Gospel Story Finder

Years ago, we had an unexpected visitor to our ward in Tennessee. Her name was Jacque.

Jacque told us that twenty years earlier, she had worked for a newspaper near Nashville, editing the religion section. The paper was preparing an article about the Church. She wanted to interview a member, but she didn’t know any.

So she turned to the phone book. For those under thirty, a phone book was like a paper Google—except it only had names, addresses, and phone numbers.

She called the number listed for the Church. Surprisingly, someone answered. She explained why she was calling. The man told her he was busy at the moment, but if she could come by the church on Wednesday, he would make time for her.

As Jacque described that meeting, her voice softened. She said the man was kind, gracious, and genuinely interested in her. Then she whispered, “I think he’s the most Christlike man I’ve ever met.”

Two decades passed.

One day, Jacque was walking through a business park when she noticed a door that read: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints – Tennessee Nashville Mission.”

Her memory prompted her. She walked into what was the mission office and told her story to the senior missionary at the receptionist desk. The missionary gave her the address of the church and the time sacrament meeting started.

The very next Sunday, Jacque was sitting in the overflow of our chapel.

I asked if she remembered the man she met years earlier. Without hesitation, she said, “I’ll never forget him. His name was Todd Christofferson.”

Six weeks after her first visit to our ward, Jacque was baptized. At her baptism, the bishop invited her to share a few words. She stood at the pulpit, hair still wet, and thanked everyone for being there and for becoming her new church family.

Then, reflecting on that meeting with President Christofferson, she said: “Brothers and sisters, I hope you’ll remember that your lives may be the only Book of Mormon that someone will ever read.”

That thought has never left me.

When I was young, my family was not active in the Church. My parents were good people, and they taught my brothers and me to make good choices. We always knew they loved us and wanted us to be happy.
In my home, my parents expected us to obey. Every Saturday was “work day.” Dad was a doctor, so he got up very early to go check on his patients. Before he left, he wrote a list of chores on our big chalkboard. Every week we tried to do the chores as fast as we could. But somehow the chores always lasted the whole day!
It wasn’t terrible, though. We liked spending time together. Mom made us lunch, and Dad came home to eat with us. We all took a break and sat outside together. We were happy when we obeyed.

We had an orchard where all kinds of fruit trees provided much of our living, but it also meant much hard work for little boys. The peaches were large and luscious, and when Ma had filled our pantry with bottles of fruit for the winter, Pa decided we could sell some. I was about twelve and Alice ten, and again we were in business.
I climbed to the tops of the trees and picked the largest, most colorful peaches; Alice put them in the boxes, I piled them neatly in the buggy and drove the long journey of about six miles to Pima, where many of the good women bought the fruit, and we soon headed home. As we counted our nickels and dimes and quarters, we found we had five dollars. It would be Christmas soon, so we excitedly talked about gifts for our large family.
When we got home and gleefully laid our money on the table, Pa reminded us again, “Have you counted out your tithing?” So, of course, we had to skimp a little on some of our planned Christmas gifts. As soon as the sweating mare was back in the pasture, the buggy in the shed, and the boxes stowed away, we went through the orchard and through the fence to the bishop again.
When I was in high school, I found it necessary to support myself. I suppose I was about sixteen, and I went to Globe, Arizona, the big mining camp, and there secured a job milking cows twice a day for a dairy. In those days we had no machines, and we milked with our hands. I milked between eighteen and twenty-eight cows twice a day, separated the cream, bottled the milk, washed the cans and bottles, fed the cattle, and cleaned the manure. For all of this, I received my meals, a cot in a bunkhouse, and $47.50 a month.
I was now on my own. No one was there to check up on me. When I received my first paycheck, I asked myself, “Should I or should I not pay my tithing?” I sent my dairy check home to the bank and received a receipt and a checkbook. I numbered the checks on the book and my first check was made out payable to the bishop.
The Lord has promised that if boys and girls and their parents are faithful in paying their tithing, he will pour out great blessings upon them. I know he keeps the promise.

One is humbled by the spiritual submissiveness of the dying young mother of twenty-six, understandably anguished at the prospect of not rearing her two children, one of whom she so recently made ready to lay down her life for, if necessary. The baby arrived safely, but, alas, the gallant mother could not tarry. With childlike faith this young sister touchingly inquired, “If I am to die, then how can I help my husband and my parents as they watch me die?” Surely she (and others similarly situated) faithfully conforms to King Benjamin’s portrait of a Saint as one being “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.” (Mosiah 3:19.)

Miranda hurried through the front door, thankful that her house was cooler than the hot summer weather outside. She was sweaty from playing her last soccer game of the season and frustrated because the Teal Turbos had lost. Again.
Mom came into the room carrying a water bottle and a bag of leftover orange slices from the game. “You played a great game. Being goalie is a rough job.”
Miranda had played well—she had blocked a lot of shots and kicked harder than usual. But most of the other girls on her team had never played soccer before, and today made it official: they had lost every game this season.
“I just wish I could be on a team that won once in a while, you know?” A few tears leaked out of the corners of Miranda’s eyes and fell onto her blue-green jersey. As she squeezed her eyes shut, the phone rang.
Mom picked up the phone and after a moment said, “It’s for you.”
“Hi, Miranda? This is Tom, coach of the Chili Kickers. I was watching your game today. You looked great out there.”
Miranda’s heart started beating faster. The Chili Kickers was the best soccer team in the league!
“Our team is going to the regional championship games next month. You played so well today that I want you to come with us as a back-up goalie.”
Miranda’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. This was her chance to play with a winning team!
“I’d love to come!” Miranda said. They talked for a few minutes about the details before she hung up and ran into the other room to tell Mom. Together they started writing the dates of the practices and games on the family calendar.
Suddenly Mom stopped writing, her pen hovering above one of the calendar squares.
“Uh-oh. Miranda, these games are on Sundays. Here, look.” She pointed to the game schedule and turned to Miranda with a worried frown. “What do you think we should do?”
Miranda’s heart sank, and she bit her lip as she thought about her options. Mom might let her play if she asked, but when she thought about playing on Sunday—and especially about missing church—she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew Sunday was for going to church and worshipping Heavenly Father, and she couldn’t really do those things while playing soccer.
“I think I should probably call him back and tell him I can’t play,” Miranda said. She tried hard not to cry. Even though she knew it was the right choice, it was hard to give up something she wanted so badly.
“And you know what I think?” Mom said, giving her a big hug. “I think you are one great kid.”
That Sunday, as Miranda sat in Primary, she thought about the good decision she had made. The coach was surprised when Miranda had called and said she couldn’t play soccer on Sundays. He had tried to get her to change her mind, but she had stuck with her decision. Now, as she listened to the Primary songs and lessons, Miranda smiled. The peaceful feeling in her heart told her that she was in the right place. She’d made a winning decision after all.

When our daughter was five years old, she had a battery-powered model car and loved to drive it around the house. One evening, she came to me and said, “Daddy, my car no longer drives. Could we get some gas from your car to put in it so it can drive again? Perhaps it needs gas like your car to drive.” I later observed that the battery power was down, so I said we would get it to drive in about an hour. With so much excitement, she said, “Yes! We will take it to the gas station.” I simply connected the battery to an electric source to charge, and after an hour she was able to drive the car, powered by the charged battery. She thereafter learned that it is important to always recharge the battery by connecting it to an electric source.

My friend Max was baptized when he was eight years old. His father was not a member of any church, and Max could go to church or not go.
As a teenager, after not attending for several months, Max had the feeling that he needed to go back to church and determined one Sunday morning that he would return. But his resolve weakened as he approached the front door of the church; his stomach tightened.
There, standing at the door, was the new bishop. Max didn’t know him, and he felt sure the bishop didn’t know Max. As Max approached, the bishop’s face lit up, and he put his hand out and said, “Max, it’s so good to see you!”
“As he spoke those words,” Max said, “a warm feeling came over me and I knew I had done the right thing.”11

He married Louie Emily Shurtliff in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898. One year later he was called on a mission to Great Britain for two years and was loyally supported by his wife. Upon his return, the two resumed their lives together and were blessed with the births of two daughters. Sadly, during a difficult third pregnancy Louie passed away.

In his sorrow Joseph prayed, “Help me, I pray Thee, to so live that I shall be worthy to meet her in eternal glory, to be united again with her, never again to be separated. … Help me to rear my precious babies that they shall remain pure and spotless throughout their lives.”8

At the urging of his father, the bereaved father of two prayerfully sought for a wife and a mother for his young children. His righteous desires were blessed in having Ethel Georgina Reynolds brought into his life. They were married in November 1908 in the Salt Lake Temple. This marvelous woman became the mother of Joseph’s first two daughters and later gave birth to nine additional children.

On one occasion, his wife’s burdens weighed heavily on the Apostle’s mind as he traveled to a stake conference. He wrote her a letter in which he said: “I am thinking of you and wish I could be with you constantly for the next few weeks, to help take care of you. I will help you all I can as it is, and hope you will be able to feel my influence. Tell the children to be kind to you and to each other.”9 He then shared with her the deep feelings of his heart in the form of a poem, which later became one of our hymns, “Does the Journey Seem Long?” (no. 127).

Sadly, Ethel passed away in 1937. At the time of her death, there were five unmarried children in the home. Elder Smith felt impressed to seek another wife and companion. In 1938 he married Jessie Evans Smith in the Salt Lake Temple.

During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman:Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Elder Ulisses Soares traveled with President Dallin H. Oaks to help dedicate a new temple in Colombia, in the city of Barranquilla [bar-an-KEE-ya].
Many children came with their parents to see the new temple be dedicated.
President Oaks invited a boy and girl to help seal the cornerstone in place. The temple was finished!
Inside the temple after the cornerstone ceremony, Elder Soares gave a talk. Then President Oaks gave a prayer to dedicate the temple to the Lord. Now the temple is the Lord’s house.
Now children will be able to go inside to be sealed to their families and do temple baptisms!
“Whatever you do, keep your eyes on the temple.”
—Elder Ulisses Soares

Elder Ojediran and Elder Morrison of the Seventy, the first and second counselors in the Africa West Area Presidency, visited Sister Doan’s quilting class at the Accra Ghana Christiansborg Stake center. They were genuinely impressed by the variety of quilt patterns on display, highlighting the creative possibilities available to every participant.

Among the attendees was Victoria Danso, a young single adult (YSA) who has a call to serve a mission in Ibadan, Nigeria. In a conversation with Elder Ojediran, she learned that Ibadan was his hometown. He mentioned that he occasionally visits Ibadan and hopes to see her adjusting well to her missionary activities. She showed him the quilted fabric she had completed. She plans to use it to make a tote bag to take with her when she enters the missionary training center shortly.

Another YSA in the class, Irene Ankrah, had been taking missionary lessons and said the quilting class’s warm and friendly atmosphere allowed her to ask questions about the Church in a comfortable setting. She explained that many of her questions were answered as she spoke with the ladies and, therefore, felt confident in her decision to be baptized.

The quilting sessions on Thursdays have cultivated a sense of community among YSAs and Relief Society sisters. Together, they learn a valuable skill and share testimonies of Jesus Christ, strengthening their bond of sisterhood.

Every attendee expressed gratitude for Sister Doan, whose exceptional tutoring and cheerful spirit make each class a treasured experience. Fun fact: In addition to being a creative quilter, Sister Doan is an enthusiastic whistler, adding an extra layer of joy to her classes!

When Makoto Ishizaka, 26, of the Senzokuike Ward, Yokohama Japan Stake, turned 18, he received the Melchizedek Priesthood and was ordained an elder by his father. Although Makoto was still a high school student, there was an urgent need for him to serve his family as a Melchizedek Priesthood holder. His 14-year-old brother, Isamu, had a malignant brain tumor.

As Isamu awoke from surgery, his first words were “Can I have a blessing?” For more than a year, Makoto joined his father in giving frequent priesthood blessings to Isamu. “Before giving blessings, I prayed and pondered in the small hospital room,” says Makoto. “When I give blessings, I feel Heavenly Father is using me as an instrument.”

While in the hospital, Isamu studied seminary lessons, did not murmur, and expressed gratitude for his blessings. When his condition suddenly became worse, Makoto prayed in desperation: “Why is this happening?” Then he felt the voice of the Lord. “It pierced my very soul. Through the Spirit, I knew Isamu was needed in heaven. My anger and uneasiness vanished and were changed to peace and hope. Forty-eight hours later, Isamu passed away. He was 16.” Makoto dedicated Isamu’s grave and received temple ordinances in his brother’s behalf. He later served a full-time mission. “The priesthood blesses both those who perform and those who receive ordinances—and it can purify both,” he says.

An example of brotherhood in action occurred a few weeks ago in the San Fernando Valley in California. The major jolt of the earthquake was at six o’clock in the morning; but home teachers, Relief Society leaders, and priesthood quorums almost immediately began to do their part in helping hundreds who were evacuated from their homes. Many of these families found refuge in the homes of Church members.
Within thirty minutes a pair of home teachers stopped by their bishop’s home to check for special instructions before making a quick survey of their assigned families. Other home teachers called priesthood leaders, who in turn reported to bishops, and bishops reported to stake presidents. Within six hours after the first jolt, some wards could account for most of their members.
Stake presidents attempted to pinpoint the hardest hit areas and offer assistance where it was most needed. A priests quorum in Granada Hills moved a family with seven children to another home. A first counselor in the bishopric woke up as his chimney toppled onto his roof, breaking through some of the rafters and knocking a hole in his ceiling; but he said, “I wasn’t as concerned about that as I was my neighbor’s home, which immediately caught fire. No one had any water, so we got up on our roofs to beat out sparks.”
A bishop who was on his way to work when the quake struck was concerned about being unable to contact his home or ward members for several hours. But in his absence the priesthood members had gone into action, and by early afternoon every family in the ward had been contacted. His wife reported that as soon as the telephone was restored to order, she had constant calls from families offering to take evacuated people into their homes. “People have been great,” she reported. “It renews your faith the way they pitch in when the chips are down.”

One winter day, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was just eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady. One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. There the two of us sat in the otherwise-empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry.
Surprised, I asked her why she was crying.
She replied, “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised Melissa that I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing facility in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song, “Hark! the herald angels sing; Glory to the newborn King!” (Hymns, 1985, no. 209.) I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say thank you.
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She was staring at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met by a benign but blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word. Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying, “Don’t talk to her. She doesn’t know anyone—even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the years she’s been here.”
Luncheon ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said, “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words, “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. The words of the Master seemed to have a personal meaning never before fully felt: “Woman, behold thy son!” And to his disciple, “Behold thy mother!” (see John 19:26–27).
Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
From Bethlehem there seemed to echo the words:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(“O Little Town of Bethlehem,” Hymns, 1985, no. 208)
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ had entered in—all through the doorway called love. I declare this solemn truth in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Jason dipped a rag into the quart of dark walnut stain and slid it across the unfinished top of his new oak desk. The wood jumped to life, the grain standing out like a picture coming into focus.
“That looks great!” Jason’s foster father, Jim Spence, was standing in the garage doorway, beaming. “I’m glad we could finally get you a desk of your own.”
Before Jason had come to live with Jim and Anna Spence, he’d been in and out of foster homes all his life. He’d never felt wanted—until now.
And until now, Jason had never called any of his foster parents Mom and Dad. The next day was Father’s Day, and Jason wanted to give Dad something special.
After he finished the desk, Jason washed up and changed his clothes. As he was tucking in his shirt, Dad and Mom knocked at the door and came in. Their faces looked serious.
“We just got a call from the welfare people,” Dad said. “They want us to take another boy, a ten year old. His name’s Rob. After his mother died last year, he had several scrapes with the law and has been in three foster homes. He can’t seem to adjust. You know the story.”
A sick feeling churned in Jason’s stomach. He knew the story all right. It was like his own. Every time he’d gotten into trouble, he’d been moved to another foster home. Nobody really cared. Until the Spences! If another kid comes, they won’t have time for me, Jason thought. Maybe they’ll even like him better!
He stared at the floor, unable to say anything.
“It will be like having a younger brother. You can play baseball with him and teach him your pickoff move to first base,” Dad said.
“I don’t want a brother,” Jason croaked, his voice a whisper. “Why can’t things stay the way they are?”
Mom sighed and looked hurt. “This boy needs our help—Jim’s, yours, and mine. We’re counting on you.”
Dad glanced at his watch.
“He’ll be here in a little while. We’d like your help—will you at least pray about it?”
Without answering, Jason pushed past them and headed for the front door.
“Where are you off to?” Mom asked.
Jason grunted something and left. He didn’t know where he was going, or even if he was coming back. He needed to figure things out. He started running and found himself heading toward town.
He passed people and didn’t see them. Someone said hello, but Jason didn’t notice who it was. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d finally found a caring home, and now some new kid was going to ruin it.
Soon he was on the other side of town. It reminded him of places that he’d lived in before. He could tell that the people who lived here had a hard time making enough money to live on, and a lot of the kids here probably learned to grow up hating others.
He passed a flashing video arcade. Both younger kids and teenagers drifted in and out, drinking sodas, leaning against the brick walls, and wandering back inside again. Some of them stared at him and laughed. Jason felt out of place—he’d changed a lot since the Spences had taken him in.
He’d been pretty hostile toward Anna and Jim at first. But it had been impossible to not warm up to them. Dad had found out that Jason played baseball and gotten him into Little League the very first week he was with them. Then he and Mom had come to almost every game. And could they yell! It made Jason feel as if he really were their son.
“Why can’t things stay like that?” Jason thought aloud. “Why’d some new kid have to show up and spoil it?”
As he wandered past a drugstore, he thought of Father’s Day cards. It made a lump grow in his throat. He’d really looked forward to buying one this year.
Just then, three boys spilled out the store’s door and burst into laughter.
“That guy’s so dumb,” one boy said.
“He has an IQ below freezing,” another boy chortled. He held up three packages of bubble gum. “Look what I swiped from right under his nose!”
They ran off with no idea as to where they were headed. But Jason knew. He knew all too well. And if it hadn’t been for Jim Spence, he himself might be headed for a juvenile detention center by now.
Who’s going to help these kids? he prayed silently.
Then he asked himself, Who’s going to help Rob?
Jason felt selfish for wanting all his foster parents’ love for himself when so many kids needed to be loved.
He knew that the Spences loved him. Everything they did for him proved that. Like buying him a desk. They’d saved for quite a while to be able to get it. And all he’d done to show his thanks was to run away!
He hurried into the drugstore and bought a Father’s Day card—the first one he’d ever bought—then hurried home. He still didn’t know what to give Dad for Father’s Day, but he was going home, and that was all that seemed to matter.
He thought of the kids back at the store, ripping off other people and not knowing that they were really ripping off their own happiness. Jason would never have known that if it hadn’t been for Dad. The world needed more fathers like him.
Suddenly he knew what to give him for Father’s Day.
Jason tried to act cool as he strode up the walk and into the house, but it wasn’t easy. He was so glad to be home again! After apologizing to his worried foster parents, he met Rob, a boy with long blond hair, who was leaning against the door casing, trying to look tough.
Jason smiled at Dad and handed him the card, adding, “I know this is a day early, but it’s the right time to give it to you. And there’s something else I want to give you, Dad.” He tilted his head slightly in Rob’s direction. “I want to help.”
Dad gave him a bear hug that would have bruised another bear! “Thanks, Jason.”
Smiling proudly, Mom suggested, “Why don’t you and Rob take a walk and get acquainted while we fix supper.”
“Want to?” Jason asked.
Rob shrugged. “Where?”
Jason thought, then said, “The unfinished-furniture store.”
Rob looked at him as if he’d just jumped off a spaceship.
Jason had to laugh. “We can look at the desks,” he explained. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “They’re big on desks.”

Karen and Susan Jacobs of Walnut Creek, California, found it fun and rewarding. It started when Karen was in the fifth grade at the American School in Copenhagen, Denmark. She was looking for a subject for a rather ambitious American history report. The teacher called for footnotes, bibliography, note cards, and oral reports—you know, the works. Her biggest hurdle was to choose a subject. Her parents suggested that she do her report on the Mormon trek westward.
“Why not?” she said.
Once started it was an easier topic to write on than most, with all that help at home, her interest, and her background on the subject from Primary and Sunday School.
Few in the class knew much about the Mormons, and the oral report, laced with interest-raising points, created a lively discussion for months afterwards. She got an A grade too!

Father wasn’t interested in a “new” religion, and if James Reed hadn’t had bloody feet, Father wouldn’t have let him in that cold, snowy night. When Brother Reed told the family about the Book of Mormon, Father issued him a challenge: “If it’s true, we’ll listen to all that you have to tell us.” If upon reading it, Father believed Brother Reed to be a liar, however, he would be thrown out of the house. Father started to read it that very night. …
Early the next morning, Mary Ann awoke when she heard an ax behind their cabin. Sleepily she snuggled back under the covers. The cabin would soon be warm. Father was building a fire. Then, hearing her father’s voice downstairs, she sat straight up. Father wasn’t chopping wood! Who was? Wrapping a shawl around her, she hurried down the ladder.
The front door opened as Brother Reed came in with an armful of wood. On top was a pile of kindling to help get the fire going. “Good morning to you all,” he said cheerfully. “The snow’s stopped, and the air is clear. It’s a beautiful day.”
“You shouldn’t be up and about on those feet,” Mother said.
He winked at Mary Ann. “Warm woolen socks do wonders for a pair of sore feet.”
Mary Ann winked back. She looked at her father. Although he didn’t say anything, she could tell that he was pleased that the stranger would help with the chores.
When Anna began to fuss in her cradle, Brother Reed gently picked her up so that Mother could continue to cook breakfast. Father opened the book the stranger had brought and began to read more of it.
Mary Ann crossed over to Brother Reed. He looked like he knew how to hold babies. “Do you have any children?”
He nodded and looked sad for a moment. “I have a wife and two tiny boys in Kirtland, Ohio.”
Mother stopped stirring the porridge. “You left them to preach the gospel?”
He nodded as he continued to gently jounce the baby. “My wife, Alice, believes the gospel as strongly as I do. She waits patiently for me to return. The Lord will provide for her.”
When breakfast was ready, they all sat down around the rough table. Father turned to Brother Reed. “Would you like to offer a word of prayer?”
“Surely, but may I quote a scripture first?” At Father’s nod, Brother Reed said: “‘And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them:
‘Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.
‘And it came to pass, as they understood they cast their eyes up again towards heaven; and behold, they saw a Man descending out of heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe; and he came down and stood in the midst of them.’”*
Then he gave a blessing on the food and all those that lived in the house.
“That scripture you quoted,” Mother said. “I don’t remember hearing it before.”
“It’s from the Book of Mormon. It’s about Jesus Christ’s appearance to the people here in the Americas after His resurrection.”
Mary Ann felt that warm feeling wash all over her again. She felt good at church when Parson Grimes taught, but this was different. It seemed to fill her whole soul. While they were eating, she shyly asked, “Is this Apostle you talked about close by? I’ve never seen an Apostle of the Lord before. Could we hear him preach?”
Brother Reed smiled at her. “Tomorrow is the Sabbath, and we have received permission to preach in Pastor Grimes’s church. If you come with me at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, you’ll get to meet a true Apostle of the living God.” He looked around the table. “You’re all invited. Will you come?”
Mother looked at Father. He nodded.
Mary Ann’s family always observed the Sabbath, so all their work had to be finished on Saturday. Never had she worked so eagerly! The next day she would actually see an Apostle of the Lord!
At ten o’clock the little log chapel bulged with people gathered to hear the Mormon preachers. Mary Ann and her family sat next to her best friend, Betsy, and her family.
As Mary Ann looked up at the face of Brigham Young, she thought That is an Apostle of Jesus Christ! She listened carefully to all he said, and again she felt that warm feeling telling her that he spoke the truth. She whispered to Betsy, “Can you believe you’re actually seeing one of the Lord’s Apostles?”
Betsy glared at her. “You’re crazy! My father says these men are imposters. God stopped speaking to men on earth years ago. We don’t need Apostles—we have the Bible.”
Suddenly anger welled up inside Mary Ann. How could her best friend be so blind. Tears flowed down her cheeks, she rushed outside. Betsy followed her.
“I suppose you believe them,” Betsy sneered. “I suppose you’re going to be baptized.”
Mary Ann felt hate in her heart just then. She glared at her friend. “Yes, I am! And you’ll be sorry someday that you didn’t. You’re just too stupid to understand.”
“No, I’m not,” Betsy answered. “And I won’t be sorry, because I’m not fooled by them.”
Mary Ann ran around the corner of the church and leaned against a tree. How can Betsy be so blind? she wondered. How can she be so mean to me?
Mother walked toward her. “I saw you run out of the meeting. Is something wrong?”
“Betsy thinks they’re fakes. I hate her! How can she be so stupid. Doesn’t she feel anything?”
Mother gave her a hug. “Do you remember what the Savior did when someone didn’t believe Him? What He did when they hurt Him?”
Mary Ann hung her head. “He forgave them.”
“Yes, and He prayed for them. Even on the cross, He prayed for them.” She hugged Mary Ann again. “When you feel better, come back to the meeting. Brother Young will not be here forever.”
After she left, Mary Ann still felt angry. But it was cold outside, so she went home. Climbing to the loft, she knelt by her bed and prayed that she could forgive Betsy. Then she prayed that Betsy would listen to the message of these men.
When she finished, she felt better. Maybe Betsy would never listen, but it was Mary Ann’s job to be a friend and to understand. She climbed down from the loft and started back to the meeting. If Betsy was still there, Mary Ann would apologize for getting angry. Maybe later Betsy would listen to the message of the true gospel.

One night, I became very sick and spent most of the night moaning. I wasn’t able to keep anything down and my stomach was doing somersaults. It took a while, but I finally got up enough courage to ask my dad for a blessing. It was the first father’s blessing I had requested personally, and my dad was not expecting it. He found his little container of oil and blessed me that I would be well and be able to sleep peacefully. As soon as he finished, I felt so much better that I started to cry. The Spirit has never touched me so completely as it did then, and my testimony grew a lot.

Late summer of 1853 saw an epidemic of cholera sweep across the town. In six weeks, more than 1,500 inhabitants died, and now Robert was ill.4 On 8 September, he felt so unwell that he requested a fellow priesthood holder to administer to him. Then, although ill himself, Robert continued to serve others, by visiting and blessing those who were afflicted. Robert recorded:
“In the morning at 6 o’clock, Sister Sutherland knocked me up to lay hands upon her son who was taken ill. I went and administered to him and before I came away, he got out of bed and had his breakfast.”
Robert recovered and returned to full health. As time wore on, Robert continued to worry about his wider family, both temporally and spiritually. “May I do not descend to where they are, but may they ascend to where I am, and all of us go on rejoicing in our journey to Celestial Glory.” Sadly, soon after expressing these thoughts, his mother died; but good followed with the birth of his daughter in September 1854.

Laura was seven and one-half years old, and like everyone in her Primary class, she was eager to be baptized. Each child knew who was getting baptized next, because they all knew each other’s birthdays.
Except for Laura’s. Whenever someone in the class asked her, she would murmur, “July twenty-first,” with her mouth mostly closed. If anyone asked when she was getting baptized, she answered, “I don’t know,” in a mumbly voice. About then Sister Rice, the teacher, would come to her rescue by calling the class’s attention back to the lesson.
Laura had moved into the ward only a couple of months earlier. On her first day in Primary, her dad had whispered something to Sister Rice. Laura knew that he was explaining why she couldn’t be baptized on her birthday and asking Sister Rice to help her not feel uncomfortable about it in class. Sister Rice had tried, but Laura still felt bad.
Laura’s mom didn’t believe the Church was true, and she didn’t want Laura to be baptized. She had explained that she didn’t want her daughter to make such an important decision when she was only eight years old.
Only eight! Why was it that when Laura let her little brother use his watercolors on the kitchen table without covering it, her parents said that she was old enough to know better? And when she tried to give the dirty dog a bath in the bathtub, she was old enough to know that the bathroom would end up a disaster area? If she was old enough to know those things, wasn’t she old enough to know that she wanted to follow Jesus?
Laura loved her mom very much. And though she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed to be baptized, Laura tried not to be upset. Actually, she tried to just not think about it. There was nothing she could do about it, anyway. She couldn’t help wishing, though. If only she could be baptized, she could wash away all her past mistakes, and the Holy Ghost would help her choose the right.
One week in Primary class, the lesson was about the sacrament. Sister Rice said that each time they took the bread and water, it was like making their baptism promises again. Every week they could promise again to follow Jesus. If they had done some things wrong, they could repent by feeling sorry, asking forgiveness from Heavenly Father and anyone they had hurt, deciding never to do that thing again, and making up for what they had done wrong. They could do this every time they made a mistake. That way they could stay as clean as when they were baptized. So repenting and taking the sacrament could help them act and feel as if they had just been baptized.
A few weeks later, the lesson was about the Holy Ghost. Some of the children thought the Holy Ghost helped only people who had been baptized and confirmed. Sister Rice told about some people in the Bible and Book of Mormon who had not been baptized but had been helped by the Holy Ghost because they were righteous. “After baptism and confirmation, the Holy Ghost stays with you always, as long as you are righteous,” Sister Rice told them. “Having Him with you always is the gift of the Holy Ghost. But righteous people who are not yet baptized can also have His influence in their lives as they try to do what’s right.”
Laura’s class studied different ways in which they could show that they were followers of Jesus. They learned about Ammon and his brothers teaching the people of King Lamoni and his father. These people were Lamanites. After they were converted to the gospel, they changed their name to Anti-Nephi-Lehies so that everyone would know that they were different from the other Lamanites, who did not follow the teachings of Jesus at that time.
Laura learned that long ago, when Jesus lived on the earth, the people who believed in Him called themselves Saints. She learned that Jesus Christ commanded that His church today should be called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints so that everyone would know that we follow Jesus. She also learned that when we really try to follow Him, other people can tell this without even knowing the name of our church. Laura thought about all this.
I guess there are a lot of things I can do even if I’m not baptized yet, she thought. I can still promise to follow Jesus. If I make a mistake, I can repent. I can pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him for help when I need it. I can act like a good member of Christ’s Church so that others will know what I believe, even if I’m not a baptized member. Maybe they will want to learn about Jesus, too.
That’s what Laura did. She tried very hard to keep all the commandments that she could. Later, when she was older, she was able to obey the commandment Jesus Christ gave in 2 Nephi 9:23: “And he commandeth all men that they must repent, and be baptized in his name.”