by our window.
“He sure is a curious fellow,” Alma murmured.
For the longest time we watched the curious deer tiptoe around Grandpa’s yard. Suddenly it pricked up its ears, held its head high, and looked toward the highway, where the yellow lights of a car peeked over a hill and moved toward us. The deer bounded into the shadows and disappeared.
“I guess the car scared him,” Aaron said. “Looks like he’s headed across the road for the mountain.”
We thought our deer was gone forever. Then, when the car lights were right in front of Grandpa’s house, we heard the screech of brakes and a terrible thump.
“The deer!” Alma shouted, jumping up and starting down the hall.
Aaron ran after him, but for a moment I just stared out the window, trying to see the deer. The car had stopped, and Grandpa and Dad were running up the driveway to the road.
I pulled on my pants and shirt over my pajamas, stomped my feet into my shoes, and hurried down the hall. Mom and Grandma and Alma and Aaron were all looking out the kitchen window. I put on my coat and slipped outside before anyone saw me. I raced up the driveway to the road where the car was.
“Well, Brother Rawls,” Grandpa was saying, “I really can’t tell how badly he’s hurt; he just looks stunned.”
I saw our curious deer lying by the side of the road. He tried to get up but fell back down with his head lying on the snow. He looked sad and cold. Before Grandpa and Dad knew I was there, I ran over and knelt be side the deer. At first he jerked back, so I whispered, “I won’t hurt you,” and I touched one of his big ears.
“What are you doing out here, Jarom?” Dad asked. “I thought you were in bed.”
“We were watching out the window. We saw everything. Is our deer going to die?” I asked, looking around at Grandpa.
Grandpa tugged on his ear and came over to me and the deer. “I don’t know, Jarom. If he doesn’t have any broken bones and if he’s just bruised and shaken up, he might be all right.”
“Can we put him in your barn until he’s well?” I asked. “We can’t just leave him here.”
Grandpa looked back at Dad and Brother Rawls. “Well, maybe. But you can’t keep him, you know. You can’t keep wild animals. We’ll have to let him go if he gets better.”
“Let’s try,” I pleaded. “We have to try!”
Dad carefully picked up the little deer. The animal shivered just a little and shook his head and tried to kick his long, skinny legs. But Dad held him tightly.
“I don’t think he’s hurt much,” Dad said. “I think he’s just in a daze. Maybe a night in the barn will do him good.”
I ran ahead of Grandpa and Dad and opened the barn door and turned on the light. The barn was full of hay and straw, and I could smell the rolled oats in the grain bin.
“Let’s put him in the old horse stall,” Grandpa said. “We can shut him in there, and he won’t be able to run around and hurt himself.”
I scattered some straw around and got a pan of oats and an armful of hay. Then Dad laid the deer down. For a moment it lay real quiet on the straw with its eyes dark and wide and its nose quivering and its ears pricked up. Then it kicked its legs and pushed itself to its feet. For a moment it wobbled on its shaky legs and hung its head down, but after a while it limped around in the stall, sniffing the corners and smelling the straw.
“He might need some water,” Grandpa said. “Maybe Jarom—”
Before Grandpa could finish, I was out of the barn and halfway to the house. I burst into the kitchen and shouted, “Grandma, do you have a pan? Grandpa sent me for some water for the deer.”
Grandma got one of her old plastic buckets and filled it half-full of water, and I ran back to the barn with it. Grandpa and Dad and I stayed out there for a while, making sure everything was all right. Then we went back to the house, and Alma, Aaron, and I crawled back into bed.
“What’s the deer like?” Alma asked.
“Does he have horns?” Aaron wanted to know.
I laughed. “No, he’s just little, probably not even a year old.”
“Can we keep him and take him back to Arizona with us?” Aaron asked.
“No,” I explained, “Grandpa said you can’t keep wild animals. We’ll just make sure he gets well.”
“Maybe he’s one of Santa’s reindeer,” Alma said excitedly.
I smiled. “I think he’s too little to pull anybody’s sleigh.”
“We ought to give him a name,” Aaron said.
“Let’s call him Rudolph,” Alma suggested.
“That’s too much name for such a little deer,” I pointed out. “Why don’t we call him Rudy? That’s a good little-deer name.”
For a long time we lay in bed whispering about Rudy. Finally Alma asked, “Do you think Rudy will get better?”
“He just has to!” I said.
“Maybe we should pray for him,” Aaron whispered. “Then he’ll get better for sure.”
Quietly the three of us crawled out of bed and knelt down. Each of us said a little prayer for Rudy, our curious Christmas deer.
The next morning, before it was even light, we were all up and dressed and out in the barn, peeking into the stall at Rudy. He still limped a little, but I could tell that he was much better. He had nibbled at the hay and had eaten half the oats I’d given him the night before.
All that day we took care of Rudy. Grandma gave us some carrot sticks to feed him, and we changed his water every hour or so and made sure his grain box was always full. We kept throwing straw into the stall until Grandpa said that there wasn’t any room for Rudy. But we made the floor nice and soft for him to lie on.
That night we wanted to sleep in the barn with Rudy and make sure that he was all right and didn’t get scared, but Mom wouldn’t let us. Before crawling under the covers, we each said another little prayer for Rudy.
Rudy stayed in Grandpa’s barn two days. Then on Christmas Eve Dad and Grandpa said that we should let him go.
“Oh, but it’s Christmas, and it’s cold outside,” I said.
“And he’ll get hungry,” Alma added.
“And he might get run over again,” Aaron put in.
Grandpa shook his head. “Rudy’s a wild deer. He belongs outside so that he can run with the other deer. He wasn’t ever meant for a pet.”
We didn’t want to, but just before supper we opened the doors of the stall and the barn. At first Rudy seemed almost afraid to leave the barn. But as soon as he crept to the open door, he poked his nose out, looked around, and bounded up the driveway, across the road, and into the sagebrush on the mountainside.
That night after we had sung some carols, listened to the Christmas story, hung our stockings, and crawled into bed, Alma whispered, “I wish we had been the shepherds or the Wise Men and had taken gifts to the Baby Jesus. My Primary teacher said that at Christmastime you’re supposed to help people, and we haven’t helped anyone. I sure wish we had made someone’s Christmas special.”
“We helped Grandma make popcorn balls for the Bensons,” Aaron said.
“And we helped wrap presents for the Wilsons,” I pointed out.
“But I wish we could have done something for someone all by ourselves,” Alma sighed.
I rolled quietly out of bed and tiptoed to the window. Grandpa’s lights were twinkling in the night. The big Santa was glowing brightly on the old poplar tree stump. The manger scene was lighted up under the barren apple tree. Then I saw a shadow moving out by the bushes.
“It’s Rudy,” I whispered loudly.
Soon Alma, Aaron, and Jared were pushing their faces against the icy glass. Sure enough, Rudy was down on the lawn again, sniffing and creeping around, just as curious as ever. We all held our breath as we looked out the window. Rudy came closer and closer until he was right by the window. We tapped lightly on the windowpane, and Rudy looked toward us. For a long time he just stood there staring. Then he flipped his short, stubby tail once, turned, and bounded into the night.
“We did help someone this Christmas,” Alma said quietly.
“We did?” I asked, rubbing my cold, wet nose.
Alma nodded. “We helped Rudy. We helped him get well.”
“But is that anything?” Aaron asked.
“Of course,” I said. “All the animals belong to Heavenly Father. He cares about them too. Rudy needed help, and we took care of him. Helping Rudy was our special Christmas gift.”
All four of us nodded our heads, took one last look out the window, and crawled back into bed.

Illustrations by Scott Peck
I’m open! Pass it to me!
Quit trying to play with us, Sadra. The game is full.
But she always plays soccer with us … What’s going on?
Why did you do that? Sadra’s our friend.
We decided she’s not our friend anymore.
You shouldn’t play with her, either. Not if you wanna hang out with us.
That night …
The next morning …
You’re up early. Have you decided what to do about your friends?
Yes. I’ve been praying about it. I want to be a friend to Sadra.
I’m proud of you.
Later …
Hey, Sadra, I made cookies this morning. Want some?
Sure, thanks!
So, any chance you could teach me some of your awesome soccer moves later?
Sure!
Maybe our other friends will come around too!

“I was born and grew up in the community of Tooele, Utah, where my father managed a newspaper. As a youth, I worked at the newspaper office and also helped take care of the family cows. My brother, Joel, and I had the responsibility of not only taking care of our cows but, during the summer, also gathering our neighbor’s cows and taking them to the fields on the edge of town to graze on the grass. This is how I made my first money. Later, my brother and I worked on a eight-hectare farm on the edge of town which the family owned. We were teenagers and my father wanted to keep us busy.
“One day a neighbor came to Father carrying a list of things we were doing wrong on the farm. After the neighbor finished reading the list aloud, Father sat back in his chair, looked at him, and said, ‘Well, Jim, you don’t understand. I’m raising boys and not cows.’”