Gospel Story Finder

If we follow up, the Lord will not let us down. I have seen the unspeakable joy that accompanies testimony-driven inviting and faithful follow-up among members of the Church the world over. While in Argentina recently, I encouraged members to invite someone to church before this general conference. An eight-year-old by the name of Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his friend’s family to an open house at their ward in Buenos Aires. Let me read from a letter I just received that explained Joshua’s invitation and his faithful follow-up:
“Every few minutes [Joshua] would run out to the gate to see if they were coming. He said that he knew they would [come].
“The evening wore on and Joshua’s friend did not come, but Joshua did not give up. He faithfully checked the front gate every few minutes. It was time to start putting things away when Joshua started to jump up and down announcing, ‘They are here! They are here!’ I looked up to see an entire family approaching the church. Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They all came in and seemed to enjoy the open house very much. They took some pamphlets and spent lots of time getting acquainted with some new friends. It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.”11

By the time I was old enough to understand what alcohol was, I knew my mom had a problem with it. Family members tried to hide her issue from my sister and me, but they could only conceal the early-morning binges and hangovers for so long.
Our mom was an alcoholic—and no excuse or elaborate story could change that.
As a young girl, I believed that addiction was a choice. I felt burned then each time my mom walked through our door with the scent of liquor on her breath after promising to let it go. It was like she didn’t want to change. But years of her painful tears, failed attempts, and crashing withdrawals taught me otherwise.
When I was in middle school, I began to realize that my mom’s addiction wouldn’t “go gentle into that good night,” as poet Dylan Thomas once wrote1—and not because she didn’t want to change. It wasn’t about the lack of willpower on her part or that she was choosing alcohol over her family. She was trapped in her addiction.
As President Russell M. Nelson explained: “Addiction surrenders later freedom to choose. Through chemical means, one can literally become disconnected from his or her own will!”2 Finding recovery would be a fight between her body and spirit for years to come.
After she had achieved six months of sobriety, I started to recognize my mom again—the one who used to dance in the car and write beautiful poetry and tell embarrassing jokes to all of my friends. It was as if someone behind the scenes suddenly switched back on the light in her eyes and was working overtime to keep it on. She hadn’t been sober for that long in years, and it felt good to have her back.
But it didn’t last. One night, before she had the chance to speak, my sister and I knew. Her glazed eyes and blushed cheeks said it all: after six months and four days, she had relapsed. For a moment, we considered walking out of the door, away from the worry and fear, but we knew that she wanted to change. We couldn’t do it for her, but we could support her as she walked the road to recovery.
Over the next few months, my sister and I looked for ways to help my mom keep pushing forward toward long-term sobriety. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had done it once, and we knew she could do it again.
Having witnessed my mom go through withdrawals before, we knew what to expect, so we gathered all of the liquor and wine bottles that we could find and dumped them down the drain. Then we stocked up on Gatorade at the grocery store and deep-cleaned the house; it was our best attempt to remove my mom from the environment that she was in when she relapsed.
After a few days, my mom was well enough to go back to work, but we knew the fight wasn’t over. Up until that point, the depth of her addiction was hidden from most of our family and friends. Over the years, it had become somewhat of a secret—a source of shame, something that social science researcher Brené Brown explains “derives its power from being unspeakable.”3 If we wanted her to stay sober, we needed to break the silence.
Deciding to open up to our family and some trusted friends was hard, but it was also liberating. Shame “corrodes the very part of us that believes we can change and do better,”4 so the very act of talking about her addiction gave my mom (and me!) hope again. We weren’t alone, and for the first time in years, we started to picture a life unruled by her addiction.
I’m not going to try to sugarcoat it: maintaining hope isn’t always easy. For years I supported my mom as she tried to get sober, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t experience sadness, disappointment, and frustration along the way. Speaking of the difficult journey one faces to overcome addiction, President Nelson explained: “Each one who resolves to climb that steep road to recovery must gird up for the fight of a lifetime. But a lifetime is a prize well worth the price.”5
Throughout my life, my mom has fallen down more times than I can count, but I’m proud to say that it’s been six years since she took a drink. Though it has taken me years of learning and relearning how to best support her, watching her recover has taught me that no one is ever too far gone. No matter how many times the person you love relapses, keep going—keep trying to support them in whatever way you can. Recovery is a lifelong commitment—a journey filled with tears, victories, failures, and triumphs—and it’s worth fighting for.

Before each game at BYU the captains of the two teams meet at the center circle with the referees and go through a meaningless ritual where nothing of real significance is said. But on the day we played Notre Dame, a referee friend of mine said something during that meeting that really hit home with me. He said, “Men, we referees are going to work hard tonight. We’re going to make some mistakes, but you work hard too.”
I remembered his words, and the game began. During the last few minutes, I went up for a rebound, and a bigger Notre Dame player knocked me to the floor. As I lay there, I looked up, and the referee pointed down and indicated that the foul was on me. Surprised at his decision, I got up off the floor. I smiled at the referee and said, “You know, you were right in what you said before the game.” He looked at me with a puzzled expression. I continued, “You said you were going to make some mistakes tonight, and you just made a big one.” We looked at each other, and we both had a good laugh and continued to play.

Scott sat slumped over in the backseat of the car.
“Are you feeling OK?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he moaned.
But Scott wasn’t feeling well. In fact, he felt like he’d just been hit in the stomach. And it was all because of what Sister Thomas, the Primary president, had said during Primary that morning:
“Children, next week is the beginning of a new year in Primary. That means you will all advance to the next class and have a new teacher. Isn’t that exciting?”
Scott didn’t think so. He didn’t want a new teacher. He liked his old one just fine. She told the best stories, and she always smelled good. “Mom,” he said now, “I’m not going to Primary next week.”
His parents looked at each other in surprise.
“I thought you loved Primary, Son,” Dad said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I do! I—I mean, I did,” Scott said sadly.
For family home evening, Dad gave a lesson about how changes are a part of life and how we should welcome them as opportunities for growth. Scott knew that his parents were trying to help, but he didn’t feel much like growing at the moment.
It was easy not to think about Primary during school. And on Tuesday, Scott had violin lessons that kept him so busy practicing that he almost forgot about Primary completely—until Wednesday. That’s when he found a note taped to his front door. It was a small piece of white paper folded in half and with his name written carefully on the front. Scott unfolded it and read:
Dear Scott,
Welcome to our Primary class! I have been watching you each Sunday, and I know that you are a boy who is trying to live the gospel.
I will send you a few clues about myself. Can you figure out who I am before Sunday?
Your Mystery Primary Teacher
P.S. I have black hair.
Puzzled, Scott folded the note and stuffed it into his backpack.
On Thursday, this note was on his door:
Hi Scott!
I saw you playing outside with your friends yesterday. I like the way you get along so well with them. That’s a good quality to have. Do you know who I am yet?
Your Mystery Teacher
P.S. I like to ride bikes, too!
Who could it be? Scott wondered. He thought about the sisters in his ward. He couldn’t think of any black-haired, bike-riding ladies.
Scott raced home from the bus stop on Friday. He was disappointed to not see a note taped to the front door. He dumped his backpack in the hallway and went into the kitchen for a snack.
“It must have blown off the door,” Mom said as she handed him a familiar-looking piece of white paper. She smiled as Scott read it aloud:
Dear Scott,
I’ve heard that you are an excellent reader. That’s great because we will be reading the scriptures all year in class. Would you come prepared to read 2 Timothy 3:14–15 on Sunday?
Thanks!
Y. M. T.
P.S. Sometimes I wear glasses when I read.
When Scott took out the trash on Saturday, he found another note:
Dear Scott,
Tomorrow is the big day! I’m looking forward to having you in my class. Do you know me? I know you!
Love,
Your (Favorite) Mystery Teacher
P.S. I will be wearing something with flowers on it.
On Sunday, Scott was up and dressed before everyone else. “I thought you weren’t going to Primary anymore,” his mom teased.
“Well, I’m only going today.”
The chapel was nearly full when Scott and his family found their seats. Quickly he scanned each row. He couldn’t believe that so many women in the ward had black hair. He noticed Sister Veatch with little glasses perched on her nose, but she wasn’t wearing anything flowered. And Scott tried not to giggle as he imagined Sister Cousins riding a bicycle.
The Primary room buzzed with excitement as the children located their new seats. Scott and his friends settled into the two rows marked for their class. They were surprised to find the teacher’s chair still empty.
Emily leaned over and whispered, “It has to be Sister Hernandez. She has black hair, and when she comes to visit teach my mom, she always wears those funny little glasses.”
“But what about bike riding?” asked Stasha.
“I’ve seen her riding bikes with her kids!” Tyler offered. It was then they heard the sound of chair legs scraping the floor behind them. The children stiffened and held their breaths as “the mystery teacher” slipped quietly into her seat. Together they turned and peeked over their shoulders.
“Dad!” shouted Scott.
“Hey, Brother Weatherford! Nice tie!”
The mystery teacher put a finger to his lips and winked at the class. “Welcome to Primary,” he whispered.
Scott grinned and turned back in his chair. I think I’ll keep coming to Primary, he decided as Sister Thomas stood to welcome the children to the first day in their new Primary classes.

Andrew sat on the front porch step. He could see everyone who went around the corner. He took a bite out of his toast with grape jelly on it. He was very careful not to get his new shirt and pants dirty.
A milk truck stopped in front of Andrew’s house. The milkman jumped out and rushed up the sidewalk. He carried a wire basket filled with bottles of milk.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Mr. Jones?” Andrew called to him.
The milkman put two bottles of milk on Andrew’s porch. “I have lots of milk to deliver this morning,” he said. He hurried back to his truck and drove around the corner.
Doctor Smith walked quickly down the sidewalk. She carried a black bag in one hand. She was huffing and puffing.
Andrew called, “Where are you going, Doctor Smith?”
Doctor Smith stopped and smiled at Andrew. “I’m on my way to the hospital. I have many people to take care of today.” She hurried around the corner, pushing her glasses up farther on her nose.
Mr. Wilson dashed past Andrew’s house. He carried lots of books.
Andrew called to him, “Where are you going, Mr. Wilson?”
Mr. Wilson stopped. His chest went up and down like a big balloon. “I’m on my way to school. I have many children to teach today.” He put his head down and hurried on around the corner.
Andrew’s father rushed out of the house. He stopped to smile at Andrew. “Anybody interesting going around the corner this morning?”
“Everyone sure is in a big hurry today,” Andrew told him. “Are you in a hurry, too, Daddy?”
Andrew’s father smiled. “Yes, I don’t want to be late to work.”
Andrew’s mother ran out of the house. “Wait, honey—you forgot your lunch,” she shouted to Andrew’s father.
Andrew’s father took the bag, waved good-bye to Andrew, and walked swiftly around the corner.
It seems like everyone is going somewhere today, Andrew thought. He sat and watched some more and was still very careful not to get his new shirt and pants dirty. He watched two girls running down the sidewalk.
Andrew shouted to them, “Where are you going so fast?”
One girl yelled to Andrew. “We’re meeting our friends on the school playground.” They waved to Andrew as they raced around the corner.
Andrew sat and watched the corner some more. After a long while, the letter carrier pushed his mail cart slowly up the sidewalk. He stopped to mop his wet face with his big blue handkerchief. “Good morning, Andrew,” he said. “My, you look extra happy today.”
“Today I am going somewhere, too,” Andrew told him.
“Yes, I know.” The letter carrier put two letters in the mailbox on Andrew’s porch, then pushed his cart back down the walk and around the corner.
Andrew sat and watched the corner the rest of the morning, but everyone who was going somewhere had already gone by.
Andrew’s mother called him in to eat lunch. He was very careful not to spill any of it on his new shirt and pants. “Is it time to go now?” he asked when he finished.
Mother smiled. “Yes, it’s time for us to go now.”
Andrew raced down the sidewalk then waited for his mother. Today was his turn to go around the corner. “Today I am going somewhere, too!” Andrew shouted happily. “I’m going to kindergarten!” Then he and his mother disappeared around the corner.

When our son Eli was in fourth grade, his class set up a mock government where he was elected by his peers to serve as class judge. One day a sitting judge from the Utah 2nd District Court visited, put his official robes on Eli, and then administered an oath of office for their class. This ignited in Eli’s young, impressionable soul a passion for studying law and the Lawgiver Himself, Jesus Christ.
After years of diligent effort, Eli received an invitation for an interview with one of his top choices for law school. He pronounced, “… The final question was, ‘Where do you derive your moral compass?’ … I stated if all of humanity abided by the teachings of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, the world would be a better, more peaceful place.” Then the interview ended, and he thought to himself, “There go my childhood dreams. No one in secular academia wants to hear about Jesus Christ.”
Two weeks later, Eli was admitted with a scholarship. Before committing, we visited the campus. … Remarkably, as we walked through the magnificent library and stately corridors, we found on banners and carved in stone attributes from the Sermon on the Mount.
The Sermon on the Mount is decisively the most noteworthy discourse ever delivered, pioneering in its teachings. No other sermon can help us better understand the character of Jesus Christ, His divine attributes, and our ultimate purpose to become like Him. …
We need to infuse the Light of Jesus Christ into every corner of our lives. …

Oh, no! That word seemed to jump off the page at me, and everything else in the classroom faded into insignificance. Our excellent, but strict, speech teacher had just assigned reading parts to the class and handed out the script. Quickly scanning the first page, my eyes stopped when I hit that word!
You see, I knew that Connie had been assigned to read that line in the script. With few exceptions, almost anyone in the class could have read that profane word without any personal concern. But I knew Connie. I knew of her high standards in every area of her life and of her integrity in maintaining those standards with no compromise. She just exemplified purity and freshness and happiness. Clean thoughts and language were carefully guarded. Now suddenly she was expected to violate that standard by a teacher who saw nothing wrong at all with such language. The script was already being read aloud, and I wondered what she would do. Then it was time for Connie’s part.
“Oh, PUMPKIN!” she exclaimed! The startled class suddenly broke out in good-natured laughter. Our teacher looked up quickly with a surprised expression on her face and momentarily studied Connie. Slowly she began to smile as she realized that Connie wasn’t just trying to attract attention or trying to be funny. But Connie simply continued reading her assigned part as though nothing unusual had happened.

Photograph courtesy of Leilani F.
They were going to crash headlong into a fence. And there was nothing Leilani could do about it.
Leilani F., a 16-year-old from Texas, USA, was sitting atop a blind horse. Sierra was an 11-year-old thoroughbred who had no intention of letting herself be guided anymore. The horse had chomped down on the bit and refused to follow any further direction.
“Sierra wasn’t listening and I started panicking,” Leilani said. It was about this time that Leilani started to reconsider her decision to try and help this horse.
A horse lover her entire life, Leilani volunteered with an organization that works with abandoned horses. The organization gave Leilani her pick of any horse in the program to work with. She chose Sierra.
“I knew nobody else would pick her because she’d gone blind,” said Leilani. “I felt sad for her, and I knew she was sweet. I wanted to give Sierra a real chance.”
Of course, it’s harder to keep such good feelings intact when you’re plowing straight for disaster.
“I’d been working with her and we were doing fine,” Leilani explained. “But then she decided to take the bit from me and trot off in a different direction. Nothing I could do would stop her.”
Photograph by iStock/Thinkstock
Sierra was so wound up that she refused to walk. She insisted on trotting, a much faster stride for a horse. As the fence drew closer and Leilani’s panic grew with each step, something happened that turned the whole situation upside down.
A feeling of peace washed over Leilani, and then, “I heard this thought very clear in my mind saying, ‘This is you.’”
Leilani was so shocked by the thought that she dropped the reins and literally almost fell out of the saddle.
“In that very moment, I felt in my heart the great love that my Heavenly Father has for me and the sadness He feels when I disobey him. I realized that my Father in Heaven was showing me that I was Sierra. We are all, in one way or another, blind horses.”
Dropping the reins also happened to save Leilani and Sierra from their impending crash with the fence. Sierra calmed down in reaction to the dropped reins and released the bit in her mouth. At that point Leilani picked up the reins again and gently steered them both clear of harm.
That day became a turning point. Leilani saw Sierra in a completely new light. From that moment on she worked slowly and carefully to build trust with Sierra. And in her own life, Leilani started listening more closely for the voice of the Lord to guide her past her own unseen dangers.
“God taught me little lessons through Sierra every time I rode her,” Leilani said. “Sierra can’t see hills and divots in the ground, so I have to tell her where they are. With a warning from a source she can trust, Sierra now knows that obstacles are ahead and is prepared so she doesn’t trip and fall. I learned that I must listen for warnings from God, that I must be ready to respond and be willing to trust what He says.”
Leilani learned each day how to draw nearer to God and listen more closely for His direction. After all, she had the perfect example right in front of her of what it means to turn your own intentions and plans over to someone who can see better.
Sierra became so good at trusting Leilani that the two of them took first place in two separate contests at a horse show. Sierra has since found a new home where she’s really hit her stride. She now trusts so completely that she can gallop across open fields at full speed—something she never could’ve done before. “She uses humans as her eyes,” said Leilani. “It makes her feel free.”
Leilani views keeping the commandments in the same light. “At first they might seem restrictive,” Leilani said, “but they keep us free.”
Her experiences with Sierra have helped Leilani in many ways. For starters, Leilani knows now that she wants to be a horse trainer in the future. But more importantly, “Because of Sierra, I’m learning more and more about how to hear and trust the voice of the Lord.”

I took the New Era magazine with me to work to read during my break time. At one point during my shift, I went to the back to get some things from the freezer and found one of my friends flipping through my magazine while she was on break.
“This must be yours,” she said as I smiled at her.
“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s the New Era magazine I receive each month through my church.”
Later that evening, she asked if she could borrow the magazine for the night and read through it. Ever since then I have brought the New Era with me to work each month and have had quite a few friends ask me questions about my beliefs and about different principles of the gospel. I have also been able to give the friend I mentioned earlier a copy of the Book of Mormon.
I’m grateful for the chance to share the gospel in such a simple way. It has brought joy into my life.

He once gave an order that no one could enter the munition lab wearing military boots or spurs, for fear that a spark struck by the iron might cause an explosion. A guard was stationed at the door to enforce the order.
One day José appeared wearing both boots and spurs. The guard stopped him. “You cannot pass, my general,” he said.
“I was the one who gave the order,” answered José, “so I can change it.”
“True,” replied the guard, “but up to now the order stands. You cannot go in.”
The next day José came back but again the guard refused to let him enter the lab wearing his boots and spurs. José left and later returned wearing a pair of sandals.
In a few minutes the guard was summoned to the general’s office. José de San Martín put out his hand in greeting and said, “I have brought you here to congratulate you. It is always good to know a man who obeys orders.”

Like his wife, Joseph Sr. hungered for the truth. But he felt that attending no church at all was preferable to the wrong one. Following the counsel of his father, Joseph Sr. searched the scriptures, prayed earnestly, and believed that Jesus Christ had come to save the world.19 Yet he could not reconcile what he felt to be true with the confusion and discord he saw in the churches around him. One night he had dreamed that contending preachers were like cattle, bellowing as they dug at the earth with their horns, which deepened his concern that they knew little about God’s kingdom.20
Seeing his parents’ dissatisfaction with local churches only confused Joseph Jr. more.21 His soul was at stake, but no one could give him satisfying answers.
After saving their money for more than a year, the Smiths had enough to make a payment on a hundred acres of forest in Manchester, just south of Palmyra. There, between jobs as hired hands, they tapped maple trees for their sugary sap, planted an orchard, and cleared fields to grow crops.22
This log home, located near Palmyra, New York, is a replica of the home the Smiths built there after moving from Vermont. The Sacred Grove is in the background.
Photograph by D. Brent Walton
As he worked the land, young Joseph continued to worry about his sins and the welfare of his soul. The religious revival in Palmyra had quieted down, but preachers continued to compete for converts there and throughout the region.23 Day and night, Joseph watched the sun, moon, and stars roll through the heavens in order and majesty and admired the beauty of the earth teeming with life. He also looked at the people around him and marveled at their strength and intelligence. Everything seemed to testify that God existed and had created humankind in His own image. But how could Joseph reach Him?24
In the summer of 1819, when Joseph was 13, Methodist preachers gathered for a conference a few miles from the Smith farm and spread out across the countryside to spur families like Joseph’s toward conversion. The success of these preachers worried other ministers in the area, and soon competition for converts was intense.
Joseph attended meetings, listened to soul-stirring preaching, and witnessed converts shout for joy. He wanted to shout with them, but he often felt like he was in the middle of a war of words and opinions. “Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together?” he asked himself. “If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?” He knew he needed Christ’s grace and mercy, but with so many people and churches clashing over religion, he did not know where to find it.25
Hope that he could find answers—and peace for his soul—seemed to slip away from him. He wondered how anyone could find truth amid so much noise.26
While attending a sermon, Joseph heard a minister quote from the first chapter of James in the New Testament. “If any of you lack wisdom,” he said, “let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not.”27
Joseph went home and read the verse in the Bible. “Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine,” he later remembered. “It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did.” He had searched the Bible before as if it held all the answers. But now the Bible was telling him he could go directly to God for personal answers to his questions.
After Much Contemplation, by Al Rounds
Joseph decided to pray. He had never prayed out loud before, but he trusted the Bible’s promise. “Ask in faith, nothing wavering,” it taught.28 God would hear his questions—even if they came out awkwardly.

From the time she was a young child, Sister Lifferth has had a testimony of prayer, reinforced by simple experiences. Once, for example, her parents had gone to the temple, and young Margaret lay in bed, worried about their safety because of the bad weather. A cold had left her coughing and even more resistant to sleep. “I remember crawling out of bed, kneeling down, and praying that I would stop coughing and that my parents would get home safely,” she says. Her coughing did stop, and she was able to sleep peacefully. The next morning she found that her parents had indeed arrived safely at home.

I know a brother in Brazil who joined the Church as a 16-year-old, the only member in his family. When it was time for his mission, his parents objected. He heard nothing from them during his mission and returned home to his bishop’s house. The story, however, has a happy ending, as he now has a beautiful family and works as a dental surgeon, and his parents wish he could interest his brothers in the Church.

First you’ll have to have a desire to quit. I’m a convert, and before I joined the Church I had this problem myself. After being baptized, I got a strong feeling of meekness, so I pulled the swearing down to zero. But my resolution started wearing thin as I continued being exposed to the world. At that point I had to remind myself that our Savior was always with me. I was his host, and I resolved to do my best not to offend him by my language.
Jeffry Adams, 17Salt Lake City, Utah

Before class begins, buy enough lollipops or suckers for all class members; then change the wrappers so that none of them match the flavor inside.
In class, have everyone pick their favorite sucker and start to eat it; then watch the varied reactions as people realize they’ve been duped!
Explain that while it’s disappointing to open your favorite sucker and find something different, the greatest disappointments come when people don’t live up to what they profess to be. If we are disciples of Jesus Christ, then we must be sure our thoughts and actions match our label.—Linda Garner

I once asked a man in a fireside group what he would like to do more than anything else if he could just do whatever he wanted. His face lit up, he sat on the edge of his chair, his hands came to life, and he told me that he’d just love to have a whole room full of power tools and bring all the kids in the neighborhood in to help them build birdhouses, playhouses, chicken coops, or anything in the whole world they wanted to build. He loved kids; he loved tools; he loved building things; his whole face was aglow with it. I asked him what he was studying at school; the light went out, and he told me he was studying to be a civil engineer. Why? Because his father was one, it paid good money, and so on. I knew he had the capability of being a good civil engineer, but I asked him, “Have you ever thought about teaching shop instead and spending all day working with power tools and teaching kids how to build things?” He just about fell off his chair. His mouth hung open. His eyes lit up again. It had simply never occurred to him to take stock of what he really liked to do, of what really mattered to him in choosing a career. He had never stopped to think that his wonderful love for young people might be there for that kind of a purpose. He had decided the biggest part of the rest of his life with his eyes closed.

Matthew put his head down and walked faster. He tried not to see the white stucco house ahead. He knew he should stop. Mother would probably ask him, “Did you see Grandma today?” He sighed. He used to stop almost every day on his way home from school.
Then Grandpa died.
Matthew hadn’t known what to say to Grandma since Grandpa died. She was sad now. Sometimes when she talked about Grandpa, she cried.
Other people seemed to know what to say to Grandma. They put their arms around her and told her not to cry. But Matthew never knew what to say or do. He just stood there feeling uncomfortable.
Matthew walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. Grandma opened it. Her eyes were red. Matthew’s heart sank. He wished he had walked on past her house.
“Come in, dear.”
Matthew went in. He saw a box on the floor in the hall. Inside was a small rosebush, its roots wrapped with burlap and packing.
Every year Grandpa ordered a new rosebush for his garden. He must have ordered this one before he died.
“Take it home with you, Matthew. I can’t bear to look at it,” sniffed Grandma.
“No,” said Matthew. He gulped, surprised at himself, then plunged on. “Grandpa would have wanted you to plant it. He loved the garden, especially the rosebushes.” Matthew had spent many hours helping Grandpa in the garden.
Grandma was silent. Matthew thought she was angry with him. He wished he hadn’t said anything.
“You’re right, Matthew. Grandpa would have wanted that rosebush planted in the garden. I’ve never planted a rosebush before, though.”
“I’ll help you, Grandma,” Matthew offered. “I helped Grandpa lots of times.”
Grandma changed into old clothes while Matthew went to the garage to get a shovel.
Soon the two of them had a big hole dug in one corner of the garden. It was hard work. By the time the rosebush was in place, they were panting. The afternoon sun was almost behind the hills.
Grandma stood for a moment and looked at the rosebush. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes sparkled. “Is it all right, Matthew?”
“Yes, Grandma. It’s fine. It’s where Grandpa would have wanted it.”
Matthew put the shovel away. When he went inside, Grandma was in the kitchen. “I’d better go home, Grandma. Mom will be worried.”
“It’s all right. I called her. She knows where you are. Matthew, I want to show you something.” Grandma reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a box of seed packets. “These came in the mail last week. I was going to throw them away. I was just thinking … maybe I’ll try to plant them after all. Would you help me? I’ve never been much of a gardener.”
“I sure will, Grandma,” said Matthew. “I’ll stop by tomorrow after school.”
Matthew went out the door and down the sidewalk whistling a happy tune.

Some years ago a faithful convert, Brother George McLaughlin, was called to preside over a small branch of 20 members in Farmingdale, Maine. He was a humble man who drove a milk delivery truck for a living. Through his fasting and earnest prayer, the Spirit taught him what he and the members of his branch needed to do to help the Church grow in their area. Through his great faith, constant prayer, and powerful example, he taught his members how to share the gospel. It’s a marvelous story—one of the great missionary stories of this dispensation. In just one year there were 450 convert baptisms in the branch. The next year there were an additional 200 converts. President McLaughlin indicated: “My job as branch president was to teach [the new converts] how to be Mormons. I had to teach them how to give talks and lessons in church. I had to teach them how to teach the gospel to their children. I trained the new members to become strong members.” Pretty simple.

Just five years later, the Augusta Maine Stake was organized. Much of the leadership of that new stake came from those converts in the Farmingdale Branch. Now we might ask why there was such great success in those days, and the answer may be because of the urgent need to strengthen the Church. Let me assure you that that same urgency in all units of the Church is every bit as critical today as it was then.

Occasionally I visit nursing homes, where long-suffering is found. While attending Sunday services at one facility, I noticed a young girl who was to play her violin for the comfort of those assembled. She told me she was nervous and hoped she could do her best. As she played, one called out, “Oh, you are so pretty, and you play so beautifully.” The strains of the moving bow across the taut strings and the elegant movement of the young girl’s fingers seemed inspired by the impromptu comment. She played magnificently.
Afterward I congratulated her and her gifted accompanist. They responded, “We came to cheer the frail, the sick, and the elderly. Our fears vanished as we played. We forgot our own cares and concerns. We may have cheered them, but they truly did inspire us.”

At one time and at great sacrifice, my mother and I went to the temple. There we said many prayers for our family, especially for my younger brother who had not been active in the Church for five years. On our return home, we discovered that at the very moment we were praying in the temple, my brother was asking the full-time missionaries to help him and his friend live better lives. In time, he was able to baptize his friend, and now both of them are preparing to serve missions.
Celeste Mongi, Los Olmos Branch, Villa María Argentina District