Gospel Story Finder

Even though John’s eyes were still closed, he knew by the feel of the sun’s sudden warmth on his face that someone had opened his bedroom curtains. Squinting, he saw his mother cranking open the window to let a pine-scented breeze fill his room. Looking to the bed across from his, John saw that Rob had been up for a long time. His bed was already made, and the clothes, laid out the night before, were gone.
John’s attention shifted back to his mother. Standing sideways and looking at the huge blue spruce near the window, Mama looked different. She was wearing a shirt that John had not seen her wear for a long time. But what was really different about her was that she was bigger.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said with a smile.
John did not jump up and ask about breakfast as he usually did. Instead, he lay there very still and serious. Although pretty certain that he knew the answer already, John asked, “Mama, are you going to have another baby?”
Mama smiled again and walked over to John’s bed. Sitting down beside him, she ran her fingers through his curly hair. “Yes, Johnny. You will get a new little baby brother or sister sometime in October. Won’t that be fun?”
John did not think that it would be fun. He looked at his brother’s bed. He thought of his sisters’ two beds down the hall. He was not going to give up his bed for a new baby. There was not enough room. “Where is he going to sleep?” he asked.
“Oh, he or she will sleep in Mama and Daddy’s room for a little while,” his mother answered. “And Daddy has been talking about making a new bedroom for you and Rob in the basement. Would you like that?”
John answered, “Maybe.” But the bed was not the real problem.
While John dressed, his mother fixed breakfast. When he arrived at the table, she had spread out six plates and was spooning fluffy yellow scrambled eggs onto them. Daddy’s and Mama’s plates held the most. Then Mama dished up the rest of the eggs equally. As John watched her, he said, “If we have a new baby, there won’t be enough breakfast for everybody.”
“Sure there will,” laughed his mother. “I’ll just add another egg. Of course, by that time, I’ll have to add extra eggs because you and Rob are getting so big.”
“I’m big today,” said John. So his mother put some jam on an extra piece of toast for him. John ate his toast and jam, but he knew that a big-enough breakfast was not the real problem.
After breakfast, John said, “I need you to read me a story.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t read to you now,” said Mama. “It’s time to give the baby her bath. Maybe I can read to you after lunch.”
While Mama was dressing Rebekah, John said, “I need you to get my blocks out of the top of my closet.”
“I’m still taking care of the baby,” said Mama. “Can you find something else to do?”
“There’s nothing to do,” mumbled John. “You spend all of your time with Rebekah. When we get a new baby, it will be even worse.”
Mama said, “It seems like that sometimes, doesn’t it, Johnny. But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. As soon as I’ve washed the breakfast dishes, I’ll take you all to the park.”
An hour later, John, Mama, Rob, Jenny, and Rebekah were all at the park. John and Rob went exploring in the trees and rocks that were on one side of the park. Jenny played in the sand with Rebekah. Mama read her book for a little while.
Then Jenny and Rebekah wanted to swing. Mama strapped Rebekah inside a little baby’s swing and pushed her with little baby pushes. Mama pushed Jenny in a big swing with big pushes. From the branch of the tree he had climbed, John listened to their laughter, then climbed down and ran to the swings. Soon Rob followed him, and for a while Mama went down the row of swings, pushing Rob, then John, then Jenny, then Rebekah.
Finally Mama laughed and said, “I’m sorry, kids, but I’m just too tired to push anymore.” She took Rebekah out of the baby swing and put her back in the sandbox. Rob and Jenny went to play on the slippery slide.
After John’s swing had come to a stop, he trudged over to where his mother was sitting on their picnic quilt, reading her book. “If you have another baby, I guess you’ll be too tired to swing me anymore, won’t you?”
“Well,” said his mother, “I might get tired faster, but I will always swing you, if you want me to. Of course, you’re six now and know how to pump yourself as high as I can push you. But if you want me to, I will push you until I’m ninety-six and you’re seventy-two, and then I’ll just be too old and you’ll have to get one of your grandchildren to do it.”
Mama went back to reading her book, and John laughed as he thought about Mama being ninety-six and himself seventy-two and sitting in a swing. But even though he laughed, he knew that he still hadn’t solved the real problem.
After lunch, Mama passed out candy bars for them to eat as they walked home. John noticed that there were six candy bars in a box, and he figured that that was just right for a mama and a daddy and two boys and two girls. If a new baby came, he wondered, who would not get a candy bar? Maybe they would have to buy a whole new box for just one silly little baby. But John didn’t say anything because he knew that even candy bars were not the real problem.
After Mama put Rebekah down for her nap, she read Where the Wild Things Are to the bigger children. It was John’s favorite book, but today he hardly listened to the story. He was noticing that Jenny was sitting on Mama’s lap and that he and Rob were on either side of her. That way everyone could see the pictures. When Rebekah was old enough to go without naps and wanted to hear stories, where was she going to sit? There were already too many babies in John’s family. Why did his mother need another one? But again John did not ask the question—there was a bigger question that needed to be answered.
After story time, Jenny and Mama lay on Mama’s bed for a nap. Rob went to a friend’s house. John sat on the top step of the front porch and thought.
A little while later, John heard his mother moving around in the house. She usually got up and did some housework after Jenny fell asleep. But this afternoon Mama came outside and sat by him and put her arm around him. John didn’t look at her because he didn’t want her to see that there were drops of water on his face.
“John,” Mama asked quietly, “is something bothering you?”
“No,” he said. But he knew that Mama would notice that his voice sounded funny.
Mama scooped John up onto her lap. “Are you worried about the new baby, Johnny?”
“No,” he said again. “Not exactly. It’s just that everything is even now. We have three boys, counting Dad, and three girls, counting you, and it’s all even. Another baby will make more boys or more girls.” But John knew that he still had not told Mama the real problem.
“Well,” said Mama, “maybe we will have another baby in a couple of years to make things even. Or maybe you’ll decide when the new baby gets here that it doesn’t really matter if things are even.”
John thought for a minute, then decided to tell Mama the real problem. “You know,” he began, “I bet Rebekah will miss being the one you love the most.”
“Whatever do you mean by that, Johnny?” Mama asked. She looked as serious as John was.
“Well, when Rob was born, you loved him the best. Then I came along, and you loved me the best. When Jenny was born, you loved her best and me second best. And now that you have Rebekah, you love her the best, Jenny second best, me third best, and Rob fourth best. When you have another baby, you won’t love Rebekah the best anymore.” Then a lot of tears came into John’s eyes at once. “But, Mama, Jenny came to our family so fast that I don’t even remember when you loved me the best. I was too little to notice. And now I won’t ever get that chance again!”
John’s mother rocked him on her lap a little until he had settled down. Then she put her hand on his cheek, very gently, and wiped away some tears. She said, “Oh, my little Johnny, you haven’t really been worried about scrambled eggs and swing rides and candy bars at all, have you? You’ve been worried about love.”
John nodded, and Mama gave him a big hug. She said, “You know, honey, love isn’t like scrambled eggs that you dish out and when they’re gone, they’re gone. Love grows and gets bigger the more people there are inside it, like”—she thought a second—“like a special balloon that never pops but just gets bigger and bigger the more air you put into it.”
That night Mama told the children to get their pajamas on but not go to bed yet, because they were all going to do something later. Then, when it got very dark out, Mama and Daddy led them to the treehouse. It wasn’t in a tree anymore, but they still called it that.
When everyone was inside, Mama opened a box and gave everyone a big white candle. John could barely see the outline of Mama’s face as she handed him his candle.
Suddenly John could see Mama’s face very well. Daddy had struck a match and was lighting his candle. He said, “In the beginning, I got my light—my love—from my mama and daddy. Then I met your mama, who had her own light. And when we put them together, we had more light and more love than either of us ever had separately.” Daddy had touched his candle to Mama’s, and the treehouse looked much brighter.
“And then,” Daddy continued, “we shared our love with Rob and John and Jenny and Rebekah. And each time we shared our love, our world grew brighter and happier.” Each time Daddy said a name, he or Mama lit that child’s candle. “Do you see how bright this room is now?”
Then Mama said, “Johnny, look at my candle. Is my flame any smaller because I helped you and Jenny light yours?”
John understood and smiled all over his face—and inside too. “No, it sure isn’t.”
“Then,” said Mama, “what is a new baby going to do for our family?”
“Make it even brighter and happier,” laughed John.
“That’s right,” said Mama. “There will be times when we have to share more of our time and our room, and even more of our scrambled eggs and candy bars than we might want to. But when we share our love, it only gets better.”

The summer before my mission ended, I was serving with a fairly new missionary named Elder Causse. He was from a branch in Bordeaux, France, a place I had once considered “out there in the mission field.”
One morning I was called into the mission office to see my mission president. When I arrived at his office, he told me my father would be calling. When the phone rang, the president shut the door behind me. I was left alone with the phone and every possibility at the other end of the line.
My father greeted me, then told me his cancer had relapsed and that he would again go through chemotherapy. I then spoke to my mother, who told me the ward was going to fast again. I said I would join in the fast as well. After I hung up, I wiped away a few tears and walked out of the office.
On the way back to our area I related the situation to Elder Causse. He promised to fast with me and his promise gave me comfort. But he did not stop there. He wrote to his family in Bordeaux and told them what had happened. They, too, said they would fast for my father and that they would ask the members of their branch to join the fast as well. I was astounded that so many people would fast for the health of a man they knew nothing about.
The Spirit spoke softly to me at that moment, and suddenly I understood what it meant to be “fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). We are of one faith, united in the gospel with bonds stronger than illness or death. We are truly brothers and sisters, and no one is a stranger, no matter what land they happen to worship in.

As part of a special activity, the youth in my ward planned to do baptisms for the dead. As the day approached, we discovered that our planned time at the temple fell on the day of our high school homecoming football game. A group of us wanted to attend both, and we figured we could hurry through the baptisms and then go straight to the game.
But after arriving at the temple, we found there was a delay. Those of us who were planning to go to the game began to feel anxious and just wanted to do the baptisms so we could leave.
As I sat there thinking how I wished things would go a little faster, I suddenly became very aware of my surroundings. I began listening to the soft hymns being played and noticed how peaceful everything around me seemed. As I watched the girl ahead of me enter the font, I suddenly thought of those people for whom she was being baptized. They had waited perhaps hundreds of years to receive this blessing. What an amazing, profound, and important thing for them! How fortunate I was to be able to offer them this great gift. How could I want to rush through this for a mere football game?
I began to see how foolish and silly I was to want to hurry. I felt ashamed that I had ever felt that way. I wasn’t in a hurry any longer. In fact, I didn’t care anymore if I even made it to the game. After all, what really matters in the eternal perspective anyway—a person’s salvation or a football game? I knew I would never take this kind of opportunity for granted again.
As it turned out, we made it back for the last half of the game. I think our team lost. I can’t really remember. But what I do remember is the happiness and gratitude I felt for the opportunity to be in the Lord’s house, doing that great service.

Friends who don’t share your standards could actually weaken and tear your standards down. When I first moved to my new school, I tried to fit in by saying some of the things people around me would say. I almost forgot some of my standards while trying to be like everyone. I know now that in order to build your standards, you need friends who support and share your standards. I’m grateful I eventually found friends like that because they remind me of my standards.
Logan J., 15, Utah, USA

The peace that you want takes time. It won’t happen overnight. My mother died about five years ago of cancer. It isn’t easy to lose someone we love. I only wish that I had communicated with my dad and my brothers and sisters and told them how I felt. Instead I tried to hide my feelings. Because of my stubbornness, it only got worse when my dad remarried and we moved to a new town. I was heartbroken because all my memories of my mom weren’t around anymore. I blamed my Heavenly Father for doing this to me and making my life miserable.
I now feel peace within because I decided to let go of all my past hurts and look toward the future. Yes, I still have my days when I wonder why, but Heavenly Father has the whole eternal perspective of life, and we only have a narrow view.
I hope that you will keep communications with your family open. Let them know how you’re feeling.
Please stay close to your Heavenly Father. He loves all of us, and he will comfort you when you’re really down. I can testify to that.
Mary Beth Bentley, 18Danville, California

I have personally experienced, though only once, the exhilaration of a real balloon flight. It was during the exciting time immediately following World War II when in Holland, my native country, many public festivities were held to celebrate the regained liberty after five years of war. There were big parades, neighborhood dance festivals, and in some cities manned balloon flights to attract large crowds for yet other festive events.
A friend taught me a lot about ballooning in preparation for a flight that I was promised to be able to make as a guest, when at some future date the weather conditions would be suitable.
I learned that we would go up in a class A gas balloon filled with coal gas and that it would ascend until its weight would be in equilibrium with the air around it.
I also learned that in the wicker basket under the balloon there were navigational instruments, maps, and ballast sandbags, which could be emptied overboard to make the balloon rise higher.
Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!
After what I have shared with you thus far, I have come to the conclusion that a strong parallel can be drawn between the steady rise of a balloon and our spiritual upward mobility.
Just as gas is necessary to fill a balloon to push it upward, so must the individual be filled with inner motivation in order to move upward. Just as the balloon can rise higher by throwing ballast overboard, so must a person be willing to rid himself of unnecessary ballast that limits his rise in spirituality.
When I made my balloon flight, strangely enough, I did not have the feeling that I was going up. I had the impression that I remained stationary, as it were, and the world floated silently away from me.
Later, when through the missionary effort I joined the Church, I gained as a new member that peaceful feeling of being safely placed in the environment of true gospel living and that Babylon had floated away from me. As it was expressed by an early European balloonist: “I felt as though I had left behind me, all the cares and passions that molest mankind.”
I testify that we all can have that peace of mind if we are willing to rid ourselves of the ballast that prevents us from rising to greater spiritual heights. It will facilitate our ascent to a loving Father in Heaven, who will, in his due time, await our return after our journey through life.
Let us, therefore, get rid of our sandbag of impatience and learn to be more patient with our spouses and children, our friends and neighbors, because the Lord has counseled us to “continue in patience until ye are perfected”! (D&C 67:13.)
And for those of you who do not know what the word patience really means, I offer a simple definition: Patience is learning to hide your impatience.
And how many of us still go through life with a ballast bag called criticism? We should, instead, give more praise wherever and whenever possible because we have been told and retold, “Cease to find fault one with another.” (D&C 88:124.) And let us in this respect also remember that the faults and shortcomings we see in the members of our own ward or branch are of less consequence to us than one of the smallest in ourselves.
Furthermore, do we still have a sandbag with unfriendliness in our basket, even though the Savior asks us to be friendly and loving? As he said: “Ye are they whom my Father hath given me; ye are my friends.” (D&C 84:63.)
While on our spiritual flight, let us totally empty our ballast bag of pride and be more humble in all things, always remembering the Savior’s glorious promise to all: “And inasmuch as you have humbled yourselves before me, the blessings of the kingdom are yours.” (D&C 61:37.)
And will we really ascend in our spiritual balloon if we are not prepared to dispose of our sandbag of greed? Living prophets have counseled us to pay an honest tithing and to give a generous fast offering; and, moreover, the scriptures reveal in a very candid way: “Wo unto [them] that [do] not give [of their] substance to the poor.” (D&C 56:16.) And, unfortunately, some people think they are being generous because they give so much free advice!
Finally, we must get rid of the heavy ballast of frustrations. All of us must discover in the wicker basket of our personal spiritual balloon those frustrations against which we continually have to be on guard. It was revealed unto us, and we have already heard it twice from this pulpit in this conference: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught. … Remember that it is not the work of God that is frustrated, but the work of men.” (D&C 3:1, 3.)
The only way we can move upward from our present level of spirituality and performance to a higher level is by doing away with the ballast that holds us back. We have to learn to live the commandments, not only for our own good, but also for the good of other people because we reform others unconsciously when we keep the commandments of God and live the teachings of the Church. That’s another way of doing missionary work and lifting the spirituality of those around us.
Therefore, let’s start our flight today. If we are still at ground level, let’s cut the cords; and our rise will start immediately! However, even that will not ensure our continuous spiritual mobility. Our balloon will rise only so high and then will begin to stall. At that time we have to investigate what ballast we need to get rid of in order to rise even higher. If you find it hard to cut the cords, you will find it even harder to do away with the sandbags to lighten your load.
The balloon trip of our spiritual upward mobility is a demanding and sometimes difficult adventure, and only the person with true perseverance will make it to the highest realm!
In closing, after talking about flying, sailing, and rising, I would like to give some down-to-earth guidelines.
To those who are within the sound of my voice this day and who have already entered the wicker basket of their spiritual balloon through baptism into the kingdom of God but who are just sitting there, waiting inactively for things to happen, cut the cords that hold you back from lift-off.
To those who are quietly drifting at the same elevation with little upward mobility, take a close look at the ballast that prevents you from going to a higher level of performance. Make a decision and remove the restraining weight from your spiritual flight.
I give you a solemn promise that if you do this, you will enjoy a feeling of spiritual euphoria because you will elevate yourself.
I testify—as one who twenty-three years ago was baptized into the kingdom of God in Toronto, Canada—that my flight since my baptism has been a magnificent one, with breathtaking scenes and spiritual panoramas and with the never-failing knowledge that my day-to-day flight plan is made available to me by an understanding, loving, forgiving Heavenly Father.
The same is true for all of us! How do I know this? Because I know with all my heart that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. He is the Savior of mankind, the great mediator for the salvation and exaltation of all of our Heavenly Father’s children, if they are willing to follow his outlined flight plan. Of which I testify this day, gratefully and happily, and in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was very small for my age. I was 5?2? and weighed 105 pounds. When you’re 5?2? and 105, not many coaches want you playing basketball, unless you have exceptional talent, which I didn’t. You also don’t make a very good linebacker for the football team.
I was sitting in the gym one day watching the basketball tryouts, when the wrestling coach walked by and said, “We need a few tough guys your size who can wrestle for us.”
I thought to myself, “Obviously I look pretty tough to the coach, so I’ll give this wrestling a try.” I told him I would do it.
My first problem was finding the wrestling room. After some searching, I found it was three stories under the basketball court in an unventilated, very dimly lit cubicle.
As I entered the room, I found the first thing you need to overcome in wrestling is the odor produced by 50 young men sweating in a room with no air circulation.
I found the coach. Instead of being polite and friendly as he had been the day before, he seemed grouchy and mean. He pointed to a kid across the room and said, “Wrestle him.”
I looked at the kid and thought to myself, “This will be a snap.” He was shorter than I was and looked as if he had missed a few meals. I turned to the coach to say he had made a mistake and surely there was someone else I could wrestle. As I did this, the kid grabbed me and for the next three hours gave me a wrestling lesson I’ll never forget. He rubbed my face in the mat and twisted me into positions I didn’t think possible. Finally, after three hours of mat work, I thought we were done. Not quite. Up to the halls we went, where the coach led us in wind sprints and jogging. Finally, four hours after practice began, we were finished. I sat on the bench in the locker room totally exhausted.
The coach called me into his office. He said, “How much do you weigh?”
I replied, “About 105.”
He said, “You’ll be wrestling 98 in three days.”
That was 7 percent of my body weight. “I’ll have to go without eating,” I protested.
He said, “I know.” So to my surprise, a wrestler not only had to work out for four hours, he couldn’t eat after the workout. I made weight at 98 pounds and put up with this difficult schedule for three weeks. Finally I had had enough.
I went home and told my dad that I was going to quit. I thought he would be elated after seeing how much I had suffered. Instead he said, “I never took you for a quitter. I always thought when you started something, you finished it.”
Well, if he was going to say that, I certainly would not quit now. I said, “I guess wrestling is not so bad after all.”
I stuck it out. For four long months I stuck it out. It was never easy. In fact, it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. It wasn’t glamorous. The basketball team got all the recognition. They got the nice locker room and all the new facilities, and the entire school showed up to their games. The school had to assign four members of the pep club to go to wrestling matches. No, it wasn’t glamorous. But much to my surprise, at the end of the difficult season, I had a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that I had never felt before. The most difficult thing I had done in my life turned out to be the most rewarding.

I was delivered of a beautiful and healthy girl baby, which died at the birth. Thus the only bright star, to which my doting heart had clung, was snatched away, and, though it seemed a needless bereavement, and most cruel in the eyes of all who beheld it, their sympathies were such that by their united faith and prayers, they seemed to buoy me up to that degree that death was shorn of its sting, till I could say,“Thy will not mine, be done.”—Helen Mar Whitney

It all started with a roommate in college who began to get “holy” (I thought). She only played Bach on Sunday. Well, I enjoyed Bach, but please, let’s have a little more contemporary music too! Let’s not be translated yet (or so I thought). Soon the spirit of that day came to me through music, just listening music, beautiful symphonies, a fitting background for thinking and meditation. Gradually I weaned myself from the music of the world on Sunday, and the light of the gospel shone in me in this single precept.

I never knew that becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would negatively affect my relationship with family members. I joined the Church two months after getting a new job. My first day attending church was the day a friend invited me to help her with her baby as she was going to be baptized.
The moment I stepped into the chapel, I felt peace, comfort, and joy in my heart, and I knew that I belonged here and that the search for the right church had come to an end. I started reading the pamphlets from a friend and later booked appointments with the missionaries and I got baptized after a couple of weeks of learning with the missionaries.
However, because my family has been staunch Anglicans, I hid my new identity of being a member of the Church until I read a scripture in Romans 1:16, which says that “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ”. This scripture gave me a sense of direction, and I said to myself that I need not to be ashamed of the gospel if I have joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I started changing everything on my social media accounts to say that I am a member of the Church. Even though people contacted me about what they were seeing on the accounts, I proudly replied to each one that I have joined the Lord’s church and that I love it and I know that it is true.
Not long after, it was time to serve a mission. I received my call to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. I proudly shared the news with my family, and they were happy for me, and I thought all was well with the family about my decision to serve. But a few days before mission, my family was still opposed to my decision and requested that I postpone my mission instead of leaving in December 2019, to go in 2020. It became evident that my family was unhappy with my decision to go on a mission. I knew that the God I serve lives, He knows me, and He had called me to serve Him and that the time is now or never.
I needed to make a choice between my family and my mission. I was stuck, but I prayed fervently and amidst all that was happening, I stood firm with unwavering and unshakable faith knowing that He can see me through those trying moments.
The Lord comforted me at that time, and I knew that I was not alone, and He was there for me. I felt at peace even though things had not been settled between me and my family and with less than 24 hours left, the family accepted my decision to go and serve and I was able to leave for my mission. My family has embraced my service and I am happily serving my mission with love and a cheerful heart, knowing that all things are possible with God if we look unto Him in every thought, fearing not and doubting not with faith that whatever you ask you will receive.
You either stand with God and are condemned by man or stand with man and are condemned by God. If you know the truth and you put your faith first, you can find joy in your challenges because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I know that faith can move mountains and make the impossible possible.

None of the changes described above, of course, needs to happen all at once. Neuroscientist Alex Korb writes that “one small change at a time” can reverse the course of depression by creating an “upward spiral.” I once visited with a family whose depressed teenager felt unable to commit to anything except getting a little more sunshine. After two weeks of getting outside more to play sports with his father, this young man felt enough energy to experiment with adjustments to his diet, which triggered other improvements and a new momentum of gradual healing. This reflects “the aggregation of marginal gains” that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy recently emphasized.18

Consider this tender example. It was fast Sunday as Vance and I knocked on the door of a small, humble home. We and other deacons in the quorum had come to expect the words “Please come in,” yelled warmly in a thick German accent loud enough to hear through the door. Sister Muellar was one of several immigrant widows in the ward. She couldn’t answer the door very easily, as she was legally blind. As we stepped inside the dimly lit home, she greeted us with kind questions: What are your names? How are you doing? Do you love the Lord? We answered and shared that we came to receive her fast offering. Even at our young age, her meager circumstances were readily apparent, and her faith-filled response was profoundly touching: “I placed a dime on the counter earlier this morning. I am so grateful to offer my fast offering. Would you be kind enough to place it in the envelope and fill out my fast-offering receipt?” Her love of the Lord lifted our faith each time we left her home.

“The gospel is a special gift,” Brother Hart told Addie’s Primary class. “One way we can share it is by giving a Book of Mormon to a friend.”
Addie squirmed in her seat. She didn’t know if she could be brave enough to give someone a Book of Mormon. Then she thought of Lane. If it’s just like giving a gift, she thought, then maybe I could give one to Lane.
Lane had moved to Addie’s fourth-grade class halfway through the year. She was quiet just like Addie was. And when Mrs. Naga gave Lane the desk next to Addie, they had both smiled shyly at each other. Soon they were laughing and talking and playing together at recess.
Lane loved books, and Addie decided that, just maybe, she would love the Book of Mormon too.
When Addie got home from church, she asked Mom for a copy of the Book of Mormon. Mom gave her one with a soft cover and beautiful paintings of scripture stories inside. Addie hoped Lane would like it.
Addie carefully wrote her testimony on the first blank page. “Dear Lane, I hope you like this book. It is one of my favorite books. It has lots of good stories, and I know it’s true. Thanks for being my friend.”
She signed her name and carefully slipped the book into her backpack. Her stomach felt all fluttery inside. Would Lane be happy to get it?
At school the next day, Addie could hardly sit still. She was so nervous. What would she say? What would Lane say?
Finally it was recess. Addie stopped Lane before they walked out to the playground.
“I have something for you,” Addie said. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Book of Mormon. “I hope you like it.”
Lane smoothed her fingers over the shiny gold letters on the cover. She smiled. “Thank you.” She put it in her backpack, and then she and Addie ran outside.
Addie could hardly stop smiling. She’d done it! She’d shared the gospel, just like a missionary.
But the next day, it was Lane who stopped Addie before they went out to recess. She quietly pulled out the Book of Mormon from her backpack and handed it to Addie.
“My mom doesn’t want me to read it,” she said. She stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”
Addie felt her cheeks heat up. “Oh,” was all she could say as she slipped the book back in her own bag. They went out to play hopscotch, but Addie didn’t feel much like hopping. Maybe tomorrow would be better.
When school was over, Addie waved goodbye to Lane. Then she ran home and hurried to her room. The door shut behind her with a dull thud. Addie pulled the book out of her backpack. She’d been so brave, and it hadn’t worked out!
She wiped away tears as she opened up the Book of Mormon to her testimony. She had been so excited when she’d written it. She still knew what she’d written was true, but now she felt sad instead of excited. Lane was one of her best friends. Was there any other way she could share the gift of the gospel with her?
Addie turned around as the door opened.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” __________________ asked.
Write your name in the blank and pretend you’re Addie’s big brother or sister who just walked in. What would you say to her when she told you what happened? How could you help Addie feel better? What other ways could she still share the gospel? Write and tell us!
There are lots of ways to share the gift of the gospel! Like being kind or being a good example.

Relief Society sisters in Germany noticed that some Afghan women were using their husbands’ shirts to cover their heads instead of their traditional head coverings, which had been lost or damaged in the madness at the airport. These Relief Society sisters gathered to sew traditional Muslim clothing for these women in need—showing kindness and respect for others, putting aside their difference of beliefs.

I recall one experience that we had with Jean when we went camping. Immediately after I stopped the car, Jean got out and began sweeping the camping area. Our children just couldn’t believe it, but she continued until she had swept over all the area, until all the loose dirt and pine needles were in a neat pile. But she didn’t stop there: she came over and knelt down by the children and spent the next few minutes talking to them about the principle of cleanliness—that when you are camping or living outdoors cleanliness becomes a very important thing, and that by taking a few steps you can make life livable. And the amazing thing was that they listened. We were just grateful that we were in the Rockies of Colorado and not the sands of New Mexico. I always wondered how deep she would have gone to find solid ground.

Sitting down to family home evening, a mother begins by asking her two children, “When have you felt guided by the Spirit?”
Her 17-year-old daughter complains, “I’ve already had three lessons on the Spirit this month.”
“Good, then you’ll have a lot to contribute,” her dad responds. It’s silent as Mom and Dad wait patiently while their children think about the question.
Eventually, their 14-year-old son shares an experience from school that day.
“Yeah,” replies his mother, “that reminds me of Nephi following the Spirit when he didn’t know how to get the plates from Laban.”
Her daughter speaks up, sharing how she followed a prompting to talk to a lonely girl on the bus. Her dad praises her decision and relates an experience he had at work.
They end the discussion by singing “Let the Holy Spirit Guide” (Hymns, no. 143).
A simple teaching method—sharing experiences about this doctrine—made this family home evening successful.

Frederick the shoemaker liked to make shoes. He liked to make dancing slippers for young ladies and work shoes for farmers. He liked to make school shoes for children. And he liked to make house shoes for their mothers. But most of all he liked to make hunting boots for young gentlemen.
As he carefully stitched each boot, Frederick would say to his wife, “Someday I will make myself a pair of boots like these.”
But the young shoemaker never even had enough money to make new shoes for himself, much less a pair of hunting boots. Once in a while, however, he made himself a new pair of shoelaces out of leftover scraps to wear in his old shoes.
“A shoemaker should have more than new shoelaces,” he said one day. “A shoemaker should have a new pair of hunting boots!”
“But how can we afford them?” asked his wife. “With the little money we have, we must buy food to eat, candles to light the house at night, and new leather to make more shoes to sell.”
“I know. But only shoelaces! It isn’t right.” He sighed, then worked in silence for a few minutes. “Maybe,” he said at last, “maybe if I’m careful, I can save a wee bit of money here and there. And then maybe someday I can have more than just new shoelaces.”
And so Frederick saved two small coins from every pair of shoes he sold. He began burning one candle on his workbench at night instead of his usual two candles. He saved even more by drinking two glasses of milk a day instead of his usual three glasses.
At last Frederick had saved enough money to buy leather for a pair of hunting boots for himself. At night, by the light of his candle, he stitched and sewed. Finally the boots were finished. “These are the most handsome boots I have ever made,” he said to his wife. He put on the new boots and tucked his old shoes into the back of his closet.
The shoemaker loved his new boots. He wore them around the shop every day, and he wore them hunting on Saturdays. As a matter of fact, he wore them for years and years.
At last they wore out. Frederick turned the boots over and over in his hands. I think there might be enough good leather here to make some work shoes, he thought.
So he cut and snipped, and he stitched and sewed, until at last his work shoes were finished.
Frederick was almost as proud of his new work shoes as he had been of his boots. He wore them around the shop every day, and he wore them to church on Sundays. As a matter of fact, he wore them for years and years.
At last they, too, wore out. Frederick turned the work shoes over and over in his hands. I think there might be enough good leather here to make some house slippers, he thought. So he cut and snipped, and he stitched and sewed, until at last his house slippers were finished.
The shoemaker was almost as proud of his new slippers as he had been of his boots and his work shoes. He wore them in the shop all day, and he wore them while he sat in front of his fire at night. As a matter of fact, he wore them for years and years.
At last they, too, wore out. Frederick turned the slippers over and over in his hands. I think there might be just enough good leather here to make one more thing, he thought. So he cut and snipped, until at last a pair of shoelaces was finished.
Then he reached way back into his closet and pulled out his old shoes. He cleaned and polished them and put in the new shoelaces. The shoemaker was happy with these new shoelaces because he remembered the handsome hunting boots and the sturdy work shoes and the comfortable house slippers they had once been.
And he wore those shoelaces forever.

I’d like to share with you two important lessons that I learned in my youth. When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood there watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

How do three lovely young ladies who are profoundly deaf speak fluently with confidence, joy, and Irish accents?
The answer? With patient faith, hard work, and tender help from parents, sisters, teachers, and their Heavenly Father.
The Ferguson sisters, Deborah, 21, Julie-Ann, 16, and Heather, 13, are from Bangor Branch, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake, and were born with hearing impairments. Two more sisters, Amanda, 20, and Gail, 18, along with parents Peter and Lillian have normal hearing. The girls’ grandparents were also born deaf and mute.
But communication is no problem for this outstanding family. Trust in the Lord and determination are working miracles in their lives.
Proof of this is abundant in Deborah’s many achievements. Her bubbling personality and eagerness to live life to the fullest have bridged some hearing problems. Since graduating from seminary, she has participated in the Cub Scouting programme, serving in assistant leadership positions.
Among other hardearned awards are trophies of all shapes and sizes for numerous sports, including badminton, squash, swimming, and football.
“When we held the dance festival,” said Young Women president Sister Geddis, “Deborah was the best at keeping on the beat, moving perfectly with the music.” Deborah explains, “Although I can’t hear sound, I feel vibrations through the floor, and with care can dance like the rest.”
Whether dancing or studying, no obstacles will prevent Deborah from enjoying every programme of the Church has to offer. “I will be serving as a missionary,” she says. “I love to serve and have a great desire to spread the gospel amongst other people with hearing disabilities.”
Her younger sister Amanda feels the same way. Although able to hear perfectly herself, she has witnessed the aspirations of her family and is determined to open doors for others less blessed with opportunity. She is taking a university course in British Sign Language and after three years will be qualified to interpret and teach.
“I’d like to begin by sharing the gospel with my grandparents, aunt, and uncles who are also deaf,” Amanda explains. “I feel they’re missing so much. I’d love to help them learn the truth.”
Learning plays an important part in sister Gail’s life too—especially seminary. “It’s a great programme. I gain such a lot. Seeing things through the eyes of ancient people has helped me appreciate my own family and their present struggles.”
Gail has an outstanding talent for dealing with children. Acting as “ears” for younger sisters for many years, she has developed patience, kindness, and sensitivity to others’ needs.
Those listening ears are greatly missed by Julie-Ann and Heather for many months each year. These two leave home, family, and Irish stew behind and attend school at the renowned Mary Hare United Kingdom Grammar School for the Deaf in Newbury, England. Due to the rigorous academic requirements, for one pupil to be accepted at this outstanding school is an accomplishment (a bit like being chosen for Oxford or Cambridge), but for two from the same family to attend is something of a miracle.
“Letting the children be educated so far away has been a traumatic experience for us all,” Brother Ferguson says. “But through prayer we found comfort and confirmation that our decision was right.”
“We all send letters once or twice a week,” says Julie-Ann, “and there’s a special telephone at school which allows three-way conversations between pupil, interpreter, and parent, so we don’t have to go too long without help from home on any problem.”
“Brother and Sister Williams from Newbury Branch pick us up for church each Sunday,” says Heather. “We enjoy that. There’s a lovely feeling among the members.”
“I love learning everything I can about the Saviour and his church,” says Julie-Ann. “I do home-study seminary, and it always helps me. I find sacrament meetings a bit frustrating sometimes, especially when I can’t keep up with the speakers. I want to understand every word of their message. People are kind and write things down for me, but often talks go too fast to get the full story.”
Both girls are excellent lip readers, however, and are equipped with the latest hearing aids. So skilled are they becoming that they are even learning another language. Both are coping well with French. “It’s difficult,” says Heather. “I have to concentrate much harder than students who hear.”
Reading music has been part of their lives since infancy. “Our mother used to point out how notes go up and down in hymnbooks at church,” says JulieAnn, “and if the congregation doesn’t drown out the piano, I can pick out the beat and sing hymns.”
“We play recorders the same way,” comments Heather. “I feel pulsation of sound through my feet and legs, and with plenty of practice, we get the tunes right. We have a good orchestra here.”
Although Julie-Ann, Heather, and Deborah use their talents to achieve results in life equal to, and often better than, those of people without hearing impairments, they are sometimes disappointed and hurt by the attitudes of many people towards their disability.
“I prefer to be treated just like everyone else,” Heather says. “It’s really embarrassing when I’m in a crowd and someone starts speaking to me very slowly, with wildly waving arms, acting like I’m stupid or something.”
“Yes,” agrees Julie-Ann, “it’s nice to be accepted as part of the group, spoken to normally, and not stared at as if we’re odd. I often feel like telling people, ‘I’m exactly the same inside as you are.’ It makes me heartbroken and depressed when they are afraid or don’t want to understand me.”
“That’s right,” Heather adds. “I don’t always get a question the first time, and if I ask ‘pardon?’ they often say, ‘Oh, never mind,’ and go away! I’d rather they try again and again, so we can learn about each other. I don’t much like tiny conversations with only ‘Hi!’ or ‘How are you doing?’ I’d prefer to talk properly, long discussions, not too fast or too slow, but real conversations with facial expression and feeling.
Perhaps because of a certain isolation that deafness creates for them, all three girls have developed a close, personal relationship with their Heavenly Father.
“I talk to the Lord in prayer much of the time,” says Julie-Ann. “I feel the presence of the Holy Spirit strongly and am constantly grateful for the promptings I receive. We watched a video of general conference. During remarks about keeping high standards and avoiding friendships with the wrong crowd, I felt so warm inside as the Spirit testified this was important advice. I could have cried. I didn’t want that wonderful feeling to go away.”
“I get a similar sensation when I think of my sister Deborah on her mission. I think she’ll be homesick for a while, leaving Northern Ireland. It’s such a lovely country. I remember how I felt. But we’re all excited for her. I look forward to hearing how she gets on. My patriarchal blessing tells me I’ll also go on a mission when I’m 21.”
The Fergusons seem to be a part of fulfilling prophecy. In Isaiah 29:18, the prophet wrote, “In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book.” [Isa. 29:18] Not only are the Fergusons hearing the truth of the gospel themselves, they are becoming well educated and prepared to share those words with all who care to listen with ears, eyes, hands, and hearts.

When my Young Women adviser suggested I do a Laurel value project about my family, I immediately knew we needed a family reunion.
I soon found out that planning a reunion takes time, persistence, and some hard work. It doesn’t hurt to have help from family members either. Here are some ideas that worked for me:
* Select a date. Choose a date well in advance for better attendance.
* Choose a meeting place. Use parks, pavilions, gymnasiums, or even backyards.
* Decide on a menu. Make food assignments or go potluck.
* Send out invitations. Make a list of all the relatives. Leave no one out.
* Plan activities that everyone will enjoy. Plan for swimming, board games, and art projects, just to name a few.
* Include a memento or souvenir of the reunion for each participant. Some families have screen-printed T-shirts. Others offer door prizes. The prizes can be as simple or ambitious as photos, scrapbooks, or recipe books.
* Don’t forget to send thank-you notes. Be sure to thank everyone who helped you with the planning and preparation or who donated their time or talents.
My reunion was hard work but so satisfying. I realize now what family reunions are all about.