Gospel Story Finder

A short time ago, our family had the opportunity to be taught. It was a painful trial, but it became a sweet experience. Last December my wife and I were together with our three daughters. The oldest is married and lives in the state of Delaware. She came to visit us with her husband and three little children. The youngest of her children is David, fifteen months old, who is also the youngest of our four grandchildren. The days of their visit were beautiful and unforgettable. We enjoyed ourselves immensely as a family, and it was an opportunity to get to know David, whom we had only seen at birth. David is an extremely sweet child, the best I have ever known. He never cries, even when sick or in pain. He is independent but very loving—a special spirit.

Those days together came to an end, and my daughter’s family returned home. Two days after they arrived, tragically David had to be taken to the hospital, and four hours later he died.

My wife and I immediately left to be with our children at this difficult time. We flew all night, and it was painful for us to talk about what had happened. We spent long waking hours in thought and prayer. I didn’t know how I could comfort our children. What could I say when I, myself, felt such deep pain? So I prayed a great deal, and a loving Father came to my aid. The answers came one by one at the appropriate time, fulfilling the Lord’s promise: “Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23).

We met our children, who were in deep mourning. They were suffering so intensely that their pain did not allow them to see the purposes and teachings. They are faithful members of the Church, but as young people they never expected anything so devastating.

My wife and I shared the answers that we had, and they, upon understanding and accepting them, began to receive further answers, additional teachings which brought peace to their hearts.

“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23).

The sense of pain and suffering diminished, leaving in its place sweet feelings from the Spirit.

I was amazed at the way our children went through the difficulty of the funeral with such calmness and sweetness. They showed great strength and even comforted other relatives and friends.

How was this wonderful change made possible?

Because we realize that God lives and, as our Father, he loves us. He doesn’t want us to suffer any harm. If David went away, it was because as a special spirit he had no need to remain longer in this life. We realize that David is needed in another place. It was a blessing to know him and to have him in our family. We have not lost him; we will be able to see him again. We should remember fondly the time that we spent with David. He taught us what it means to be pure and clean before God, and he is an example for all of us. We need to place our lives in proper perspective in order to be worthy to see him again. Because of him, we think more about life beyond the veil and have been taught to recognize what is truly important in this life and the life to come—keeping our families united eternally.

So many blessings, so many teachings! We changed and grew during that time. How grateful we are to our Father in Heaven for this experience.

A few days after David left us, my daughter learned that she was pregnant again. So much love from our Father! Additional teachings. I testify that our teacher, our Shepherd, is Christ, our best friend, who clears up all our doubts. He heals our wounds and turns our pain into sweet experiences. I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My brethren and sisters, like many of you I was surprised after my marriage to discover the extent of my wife’s relatives. Having come from an extensive family myself, it was nothing new to me to be surrounded by a large family. Nevertheless, as I became acquainted with the connections into which I had married, I had my eyes opened.
I served as a Regional Representative in Wyoming. Her parents grew up there and it seemed that everyone was her relative. The same thing was evident when I was transferred to southern Utah. Her family connections are everywhere. I find them in Texas and in Arizona. We even found them in Egypt and in Saudi Arabia when we visited there two months ago. I have found myself in constant competition to find relatives of my own. I don’t know whether I should say this, but I’ve always laid a certain claim to fame from the fact that Sister LaVern Parmley, who was president of the Primary, was my cousin. But you know, Sister Bangerter arranged to have her released. And then she had Sister Barbara Smith, who is her cousin, sustained as president of the Relief Society.
Several years ago while I was conversing with a man from southern California who was visiting for the first time in Salt Lake City, he commented that the members of this Church seem to be a unified people. He mentioned that this was foreign to his experience. Even though he was a member of a church in Los Angeles and attended regularly, he rarely did more than greet the man who sat behind him and speak “good morning” to the one in front. He said, “I have no close friends in a congregation of 1,200 people.”
I responded that while I had been to Los Angeles only two or three times, I was sure that if I were to visit any one of the fifty or hundred congregations of our Church in that city, within twenty minutes I would find someone I knew or someone who was acquainted with friends of mine, or perhaps even a relative. If not that, certainly one of my wife’s relatives.
I have often been impressed with these extensive relationships which are common to those of us who are members of the Church.
We have other examples of the extensiveness of our families. Last summer we were driving through Switzerland and were passing near the town from which my grandfather came. Immediately in front of us on the highway was a truck, on the tailgate of which was written the name Bangerter and the name of the town. I turned to my wife and said, “At last I have you outnumbered. All these people are my relatives.”
In pursuing our genealogy, our family has extended many lines of our ancestry back in to the 1500s. One day I counted up the surnames on our pedigree. I found that I come from 226 known family lines. If each one of you whose family came from Switzerland or England would check your pedigree to the same extent, I am sure you would have some of the same names I do.
This is an indication that we all have a real kinship based on blood relationship.
On my pedigree I counted up the names of 650 individuals who have been identified as my direct progenitors. But I have calculated that if I could fill in all the spaces on my pedigree chart only going back to about the year 1500, there would be between 15,000 and 20,000 individuals who are my direct ancestors. And if I were to add to those names the names of their children, I would have a genealogy of between fifty and sixty thousand people, all closely related to me.
Because of the intensive efforts of my mother and other members of the family, several thousand names have been gathered of my close relatives who are dead. Following the doctrine of the Church, these names have been taken to the temple and ordinances have been performed for them so that when we meet them in the life after death we will recognize them, not only as members of our family, but also as brothers and sisters in the gospel.
I have also learned that even in a family where extensive work has been done in genealogy, the majority of this research is still ahead of us.
There are other relationships in our lives not founded so closely on blood connection.
I have listened to the testimonies of many people who have joined the Church. Invariably they speak of how they wandered in different philosophies and religions, but that when they joined the Church they found that they had connected with their true family. In a spiritual sense, they have come home.
I have had close association with a man in business who is a beloved friend. We have occasionally discussed religion; and although he has not shown interest in joining the Church, he has investigated many religious philosophies, including the Methodist Church, reincarnation, certain aspects of spiritualism, Pentecostal groups, and Christian fellowship associations. I told him one day that I was sure he would someday join the Church.
When he inquired with a smile how I knew that, I responded, “Anyone who is looking as earnestly as you are will never be satisfied until he finds the full answer. But when you do join the Church, you will feel like you have come home and you won’t be searching anymore.”
This is the feeling of the members of this Church. Since the days of Jesus Christ, the members of his Church have called each other brother and sister. This was not just happenstance—it was intended.
The Savior taught us to pray to our Father who is in heaven. He spoke of himself as the Son of his Father and frequently referred to the members of the Church as the children of God. If this doesn’t indicate family relationship, I fail to understand the meaning of those terms.
When I first went to South America as a young missionary, I noticed that the people looked like foreigners. They spoke a strange language; they had a darker skin; their hair was dark; their eyes were dark; and I felt lost among them. I did not understand until later that I was the foreigner. But now after spending many years with those people, when I now go among them, I can no longer distinguish between them and North Americans or Europeans. I feel so much at home with them that I don’t even notice what color their hair is or the tone of their skin or the color of their eyes. I don’t even notice what language they speak.
They’re my brothers and sisters. I extend my full love to them, and they return it to me with ties as close as those that I have experienced in my own family.
Now when I read the scriptures I understand better what the Savior meant. He was visiting in a certain home when a messenger came in and informed him that his mother and his brethren were waiting outside. He turned to the man, not to depreciate his family relationship but to teach a special lesson, and said, “Who is my mother? and … my brethren?” And then, turning to the group gathered before him, he said, stretching forth his hand toward his disciples, “Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Matt. 12:48–50.)
What I experienced in South America was described by Paul in his letter to the saints in Ephesus: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (Eph. 2:19.)
Does not this word household denote a family relationship?
From these examples I infer that God the Father, after having scattered his children abroad in the earth for their experience, desires to bring them home again. We, who, as Peter said, “are given … exceeding great and precious promises” (2 Pet. 1:4), have ourselves promised to engage in a lifetime of service in behalf of our brothers and sisters who are not so favored.
Those relatives who have gone on to the spirit world without the blessings of the gospel cannot forever be neglected. A small number of Church members have been diligent. A new era is upon us now. At this very moment, instructions are going out to the high priests of the Church to mobilize their forces so that every member of the Church can be helped to find his family and bring the lost members home again. This year we are all called upon to prepare our own personal history and to organize our living family. Even without a temple or a library close at hand, everyone can do this. Next year we will be given other challenges and assignments until gradually the members of the Church everywhere will become proficient in preparing the records of their families who have died without the gospel.
If this work is true, we may shortly expect the day when we do things for the dead as extensively as we now do them for the living. This may conceivably require many members to devote years of their time, expending substantial amounts of money, just as we do now in missionary service.
Putting the Lord’s family together on eternal terms constitutes the purpose for which the gospel was restored. This will even save nations and the world. We do it by uniting our homes and obtaining our blessings in the temple. We do it by inviting others to accept the restored gospel. We do it by extending our hands across the spiritual spaces to those many relatives who died without the gospel. Those who destroy homes commit a crime against eternity. If we do not put our family together, Moroni says the whole earth will be utterly wasted at Christ’s coming. (D&C 2:3.) May God bless us to be saviors in the Lord’s family, rather than destroyers, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Last summer my Primary teacher taught us that we should be getting ready to be baptized. She gave us each a paper to take home. It said that after I am baptized, if I try to be good, repent when I make mistakes, and remember Jesus Christ, that Heavenly Father will forgive me when I do something wrong. I put the paper on our fridge so that I would remember.
One day I wanted to climb the trees in my front yard. Mom and Dad asked me to wait for their help so that I wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t want to wait, so I climbed up by myself. It was fun until I fell out of the tree. I was hurt, but I didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad that I hadn’t waited for them, so I lied. I told them that I fell off a little fence in our yard. They asked if that were true, and I said, “Yes.”
When I went in to eat lunch, I saw the paper on the fridge. I felt bad that I had lied. I told Mom that I had really fallen out of the tree. I also said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for lying and said that I would do better. I felt good inside after that.

To grow fruit there is a yearly challenge. After the fruit has blossomed, if it gets extremely cold, the blossoms will freeze, and the whole crop will be wiped out. Just as the fruit farmers relied on the Lord for rain, they also relied on the Lord to help them protect their crops. One time we had a long, hard cold spell that lasted night after night. Our stake president asked for a special fast that the elements would be tempered, and we were able to save our fruit.

Sybil Ferguson is at present a business executive. As a young woman she had no plans for a professional career and was married right after high school. She spent a number of years raising a family, and after about 20 years of marriage she experienced the blahs of middle age. She was overweight, she didn’t like her appearance, and she didn’t feel very good about herself. She read a lot of books and developed a weight-loss program that worked for her. People were curious as to how she’d accomplished this feat, and so she shared her program with others. Finally, she opened a diet center in her home. That center was so successful she decided to franchise the program in other cities. After 12 years, her organization has 1,500 diet centers throughout the United States. This experience changed Sybil’s life. She has become a confident executive who does a lot of public speaking and has written a bestseller on losing weight.

Natalie dipped her brush into the orange paint and put the finishing touches on her newest picture. Orange swirled together with red, yellow, pink, and lavender watercolors to form a sunset behind majestic mountains.
“There! I’m finally finished,” she announced as she placed the painting on the kitchen counter to dry.
“It’s beautiful, Natalie,” Mom said as she admired the painting. “No wonder you won the school art contest again this year.”
Just then, Jared, Natalie’s nine-year-old brother, zipped through the kitchen. “Bye! I’m going to practice for the big race!” he yelled as the screen door slammed shut. In the next instant, he was in the kitchen again. “Hey, Natalie! You’re still going to paint my go-cart for me, right?”
“Sure, Jared. I’ll do it after lunch. You’ll be back by then, won’t you?”
“I’ll make sure I am!”
In the meantime, I’ll go try out my new bike tires, Natalie thought. Jared had put new tires on her bicycle, and in return, Natalie had agreed to paint bright red flames on the sides of his go-cart for the race on Monday afternoon.
As she started to pedal down the street, she heard her friend Nicole calling her. “Natalie, my parents are taking me to the amusement park today, and they said I could bring a friend. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love to!” Natalie squealed. Then she remembered Jared. “Wait—I can’t go. I promised Jared I’d paint his go-cart for the race on Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I can’t do it then.”
“We can wait a couple of hours for you if you want to paint it now.”
“Jared has it with him. He’s practicing for the race and won’t be back until after lunch,” Natalie said sadly.
“Well, it will go just as fast without paint as with paint,” Nicole pointed out. “Your painting it isn’t going to help him win the race.”
Natalie thought, That makes sense. Besides, does he expect me to wait around all day for him? “OK, I’ll go!” she told Nicole. “Mom’s gone to the store, so I’ll tell Dad. We can go right away!”
At the amusement park, smells of food filled the air, and clowns carried bouquets of bright red balloons. The girls went on every ride, but for some reason, Natalie wasn’t having much fun. Even when she rode the carousel, her favorite ride, she didn’t enjoy herself. As she sat on a beautiful white horse with sparkling jewels in its trappings, all she could think about was how disappointed Jared was going to be when he found out she had broken her promise.
That evening, Natalie dreaded going home. She opened the door as quietly as she could, hoping nobody would hear her come in. But Mom was sitting on the couch. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Natalie answered halfheartedly. “Where’s Jared? I really need to talk to him.”
“He and Dad are out practicing for the race. They’ll be home late,” Mom said with an “I’m disappointed in you, but I’m not going to say anything” tone of voice. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
On Sunday morning, Jared didn’t mention the go-cart, but Natalie could tell he was hurt. She was glad when it was finally time to go to church.
After a prayer, her Primary teacher, Sister Parker, began to explain the lesson. “Today we are going to talk about covenants. A covenant is a promise, or an agreement, between two people.”
Natalie slumped in her seat.
“As long as one of them keeps the agreement,” Sister Parker continued, “the other is also bound to do what he or she has promised.”
Just like the deal I made with Jared. Natalie squirmed in her chair.
“We all make covenants when we are baptized. We promise to take upon us the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. This means we are willing to live as he would have us live.”
Jesus would not have wanted me to break my promise to Jared, thought Natalie.
“We also promise to always remember him and keep his commandments. In return, he promises to send his Spirit to always be with us. The sacrament is a time for us to remember what the Savior has done for us and to renew our baptismal covenants.”
During the sacrament, she thought about what Sister Parker had taught in Primary. She listened carefully to the sacrament prayers. She remembered Jesus and how he had suffered and died for her. Then she thought about the covenants she had made at baptism. “Heavenly Father, I promise to do better,” she prayed silently.
On the way home, she apologized to Jared. “I’m really sorry I didn’t paint your go-cart. How can I make it up to you?”
“It’s OK, Natalie. I can still race. Don’t worry about it.”
But Natalie did worry about it. She wanted to make things right. After praying again, she knew what she would do.
Monday morning, Jared was astonished. When he went to get his go-cart, it had been painted a sleek black, and bright red flames raced along the sides. He ran into the house. “Hey, Natalie!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” Mom said with her finger to her lips. “I’m going to let her sleep for a while longer.”
“Did you see it?” Jared asked, barely able to hold still long enough to hear the answer.
“Yes, I did. It looks great! She got up at three o’clock this morning to paint it for you.”
The time for the race finally came. Friends and families crowded along the course, waiting for the go-carts to come racing down the hill. Natalie waved to Jared as he slipped into the red and black go-cart. “Good luck, Jared!”
As he waved back he had a huge, happy grin on his face. Natalie’s grin was just as huge and happy.

It was December 23rd. The mall was dead after an exhausting day. My legs ached after walking the aisles all day at the music store where I worked.
My heart was warmed by the true spirit of Christmas evidenced by the light and laughter dancing in people’s eyes as they searched for gifts to show their love to those they adore.
I had also discovered the joy of giving. My only problem was I didn’t like shopping. Why was I working at the mall, then? The employee’s discount helped.
After the metal gate was partway down, signaling that we were closed, I got out the CDs I had selected for my brother and sister. I had tucked away the exact amount. It was the last of my money until my next paycheck. The money, $26 and change, was all I had and all I needed.
Just as I was about to complete my transaction, a little girl walked in. She was so little she had no need to duck under the metal gate.
I put down my CDs and asked, “Can I help you?”
She explained that her little brother wanted a popular cartoon video for Christmas, but all the stores were sold out.
“Well,” I said, “you’re in luck.”
Her face brightened as she exclaimed, “You mean you have one?”
It was always a fulfilling thing for me to take the customer right to the item they had been searching for. Straight to the video we went.
She saw it and ran toward it before I had a chance to get it. “This is the one I’ve looked for!” Carefully she turned the video over, looking at the cartoon figures on the back. It was then that I saw the price: $24.99.
Her eyes also migrated to the price sticker. “Is this enough?” she innocently asked, holding out her mittened hand that clasped some very crumpled dollar bills and change.
I took the warm dollars and smoothed them out slowly, hoping that they would multiply themselves somehow.
“Is it enough?” she asked again. I didn’t say anything. How could I tell her?
Large tears welled up in her eyes as she realized why I kept silent. Discouragement washed over her face. With a sigh she asked, “What can I buy with this much?”
In the store there was no gift that six dollars and some change could buy—trust me; I looked. The only option, if she was to have her video, was for me to help her pay for it. Yet, if I did that, I would then be in her predicament: no presents with only six dollars and change.
A scripture came to my mind: “Knowest thou the condescension of God?” (1 Nephi 11:16). In my mind, I envisioned Christ descending from His heavenly throne, causing the tears of our shortcomings to be turned to tears of joy through His Atonement and payment of our deficit.
For the little girl it may have only been a moment, but for me that time of contemplation was a turning point. I saw a level of the glad tidings of great joy that I had left undiscovered.
I got down on my knees, at her level, and said, “You know, there is a way your brother can have his movie.”
A huge smile banished all sorrow from her face. “How?” she asked.
I took the clean, crisp $20 bill from my wallet and handed it to her. Through my new perception, I happily and thankfully watched her skip to the counter. Already on my knees, I took the opportunity to thank Heavenly Father for my Savior and His gift, which He taught me affectionately that night.
Can you put a price on a great understanding of the Atonement? I think not. I still lacked gifts for my siblings, except for some cheap demo CDs the music store was giving away. Though they weren’t what I had originally wanted to give, what they represented to me made them the best presents I’ve ever given.

Eiko sat between her father and mother as the high-speed train whipped them toward her grandparents’ home on the other side of Tokyo, Japan. Her hands were clasped tightly on her lap, and her feet barely touched the floor. She was too nervous to talk as the train rushed them forward.
A year ago, a visit to her grandparents’ apartment was not a big deal, but things were different now. Ever since she and her parents were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints last year, Eiko’s grandfather had refused to speak to her father and mother. The day that Father told him about their baptisms, Grandfather became so angry that he said Father was no longer his son.
Eiko didn’t like to think about that horrible day, but as they sped past bustling train stations and over city streets, she couldn’t stop remembering it. …
Even though it had rained that morning, Eiko had looked forward to a wonderful day with her grandparents! They were coming for dinner, and her parents were going to tell them all about Jesus Christ and about the prophet in America. She was so happy that she hummed “Love One Another” as she put her toys away.
Her parents were also busy tidying up their small apartment, fussing as though the emperor was coming. They both smiled nervously when Eiko said that she had a Book of Mormon to give to her grandparents. Father told her that he needed to speak privately with Grandfather about the Church first. Maybe later she could give him a Book of Mormon. Eiko was puzzled, but she promised to do as she was told. Secretly she wondered if she could keep from bursting out the news the moment her grandparents walked through the door! At her new church, she had met so many wonderful people and learned so many things! She wanted to share every bit of it with her grandparents.
When they arrived, Eiko bounced impatiently as they slipped out of their shoes. Everyone chuckled at her, but her parents’ laughter sounded different—agitated—like the sound the dishwasher made when it was broken.
As Grandfather turned from the door, he gazed into the corner—at an empty, white wall. His smile vanished. “Where’s the kamidana?” (A kamidana, or “god-shelf,” is a small shelf where photographs of family members who have died are kept. Traditional Japanese, like Eiko’s grandfather, honor their ancestors by praying to them in front of the kamidana.)
Father stepped forward, his hands behind his back. “I have removed it,” he said softly.
“Removed it?” Grandfather repeated. “Why?” His words were sharp, like nails, and they pierced Eiko’s heart.
Father nodded to Mother, who hurried Eiko from the room. In the kitchen, she gave her daughter a bag of vegetables. “Slice these for dinner,” she said.
Suddenly Eiko’s stomach hurt. She wasn’t interested in dinner, but she began slicing a carrot. Grandmother came into the kitchen and joined in the work, a stiff smile on her face.
Through the thin walls of their apartment, Eiko listened as Father explained to Grandfather that they had been baptized. Father’s voice was nervous but firm as he said that in this home, only prayers to Heavenly Father would be said, not prayers to their ancestors.
Eiko waited for Grandfather to say something, anything, but everything remained quiet. Very quiet. Mother and Grandmother stopped working. Mother’s face was tense; Grandmother’s eyes were wide with astonishment.
Suddenly Grandfather’s voice boomed out! He accused Father of shaming their ancestors by removing the kamidana. Father’s voice cracked as he apologized for any pain he was causing Grandfather but repeated that in this home, only prayers to Heavenly Father would be offered.
Mother moved into the room, and Grandmother raised a towel to her face to catch her tears. Eiko didn’t know what to do or where to look, so she sliced another carrot and watched her hands work.
Grandfather bellowed for Grandmother, who scurried from the kitchen and past Mother. Eiko’s parents bowed as her grandparents disappeared down the staircase. She hurried to the rain-splattered window and pressed her nose against it. Soon she saw them moving rapidly through the rain.
That was the last time Eiko had seen them.
Father assured her that her grandparents still loved her. He explained that they were terribly offended that the kamidana was gone. Eiko said that she understood, but she didn’t. All she understood was that she missed her grandparents terribly.
She prayed every day that her grandparents would call on the telephone.
But days passed, then weeks, even months, and still no call came. Eiko knew that her parents had tried many times to telephone them, but without success.
Almost every night, Eiko lay awake on her futon (a traditional Japanese bed that is unrolled on the floor at night), hoping and praying that things would change. Then an idea came to her mind. The next afternoon, she said to Mother, “May I call Grandfather?”
Mother hesitated. “Eiko,” she said softly, “Grandfather may not wish to speak with you. He’s very upset that we have become Latter-day Saints.”
Eiko nodded. “But I miss him very much.”
“I miss him too.” Mother gazed into Eiko’s eyes and warned, “You must understand that Grandfather is ashamed of our commitment to the Lord.”
“But I am not ashamed.”
Mother smiled. “You may call. Perhaps he will speak to you.”
There was an awkward silence when Grandfather heard Eiko’s tiny voice on the phone. Then his soothing voice poured into her ear. “Eiko.”
Warmth swept through Eiko, and soon she was chattering about her school friends. Grandfather laughed and asked many questions. Maybe Grandfather still wouldn’t speak with her parents, but he was talking to Eiko!
Although they had many conversations over the next several days, Eiko was afraid to mention her new faith. Then one day Grandfather asked, “Eiko, what do you think of your parents’ new religion?”
Her stomach somersaulted. Although she had imagined what she’d tell Grandfather about the Church, Eiko felt afraid she’d say something wrong. Praying silently, she answered, “It is my religion too. I was baptized because I’ve prayed to Heavenly Father. I know He is real.”
Grandfather grunted. “Your religion is for Americans, not Japanese.”
“Jesus is everyone’s Savior,” Eiko stated bravely. “Americans, Japanese, Chinese, French—everyone!” She swallowed. “Even you.”
Grandfather said Grandmother was calling him so he had to hang up. Eiko didn’t believe him. She ached inside, thinking she had hurt his feelings again.
How surprised she was when Grandfather called her the next day! This time, he asked many questions: Why did she read the Bible? What is the Book of Mormon? What does an answer to prayer feel like? What happens at church?
Eiko answered his questions. She told him about Primary, then about Joseph Smith and the American pioneers. She told him that she and her parents would soon be sealed for eternity in the Tokyo Temple.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that our family, including our ancestors, can live together forever in heaven.” Eiko’s voice stopped. She took a deep breath, then rushed on, “Grandfather, just because we don’t have a kamidana anymore doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten our ancestors. We want to be sealed to them forever. We love all our family very much.”
Grandfather cleared his throat, then was quiet.
In the silence, Eiko worried that she’d said too much. When Grandfather finally spoke, he asked her to put her father on the line.
Eiko’s heart nearly stopped. Had her words gotten them all in terrible trouble again with Grandfather?
When Father hung up, he shook his head, then turned to Eiko. “I don’t know what you said to him, Eiko, but Grandfather has invited us to visit next week!”
As Eiko was remembering that phone call, the train halted. She followed her parents into the maze of city streets. The traffic was loud, but it was not loud enough to drown out her worries.
Those worries were still with Eiko as she climbed the stairs to her grandparents’ apartment. When they reached the door, Eiko’s father took her hand and said, “I’m very grateful for all you have done to make this happen.” Then he pushed the doorbell. Eiko heard feet shuffling behind the door before it opened. Grandfather stood stiffly before them, his chin thrust high as he looked down upon Eiko with his dark eyes. Eiko bowed low before him. She was afraid to rise.
Instead, she peeked up from her bow—and saw her grandfather bending at the waist. He bowed low before her, lower than she had ever seen him bow. As they rose together, she saw that his eyes were damp. He whispered to her, “I am sorry. You have reminded me that there are many ways to honor our family.”
Eiko beamed as she searched Grandfather’s dark eyes. She saw something deep and solid and good, and she knew that no matter what, even if they believed differently, they were a family, first and foremost—a family once again filled with love.

At some point during her drive to become a ballerina, Mavi realized that dancing was not the only goal she had or the only worthwhile thing she would need to sacrifice for.

Along the way, she gained a desire to follow Jesus Christ, and she realized that what ballet had taught her about discipline applies to gospel discipleship as well. Just as her friends had wondered why she would do what she did for dance, they asked why she lived such restrictive gospel principles.

“I explained that we have the liberty to choose, and I chose to accept this lifestyle in order to be free from sin and have the Holy Ghost with me,” she says.

Or as the Savior said it, a disciple must “take up his cross,” meaning to deny oneself all ungodliness and every worldly lust and to keep God’s commandments (see Joseph Smith Translation, Matthew 16:26). Such self-discipline brings us to “liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator,” while trying to live outside the commandments leads to “captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Nephi 2:27).

“Obedience brings greater freedom and peace than anything,” Mavi says. “My goals aren’t limited to this earthly life but include eternity.”

The gospel parallel is important. Following Christ takes strength. And the rewards are sweet.

“The rewards from so many sacrifices are that I can dance,” Mavi says. “I feel strong, and I feel the guidance of the Holy Ghost in every step I take—on stage and off.”

Young Thad, Orderville’s rope maker, decides to make a strong and beautiful horsehair rope for the town fair. He obtains the raw materials by secretly cutting the manes and tails off Orderville’s horses. The young men of nearby towns are blamed for the act, and there is talk of revenge.
“People sure are upset about the horses’ manes and tails being clipped,” Theo, my twin brother, said one night. “The other towns laugh at us already for our Order clothes that are all alike. Now they’ll probably call our horses broomtails (an untrained horse of inferior quality) because we grow broom straw, and our horses got clipped. We’ll have to get even.”
The next day Brother Spencer asked me, “Was your Uncle Claude over from Kanab last Saturday when the horses got clipped?”
“No,” I told him truthfully. “He was out on Buckskin Mountain moving cattle.” But I could see that innocent people would suffer for my actions unless I did something soon.
That night I asked father, “When does the bishop hold his weekly council meeting?”
“Every Thursday night about seven o’clock,” Dad replied.
Thursday night after dinner, I walked slowly over to the bishop’s home. Extra horses, all with clipped manes and tails, were out front.
I walked quietly up onto the porch. I could hear voices inside but couldn’t understand what they were saying. Fear came over me, and I turned to leave. But I knew that I couldn’t. I had to clear up the wrong I had done in cutting the hair without asking. I knocked on the door. As I waited for someone to answer my knock, the little speech I had practiced for the last two days went through my mind. The bishop’s clerk opened the door. “Come in, Thad.”
The bishop and his counselors and several priesthood leaders and clerks were all sitting around the table in the dining room. The bishop got up and came over to me. “Come in,” he said, shaking my hand. “What can we do for you?”
Without waiting, I gave my prepared explanation. “Brothers, I am the one who cut the manes and tails of the horses at the Saturday dance. I needed the hair to make a special rope to show in the town fair. Since the horses belong to the Order, so does the rope. I didn’t know that everyone would get so upset. I should have asked. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Thad, for coming and telling us,” the bishop said. “Is the rope finished?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I finished it tonight.”
“Brother Thad,” the bishop said, “please wait on the porch while we discuss this.”
They talked for a long time. At first I wished I could hear what they were saying. Then I was glad I couldn’t. I was praying silently when they opened the door and asked me to come back in.
I stood first on one foot and then on the other as they seemed to look right through me. Then the bishop spoke. “Thad, what do you think you should do to make amends?”
I had thought about that a lot. “I should confess to the people I wronged and then groom their horses and clean their stables.”
The bishop nodded. “Thad, please bring the rope to sacrament meeting on Sunday and put it on display by the door on a small table so that all the people can see it as they come in. During the business part of the meeting, I will call on you to explain what took place and tell everyone that you are sorry you didn’t ask permission to cut the hair. Then you can ask them to forgive you, Will you do that?”
My heart started beating again. I took a big breath and answered in a squeaky voice, “Yes, bishop.”
“Good night, Thad,” the bishop said. “See you Sunday.”
I felt better about the rope as I walked home. I told my parents what I had done and what the bishop had required. They said, “We will support you, Thad, and we’re proud of you for owning up about this. It shows that you’re growing up.”
On Sunday evening I followed the bishop’s instructions and got to church early. I got a small table and placed it beside the big front doors and put the rope on it. Everyone would see it as they came in.
I was glad when my family came and I could sit between Mom and Dad. Mom held my hand, and Dad put his arm around me. Oh, how I needed their support and love!
People started filling up the rows. There was going to be a big crowd today. I didn’t dare turn to see how people reacted to my rope, but I could hear them talking about it. “Why, it looks just like twisted taffy, except that it changes color!” someone exclaimed.
“Look how neatly the ends are finished,” someone else said. My hard work had paid off. If they only knew how many times I had walked up and down that plank, twisting each strand of hair into twine, and how long it had taken to fill the spools! Now if they would only forgive me.
I watched Sister Chamberlain working hard at the pump organ as she played the prelude music. The bishop and his counselors came to the stand. With them were two men I didn’t know. They looked very official.
As they sat down, they had a whispered discussion with the bishop, who then passed some message on to his counselors. The counselor conducting got up, welcomed everyone, then announced, “Brothers and Sisters, we are honored to have with us Brother Miles Romney, general superintendent for the building of the St. George Temple, and Brother Robert Gardner, who is in charge of obtaining lumber for the temple. They have been sent here on assignment by President Brigham Young. We will hear from them later.”
After the opening song and prayer, the bishop got up to conduct business. I felt sure that I would now be asked to come to the stand, but he only announced the sacrament song and sat down. I looked at the hymnbook but could not sing because of the huge lump in my throat. I wondered if I was worthy to take the sacrament, since I had not yet made my confession. But I had been willing to, so I did take it when it was passed to me.
The counselor then announced that our regular program would be postponed and the meeting turned over to Brother Romney. Brother Romney got up and said, “Dear Saints of the United Order of Orderville. The work on the temple goes forward. The walls have been finished, and the end of our long labors is in sight. Now we ask you to commit men, teams, and wagons to help us transport timber from the mountains so that the interior can be completed.”
I forgot my problem as he went on to tell of the wonderful things they were doing to build the temple. I was glad to be at church to hear them.
Then he said, “Throughout the construction of the temple we have had trouble finding enough strong rope. Now, more than ever, we need it to lift timber and bind heavy logs to the wagons that will carry them from the mountains to the sawmill. We have been praying for a way to make better rope. Today, as we came into the building, our prayers were answered. Would the person responsible for the rope on the table by the door please get it and bring it up here?”
Father helped me up, and Mother gave my hand a squeeze. As I slipped past my brother, his mouth was open and his eyes were big. I got the rope and took it to Brother Romney. He put his arm around me and continued, “I have never seen such a big, smooth, uniform horsehair rope. I understand your name is Thad. Tell me—how long is this rope?”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. They liked my rope! They needed my rope! I swallowed hard. “One hundred and eight feet,” I replied.
Brother Romney smiled. “That is exactly the length we need. Thad, will you please come over to the bishop’s house early in the morning before we leave and cut the manes and tails off our horses and start on the second rope. We will send out a request to all the communities of southern Utah to collect their horses’ hair and send it to you. This first rope will be sent to Mr. Trumball so that the work of transporting lumber can be hastened. Now, bishop, would you ask the people if they can support the donation of the rope to the building of the temple.”
The bishop stood up and said, “All in favor, please raise your right hand.”
Everyone raised his right arm to the square. I joined them. The bishop said, “The voting is unanimous. The rope is for the temple.” Putting his arm around me, he added, “And now I believe Thad has something to tell you.”
It wasn’t hard at all, because I could see nothing but smiling faces. I explained what I had done and asked for their forgiveness, adding that I would be coming around to groom their horses and clean their stables. The bishop called for a vote on my request, and again every hand went up. With a light heart, I walked back down to sit between Mom and Dad. Tomorrow I’d start on the second rope, and it would be even better. A rope for the town fair could wait till next year. Meanwhile, I’d do my very best to make rope for the temple.

In the summer of 1915, Rafael Monroy served as the president of a branch of around forty Saints in San Marcos, Hidalgo, Mexico. On July 17, a group of rebel troops overran the village, set up headquarters in a large house at the center of town, and demanded that Rafael, a prosperous rancher, provide them with beef.1
Hoping to appease the troops, Rafael gave them a cow to slaughter.2 After Rafael delivered the cow, some of his neighbors began talking to the rebels. One neighbor, Andres Reyes, was unhappy about the growing number of Saints in the area. Many Mexicans opposed foreign influences in their country, and Andres and others in town resented the Monroys for leaving their Catholic faith to join a church widely associated with the United States.3
Hearing this, the soldiers followed Rafael back to his house and arrested him just as he was sitting down for breakfast. They ordered him to open the family store, claiming that he and his American brother-in-law were colonels in the Carrancista army who were hiding weapons to use against the Zapatistas.
At the store, Rafael and the troops found Vicente Morales, another Church member, doing odd jobs. Believing he was also a Carrancista soldier, the troops arrested him and began ransacking the store as they searched for weapons. Rafael and Vicente pleaded their innocence, assuring the troops that they were not the enemy.
The soldiers did not believe them. “If you do not give us your weapons,” they said, “we will hang you from the highest tree.”
The soldiers brought the two men to a tall tree and slung ropes over its strong limbs. Then they placed nooses around their necks. If Rafael and Vicente would abandon their religion and join the Zapatistas, the soldiers said, they would be freed.
“My religion is dearer to me than my life,” Rafael said, “and I cannot forsake it.”
The soldiers pulled the ropes until Rafael and Vicente dangled from their necks and passed out. The rebels then released the ropes, revived the men, and continued to torture them.4
Back at the store, the rebels kept up their search for weapons. Rafael’s mother, Jesusita, and his wife, Guadalupe, insisted there were no weapons. “My son is a peaceful man!” Jesusita said. “If it weren’t so, do you think that you would have found him in his home?” When the soldiers again demanded to see the family’s weapons, the Monroys held out copies of the Book of Mormon and Bible.
“Those aren’t weapons,” the rebels said.
By that afternoon, the Zapatistas had taken Rafael and Vicente to their headquarters, where they were also holding Rafael’s siblings—Jovita, Lupe, and Natalia. Lupe was shocked at Rafael’s appearance. “Rafa, you have blood on your neck,” she told him. Rafael walked to a sink in the room and washed his face. He looked calm and did not seem angry, despite everything that had happened.
Later, Jesusita brought her children food. Before she left, Rafael handed her a letter he had written to a Zapatista captain he knew, seeking his help to prove his innocence. Jesusita took the letter and went looking for the captain. The Monroys and Vicente then blessed their meal, but before they could eat, they heard the clatter of footsteps and weapons outside the door. The soldiers called for Rafael and Vicente, and the two men exited the room. At the door, Rafael asked his sister Natalia to come out with him, but the guards pushed her back inside.
The sisters looked at one another, their hearts pounding. Silence settled over them. Then gunshots split the night.5
On the night of the Zapatistas’ invasion of San Marcos, Jesusita de Monroy had been on her way to speak with a rebel leader, hopeful that he could help her free her imprisoned children, when she heard the fateful gunshots. Hurrying back to the prison, she found her son Rafael and fellow Latter-day Saint Vicente Morales dead, victims of the rebel bullets.

Trials of faith began for Samuel Hoglund of Sweden when family members raised questions. He went through a phase of “getting one question answered only to come across yet another one,” he explains. “My faith vacillated from one half hour to the next, until I realized this process and my need for certainty were unsustainable.” Instead of trying to resolve every relatively minor question, Samuel decided to study important questions—those critical to a solid foundation in Jesus Christ. Accompanied by prayer and scripture study, Samuel’s search, like Alba’s, taught him how much he still had to learn and brought him to more mature beliefs. “The experience strengthened my faith immensely,” he says, “and also taught me that what you truly seek you will find.”

Ricky lay sprawled across his checkered blue bedspread, scratching his curly brown head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me this year,” he muttered. It sure was different being in the Senior Peewee hockey league. Ricky had only scored two goals this year. Steve had made nineteen, and Kevin twelve.
Ricky had scored lots of time in the Junior Peewee league last year, but play was a lot rougher this year. The players checked each other a lot more and a lot harder. Ricky probably got the brunt of it because he was the smallest of the nine-year-olds—and all the ten-year-olds were bigger, of course. It sure was hard for him to get a breakaway with the puck.
Ricky heard the doorbell ring and ran downstairs to answer it. “Hi, Kev.”
“Want to come out and play road hockey with me?” Kevin asked.
“Sure!”
“I’ll play goalie first,” Kevin offered.
“Great!” Ricky exclaimed. “I need all the shooting practice I can get!”
Ricky ran toward Kevin, “deking” back and forth with his stick and the old tennis ball, trying to jockey his friend out of position. Although Kevin was good at defending the net, Ricky got the ball in several times.
“How come you don’t do that on the ice when we’re playing a real game?” Kevin asked.
“It’s a lot easier playing in rubber boots instead of skates,” answered Ricky. “Besides, at the arena all you big guys hog the puck.”
The next day Ricky hurried home from school and gulped down a couple of oatmeal cookies along with his milk.
“I really want to get a goal today,” he told his mother as he gathered his hockey equipment. “There are only two games left to play this season.”
The team always did lots of warm-up exercises before the game started. Ricky didn’t like the warm-ups. Even though he knew they helped him to be a better hockey player, he still liked the games best.
When the coach blew his whistle, the two teams hurried to their boxes. Ricky was on the Lions’ team, and today they were playing against the Royals. Ricky’s coach told the team members what positions to play and made sure that every boy had equal playing time.
The Lions played hard, but with just a little over a minute left in the game, the Royals were beating them 5–0. As the players fought over the puck, Ricky edged back so that he wouldn’t get hit. Kevin brushed by him and skated into the middle of the skirmish. He stole the puck and made a quick wrist shot. The puck skittered past the sprawling goalie into the net. Ricky wished he had done it.
The game ended with the Royals winning 5–1.
“You know what, Kev?” Ricky said on the way home. “I really wanted to get a goal today. I even prayed to Heavenly Father to please let me score. I thought for sure He would help me, but He didn’t.”
Kevin was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Maybe the Royals’ goalie and the other players asked Heavenly Father to help keep the puck out of the net.”
“I never thought about that,” Ricky said. “Well, we still have one game left on Friday.” When Friday finally came, Ricky was one of the first players on the ice. Every moment of playing time he got, Ricky was working just as hard at getting the puck from the other team as he was at passing and shooting. He didn’t just stay back and wait for a pass as he had done before. Not once was he able to get the puck into the other team’s net, but time after time he rescued the puck from in front of the Lions’ net.
When the final whistle blew, the Lions had won by one point. All the boys on the team let out a big cheer, but Ricky could hardly hide his disappointment at not having scored. His eyes burned as he headed for the dressing room to hand in his team shirt.
A few minutes later, however, he came out with his face beaming. “You know what Coach said to me?” he asked Kevin. “He said that I played my best game ever today! I may not have gotten a goal, but I did help the team win the game.”
“You sure did,” Kevin said as he ruffled Ricky’s hair. “Not letting the other team make a goal is as important as scoring any day—maybe even better.”
“Come on,” said Ricky. “Let’s go home and get out the old stick and tennis ball. Maybe I’ll be a defenseman next year.”

All during that winter of 1846 in those frontier establishments, forges roared and anvils rang with the making of wagons. My own grandfather, barely out of his teens, became an expert blacksmith and wagon builder. No vocation was more useful in those days than that of the ability to shape iron. He would later build his own wagon and with his young wife and baby and his brother-in-law set off for the West. Somewhere on that long journey, his wife sickened and died and his brother-in-law died on the same day. He buried them both, tearfully said good-bye, tenderly picked up his child, and marched on to the valley of the Great Salt Lake.

After finishing his service in the Brazil São Paulo North Mission in 2002, Ricardo Aurélio da Silva Fiusa used a PEF loan to earn a four-year degree in business administration.
“The fund has helped me grow up, prepare for work and marriage, and serve better in the Church,” says Ricardo. Like many PEF recipients, he was offered employment before he even finished his degree. “The fund has been a blessing in my life. I’m grateful to make monthly payments on my loan so that other people can use the fund as well.”
On his mission Ricardo learned to talk to people, study hard, and obey—qualities that have made him a good student and employee.
“A lot of my professors said there was something different about me that they couldn’t explain,” says Ricardo, who works in logistics for a company at Port Suape, south of Recife. “I told them it was because of my religious principles.” That answer has led to opportunities for Ricardo to talk with his professors and others about the Church.

It must have been the feeling of rhythm and strength in my stride that comforted me as I ran along the beach of Puget Sound. Troy, my big retriever, caught my sense of abandon and bounded first ahead, then back, stopping to investigate a shell or seaweed along his way. Out of breath now, I threw a stick out into the swells past the breaking waves and stopped to watch Troy leap after it. I threw the stick again and again as I continued down the beach. Each time Troy would find it in the waves and bring it to me with an expectant look. Finally the sun made work of the game, and I flopped down on the sand.
“Stay away from me,” I warned as the big dog shook salt water all over me. I grabbed his wet head and held it tightly. “You’re still my friend, old boy, even if I don’t spend much time with you anymore either,” I said half to him and half to myself. I needed to sort things out. My interview with Bishop Jenkins the day before had turned my recent vague uneasiness into a knot in my stomach.
“I feel like being able to dance is a gift from God, a talent I must express. I can’t explain it, but I cannot ignore it,” I told the bishop. “I really do want to come to church, but my practices for Young Entertainers are all day Sunday.”
“And you felt that a chance to tour and perform all summer was worth the price of your church meetings,” Bishop Jenkins guessed.
“Yes, I was so sure it was right,” I answered, “and that my dancing is more important. I love the energy on stage. I feel special and important. But, bishop, I feel confused.”
I sat back and tried to organize my fragmented thoughts. “I am compromising so much for my dancing. I feel engulfed in it. I’m too busy for old friends and my family. My new friends in the group think my faith is narrow-minded and naive. Their dancing is their religion. I don’t know what to do. To be a Young Entertainer is a dream come true. Do we dream our dreams and then let them go before they can be realized?”
Bishop Jenkins paused thoughtfully. “Let me share an idea from a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer,” he finally said.
“‘There are many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall’” (Ensign, Aug. 1976, p. 61).
Thinking about it now, he didn’t really answer my question, but certainly the part about the person climbing the ladder applied to me.
“Heavenly Father, am I climbing the wrong wall?” I asked silently. “Is that why my life is so out of balance?”
Stirring from my introspection, I looked around for Troy but saw no sign of him. I stood up and searched up and down the beach. Still no dog. Shading my eyes from the glare on the water I thought I saw Troy’s head bob, then disappear under the water. Yes, there it was again. I dashed down to the chilling waves and dove in. The cold water took my breath away, but my concern was for my obviously drowning dog.
As I neared him, he was so exhausted his head barely broke the surface as he struggled. “What is holding onto him?” I swam almost to him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Troy’s jaws were tightly clenched on a bulb of seaweed! It was evidently still attached to the rocks below the water. He was paddling back and forth trying to free it and bring it to shore. I grabbed his jaws and forced him off the bulb. I half dragged him to shore and we both plopped down totally spent, gasping for breath.
My thoughts were tumbling. Why would Troy hold on to that seaweed until he nearly drowned? Why didn’t he let go and swim to shore if he was in danger?
Suddenly I stopped. How like my own struggle. My dog was working so hard to get something, he didn’t realize the danger he was in. My situation began to appear much clearer. I had been so caught up with my dancing that I hadn’t realized that I was in danger of losing the other things that mattered in my life.
With this revelation came a new agony—what to do. Could I put my ladder against the right wall, keep balance in my life, and still participate in the dance group, or did I need to “let go” and swim for safety now. Mentally tallying the list of compromises I needed to make for the dance group, I determined that my answer was to let it go. A sense of peace and comfort helped soothe the wrenching feeling in my heart and helped me to realize that it was the right decision.
“I can still dream my dreams,” I told Troy, “and perform and prepare so that my climb up the ladder will be on the right wall. Come on, Troy, let’s go home.”

Just twenty-three years ago this fall, I entered Chapman College in Southern California as a student. I came under the wonderful influence of Dr. Guy M. Davis, philosopher, educator, and teacher. Twenty-three years later, just three weeks ago last Friday evening, I saw this magnificent man, with so brilliant a mind, become as a little child, as he entered the waters of baptism and became a member of the Church.
I thought of another scripture as I witnessed that baptism experience of my friend. The Lord, admonishing his chief apostle Peter, as Luke records it, gave this simple counsel and direction: “… when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.” (Luke 22:32.) I pray the good bishop, the home teacher, the congregation of the ward to which Guy and his family have now been assigned will strengthen my brother.
Permit a personal experience for just a moment. Strengthening one’s brother, I think, comes closer to home when we think of fellowshiping and friendshiping our family. Some time ago when my youngest daughter was faced with the reality of attending a different school, she looked forward to the new experience with great anticipation and excitement but with the usual anxieties and concerns. Her mom and dad tried to make her experience meaningful, and one that would be positive, and we spent several hours attempting to prepare her mind for the new experience. We even planned a time when we could shop for new clothes and other special school supplies.
Finally, the long-awaited day arrived. A special evening was planned to help give spiritual comfort and guidance. Later she put her clothes out in anticipation of the next day. As she retired to her bed, seemingly all was well, but about an hour later she appeared at my study door where I was making some preparations.
“Dad,” she said, rubbing her tummy, “I don’t feel very well.”
You know the sign; and I thought I understood it, so I invited her in and sat her on my lap. We put on a little music that we liked to listen to together. I rubbed her tummy, and she soon fell asleep. I took her back upstairs, placed her in her bed, tiptoed toward the door; and she broke the silence with the announcement, “I am not asleep yet.”
I went back and lay down on the bed with her, stroked her head, gave what fatherly counsel one could under the circumstances, and reassured her. Finally she fell asleep. The next morning she appeared at breakfast in her petticoat. She said, “Dad, I don’t think I had better go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I am going to get sick.”
You know what she was trying to tell us, don’t you? I don’t know how to handle a new situation, Dad. Will I make friends? Will my teacher like me? Will I fit into the social group? Will I be accepted? These are the concerns that all of us experience, as we find ourselves in new and different social situations.
She knew what my answer would be and agreed to have me drive her to school. As we got in front of the school building, the warning bell sounded. The tears started to come to her eyes. I got out of the car and assisted her. We walked about ten feet, and she grabbed hold of my leg. It was as though she were a tackle on some football team. And then, as only a child can do to a father, she looked up at me and said philosophically, “Dad, if you really love me—if you really love me—don’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may be beyond your comprehension, but it’s because I do love you that I am taking you in there.” And I did. When we got inside the door, she grabbed hold of the other leg and held on. Numerous students came and went, and finally the little miracle happened that changed everything.
From I don’t know where came a delightful, wonderful friendshiper, a fellowshiper who knew how to lose herself in serving others; one who would now take the admonishment of the Savior to strengthen her friends. With the exuberance of youth this little girl said, “Kellie, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“What is your home room?” And she told her. “Tremendous. I had that home room last year. Come on, and I will take you to it.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go of my leg and got about ten paces away, then realized what she had done. I will never forget her expression and the sermon she taught as she looked back. “Oh,” she said, “Dad, you can go now; I don’t need you anymore.”
Thank God for the little people as well as the big people who know how to friendship and fellowship.
Thousands of people are coming into this church every month. I pray that we have the genius to follow the counsel of the Lord to strengthen our brethren. I pray that a great bishop and a wonderful home teacher and other members are taking care of my friend, Guy Davis.

Teacher council meetings are helping Sandra Cattell (center) improve her teaching abilities.
I’m fairly old, so when I was called to teach the Young Women, I thought, “My goodness! I wonder why they’ve called me?”
I put a lot of effort into preparing lessons appropriate for the young women’s needs, and I hoped they would be willing to share what they have learned and what they have done with it during the week. But my questions were often met with silence.
In one of our ward’s first teacher council meetings, one of the teachers said she too was finding it difficult to get the youth to communicate during the lessons. Another teacher in the meeting said, “Well, you can allow silence, you see.” Sometimes people need a little time to think about a question before answering.
That comment in teacher council meeting made a difference not only in the way I teach but for my students as well. I thought a lot about it. In my next Young Women lesson, I asked the class what gospel principle they had applied during the week. As usual, there was silence. But instead of immediately jumping in to fill the silence, I remembered our teacher council discussion and quietly said, “There’s no rush.”
The moment I said that, the conversation started to flow. The young women started to open up, and they shared some tender experiences. I immediately wanted to thank the teacher who had made that simple comment in teacher council meeting about silence. I was amazed how practicing that one principle had such a big difference so quickly.
But I didn’t realize until later what a difference that and other principles I’ve been learning are making. After church the mother of one of the young women told me that her daughter had said she knows that I’ve been called of God.
I can’t tell you how special hearing that comment was to me. There I was thinking, “What have I got to teach these young women?” But I must be teaching them something. I’m called for a purpose, and teacher council meetings are helping me fulfill that purpose.

A family home evening doesn’t need to be at home to be memorable. Lyubov Salimova of the Donetsk Ukraine District shares a special family home evening she experienced while vacationing at the seashore. Her sister, who lived nearby, had invited her to family home evening at 8:00 p.m. “Much to my surprise, however, long before the appointed hour, my sister met me at the seashore. ‘It won’t work out at home,’ she explained. She tried to smile, but the smile came out wry and forced. I felt that she was doing her best not to start crying. She was having problems at home. Her suggestion to have family home evening right there on the seashore was surprising in its absurdity. All around, people were walking, sitting, sunbathing, and laughing. Nevertheless, I agreed.
“We placed our towels across from each other and lay down on them. We bowed our heads and prayed. My sister had the July 2002 Liahona, in which general conference talks were published. She began reading a talk by President Gordon B. Hinckley. It seemed that each of his words explained to us how to conduct ourselves in relation to other family members. As we read the words of our living prophet, I saw that my sister had grown calm, having found support in the Holy Ghost, which was liberally poured out on us. We felt like beloved daughters of God, able to go farther in order to fight for good. Our souls were at peace.”

I witnessed a simple example of this kind of prayer when Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and I were assigned to conduct a videoconference interview of a couple in another country. Shortly before going into the studio, I reviewed once again the information we had collected about the couple and felt I was prepared for the interview. A few minutes before the appointed time, I saw Elder Oaks sitting alone with head bowed. In a moment he raised his head and said, “I was just finishing my prayer in preparation for this interview. We will need the gift of discernment.” He had not neglected the most important preparation, a prayer to consecrate our performance for our good and the Lord’s glory.