Gospel Story Finder

Melinda left her house holding the key Mrs. Roberts had given her. “I’m off to work,” she said. She liked the way that sounded. “Not every 11-year-old has a job,” she thought.
She walked to the Robertses’ house and opened their mailbox. The Roberts family would be gone until Thursday, and they had hired Melinda to get their mail and do other chores at their house every day.
Melinda went into their house, put the mail on the kitchen table, and filled the cat’s food dish. Then she went into the family room to water the plants. It felt strange to be in her neighbors’ house alone.
In a corner of the room she saw a shelf filled with glass figurines. Each one was a little girl in a fancy dress. She picked one up and looked at it carefully. On the bottom it said, “Michelle.” Melinda wondered if each of the figurines had a name. She picked up another and turned it over. It was named Rebecca.
Melinda picked up another glass girl, one in a pretty yellow dress. As she turned it over, it slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Melinda gasped and knelt down quickly to pick it up. Its head and one of the legs had broken off.
“Oh no,” she thought. “What am I going to do? Mrs. Roberts is going to be so mad at me!”
She put the head back on the figurine and was surprised to see that she could hardly tell it was broken. When she put the leg back, she found that the little girl could still stand up.
“If I put it back just right, Mrs. Roberts won’t even know it’s broken,” she thought. “If she picks it up or bumps the shelf, it will fall apart, but she’ll think she broke it herself. No one will know it was me.”
Melinda had a sick feeling as she walked home. She wondered if she should tell Mrs. Roberts about breaking the figurine. “But she trusted me,” Melinda thought. “She’ll never trust me again if she knows I broke something in her house.”
Melinda went to the Robertses’ each morning for the next two days. She was careful not to go near the shelf where the figurines were. She didn’t even want to look at them.
On Thursday afternoon, the Robertses’ car was back in their driveway. Melinda walked over to return their key. Mrs. Roberts thanked her for doing such a good job and gave her an envelope with money inside. Melinda could hardly speak. She felt awful. “It’s just a little glass girl,” she thought. “It’s not a big deal. And they’ll never know I did it.”
That night after dinner, Melinda’s father opened the Book of Mormon for family scripture study. They were reading about Helaman’s stripling soldiers.
Melinda and her brothers listened as Dad read Alma 53:20: “And they were all young men, and they were exceedingly valiant for courage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted.”
“They were super brave,” Nathan said.
“And strong,” Tyler added.
“They were strong and brave enough to fight,” Mom agreed. “That’s what the first part of the scripture says. But in the next part, it says something more about them—that they used their courage to be true. They stood up for what was right.”
Melinda looked at her Book of Mormon and read the words again. She had been entrusted with something, and she had not been true.
A little while later, Melinda stood at the Robertses’ door. Mrs. Roberts looked surprised to see her. “Hello,” she said. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I need to tell you something.” She took a deep breath. “I broke one of your little glass girls. I put it back so you couldn’t tell it was broken. I’m sorry I broke it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before. I was just scared, I guess.”
“Why don’t you come in and show me what you broke?” Mrs. Roberts said.
Melinda followed her neighbor into the family room and pointed out the girl in the yellow dress. When Mrs. Roberts picked it up, its head and leg fell off. “I would never have known it was broken if I hadn’t picked it up,” she said. “Well, it can be glued. I broke another one once, and I glued it.” She picked up another figurine and showed Melinda. “You can hardly tell, can you?”
Melinda shook her head. She hadn’t noticed the crack in the other one. “I really am sorry,” she said.
“It’s OK. I’m glad you came back to tell me the truth. That took a lot of courage. You know, we’ll be going out of town again next month. Would you like to help out at our house then too?”
Melinda looked up. “Do you trust me? Even after I broke something?”
“You’ve shown that you are very trustworthy. You told the truth when you didn’t have to. I’ll be glad to have you work for us again.”
“I won’t touch the figurines. I promise.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Melinda, for coming over tonight.”
The heavy feeling Melinda had felt for days was gone. She felt as light as a feather as she skipped home.

“Hey, wake up,” someone says, poking you. Groggily, you look at the clock next to your bed. It’s 6:30 a.m.? What’s going on? Wait, that’s not your clock. And this isn’t your bed. Where are you?
“Hey,” the voice says, “you’re the one who wanted to follow us around. It’s time to get the day started.”
As you peer up at the missionary standing over your bed, you finally remember what’s going on. Church magazines offered you the opportunity to follow a missionary companionship around for a day, and you jumped at the chance to see what missionary life is really like.
You just didn’t realize it would start this early.
“Hi, I’m Elder Jesse Ward, from Utah,” the tall missionary says as you sit up. “Welcome to Spain. This is my companion, Elder Pierrick Triplet.”
Elder Triplet is from France, and he isn’t learning just Spanish but English too. Despite the challenge of having to learn two languages at once, Elder Triplet is grateful to be on a mission.
“I’m a convert,” he says. “I’ve had a great change in my life, and I’d like others to have it too. A mission can be hard work, but seeing someone change his or her life is worth it.”
They’ve got your attention. You’ve always heard that a mission can be the best two years of your life. Today you get a chance to find out why.
6:41 a.m.After taking time to pray, the missionaries spend some time working out. Push-ups, sit-ups, even a little light weight lifting are the usual for Elder Ward. Breakfast follows a shower and shave. Cold cereal is a favorite.
8:07 a.m.Missionaries spend a good deal of time studying individually and as a companionship so they can obtain the word before declaring it (see D&C 11:21). After language study and personal scripture study, it’s time for companionship study using Preach My Gospel.
9:55 a.m.Missionaries dedicate a lot of time to planning, at the beginning of the day, throughout the day, and at the end of the day. They talk not just about what they’re going to do but about what each investigator needs.
Today the elders are talking about a man from France, an investigator they’re going to invite to be baptized.
“He’s worried,” Elder Triplet says. “He doesn’t feel worthy.”
“Let’s talk about repentance and how God remembers sins no more,” Elder Ward suggests after the companions think it over. “Why don’t you teach it in French to make sure he understands?”
The last thing the elders do before leaving is pray—again. This is one of many prayers they’ll offer today. Missionary work requires a lot of heavenly help. Then it’s out the door and off to the bus stop in a hurry.
11:09 a.m. Missionaries talk to anyone anywhere anytime about the gospel, because they never know who is going to be interested. While waiting for the bus, the missionaries chat with a young man and give him a pamphlet with their phone number on it.
11:21 a.m. A 10-minute bus ride and a short walk later, the missionaries arrive at a rented meetinghouse at the same time as their investigator. The meeting begins well, but the investigator’s concerns push the 45-minute lesson they had planned on to more than an hour.
“That was the most frustrating lesson I’ve ever been in,” Elder Triplet says afterward. “He likes the Church. He thinks it’s true. He wants to pay tithing. But he doesn’t believe he needs to be baptized again. He was a little argumentative.”
“He’s a great guy,” Elder Ward says, shaking his head. “Maybe he’ll be ready to talk about baptism next time.”
2:06 p.m. The missionaries jump on another bus, this time to El Casco, the historic quarter of Toledo, Spain. They stop by an investigator’s business to invite him to an activity that night.
“You can get lost in here really quick if you aren’t paying attention,” Elder Ward says of the maze of narrow streets lined with buildings that seem to lean over those walking below.
2:24 p.m. While navigating the tight streets, the missionaries stop to offer help to a woman carrying a heavy load. They spend a moment explaining who they are and what they do, but the woman isn’t interested.
2:47 p.m. It’s siesta time in Spain, so the missionaries catch a bus back to their apartment, or piso, for lunch. “Everything shuts down between 2:00 and 4:00 p.m.,” Elder Ward explains. “Some people get mad if you knock on their doors.”
“This is chorizo, or sausage,” Elder Triplet says poking at lunch. “It’s typical food. We eat a lot of noodles and chorizo because it’s cheap and easy to make.”
“The mission is great preparation for marriage,” Elder Ward laughs as he mixes his Kool-Aid. “You have to learn to get along, cook, clean, do laundry, budget, and take care of yourself.”
4:24 p.m. Back in El Casco, the missionaries meet with a member of the mission presidency about current activation efforts.
“This is a great area,” says Elder Ward, who explains that Church attendance has gone from about 15 to 80 members each week because one family set the example of fellowshipping.
4:59 p.m. The elders end up with a little unexpected free time on their hands, but missionaries are used to doing some planning on the fly. Their backup plan was to do some tracting.
5:42 p.m. In El Casco, where so many people live above street level, knocking on doors often means carrying on conversations with people on their balconies. And even in historic tourist towns, a missionary has to look out for dogs.
The elders have some success: “We found some great people,” Elder Ward says. “There were some youth from Paraguay. They invited us back tomorrow.” And some failure: “We had a half-hour conversation with one man,” Elder Triplet says. “It was like talking to a wall.”
7:45 p.m. Two buses later the elders make it to the activity they had planned with the sister missionaries who work in the same city, Sister Kathleen Bonifay and Sister Brittany Hofman.
The people they were expecting to come didn’t. “That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Elder Ward says. But after a little footwork, the missionaries are able to gather a handful of other investigators living nearby. After a hymn and a video, you can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost as the missionaries bear testimony of the Book of Mormon as another witness of Jesus Christ. The activity is a success.
“The Lord takes care of you when you put forth your best planning and best effort,” says Sister Bonifay.
9:13 p.m. After a hike to the bus stop, the elders and sisters have made it back to their respective apartments, where they’ll call their leaders, review the day and their long-range plans, and make plans for the next day.
“Well, this is what we do,” Elder Ward tells you. “It doesn’t change much.”
Elder Triplet laughs. “We are the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”
Things didn’t go exactly as the elders had planned, but the day went well anyway. They made some good contacts, pulled off a powerful activity, bore testimony of Christ, and did their best to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“I’ve heard people say these are the best two years of their lives,” Elder Triplet says. “The two years are great, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the best 730 days of my life. There are some days I thought would never end. But I have loved being a missionary.”
Elder Ward agrees. He has mixed emotions about leaving. “I always thought I’d be excited to go home,” he says. “But I see life differently now. I love my life. I’m a missionary. I’m speaking to people about Christ every day. Leaving will be bittersweet.”
You’ve enjoyed getting a taste of missionary work as well. As exciting as it is, missionary work can be exhausting. Now it’s time to get some rest and prepare yourself for your day as a missionary. It has a way of coming faster than you think.

Four-year-old Tony stood at the front door with his nose pushed against the screen.
Finally he turned to Mother and said excitedly, “He’s coming, Mother! Scott’s coming home!”
Opening the door, Tony ran down the steps to meet his brother. “Hi, Scott!” he called. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been waiting all day long.”
“Well, here I am,” said Scott. But he didn’t sound nearly as excited as Tony.
“Can we play now, Scott?” Tony asked, running to keep up with his big brother. “I have the game all ready to start.”
“I can’t play today, Tony. I have other things to do. I’m going over to Joe’s house,” Scott answered as he hurried inside, leaving his little brother far behind.
By the time Tony reached Scott’s room, his big brother had almost finished changing into his play clothes.
“Can I go with you, Scott?” Tony asked eagerly. “I like to go to Joe’s house.”
“Of course not!” Scott snapped.
“But I’ll be good, and I’ll do exactly what you say,” Tony promised.
“Well, you still can’t go! We’re going to play ball, and you’re not big enough,” Scott explained. “You’re too little to be tagging along everywhere I go.”
“I just wanted you to play with me.”
Tony said in a quiet voice, blinking fast to keep the tears from spilling over.
Scott knew Tony was about to cry, but he just didn’t care right then. All he wanted to do was get away and play ball with the boys.
As Scott ran out the front door, he called, “I’ll play with you one day next week, Tony. You go play with your trucks now.”
Once again Tony was left alone. He stood at the front door and watched his brother run down the sidewalk and turn the corner to Joe’s house.
Scott knocked on Joe’s door. “Here I am,” he said when Joe answered the door. “Are you ready to play?”
Joe had a surprised look on his face. He stammered a little bit as he explained, “I didn’t know you were coming over today. I promised Beth I’d play with her.”
“Beth?” Scott echoed in disbelief. “You mean you’re playing with your little sister?”
“Sure. I promised this morning I’d play with her when I got home from school. But come on in. You can play too,” Joe suggested. “You ought to see what an imagination she has!”
Joe grinned as he led his friend to his sister’s room. Scott stopped in the doorway. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A small table and four chairs were set up in the middle of the room. Three dolls were propped up on three of the chairs and Joe sat down on the other. Beth was setting the table with her toy dishes and pretending she was the mother. Joe pretended right along with her.
Scott suddenly felt very strange. After all, Joe’s little sister was the same age as Tony, and Joe seemed to enjoy playing with her.
Scott remembered how Tony had been waiting at the door for him to come home and then almost begged him to play. He shifted his feet and cleared his throat. Finally he said, “Say, Joe, do you mind if I go home a minute and bring Tony back to play with us?”
“That would be great!” Joe answered. “I’m sure Beth would much rather feed real people than dolls.”
Scott ran back to his house and into his brother’s room. Tony was all alone in the middle of the floor with his fire truck. His face lighted up when he saw his brother. “Will you play with me now, Scott?” he asked. “Do you have time?”
“Yes, I do have time, Tony,” Scott answered. “Come on. Let’s ask Mother if you can go with me.”
Tony looked up eagerly into his big brother’s face. “Am I big enough now to go with you, Scott?”
Scott squeezed Tony’s hand and grinned. “You’re not too little and you’re not too big. You’re just right! Let’s go.”

When I was 12, my dad lost his job. Money was tight, and I was embarrassed that my family was poor, and I was jealous of my friends’ clothes and toys.
I was really stressed out and even depressed at times because I let jealousy get the best of me. Our family fasted and prayed so my dad could find another job. Our family began to change, especially my dad. He wasn’t stressed. He was happy and spent more time with us, and he read his scriptures more. It changed the whole mood in our home, and my dad became more in tune with the Spirit.
Sometimes it takes a trial for someone to become a better person. If you take trials the right way, you will be greatly blessed. It took about a year for my dad to find a new job, but we were so grateful Heavenly Father answered our prayers.

When I was around the age of five, my dad lost faith and decided to leave the Church. It was really hard, especially when I turned eight. I was so excited to get baptized, but then my dad said no. He wanted me to wait until I was older so that I really knew that I wanted to commit. And so I watched as my friends were baptized.
I remember being confused—if the Church was true, why was I being stopped from getting baptized? As a teenager, it was so hard seeing all the youth go to the temple because I wanted to go so badly. It was hard not being able to take part, but I always knew I would get my chance!
In May 2019, I was finally baptized at age 16. I remembered the many experiences I’ve had feeling the pure joy of the gospel and gaining a testimony. It was a very special experience, and through all the troubles I had getting to that day, I knew with all my heart that the gospel is true and always has been.
Trinity C., Colorado, USA

Henry, 15, was outside his house when Joseph Smith left for Carthage. Henry saw Joseph shake hands and exchange canes with a stranger. Then Joseph rode away. That was the last time he saw the Prophet alive. Henry first heard the tragic news from Carthage Jail “when a runner went past our house shouting that the Prophet was killed.”
A day or two later Henry and crowds of others visited the Mansion House, where “I saw their murdered bodies after they were brought from Carthage.” The murders were “a sad blow to my father,” Henry said, “and for a time he was at a loss to know what the results would be, but [he] finally settled to the conviction that the Church would continue its progress and that the Twelve Apostles were the proper leaders.”

Marilu Ramirez of Zacatecas, Mexico, was only eight years old when she made her startling discovery: There on the street vendor’s magazine stand—somewhere between the newspapers and the television magazines—was a book with a blue cover and a golden angel blowing a trumpet.
Who knows how the book came to be there that day. It seemed out of place there on the rack, and it seemed to cry out to her to be picked up and read. The child paid for it and took it home.
As far as her mother was concerned, this was just another in a long line of strange religious books her daughter had brought home—and she punished the child for buying and reading it. The whole family thought Marilu was odd—too introverted, too obsessed by thoughts about God and religion. How could anyone explain the child’s dissatisfaction with the family’s traditional church? Why would she choose to waste her few extra pesos on religious books and pamphlets and then waste time reading them? But no amount of ridicule or pressure from family or friends made any difference.
To Marilu, this new blue book with the golden angel on the cover was different from all her other books. Something about it made her feel strangely wonderful inside, and she was crying before she had finished even the first page. Every page added to that feeling. “It was like filling a cup drop by drop,” she says.
Where was this peculiar book from? “I though it may have been from some obscure Oriental religion, or maybe from India,” she says. “I didn’t know how to find out which church it belonged to. But I prayed that I would someday find out. I already knew it was true.”
For the next nine years Marilu remained devoted to the book and studied it thoroughly. Then one day when she was seventeen, she saw two men in white shirts riding her bus. When she saw they were carrying books, she wondered if they knew anything about her book. But before she had worked up enough courage to ask, they got off the bus.
A month later, when she saw a similar pair of young men, she seized the opportunity. “Do you preach the gospel?” she asked them. The said they did.
“Do you know about a lot of different religions?” she asked. “I’m trying to locate one that isn’t very common.” And she told them about her Book of Mormon.
They elders eyed each other and then grinned. “We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we’d love to teach you and your family.”
“No,” she insisted. “I just want to know if you can tell me which church uses the Book of Mormon.”
Was she joking? The elders wondered. “Do you know what we are called?” one of them asked. “Mormons!”
When they showed her their own copies of the Book of Mormon, she believed them—and she insisted on hearing more that very day.
During their first visit that evening, Marilu interrupted the discussion many times—not with questions, but with Book of Mormon verses she already knew by heart, verses that strengthened the concepts they were teaching. The elders were amazed at her knowledge of her well-worn Book of Mormon—at how easily she could find the very verses she was looking for.
This happened again and again during the next evening’s discussion. When they asked Marilu if she wanted to be baptized, she responded, “Yes, tomorrow!” With her parents’ permission, she was baptized the next day, 22 August 1984. And then she began her quest to serve a mission.
“I had wanted to tell others about the Book of Mormon since the day I found it when I was eight years old,” she says. “Now I felt I had to become a missionary.”
But she was only seventeen. Every year thereafter on her birthday, she asked her bishop if she was old enough yet to be called on a mission, but each year he told her she must wait until she was twenty-one. In the meantime, she taught Primary and Sunday School and continued to grow in her knowledge of the gospel.
Then—on the very day she turned twenty-one—her call came.
Sister Marilu Ramirez was prepared. A bright student, she was teaching elementary school even before finishing her university degree, and she carefully saved her earnings. By the time she received her call, she had saved up enough money to pay for her entire mission. At that point she gave up her job, with no assurance of finding one when she returned.
Her family was sure she was insane. The child who had wasted time and money on religious books was now throwing away a good job, all her savings, and eighteen months of her life. But once again, no amount of pressure made any difference.
Now on her mission, she prays for her family and writes them weekly.
On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”
Sister Ramirez is currently teaching the gospel to non-members who come to the Mexico City Temple visitors’ center. In the evenings, she and her companion go out into the surrounding neighborhoods to teach families the gospel in their homes.
Like that eight-year-old child, the twenty-one year old missionary is still consumed with thoughts about God. And her cup, filled drop by drop when she read the pages of the Book of Mormon as a child, is now overflowing.

This point is well illustrated in an experience shared in an interview on Richard and Linda Eyre’s television series Families Are Forever.

The subject was the importance of being friends with our teenage children and creating an atmosphere in which they are free to communicate with us. In illustrating that important point, LDS filmmaker Kieth Merrill gave an equally valuable illustration of the importance of distinguishing between errors and transgressions in the correction of teenagers. His sixteen-year-old daughter had just begun to date. After discussion with her, he gave her strict instructions to be in by midnight. She was twenty minutes late. “I was very tired,” Brother Merrill said.

I had been suffering for twenty minutes because she was late. When she came in, I immediately read her the riot act. I forgot my policies. I forgot all my positive thinking. I forgot all the great things that I knew I should do. I just simply said, “You promised to be home at 12:00. You were not home at 12:00. I worry about you. We made a call. You weren’t where you said you would be. You said you would call.” And I went right down the list—bing, bing, bing, bing, negative, negative, negative, negative.

“Stop!” she said. . . . “We haven’t been drinking, we haven’t been smoking, we haven’t been immoral or unchaste. We didn’t go to any R-rated movie. We haven’t been to a party where there were drugs. We weren’t out shooting speed or doing anything else. We haven’t been making out, we haven’t been doing anything bad, Dad. I’m 15 minutes late for curfew, so let’s keep this in perspective.” And I totally fell on the floor and started to laugh. She totally shot me down because she felt that she could talk to me as a friend. [“Building Your Child’s Self-Esteem,” Families Are Forever, television series on VISN cable network, 1989]

Ward members made very effort to make Sage’s return from Galveston as smooth as possible. During a Sharing Time just before she returned, the Primary presidency held an activity to show the children that although people may be hurt or maimed, they are Heavenly Father’s children and need our help.
Nancy Eldridge, then Primary president, had a video tape made of Sage speaking to the children. On the tape Sage talked about her experience and hopes for the future. She closed by assuring her friends that she was still “the same old Sage.”
Nancy says that each of the children had to adjust to Sage in his or her own way. Her own son had a particularly difficult time. “He loved Sage, but he was afraid, and it bothered him. So he wrote her letters of love and friendship until he was able to work through his feelings.”

My Personal Experience I was in college, had a good part-time job and was engaged to be married within a few months. My life was exciting and the future looked bright. I was surprised when my Stake President approached me one Sunday morning. He said, “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” I felt powerfully impressed that this was a call from God. I acted upon that impression and immediately committed myself to serve.

I was called to serve in the Southern States Mission and I began my preparation with personally difficult tasks. I postponed my wedding for two years, quit my job, left the university and said goodbye to my loved ones. It seemed that I was leaving everything that mattered to me.

I traveled with missionary companions by train to Atlanta, Georgia. Two missionaries picked us up at the train station and took us to meet the mission president. My mission president greeted me for a few moments and then told me that I must leave immediately by bus to Montgomery, Alabama where I would be given instructions about my field of labor. The two missionaries took me to the bus station and handed me a piece of paper with an address hand scrawled on it. They told me that the missionaries in Montgomery would tell me what to do.

I walked tentatively into the bus station, bought a ticket and boarded the bus. It was getting dark and I began to feel very alone. I found an empty seat next to a window and tried to ignore growing discouragement from not knowing where I was going, whom I would be with or what I would do.

When the bus driver took his seat, he stared at me in the rearview mirror. I could see he was looking at me. He walked to where I was sitting and shouted, “What are you trying to do, boy?” I was shocked that he would shout at me with all the people on the bus watching. I had no idea why he was angry with me. I was so embarrassed. I barely whispered, “I’m just riding the bus.”

He yelled, “Are you trying to start something here?” He pointed to a white line on the floor of the bus that I had not noticed before. He told me to sit in front of that line or he would put me off the bus. I was terrified and moved immediately. I did not know until much later that in those days, white lines divided the areas where white and black people could sit. There had been a lot of dissension in the southern states over segregation of whites and blacks and the bus driver thought that I was trying to start a protest.

I rode for several hours huddled in the bus trying to fight off fear, loneliness and embarrassment. By the time I reached Montgomery, my trembling hands could hardly lift my suitcases. The bus arrived very late at night, so the bus station was practically empty and there was no one there to meet me. The only information I had was the missionary address hand scrawled on the piece of paper the missionaries gave to me in Atlanta. I had no idea how to find the missionary address.

I awakened a taxi driver sleeping in his taxi and asked him to take me to the address on the paper. He was irritated. He told me it would cost a minimum of $5 and I promised to pay the fee, even though it seemed very expensive. In those days, $5 was a lot of money. My entire monthly support was only $65. He drove me less than 100 yards (91m) and announced “this is it!” The taxi driver demanded his fee and left me and my suitcases in front of a small white house. The house was dark. I carried my suitcases to the porch and knocked on the door. Nobody came. I hammered the door more loudly. After a few minutes, a sleepy-eyed missionary opened the door. “Who are you?” he asked. When I told him who I was and why I was there, he said he didn’t know I was coming and he didn’t invite me in. I apologized and told him I was only doing what I was told to do. “We don’t have any room for you,” he said, still leaving me on the porch.

What do you want me to do, Elder?” I cried. “I have been sent here and I have nowhere else to go.” He finally invited me into the house and told me I would have to sleep on the kitchen floor. He then disappeared into his bedroom. He suddenly returned to the door and said to me: “Elder, if I had as much time left of my mission as you have on yours, I would slash my wrists!” He then disappeared behind the door. Never had I felt so alone and so unwanted and discouraged. The kitchen floor looked as if it had not been cleaned for several generations of missionaries and I was definitely NOT going to sleep on THAT floor.

I put my suitcases on the filthy floor and turned out the light. I stood at the door and peered out the window. I could see the bus station that I had left only a few minutes before. “I could easily walk there and buy a ticket for home,” I thought. I had just enough money left. All of my joys hopes and dreams were at home. People there loved me. I could have my old job back, go back to school, get married, see my family. Over and over again the thought came to me: “Go home. Nobody here cares about you. Nobody here wants you.”

I asked myself, “Why did I come here in the first place?” My Stake President’s words came back to my mind: “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” But actually, there was imbedded within that request, a coded instruction, which the Holy Spirit had revealed to me. I recalled that I felt a powerful impression at the time he told me those words. It was a call from the Lord to sacrifice whatever I thought was important for the Lord’s purposes. It did not matter if it was convenient, or pleasurable, or even tolerable. Sacrifice for the Lord meant sacrifice whatever was needed to do what He had commanded. I remembered that the feeling had been so strong I had postponed my wedding, quit my job and left the university so I could serve a mission. However, being in the mission field was not at all like I thought it would be. I had been sure once, but now when I felt the need of divine reassurance the most, the powerful feelings seemed a distant memory.

Almost every aspect of my introduction to the full time mission had been an unexpectedly difficult struggle for me. Yet I knew that I was on the Lord’s errand. The absence of a profound witness at that darkened window in the dreary missionary apartment didn’t change that knowledge. It came to my mind that I was in the process of making a very important choice. It was a choice between what I wanted to do and what the Lord wanted me to do. It was the first time in my memory that I had ever recognized so clear a choice. I spoke out loud to myself: “I will never, never quit the calling I have accepted. No matter what happens, I will stay on this mission.” As I said the words, peace came to my heart for the first time since arriving in the mission field.

Now, many years later, I recognize that the Lord was guiding me through this experience. I learned that the Mission Call was actually a symbol of God’s invitation to consecrate my life to Him. It is the Holy Spirit which provides the key to unlock the code of the symbol by Divine Revelation.

As the organist played prelude music, Keeley looked around the chapel. She smiled when she saw some of her friends she had left behind when her family moved to a small town in eastern Colorado.
Her family had returned to Loveland, Colorado, for the blessing of her aunt and uncle’s baby girl. All of her dad’s family had come for the special event.
She liked her family’s new home, but she was happy to be back in Loveland, where she had lived most of her life and had so many relatives and friends.
After the opening song and prayer and announcements, the bishop announced that there would be a blessing of a baby.
Keeley watched as her dad, uncle, grandpa, and other family members gathered to bless baby Kaitlyn.
Uncle Mark gave his daughter a name and a blessing. She knew that the men who stood in the circle held the priesthood. Keeley’s dad had explained how important the priesthood was when he had baptized her and confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a year ago. In another year, her oldest brother, Samuel, would receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon.
Keeley felt tears sting her eyes as she heard Uncle Mark’s voice quiver during the middle of the blessing. She reached up to brush them away.
When the blessing was over, Uncle Mark held up Kaitlyn so that the congregation could see her.
After sacrament meeting, Keeley and her brothers went to Primary. The chorister invited them to choose their favorite songs for the children to sing.
Keeley chose “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.”* The Primary children had sung it for the Primary sacrament meeting program a year ago, and it had remained one of her favorite songs.
Following opening exercises and sharing time, she went to class. When class let out, Keeley said good-bye to her friends. Once again, tears gathered in her eyes.
Everyone in the family went to Uncle Mark and Aunt Celeste’s home after church. Keeley took a turn holding the new baby. All too soon, it was time to leave.
“It was like going home,” Keeley said during the drive. “All of our family and friends were there and were glad to see us.”
“That’s how it is in heaven,” Dad said. “Family members and friends who are already there are happy to see those they left behind on earth.”
“Like when Grandpa Munson died?” Keeley asked. Her mother’s dad had died before Keeley was born. She had heard Mom talk about Grandpa and what a great man he was.
“Exactly like that,” Mom said. “We were sad that Grandpa had to leave us, but we knew there were lots of people in heaven waiting for him.” She took Keeley’s hand and squeezed it. “I know you were glad to see your old friends, and they were glad to see you. We’ll see them again. In the meantime, you have friends at our new home who will be happy that you’re back.”
“Just like in heaven,” Keeley said. She liked the comparison.
“Just like in heaven,” Mom agreed.
After family prayer that night, Keeley kissed her parents good night. She thought of her friends back in Loveland and her friends here at home, then she imagined how many more friends and family members must be waiting to see her again in heaven. A sweet warmth settled over her like a comfortable blanket as she got ready for bed.

I was born in the town of Sharon, Windsor County, Vermont, on the 23rd of December, A.D. 1805. When ten years old, my parents moved to Palmyra, New York, where we resided about four years, and from thence, we moved to the town of Manchester. My father was a farmer and taught me the art of taking care of animals. When about fourteen years of age, I began to reflect upon the importance of being prepared for a future state, and upon inquiring about the plan of salvation, I found that there was a great clash in religious sentiment; if I went to one society, they referred me to one plan, and another to another; each one pointing to his own particular creed as the supreme good from which all others are derived of perfection. Considering that all could not be right, and that God could not be the author of so much confusion, I determined to investigate the subject more fully, believing that if God had a Church, it would not be split up into factions, and that if He taught one society to worship one way, and administer in one set of ordinances. He would not teach another, principles which were diametrically opposed.
Believing the word of God, I had confidence in the declaration of James—“If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” (James 1:5.) I retired to a secret place in a grove, and began to call upon the Lord, while fervently engaged in supplication, my mind was taken away from the objects with which I was surrounded, and I was enwrapped in a heavenly vision, and saw two glorious personages, who exactly resembled each other in features and likeness, surrounded with a brilliant light which eclipsed the sun at noon day. They told me that all religious denominations were believing in incorrect doctrines, and that none of them was acknowledged of God as His Church and kingdom: and I was expressly commanded “to go not after them,” at the same time receiving a promise that the fullness of the Gospel should at some future time be made known unto me.

President Benson, I’m proud to say that Primary children have this year read and discussed the Book of Mormon. Nine-year-old Matt in Wisconsin spoke in the children’s sacrament meeting presentation in his ward recently about something he had learned that brought him peace. He said:
“When my father told our family that we would be moving from Denver to Wisconsin, my mother reminded us of Lehi’s family. Like them, I was leaving the only home I had known, all my friends, my school, and my ward. Luckily we got to bring all our possessions with us, though they were in storage for three months, and we missed having a house and our ‘precious things.’
“My mother reminded us of how Nephi accepted this challenge—willingly—knowing that the Lord would ‘prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)
“I have learned that I can do without things, but not without my family. My brothers and sisters and I have tried to be more like Nephi than his complaining brothers. I am grateful for the things that the Book of Mormon teaches us.”

I remember the job opportunity that finally came after months of searching during the depression. Unfortunately the work was in an amusement park, and beset with moral hazards. The final decision was mine, but how careful the bishop was to alert me to the problems and obstacles ahead. For the nearly two years I was employed there it was a job requirement to carry a package of cigarettes in my pocket for the convenience of the customers. But not once did I ever forget my bishop’s advice or my parental teaching about the Word of Wisdom. Neither were any of the other temptations able to overpower me.

Some time ago a high school senior and student body leader was asked about his relationship to his peer group. This young man said, “I find great strength in the example of my peers. To get up and walk out of an offensive movie, to stand up and defend or even befriend a person whom everyone else ridicules, to be the only one in the crowd to say no to drinking, dishonesty, breaking the Sabbath day—all of these actions take a person of strong character. Such people among my friends have given immeasurable courage to me and to others.”

He continued, “I remember a night when some friends and I sneaked into a movie through the exit without paying. We were laughing and feeling smart and smug about it when, without a word, one of my friends got up and left the theater. Suddenly, being dishonest didn’t seem funny any more. One by one each of us walked out each secretly wishing we had had that much courage.”

This young man went on to say, “Probably the most well-respected boy I know is a young man who makes friends with all kinds of people, regardless of their belief or status. He is loved among Church members and classmates. He is always the life of the party and a fun date, yet he has never lowered his high standards in any way to win a friend or to get a laugh. He gravitates naturally toward positions of leadership because his peers, even the weakest ones, sense his strength of character. He has changed the lives of many young people.”

Some years ago a young BYU Hawaii student attended ROTC Basic Training at Fort Knox, Kentucky the summer of her junior year. The only people she knew attending the training were two students from the University of Hawai`i whom she met at the Honolulu airport shortly before boarding the plane to Kentucky. On her first day she was initially assigned a squad, platoon and company, and then marched around the parade ground to profane cadences they were expected to repeat. Next each individual was asked to introduce themselves to the other members of the platoon. One by one the cadets got to their feet, stated their name, what university they attended and anything else they wanted to briefly add. The young woman had already deduced that stating she was a student at Brigham Young University Hawai`i was going to create a mixed reaction but she had a pervasive feeling that she should take a stand for who she was and what she represented. When her time came she arose stated her name and proudly said she was a student at Brigham Young University Hawai`i and then she added "I'm wondering if it's necessary to swear while singing cadences." The senior drill sergeant moved swiftly to stand directly in front of the young cadet, positioning himself just inches away from her face and barked, "What did you say, cadet?" The young cadet responded in a clear voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in the group. "I am wondering if it's necessary to swear while we sing cadences, Drill Sergeant." Upon hearing this, the other drill sergeants assigned to the platoon, who moved closer to see how the young cadet would handle herself when confronted by the senior sergeant, burst out laughing. One mumbled something dismissive about college students, but from that point on all the cadences were void of profanity. This platoon became known as the "non-swearing platoon," when they shared transportation with other platoons and crude cadences began the offenders were quickly asked by someone from the non-swearing platoon to stop, on the occasions when they persisted no one from the non-swearing platoon joined in, and the cadences quickly died out.

The last remaining snow patches had melted from White Oak Ridge, and balmy south winds promised warmer weather. At the bottom of the slope called Rock Run, a stream filled to capacity with melted snow made sweet music as it became a waterfall and splashed against the rocks below. Overhead a vulture made effortless circles in the blue sky. In the distance the drumming of a ruffed grouse could be heard. Spring had come to Rock Run.
In his snug den beneath an overhanging boulder, Ursus, the black bear, slowly awakened. Rising to his feet, he remained motionless for several moments, blinking at the bright sunlight that entered the cave. The great bear had lost weight during his winter sleep, but he was still in very good condition.
The bear left his den and strolled toward Rock Run. Stopping at the water’s edge, he drank deeply of the cold liquid. After crossing the stream, Ursus ambled toward a nearby marsh where some tender green shoots of grass and skunk cabbage had already pushed through the soft moist earth. He ate the young sprouts and several skunk cabbages. Food, however, would be scarce for Ursus during the early spring days, and he would have to rely on his body fat as a source of sustenance until warmer weather produced food in abundance.
By early July Ursus became strangely restless; it was mating season for his kind. One evening he and his mate were hunting grubs in a meadow. A challenging growl broke the solitude, and Ursus looked up from his feeding to face an aggressive male. He returned the threat with a roar and charged, hitting the interloper with the full force of his five hundred pounds. The stranger gave ground but recovered quickly. The battle raged on, and the roaring and bellowing could be heard the length of the valley. Ursus’s superior fighting skill gave him an edge over his foe. Finding an opening, he bit deeply into his opponent’s shoulder. The stranger, now wounded, turned and fled. Then Ursus and the female continued their stroll. Mating season soon passed, and Ursus and his companion went their separate ways. She would give birth to his cubs during midwinter.
One day while searching for food on White Oak Ridge, Ursus stopped short when a breeze brought the scent of honey to his nostrils. His black nose quivered with excitement. He followed the scent to a large tree. Several feet above the ground was an opening in the tree trunk.
With his powerful claws, Ursus enlarged the hole until he was able to reach the sweet substance inside. The angry bees swarmed around the bear, but his thick fur protected him from the stings. Gorging himself with honey, bee grubs, and bees, he fed until most of the honey was gone. Then, with the bee tree and its contents in ruins, the black bear ambled away. The surviving bees angrily continued to attack him as he walked away, and long after Ursus disappeared, bees still buzzed around their destroyed home.
Summer passed and October arrived. The forest was aglow with the brilliant colors of hardwood trees. As the month advanced, songbirds left the ridge, and squirrels and chipmunks gathered large amounts of food to store in their favorite hiding places. Ursus, too, felt the urgency of the season, and he fed heavily, for he needed a thick layer of fat to supply his body for the lean winter months ahead.
By November the trees had lost their colorful leaves and stood bare against the sky; the forest had an empty, lifeless look.
One crisp morning Ursus discovered a stump containing ants. With his huge forepaws he tore the wood apart. His pink tongue lapped up the milling insects with deadly accuracy.
That day at twilight Ursus stood at the edge of an apple orchard in Big Valley. He knew the place well from previous visits. The bear tested the air, which brought no hint of danger to him. Quietly he entered the orchard and climbed a fruit-ladened tree. Advancing on one of the larger limbs, he ate the fruit. When all the apples within his reach were eaten, Ursus shook the limb violently, and the remaining apples plummeted to the ground. The bear then climbed down from the tree and devoured the fallen fruit.
December came. High on Hunter’s Mountain Ursus found a huge tree partially upended by a windstorm. In the roomlike opening beneath its large roots he would spend the winter. In preparation for his sleep, Ursus gathered leaves and sticks and lined the den’s floor.
Outside the shelter, angry gray storm clouds approached. Snow mixed with sleet made slight noises as it fell on the leaves. The storm raged throughout the night. Daybreak was cloudless and radiant. A deep snow covered Hunter’s Mountain. Beneath this winter blanket Ursus slept.

I watched Jason dribble the ball down the court, weaving around two players from the other team while I tried to outrun the one guarding me. Jason leaped toward the side of the basket and shot. The ball teetered on the rim for a second before it dropped through the net.
“Go, Jason, go!” cheered a crowd of little kids. I should have felt happy because our team, the Jets, had finally tied the score. But I didn’t want to hear Jason’s name anymore. He always scored the most points and caught the most rebounds—and got the most cheers.
The big red numbers on the clock showed only one minute left in the game when Dave passed the ball to me. The court was clear. I dribbled the ball down the sideline, the sound of thundering footsteps close behind. I jumped as high as I could and shot, trying to bounce the ball off the backboard and into the net. It hit the rim and bounced off. So who caught the rebound? Jason. Who scored the winning basket? Jason.
It wasn’t easy being in the same fifth-grade class and on the same basketball team as a superstar. All the second and third graders knew Jason. They ran up to him on the playground and crowded around him like a fan club. I’d be famous, too, if I scored 15 points a game. Secretly I wished Jason would disappear. Then one day he did!
“Jason has to have his tonsils out,” Mrs. Litten told our class. “He’s going to be out of school for at least a week.”
Dave groaned. “Now we’re going to get trampled by the Kings,” he whispered to me loudly. “Our team will never win without Jason.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back. Mrs. Litten gave me a look that said, “Be quiet and do your work.” I tried to concentrate on my spelling words, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d finally have a chance to be the star. Maybe now the kids would shout, “Go, Taylor!”
Basketball practice was a disaster, however. I practiced shooting from the free-throw line, and only one ball swished through. And when I tried dribbling fast, I tripped over the ball. But I didn’t give up. I started practicing my free throws again. It wasn’t going to be easy to be famous.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Litten asked me to stay after class, and I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“Taylor, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” I was curious now.
“Would you fill in for Jason tomorrow and Friday? He goes to the second-grade classes after lunch to help them with their schoolwork. They’re missing him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Litten smiled. “You’re a good student.”
“Sure.” But I wondered what I was getting myself into.
The next day I walked into a second-grade class after gulping down my sandwich. When I saw all those faces staring at me, I was nervous. The teacher introduced me and told them that I played basketball with Jason. Suddenly everyone was asking me questions, and the time passed quickly.
Right before I left, little Angelica gave me a hug. “Tell me your name again,” she said.
“Taylor,” I repeated for the zillionth time—but I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I felt fantastic!
“I need to know your name so I can cheer for you,” Angelica told me. “Just like for Jason.”
That’s when I figured it out. All the kids knew Jason because he helped them. It really had little to do with basketball! I thought that over.
That afternoon I had my own little cheering section at the game. I started grinning, but I wasn’t thinking about being famous. Instead, I was planning to bring some dinosaur stickers for Robby and a book about kittens to show Angelica. I planned to tell Mrs. Litten that I wanted to keep volunteering, even when Jason came back.
“Go, Taylor!” shouted Angelica, and I was glad I’d learned that some things are much better than being a basketball superstar!

On the morning of the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the strangest thought pop into my head. I was tying bows around bunches of gourmet candy canes to give to my friends when my mind said, “You should give one of these to Megan*.”
What a crazy idea! Megan, a very popular girl in my English class, was terribly mean. In addition to the rude things she said to me, she and her friends were always giggling and pointing in my direction. She made me feel horrible. Why should I give Christmas candy to someone like that?
Today was always the best day of the whole year at Valley Middle School. Like the last day of school in June, schoolwork would be pushed aside in favor of movies and games. But what made it even better than that was the candy we exchanged with our friends. As we went from class to class, our stacks of goodies grew and we found out who liked us enough to put us on their gift list. You could tell who the really popular kids were by their enormous piles of candy. Someone like Megan would have to bring an extra bag to carry everything. She certainly didn’t need anything from me.
I was confident I would have a respectable pile of sweets myself. I was nowhere near being part of the popular crowd, but it was a big school, and I had a large group of friends. However, because I was one of the few Latter-day Saints in the school, I really stood out. Anyone who stands out too much in middle school becomes a target for teasing, so, unfortunately, I had as many tormentors as I had friends.
It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.
Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”
“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.
I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.
“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.
She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.
She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”
I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.
I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

Although Talica has fun at school, she is also a dedicated student. In class, her hand goes up almost automatically when the teacher asks a question. Once when she scored seventh in her class on an exam, she decided that next time she would finish first or second. She studied hard during and after school, and on the next exam she finished second. She receives a well-rounded education in return for her devotion. Students not only learn academic subjects but begin each day with a prayer, attend religion class, and tend a garden plot.