Gospel Story Finder

Celeste hopped into the van and scrunched down so that no one outside it could see her. Tears flooded down her freckled cheeks and splashed on her jumper like a monsoon thunderstorm breaking loose.
“It isn’t fair,” she muttered. She pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and wiped her hazel eyes. “Why doesn’t Eli pick on someone else, for a change?”
“Hey, look who’s talking to herself!” said Peter, her older brother. “Celeste is having a celestial chat!” He started to laugh, then noticed her tear-stained face. “Aw, Celeste, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. What’s wrong?”
“What did you do?” Jimmy, her younger brother, asked Peter. Celeste turned away and stared silently out the window.
Mom gave the boys a meaningful look and said, “Please remember, Sunday is supposed to be a peaceful day of rest, a day free from the cares of the world and,” she added pointedly, “from the teasing of brothers.”
Celeste looked guiltily at Peter and Jimmy. Normally they deserved a lecture like this, but today wasn’t really their fault. It was Elijah Smith’s. The only time Eli had been decent to her was the week Sister Newman had given a lesson on “love your enemies.”
Later, in her room, while Mom sat quietly beside her, the day’s tragic events spilled out.
It had begun when Celeste enthusiastically answered two tough questions in her Valiant B class. Sister Newman had complimented her. “Good job, Celeste! I can always count on you.”
Celeste had flushed with happiness until Eli whispered loudly, “Miss Goody-goody Two Shoes knows all the answers.” The other children had snickered.
Later Eli bumped into her, then flopped on the floor, groaning, “Oh no! I’ve touched Miss Righteous. Help—I’m going to be translated!”
Even Celeste’s best friend, Mary, had laughed.
“Mom,” she asked now, “how could anyone name a boy like that after a great prophet?”
“Two prophets, if you count his last name,” replied Mom. “Don’t let him get to you, Celeste. Eli may not know about Elijah or Joseph Smith. He and his dad just started coming back to church this year. Besides,” Mom encouraged her with a big hug, “you know how to handle teasing. That’s one advantage of having two brothers, right?”
Celeste smiled, then broke into laughter when Mom winked at her, tiptoed to the bedroom door, opened it quickly, and Peter and James tumbled in.
“Eavesdropping, guys?” Mom asked sweetly. They grinned.
The next Sunday, things went from bad to rotten. In class, Eli brushed past her chair and snorted, “Teacher’s pet.” Celeste pasted on a smile and looked right through him.
The real bombshell hit when Sister Newman announced, “Class, we are going to have a prophet-mastery contest like the seminary youth do with scriptures! I’ll divide you into teams of two, and you can study together.
“Mary, you team up with Charles. Celeste, you’re partners with Eli.”
It was hard to tell whose jaw dropped first. Both Celeste and Eli looked like goldfish gasping on dry land.
“Please meet with your partner this week,” said Sister Newman, handing out a list of some prophets.
“Mom,” moaned Celeste during lunch, “how can I work with someone who doesn’t even like me?”
“I could ask Sister Virden to transfer him to my Blazer class,” Peter volunteered.
“No—to my class!” Jimmy clamored. “Sister Florio doesn’t let anyone get away with what she calls shenanigans.”
“See, honey,” Mom told her, “even though they tease you a lot, your brothers are telling you that they love you.”
Celeste sighed. “I guess that leaves me with ‘love my enemy.’”
At school, Eli and Celeste avoided each other all week. Finally, Saturday morning, Celeste called him. To her surprise, Eli agreed to come right over.
“We can’t show up tomorrow and look like dummies,” he explained. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”
They studied for two hours before Mom brought in some almond brownies.
“Food!” shouted Eli.
While he ate two in quick succession, Celeste said shyly, “You know, there is another prophet I think you’d really like. He’s in the Old Testament.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eli mumbled.
“His name was Elijah, like yours.” Eli stopped chewing as she continued. “He was one of the great prophets—in fact, another Old Testament prophet spoke of him, and Jesus told the people in the Book of Mormon about it. Elijah performed many miracles in the Lord’s name, like when he called fire down from heaven and burned up a sacrifice and an altar too.”
“Cool!”
Celeste rushed on, “He sealed up the heavens for three and a half years so it wouldn’t rain. During the famine the drought caused, he blessed a widow’s flour and oil so that she would always have food. And later he even raised her son from the dead. And he did all these things to help people turn to the Lord and to be good.”
“Wow! How do you know all this great stuff?”
Ducking her head modestly, she answered, “Oh, our family reads scriptures together. I do some on my own too.”
Before Eli left, she gave him a piece of paper with “1 Kings 17” [1 Kgs. 17] and “2 Kings 2” [2 Kgs. 2] written on it so that he could read more about Elijah.
The next day, when Eli came into Primary, he whispered, “Celeste, how come you didn’t tell me Elijah was taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire, pulled by flaming horses? He really was a great prophet of the Lord. I’m proud to have his name—and my last name’s the same as the Prophet Joseph’s!”
Mary and Charles won the prophet-mastery game, but Celeste and Eli were just one point behind. When Sister Newman asked the triple bonus question: “Name two prophets who appeared to Joseph Smith in the Kirtland Temple,” Eli surprised everyone by waving his hand.
“Moses and Elijah,” he said proudly. “That’s from Doctrine and Covenants section 110 [D&C 110]. My dad showed me.”
“Wonderful!” said an amazed Sister Newman.
“Better watch it, Eli,” teased Celeste as they filed out of class, “if you get too good, a fiery chariot with your name on it might show up.”
Eli laughed and said, “Know what, Celeste? If it did, I’d let you come too.”

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

In the fall when I returned to BYU I decided I wanted my dad to be there when I was baptized, so my baptismal date was arranged at a time when he would be in town to see one of our games. I’ll never forget my baptism. It was the happiest day of my life. Bob baptized me, and Coach LaVell Edwards confirmed me. And then, with tears running down his cheeks, my dad put his arm around me and said, “I’m really proud of you, son. I love you.”

Keith K., 19, Arizona, USA
I’m Keith, and I am an aspiring rapper, music producer, and recording engineer. I have a testimony because I wanted one. I wanted to know that the Church I had spent my whole life in was true. So I studied the scriptures, prayed earnestly, and looked to others in my ward for guidance. And sure enough, through those things, I was able to gain a testimony of the truthfulness of this gospel.

There are others, too, who are thinking more now about the things that really matter. “My wife had gone through I don’t know how many houses and helped clean up,” explained Brother Roy Vanlandingham. “And after she looked at all that broken fine china and cut glass, we realized what Christ meant when he said not to store up your treasures on earth. No matter what you’ve got, it can be taken away from you in less than 32 seconds. Your family is the only thing that matters. During the aftershocks, we sat in the middle of the street and watched our house rock three feet in each direction. But once I had found out my family was all right the panic was over.”

When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, even though he was in great pain, he was happy he could do something for others.

Around this time, Tyreece’s relationship with his parents was difficult, and he acknowledges his part in the problem. “I was like, talking back, disrespectful and all that, and my parents threatened to kick me out because they couldn’t handle me.”
When Tyreece returned home from his first lesson with the missionaries, he found all his belongings strewn about. “That’s how bad my parents wanted to get rid of me,” he says. But he thought about the pamphlet the missionaries had just given him about the gospel of Jesus Christ; and remembered the invitation they had extended to him: to go home and pray to Heavenly Father. Instead of reacting to the circumstances, Tyreece says, “I just ignored it all and I just did a prayer.”
He immediately felt the Holy Spirit. The feeling came with a sense of clarity, even at such an unsettling time for him. He stayed with a friend for a few days, then decided to reach out to the missionaries, to explain his home situation and ask for advice. Within five minutes, the missionaries found him board with a family in their ward. It was then that Tyreece knew in his heart that Heavenly Father is real, and that he could put all his trust and faith in Him.

After a recent mission tour in Indonesia when I visited the missionaries and the Saints on the island of Java, I had to catch an early morning flight to Singapore, and I checked out of the hotel at 6:00 A.M. In order to go to the airport, I, with my luggage, climbed into a taxi that was parked near the hotel entrance. I told the driver to go to the international airport, but alas, his car would not start. Apparently the battery was dead.
Well, what do you do in such a case?
Many thoughts crossed my mind. I calculated that it would probably cost me much time to unload my luggage and find another taxi, and it also occurred to me that the taxi driver was trying hard to make an honest living for his family and would be very disappointed if he could not make that lucrative half-hour trip to the airport.
I made the decision to do my morning exercises by pushing the taxi, leaving the Indonesian cab driver behind the steering wheel to start the car. However, he greatly overestimated the early morning physical power of a flying Dutchman and released the clutch of the car before I had been able to give the car adequate speed. As a result, it came to a sudden halt. But I gave it another try, and this time it worked. With a roaring motor the taxi moved forward. I flung open the door, jumped in, and we were on our way.
An hour and a half later when I boarded my flight, the air hostess who greeted me at the door of the plane said: “I am surprised to see you here! You are the gentleman who pushed the taxi in front of the Borobudur Hotel this morning.”
I confirmed that this was true, and she then told me that all the members of the plane crew had witnessed the scene from the airport limousine parked at a side door of the hotel. They had been waiting for their driver to bring one more piece of luggage. She said that on the way to the airport they had talked a lot about the incident and had wondered: “What makes this man tick? If he can afford to stay in the Borobudur Hotel, why would he take the trouble to push a taxicab at 6:00 A.M. in the morning?”
I thought, “This is my chance to do missionary work!” I took a name card out of my wallet, handed it over to her, and said, “We in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believe in sound human relations.” What a great opening line for a missionary!
Well, to cut a long story short, the air hostess told me she was not actually a stewardess but was flight services instructor for Cathay Pacific Airways and had boarded this flight to evaluate the performance of some students she had taught in the cabin crew training school in Hong Kong. That enabled me to make another statement about the Church: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the largest educational institution in the world today. At least 2 million people teach one another on a weekly basis with divinely inspired lesson materials.” I further explained to her that a great deal of my time is spent in teaching missionaries and members of the Church in the nine missions of Southeast Asia.
She remarked: “Then you are maybe the man we are looking for—an experienced air traveler with the ability to teach our personnel involved in ticketing, reservations, check-in counter work, baggage claim area assisting, etc., how to get along well with customers.” I told her that I would gladly do it free of charge whenever they planned another initial or refresher course in Hong Kong and when these dates would not interfere with my other Church assignments. I thought then and there: “What a golden opportunity to use that beautiful book Spiritual Roots of Human Relations, written by Brother Stephen R. Covey of Brigham Young University, to let these people know what makes Mormons tick!”
After my return to Hong Kong, I was approached by the training manager of the airline, who had received a report from the flight services instructor. I made an appointment and spent a couple of hours with him in his office. He was greatly impressed by the work and the achievements of the Church.
I am sure I will have the opportunity to reach out to many souls in the future simply because of what the world observed when they saw the Church in action one early morning in Jakarta, Indonesia.

Years ago, before a temple was completed in South Africa, the Saints planning to visit a temple had to travel the long and costly route to London, England, or, later, to São Paulo, Brazil. When I visited South Africa, they, with all the strength of their hearts and souls, petitioned me to importune President Kimball to seek the heavenly inspiration to erect a temple in their country. I assured them this was a matter for the Lord and His prophet. They responded, “We have faith in you, Brother Monson. Please help us.”
Upon returning to Salt Lake City, I discovered that a proposed temple for South Africa had already been approved and was to be announced immediately. When this occurred, I received a telegram from our members in South Africa. It read, “Thank you, Elder Monson. We knew you could do it!” You know, I believe I never did convince them that though I approved of the proposal, I did not bring it about.

There were people everywhere—doctors and nurses in white coats, tired and crying children standing in line to get shots, anxious foster parents searching for their Indian children, and other families happily reuniting. Eight-year-old Rose Begay had been so excited to come on the Indian placement program this year with her older brothers and sisters that she’d hardly slept the night before she was to leave. But during the long bus ride from Arizona she began to realize how far away she would be from the world she knew. She had loved the twinkling lights of the Salt Lake Valley she’d seen the night before from the bus window, but the harsh lights in the building stabbed at her tired, scratchy eyes. When Rose was finally introduced to her new family by her caseworker, Brother Hall, she was so exhausted that the people blurred before her eyes.
“Rose, this is Brother and Sister Robbins, and Julie, Jason, Eric, Scotty, and Susan,” he was saying. They all had blue eyes, freckles, and big smiles. Rose peeked at them through a curtain of black hair, then quickly lowered her eyes and looked at her toes.
The Robbins family lived in a brown house on a quiet circle. Rose gazed in wonder at the large, comfortable rooms and the shiny kitchen with a sliding glass door looking out onto the lawn and garden. In the distance she could see snow-covered mountains. She touched the pink gingham curtains edged with wide white lace in the bedroom she would share with Julie, and her eyes were drawn to the matching bedspreads.
When it was time to be tucked into bed, Sister Robbins had wanted Rose to wear the pajamas she had ready, but Rose shook her head no. How could she explain that the clothes she had on were her only link with home? She looked so tired and ready to cry that she was allowed to get into bed in the clothes she wore. But the bed still felt strange, and she couldn’t get comfortable. She longed for her goatskin rug on the hard floor at home. She squirmed and squiggled. Finally, after Julie had gone to sleep, Rose took a blanket, curled up in a corner on the floor, closed her eyes, and thought about her desert home. She could almost see the piñon smoke drifting through the clear air and feel the gentle touch of a smooth brown hand. At last she slept.
During those first weeks with her new family, Rose had many things to get used to. It seemed strange to be allowed to have cookies and popcorn after school. At the small reservation boarding school Rose had attended for a few months, children could eat only at mealtimes. And, with a twinkle in her eyes, Julie would often remind her, “Oops, you left the fridge open again, Rosie.” Sometimes Rose would eat until she felt like bursting, and still the ache of strangeness was inside her.
One morning there were pancakes for breakfast—crisp and brown on the edges—with hot maple syrup. Rose was just about to pour herself a glass of milk when she noticed that her foster mother didn’t have any and that there was only enough for one glass. “I don’t feel thirsty for milk today,” she said.
Sister Robbins looked at Rose strangely, then glanced down at her own empty glass. “Rose, I don’t want milk this morning,” she said. “I’m going to buy more milk at the store as soon as you go to school.” Rose filled her glass and drank the good cold milk with the hot pancakes.
“Will you vacuum for me today before you go, please, Rose?” Sister Robbins asked after breakfast. She plugged in the vacuum cleaner, turned it on, and showed Rose how to use it. Rose pushed it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth …
Jason grabbed his jacket and hollered, “Hurry up, Rose. You’ll be late for school.”
In desperation, Rose turned to Eric and whispered, “How do you stop this thing?”
Vacuum cleaners and refrigerators weren’t the only strange new things in Rose’s world that gave her problems. She was having trouble in school.
“Why don’t you look at me when I talk to you?” Miss McBunn asked Rose. “And why haven’t you been turning in your assignments?” Rose turned her eyes to the floor and retreated even farther behind the curtain of dark hair. She was embarrassed to tell her teacher that Navajos consider it rude to look right into peoples’ eyes when they are talking to them. Her assignments were all completed as well as she knew how, but she feared turning them in. What if they are all wrong? she thought. I would be ashamed.
The bell rang for their next class.
“Saved by the bell,” Rose’s friend Angie whispered.
“OK, girls, we’re going to run the forty-yard dash today,” the gym teacher announced. When the girls had lined up, the teacher put her whistle to her lips and BLEW!
Rose streaked across the field, her hair flying behind her. She glanced back and saw that she was far in the lead. Her feet went slower until most of the others were even with her.
“Why did you slow down? Why didn’t you try harder to win?” Angie wanted to know.
Rose shrugged her shoulders shyly and said nothing. She didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t the Navajo way.
After school Hank Holton walked by Rose and poked her with something sharp. He made an imitation of an Indian war whoop and taunted, “Where’s your tomahawk?”
Rose’s heart felt heavy, and her feet carried her home in slow, plodding steps. She felt much better when she got home and discovered that everyone was making preparations for family home evening.
“Mondays are my favorite times,” she commented to Julie as they put the best red glasses on the table with the good dishes and two tall candles. They were especially excited tonight because Grandma was coming for the evening.
“Be sure to pick all the toys up off the steps so Grandma won’t stumble on them,” Sister Robbins warned Scotty and Eric. But they ran off to play, and the toys were still there. Rose carefully gathered them up and put an extra cushion on Grandma’s chair so that she would be more comfortable. Then Rose went to the kitchen to check on the good smells. “What are you cooking tonight, Mom?” she asked.
“Oh, a special treat,” Sister Robbins replied, “shrimp and french fries.”
Rose had a funny look on her face.
“What’s the matter?” Sister Robbins asked.
“I don’t know whether to be a Navajo or a billigona (white person) tonight. Navajos aren’t supposed to eat fish, but oh, it smells so good!”
“Why, I didn’t know that Rose. I guess you will have to decide.” Sister Robbins gave her a hug.
“Why do white people touch each other all the time—hugging and kissing?” Rose asked with a puzzled look.
Sister Robbins laughed. “I guess it’s just a way we have to show our love for each other. Besides, I think it’s kind of nice, don’t you?”
Rose sat deep in thought for a while, then said, “Yes, I guess it is. One time my grandfather and I were going for a walk together. He held my hand so that I wouldn’t stumble in the holes. It was nice.”
After dinner Julie played the piano and Jason played his flute. Baby Susan clapped with everyone else and cooed.
As Rose watched Susan pick up a toy and play with it, all the lonely, homesick feelings and the strangeness of her new experiences seemed to swell inside her. She wanted to be as carefree as Baby Susan again. Rose reached over and snatched the toy from Susan so quickly that the baby lost her balance and tumbled over backward.
“Why, Rose!” Sister Robbins exclaimed in a shocked voice, “You mustn’t treat the baby like that! What’s gotten into you? Please go to your room and stay there!”
A while later Rose’s foster mother came into the darkened room to find the young Indian girl sobbing in a corner. Sister Robbins gathered Rose into her arms and carried her—even though she was eight years old—to the big rocker. Rose huddled on her lap choking on sobs that wouldn’t stop. “My Indian mother loves me,” she said brokenly again and again.
Sister Robbins stroked the damp hair from Rose’s hot face. “Oh, Rose, I love you, too,” she said soothingly.
Rose looked up and saw tears on her foster mother’s cheeks.
“You have become part of my heart. I don’t know what we would do without our little Rose. You bring a special gift to our family. Tonight I noticed how you cleared off the steps for Grandma and fixed her chair. None of my other children have ever watched to see that I had enough milk like you did this morning. You understand about peoples’ feelings in a special way.” She pressed her cheek against the smooth dark hair on the top of Rose’s head.
“Rose, I raised my voice at you tonight, and I’m sorry. I know that your Indian mother always speaks softly. Many of our ways must seem strange to you. Apples and bananas are not alike either, but they are both good. The gospel in our lives can be a bridge to cross over our differences.
“When I was only a few years older than you are now, I was baptized and became the only Mormon in my school in South Dakota. Some kids called me names like ‘Seagull’ and teased me because they thought I was different. But it didn’t matter because when I read the Book of Mormon, it seemed to fill a longing that had always been inside me. It seemed familiar to me, like my mother’s kiss, warm and comforting, as I drifted off to sleep at night. Your people helped to write that book, Rose. It is a great gift and blessing they have shared with us.”
“It is?” Rose looked up in wonder, her eyes still wet with tears.
“Oh, yes, my little Rose. Long years ago your people wrote that the time would come when we would care for you as nursing mothers and carry you on our shoulders—teach you the gospel. The placement program is part of the fulfillment of that prophecy. Saturday I will take you to Temple Square. You can see how Jesus came to your people long ago and how they gave us the Book of Mormon.” Rose snuggled deeper into her lap. She felt loved and safe as she drifted off to sleep.
On Saturday Rose felt special and important as she and Sister Robbins visited Temple Square. She enjoyed the stories and films about her people. Her grandfather liked to tell stories just like the Indian grandfather in one of the films. Grandfather had taught her to walk in beauty, to see the good and beauty in everything around her.
During the film, she heard the words of the Savior, “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd” (John 10:16).
Rose thought, I know about sheep. I’ve spent many hours tending sheep, finding them shade and water. I may be different from Julie and the others like apples and bananas are different, but I am one of His sheep.
Rose felt a comforting warmth, as familiar as snuggling down under her own goatskin rug or hearing her grandfather telling her stories. She had felt an ache and hunger inside that food could not satisfy, but it was beginning to melt away like the dew fades from the unfolding rose petals reaching for the sunshine.

Summers in San Antonio, Texas, can get hot, very hot. But this particular Saturday in July, the temperature was record breaking, well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. And best of all—yes, best of all—most of the teens in the San Antonio Texas Stake were lost.
They had forgotten themselves, their own aches and pains, their own problems and worries, and even the heat. They were lost in service to a group of children they would never meet face to face. They were refurbishing the play areas, grounds, and buildings of Providence House, a day-care facility devoted to children with life-threatening illnesses. Because of the children’s illnesses, the group would not be allowed to meet those who would benefit directly from their work.
For these teens, their youth conference was devoted to service, the true kind of service that is given with no thought of reward, even the reward that comes from seeing the smiling faces of children. They had chosen to dress modestly, even though temperatures had virtually never been higher. They chose to work outside or inside until every job was finished. And they chose to work with an attitude that they hoped would please their Heavenly Father.
The adult leaders took every precaution. They made sure teens had plenty to drink and were taking rest breaks in the shade or inside in the air conditioning. They even broke out a shaved-ice machine to serve plenty of cooling, flavored ice. They had also worked carefully with the director of Providence House in identifying exactly what needed to be done so the correct materials and tools were on hand.
Carol Bova-Rice, the executive director of Providence Home and Family Services, said, “I cannot find the words to express our appreciation. Other groups have offered to help, but they didn’t want to do big things. With this group, we planned what really needed to be done in advance, no matter how big. It’s wonderful.”
Taking their theme from the scriptures, the stake youth council agreed on the title “Mission Possible.” They liked the idea that individually they could not accomplish much but “with God all things are possible” (Matt. 19:26). They were particularly excited about combining the usual youth conference dances and barbecues with an outstanding service project. They wanted something substantial so the teens could really pull together to accomplish something big, something that would be memorable, and something that would teach a great lesson of Christlike service.
Hannah Clark, one of the teen co-chairs of the youth conference, explained, “There are some people that need our help. That’s where we need to come in and be like Christ. We need to serve. That is the pure love of Christ. It’s charity. That is the way to do it, by serving, even if we can’t see them and even if we don’t even know who they are. We are becoming more the way that we should be when we do those things.”
“We’ll have to visualize the children coming in,” said Chris Weirich, another youth co-chair, “and seeing the new things in a room, the new murals, all the new materials, the repainted play equipment, the new grow boxes; you just have to visualize it. You won’t see them, but you can still feel their excitement.”
On youth conference Saturday, Providence House was bustling. Everyone was assigned a group, and each group was assigned a job. Because of the red T-shirts issued for youth conference, the scene was literally a sea of moving, shifting colors. Everyone had a cleaning rag, a paintbrush, a broom, a vacuum, a hammer, or a rake in hand. Every spot that needed cleaning was cleaned. Everything that needed a new coat of paint was painted. Every weed was pulled. Every toy was sterilized. Every shelf in the storage closets was stacked with donated food or supplies. The San Antonio Stake youth had indeed taken on the big things.
Even as hot and tired as they were, by early afternoon nearly everything had been finished. The group returned to the stake center for a testimony meeting. One after another, they spoke about the things close to their hearts, about giving service without complaint, about how positive they were about the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Sandra Clark summed up how she felt, saying, “I’ve never been so sore and so happy with everything that’s going on around me. So many things were done with the right spirit this weekend.”

Shawn is excited because his relatives are coming for dinner. Mom said that she could make one each of three kinds of pies: pumpkin, banana cream, custard, blueberry, pecan, mincemeat, cherry, chocolate, lemon meringue. The problem is:
—Uncle Bart is allergic to chocolate.
—Dad does not like blueberries.
—Grandpa’s doctor said that custard pie is not good for him.
—Shawn does not like lemon meringue pie.
—Shawn’s cousin, Sally, does not like pumpkin pie.
—Aunt Eugenia says that pecan pie is too fattening.
What three kinds of pies did Mom bake that everyone would eat?
Answers:

When Ane was in high school, she looked forward to the day that she would attend a university. There were so many subjects she could study and so many careers she could choose from! “I had many, many interests and could do so many different things,” she says.

Although Ane lived in a small town in Norway, she attended a very good high school. Her school encouraged its students to work hard for good grades and to attend a university. Many students at Ane’s school began university studies immediately after graduating. From a young age, Ane had planned to do the same. Going to school, however, was only one of the goals Ane had set for herself.

“I have been well taught in Young Women through lessons and Personal Progress,” Ane says. “My goal has always been to marry in the temple.”

One evening at the local institute, Ane met a recently returned missionary named Benjamin. “From the first moment I saw him, he impressed me in so many ways,” says Ane. “It was so easy and nice to talk with him. We could easily talk about the gospel.”

Benjamin asked her on a date, and it went well. Over the coming months, Benjamin and Ane dated more. They played soccer and volleyball, went on hikes, and watched movies. Gradually they came to know each other better, and their friendship grew into romance.

As their courtship continued, their thoughts and plans turned to marriage. Ane and Benjamin were happy to have found the person they wanted to be with for eternity. However, this relationship became serious sooner than either of them had expected. What would happen to all the plans they had made when they were young? Would they still be able to seek an education? Would the decision to marry mean that their other goals would be postponed?

Some of their friends and family thought that this would be the case.

“Many people around me—at home, at school, and at work—were very concerned about how this relationship would affect my education,” Ane says. “They would question whether I even knew this relationship was going to last.

“Friends my age thought that getting married would prevent me from attending university,” she said. “To them, it seemed like I would be wasting my talents and opportunities.”

Some of Benjamin’s acquaintances felt the same way. “People wanted me to believe that we were too young, that my soon-to-be wife should complete an education first, and that if we got married, it would mean that we would have children, which we were also too young for,” he says.

Although Ane and Benjamin believed in the gospel’s emphasis on family and marriage, others not of their faith did not generally share this priority—at least not for young adults. “People in my town are strongly focused on education and work,” Ane explains. “This is good, but it does not leave much room for family—or religion.”

Both Benjamin and Ane were concerned about the advice and opinions given by their friends. For a whole year they struggled to decide on the right time to get married. They knew that ultimately the most important guidance would come from the Lord, so they spent much time searching the scriptures and words of the prophets for talks about family, marriage, and education.

“All these sources talk about how important both marriage and education are,” Ane says. As she continued in her search for direction, clarity finally came in a conversation with an institute leader. “She told me, ‘When you have the right person and the right place (the temple), it’s the right time!’” Ane remembers. “This really eased my mind. I received many promptings from the Spirit confirming that this was the path I should take. I came to know that Benjamin and I would get married and that it was the right thing for me to do at this time.”

Ane knew that she would still work toward getting an education, because that was also something that the Lord’s prophets encourage. But for now she knew that marriage would be her first priority.

Ane felt sad because she knew that few people would consider her marriage at that age something to be happy about. But she chose to focus on learning to recognize the promptings of the Spirit and on what the Lord thought instead of what her peers thought. “This was what I would need to stand strong and upright with the choice I had made,” she says.

Ane and Benjamin were married on July 16, 2009, in the Stockholm Sweden Temple. “When the day of our temple sealing arrived, I felt such peace,” Ane says. “It was all very simple. Beautiful. No worldly trappings. It felt so good to be with my parents and siblings in the temple—and with Benjamin. It was a time filled with true love.”

Although the months leading up to their marriage were hard, Ane is grateful for the trials she went through. “It forced me to take a stand,” she says. “God helped and strengthened me through scriptures, prayers, and priesthood blessings. Many of the people who were originally negative have come to acknowledge that what I chose was good and right. They see that I truly have found happiness. They have thanked me for trusting myself and the Lord.”

After their marriage, Ane and Benjamin moved to a new town where they both began their university studies. Soon they welcomed their daughter, Olea, and Ane temporarily put her studies on hold. Ane will continue her education part-time and online, allowing her both to get an education and to stay at home to nurture their daughter. Although she knows that such an arrangement will be hard work, Ane will still be able to get the education she desires.

“Some people may have thought that I had to sacrifice many things to get married and start a family,” she says, “and it could have looked that way. But in reality I have gained everything. I know that when I choose to put the Lord first, everything else will be given me. I am very excited and thankful to get my degree. But most of all I am thankful that we have the opportunity to be an eternal family!”

Why can’t I tell?” Ryan asked as he tiptoed behind Samantha to the big willow tree by the creek.
“‘Cause it’s a secret,” his friend Samantha whispered. “Nobody’s supposed to know about it except you and me and Grandpa.” Very carefully she lifted the leafy branch so that Ryan could see. “Don’t touch—just look.”
“Wow!” Ryan exclaimed as he looked at the four tiny white eggs in the nest. “How did you find it?”
“Grandpa showed it to me,” Samantha said proudly. “He says that if we don’t disturb it, pretty soon we’ll see the baby birds when they’re hatched. It’s a secret ’cause if lots of kids start coming around, the mother will abandon the nest.”
“Wow!” Ryan said again as he put the branch back in place to hide the nest. “I never saw a bird’s nest with real eggs in it before. I won’t tell anyone else.”
“We’ll come back on Saturday,” Samantha said as they started home. “Grandpa says that the eggs should be hatched by then.”
Ryan remembered the nature study lesson their second grade class had just had. “I have an idea,” he said. “If we’re careful not to disturb the mother, maybe we can watch her feed the babies and see them learn to fly.”
“Great idea!” Samantha agreed.
Ryan felt proud that Samantha trusted him with the secret. He wished he felt the same way about the secret Joey had told him last week. That secret made Ryan feel scared because Joey had said that Ryan would be in big trouble if he told anyone, and Joey was a big bully.
When Mom called him for lunch, Ryan was still thinking about Joey’s secret.
“Aren’t you hungry today?” Mom asked when she saw him pushing his macaroni around the plate with his fork.
“Not very.” Macaroni was his favorite, but today it didn’t taste so good. “Mom, is it OK for a kid to tell a secret if someone told him not to?”
“That depends,” Mom said. “If it’s a secret that makes you feel unhappy or upset, you should always tell a grown-up you can trust. But if the secret makes you feel happy, then it’s a good secret and you should keep it.”
Ryan liked what Mom said, and she was a grown-up he could trust. “Mom, Joey told me a secret about how easy it is to snitch stuff from Mr. Sonny’s store.”
“Did you feel happy when he told you?” Mom asked.
“No, but he said I’d be in big trouble if I told, and I’m scared of him.”
Mom smiled. “You won’t be in any big trouble. I’m pleased that you didn’t like Joey’s secret. I’ll speak to Mr. Sonny, and he can deal with Joey.”
Suddenly the macaroni tasted wonderful. Ryan knew that the secret he shared with Samantha was one he would keep. It was a good one. Soon he would see four fluffy baby birds in the nest, and that made him happy.

At the age of 18, Olivia Nez has been around the longest of any of the girls in the Young Women program on the reservation. She has played a large part in helping to plan this first girls’ camp, working closely with the leaders to make sure that all the girls had the equipment and skills necessary to have a great time. Even though her senior year was chock-full of activities, including being the student body president, Olivia made time to act as the youth camp director.
“Since I just graduated [from high school], this is my first and last camp with our branches,” she says. “The girls in my branch and the other branches face a lot of challenges, and this is a good opportunity to learn more about the gospel and recommit ourselves.”

A few years later at a devotional held following a visit to Adam-ondi-Ahman, the supervisor of service missionaries in the area asked me to share the story of my conversion. I did so and then thanked the couples attending the devotional for preparing their children to serve missions and for figuratively sending them to my door.
As I shook hands and prepared to leave, the supervisor spoke up. “Before we dismiss this meeting,” he said, “I have a personal confession to make.” I don’t remember his exact words, but in essence he said:
“As you know, I served my country as a U.S. Marine while I was a young man. While serving, I killed many Japanese soldiers. I thought I had served my country faithfully, but for many years, whenever I saw Orientals, particularly Japanese people, I experienced great depression. Sometimes I could not even function. I visited with Church authorities and discussed my feelings with professional counselors.
“Today, when I faced Elder and Sister Kikuchi and their son, a flash of memory returned. But then I listened to Elder Kikuchi share his testimony and conversion story, his love for the Lord and the gospel, and his love for each of us. He said he had hated Americans and American soldiers but that the gospel had changed his life through the Lord’s healing power. When I heard this, I also seemed to hear a voice from the Lord saying, ‘It is finished. It is OK.’”
He put his hands outward, raised them, and said, with tears in his eyes, “All of my guilt has been taken away. My burden is lifted!”
He came to me and hugged me. Then our wives approached, and we all hugged each other and wept.

When our children were young, I took them to a pet store to redeem a coupon for a free goldfish. Two hours later we emerged with a puppy, purchased with the children’s own money. That night we put the puppy in the laundry room to sleep. In the morning the room was a mess. The children were expected to clean up, but they felt it was too much. “We can’t!” they sobbed.
That night we held a family home evening on the subject of consequences. “When you bought the dog,” their father said, “you didn’t think about the consequences. Now the dog is part of our family, and you must take responsibility for her.” We discussed how consequences always follow any choice we make, and we encouraged them to always make righteous choices.
The dog recently died after 14 years as part of our family, but the life lessons she helped teach us will always remain.
Jill Grant, Victoria, Australia

Some years ago, while I was serving as the mission president in Portugal, several of our missionaries introduced me to their shoeshine man. Their shoes looked so good that I was anxious to meet the man that could put such a shine on missionaries’ shoes. Even though he had not chosen to listen to the missionaries’ message, I considered the shoeshine man my friend, and we visited while he was busy shining my shoes. He indicated that his wife had died, that he had no family, and that about the only pleasure he had in life was seeing people walk away happy with the shoes he had just shined.
His place of business was on the curbside of a small square on a busy street in downtown Lisbon. His stand seemed to have all that was necessary. It consisted of a short, rusty, three-legged stool, upon which my frail friend would sit as he shined the shoes that were placed on a stained and well-used shoeshine box that was full of his polishes and brushes, and there was an ornate lamppost (which was kindly furnished by the city of Lisbon), upon which the customer would lean while he was having his shoes shined.
He would carefully apply two coats of polish, using a brush to polish between each coat. Last, he applied a special product that would give the shoes that extra special shine. With a final snap of the cloth, he would stand up, take off his little Portuguese cap, make a deep bow, and say, “Pronto. Seus sapatos foram engrashados pelo o melhor engraxate do mundo.” “There. Your shoes were shined by the very best shoeshine man in the world.” I was convinced that I had had my shoes shined by the very best.
A few months after our mission, I was called to serve as the Regional Representative to Portugal and had the opportunity to return to Lisbon a number of times. As occasion permitted, I would have my shoes shined by the “best shoeshine man in the world.”
The last few times that I went, I was unable to find him at his usual place of business. I finally inquired at the prestigious stores that surrounded the square. The response was the same, “We don’t know what happened to him. It seems that we had heard that he had died.” I remember thinking, Could it be that the best shoeshine man in the world had died, and no one really knew or even seemed to care? I wondered: Had there been someone there with him, or did he slip away unnoticed?
May we contrast that for a moment with Brother and Sister Joaquim Aires, a marvelous man and his wife who came to Portugal following the 1974 revolution of Portugal’s colonies in Angola and Mozambique. They had returned to Portugal unknown and with very few possessions. A great blessing occurred in their lives. They opened their door to two young missionaries, who taught them of the restoration of Christ’s church. They received the missionaries, accepted their message, and were baptized.
As is the opportunity for all worthy men in the Church, he received the priesthood—authority to act in the name of our Father in Heaven—and to become a leader in the Church. Brother Aires became President Aires, president of one of the mission districts.
One day I received a telephone call. President Aires was in the hospital in Coimbra, several hours’ travel away. He had suffered a very serious cerebral hemorrhage and was in very critical condition. Another priesthood holder and I made the trip as quickly as possible. As we walked quietly into the hospital room, we found him asleep. My first inclination was not to awaken him. And then I thought he would want to know that we had come. So I reached over and carefully touched his hand. He slowly opened his eyes and then looked at me for a moment, and then the tears came to both of our eyes. He then said in a very weak and soft voice, “I knew you would come. I knew you would come. Would you please give me a blessing.” In his dear, sweet faith, he was asking for a priesthood blessing, the same that is taught of and recorded in the Bible. We read in James 5:14–15: “Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:
“And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up.”
As men of the priesthood, it was our privilege to pronounce a blessing on him with power and authority of our Father in Heaven.
As I would meet with the members of the Church from one end of Portugal to the other, the brothers and sisters would ask, “How is Brother Aires? Will you please tell him we love him and we’re praying for him?”
This good man and his wife, who had returned to Portugal almost unknown, now, because of their membership in the Church, had literally thousands who loved them and were concerned about them and remembered him in their prayers.
The prayers of faith were answered. He recovered completely, and he and Sister Aires went on to fulfill a full-time mission together.
I have thought often of the contrast between the two—my little shoeshine man on one hand, who, like so many of life’s unknown wanderers, had slipped away without any understanding of life’s purpose; and Brother Aires on the other, who was not only taught of life’s real purpose, but had now become a part of a great body of people who showed their love and appreciation for him.
As the Apostle Paul wrote to the members of the Church, or Saints as they were called and are called today, he reminded the newly baptized members of the Church of the blessings of belonging when he told them, “Ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). What a blessing it is to belong and to be wanted and needed! It becomes even more apparent during life’s tender moments.
To all who find yourselves outside the household of faith and away from the Saints, would you please accept this invitation to come unto Christ that we might all, as Alma said, “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8). Join with the Saints, that you might not be any longer strangers alone in this world, but truly cared for, loved, and appreciated.
And to all of us—those of us who are members of the Church, could I just counsel with you for a moment? Do you have anyone that you know who might be as our little shoeshine man, who is alone—alone in this great crowd of people—that could use your special love and caring and concern? Could you take a moment and let such people know how much you love them?
And may we also, as members of the Church, truly do our part to make His church a welcome refuge for all of our Father in Heaven’s children, I pray humbly in the name of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, amen.

“Rhoda, will you offer the blessing on the food?” Mama asked.
Rhoda looked at the small potato on her plate. “But there is still so much plate showing around my dinner,” she wanted to say but didn’t. “Yes, Mama,” she said.
Bowing her head, she began, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for the food, and please bless it. Watch over Daddy in England that he will find those who are looking for the truth. And please provide food and safety for us while he is away. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rhoda opened her eyes and noticed her sister, Louisa, staring at Mama’s empty plate.
“Mama, where’s your food?” Louisa asked.
“Willard is out working in the fields,” Mama replied. “When he comes in, he’s going to want more than just water to drink.”
Rhoda could see worry lines around her sister’s eyes. “Are there no more potatoes?” Louisa asked.
Mama shook her head. “Those are the last ones. So eat up before they get cold.”
Rhoda stared at Mama. “But Mama, what will we do for breakfast in the morning?”
“Well, in your prayer you asked the Lord to provide for us while Daddy is away,” Mama replied. “I trust He will answer your prayer.”
“Mama!” Willard burst through the door. “Quick! The Judds have turned the canal water into their ditches!”
“Hurry, girls,” Mama said. “Buckets are outside!”
Rhoda jumped from the table, following Willard and Louisa outdoors. Each one grabbed a large, wooden bucket and raced down the dusty path to the canal.
Even though Rhoda was only eight years old, she understood about the canal. Like a man-made river, the canal was the source of water for all the homesteads in the area. The canal also provided water for irrigating crops. Farmers would turn some of the water from the canal into ditches lining their crops. Then the water would flow out of the ditches and flood the land. But once in a while, a farmer would turn all the canal water into his ditches, leaving the homesteads downstream without water until he finished irrigating his crops. And Rhoda knew that even one day without water in this scorching heat would be dangerous.
When the children arrived at the canal, the water flow had already stopped, leaving a still bed of water resting in the bottom. Rhoda filled her bucket with water, carried it back to the house, and poured it into the large rain barrel beside the front door. Back and forth the children ran, trying to fill the barrel before the water dried up.
“One more bucket each ought to do it,” Mama called.
Even though the sun hung low, almost touching the horizon, the dirt felt hot and gritty on the bottoms of Rhoda’s feet. Reaching the canal, they found that the stream was now dried up, leaving a muddy bed pocked with small, shallow pools. Rhoda jumped down into the damp streambed, mud spurting between her toes. Reaching the edge of one of the shallow pools, she leaned over to dip her bucket into the water. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell, splashing into the pool.
Willard and Louisa laughed as Rhoda stood up. Her dress clung to her back and belly, and warm water dripped down her arms and legs. When she reached down to grab her bucket, something slippery slithered past her ankles. “Snake!” Rhoda screeched, scrambling out of the pool.
Willard raced over, peering at the small pool.
“There!” Rhoda cried, pointing a finger at the water.
Willard’s eyes scanned the murky water. His hand circled the surface, then suddenly he thrust his arm into the water and grabbed at something.
“It’s a fish!” Willard shouted, holding a small, wriggling fish in his palm. “I caught a fish!”
“Look! There must be more in that pool over there!” Rhoda pointed.
“And over there,” Louisa shouted, pointing at another. All the small pools of water rippled with life.
“Let’s fill our buckets and take them to Mama,” Louisa suggested.
There was little water left in the pools and the fish swarmed in tight bunches, making it easy for the children to snatch them up. Soon their buckets were filled and the children carried them back to the cabin.
“Mama! Look what we found in the canal!” Rhoda called as they reached the cabin door.
“Fish? In the canal?” Mama looked confused. “There aren’t any fish in that canal.”
“There are tonight. The shallow pools are full of them,” Louisa said.
“But there have never been fish in that canal,” Mama said quietly, staring at the full buckets of fish. “Children, this is a miracle. Just as He sent manna to the hungry Israelites, the Lord has sent fish for us to eat.”
Reaching for Rhoda’s bucket, she continued, “And just like the children of Israel, we must gather all we can while there are fish to catch. Go and see if there are any more, and I will begin cleaning these and packing them in salt.”
The sun sank into the prairie grasses and a full moon lit the night as the children returned to search for more fish. As Rhoda knelt down in the mud, she closed her eyes and spoke softly. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for answering my prayer and for taking care of us. Thank Thee for sending us the miracle of the fishes.”

In 1951, the branch my family belonged to started building a chapel. It was the first chapel in Uruguay. We had never met in a Church meetinghouse like many of you go to every Sunday. In fact, I did not know exactly what a chapel was, but I knew that it was something very important.
There were less than one hundred members who worked with my parents to construct the building. There were no cranes or construction crews like those that build many chapels. All of the work was done by the members of the branch. I knew that it was an honor to help because of the way my parents talked excitedly about the building and because they spent so much of their time helping to build it. I wanted to help, too.
Some members mixed cement. Some members dug holes, and some hammered nails. There were not many jobs for a five-year-old, so they gave me the job of straightening out the nails. I took a hammer and pounded old nails, trying to make them straight. I loved the clang of the hammer and the challenge of getting the bends out of the metal nails. Most of all, I loved just having a job. My parents reminded me that the chapel could not be built without nails. I felt thrilled that I could serve with my family.
After three years, the chapel was finally finished. President David O. McKay came to Uruguay to dedicate it. Having the prophet visit was a very special event for the Uruguayan members of the Church. Everyone dressed up in their nicest clothes to meet him. I remember President McKay standing in the chapel, and I was thrilled that he could see the building I had helped create. He put the cornerstone in place and dedicated the building. His white hair made him look like he had come from heaven. He went around and shook everyone’s hand. When he came to me, he bent down especially to shake my hand. It was my first experience with meeting a prophet, and when he spoke to me, I had a warm feeling in my heart. I felt glad that I had helped to build the chapel.
Twenty years later, I became the bishop and served in the very building I had helped to build. The branch had grown in those twenty years, and so had I. As a child, I had relied upon my parents’ testimonies. I later gained my own testimony as I served others.