Gospel Story Finder

“Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service.
“Two weeks ago I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and ‘always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.’ He received his Eagle Scout Award when he was 14 years old.
“Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether Jason was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. ‘Jason,’ he said, ‘I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.’ He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said ‘Never!’ in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
“His father wrote, ‘In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. … As his declaration of “Never!” became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy.’”

Recently my granddaughter Jennifer was invited to go with some of her school friends to a dinner and a movie. The girls all agreed on the movie they were going to see, and Jennifer was comfortable attending. However, the girl who left dinner to buy the movie tickets for the group returned with tickets to a different movie than was planned. She said, “It is a great show, and it’s R-rated.”

Jennifer, caught by surprise, couldn’t believe the situation had changed so quickly. But fortunately she had made up her mind before she ever found herself in this position that she would not watch R-rated movies. She was able to stand firm and say to her friends, “I can’t go see an R-rated movie. My parents would not approve.” To which the girls replied, “Oh, come on! Your parents will never know.” Confronted with this, Jennifer went on to say, “Well, actually it doesn’t matter whether my parents will know. I just don’t go to R-rated movies.”

Her friends were upset and tried to get her to relent. They told her she was ruining everything. When she would not give in, they threw the ticket and change in her face and deserted her for the R-rated movie. It wound up being a lonely night full of rejection from her friends. But it was a great moment for Jennifer and our family. She gained confidence, self-worth, and spiritual power.

Rebecca and Joshua’s father, Curtis, was the branch mission leader, and he had gospel discussions with Chris. “He told me he wanted his family to be happier and to be able to have the same things in common with them.”
“I wanted to share the gospel with my family, but it was tough because my family never went to church,” Chris says. “They really didn’t have time.”
But they did see Chris’s example after he was baptized.
“When the missionaries were at our house, I didn’t really pay attention,” says Chris’s stepfather, Terrance. “But as time went on, Chris was baptized, and I saw a lot of changes in him. He seemed to care more and respect everybody a lot more. So my wife and I decided to check out the Church.”
Chris was surprised by his family’s sudden interest. “When the missionaries told me they were coming to my house to teach my family, I didn’t know if my family would be OK with that,” he says. “Then the missionaries told me that my parents invited them over, and I thought that was pretty cool.”
Chris’s parents had a great experience going to church, and as they learned more, they grew closer as a family.
“When I started going to church, I really liked it,” says Chris’s mother, Anita. “I was very interested. Most people were there as a family, and I’ve learned to be more unified with my family.”
“After seeing the changes in Chris and enjoying church—everybody was friendly, everybody wanted to get to know you and all that—the whole family ended up getting baptized,” Terrance says. “Since joining the Church, we’ve realized family is forever. What you make of your family is what counts in life, and Jesus and Heavenly Father help you unite as a family forever.”
Chris understands why we all need to invite others to come unto Christ.
“It’s important because you want to help as many people as you can to be saved,” Chris says. “It’s good to bring people to God. If Rebecca and Joshua’s family hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here right now. I know Jesus Christ put them in my life, and I’m so blessed that I’ve been brought into the gospel and that I could share it with my family.”
Sometimes inviting your family and friends to come unto Christ is as easy as being a good example for them.
“Chris invited us to church not by directly asking us, but he did more by the way his reactions were in life,” Terrance says. “He showed how much enjoyment church brought. He showed what being in church can do for you, how it can change you, make you better, and help you with what’s going on in life. Chris was our wake-up call from the Lord.”

Nancy arrived at the edge of the crowd, breathing hard and feeling damp and uncomfortable in her heavy skirt and jacket. Now, as she looked around, fear clutched at her. She’d never seen so many people as had come together on this barren hilltop. Here and there were sprinkled a few bearded Amish in flat black hats and some hobbling veterans in their faded uniforms. An occasional brightly garbed woman stood out in bold relief among the drab browns and grays of men’s clothing.
Directly ahead, a square wooden platform caught her attention. On it stood a white-haired man gesturing with generous motions. That must be Senator Everett, she thought. Nancy studied him briefly, then scanned the faces of the men seated in twos on the platform. Is that bare-headed man sitting in the center President Lincoln, she wondered, or is that other gentleman to the right of him wearing the tall hat? Both had beards, so it was difficult for Nancy to tell from a distance. She edged closer for a better look.
She pushed past the onlookers who smelled of sweaty wool and stale food even in the outdoors.
“How much longer before the president takes his turn?” she whispered to a boy in front of her.
“Soon, I hope,” he said. “I’m hungry.” He eyed her parcel. “Is that something to eat?”
“No,” she said and hugged her parcel closer. They both looked up as scattered applause began around them. Peering between men’s shoulders, Nancy saw Mr. Everett bowing and waving as he made his way to his seat then watched as he sat down heavily, pulled out a billowing kerchief, and wiped his face.
“Lookee there,” the boy said. “He worked up a sweat making a speech and all I did was work up an appetite listening to it.”
Nancy smiled and continued searching for a good vantage point from which to hear the president. As a chorale group on the stage began to sing, she saw a man and woman standing nearby, and she edged closer to them. Somehow, the presence of a woman made her feel more comfortable.
They turned as she stopped beside them and Nancy saw that they were very old. The man’s face looked like a shriveled, dried-out apple and the woman’s colorless face reminded Nancy of her favorite china doll. Their clothes had an ancient look, too, worn to a thinness that even patches would no longer hold together.
“Did you come far?” Nancy asked.
“All the way from Ohio,” the old man replied.
Nancy gasped. “That’s a long, long way. You must be very tired.”
“Sarah, my wife, is not feeling so good,” the man said. “She’s not over her sickness.”
“I had to come. I had to find our son’s grave.” The woman spoke so softly that Nancy wasn’t sure she heard her at first.
“Oh,” Nancy said. She felt a sudden rush of sympathy for them and knew she’d cry if she tried to talk anymore. If only Papa were here now, she wished, he’d know what to say and do.
The chorale group finished and the crowd surged forward in anticipation, as someone announced simply, “The president of the United States.” Nancy looked up, paralyzed with the depth of her feelings. There he stood—tall, thin, somber-looking in his steel-rimmed glasses—as he began to read from a paper.
She hardly heard his words because her emotions threatened to boil up and outside of her and carry her away. To realize the dream, to be here at long last was almost more than she could physically handle. Her head buzzed and pounded and her stomach threatened a revolt. She swallowed hard and hugged her package closer.
Then the president stopped talking. Surely he can’t be finished already, Nancy thought. He’s hardly said anything yet.
People looked at one another uncertainly for a moment, then slowly began to applaud. The applause gathered momentum and Nancy joined in, disappointed because she had paid so little attention to what the president said. She’d have to ask Papa about it later.
Now the crowd pushed forward again and Nancy felt panic. She was afraid she might be crushed or trampled and never get to give the president his gift. She looked around wildly and saw a small opening to slip through. Perhaps she could work her way out of the crowd and go around to the other side of the platform. The president was still busy shaking hands and talking. She hoped she had enough time to meet him.
Nancy pushed and poked with her elbows, slowly forcing her way through until she came to the edge of the gathering. Sighing, she stopped and licked a salty drop from her lip. The air was close and sticky as though it might rain soon.
Then she saw them, the old man and woman, standing away from the crowd. Suddenly, the old lady seemed to sag as though someone had let the air out of her, and then she slipped to the ground through her husband’s grasp. Nancy ran to them.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“My wife, she’s so sick,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Where’s your wagon? Can’t you take her to it?”
“It’s too far. She’d never make it,” he replied.
“You go get it. I’ll stay with your wife,” Nancy suggested.
“Oh, thank you, young lady. Thank you.” Gently, he touched Nancy’s cheek and even though the touch of his old gnarled fingers felt like prickly berry bushes, she was strangely moved.
“Hurry, Edward, hurry!” his wife whispered.
The old man trotted off and Nancy looked down at the crumpled form on the ground. Sweat stood out on the woman’s forehead and yet she shook uncontrollably with chills.
“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked.
“I’m so cold,” she said. “My fever’s come back.”
Nancy took off her jacket and put it over the nearly threadbare cape the lady wore.
“Does that help?”
“Don’t worry about me. You run along and find your family.”
“Oh, no, I can’t leave you alone,” Nancy told her.
The minutes ticked by and the crowd thinned out, and still the old man did not appear with the wagon. People stopped to stare at them curiously, but no one offered to help and Nancy grew increasingly anxious. She looked at the platform again where the president stood talking to several men. Oh please, let him stay a few minutes longer, she silently prayed. Don’t let him get away from me now.
She glanced down and found the woman shaking worse than before. Nancy tried to tuck her clothes about her, but the girl knew it wasn’t enough. The woman needed more covers, something warm and woolly, to cover her now.
Nancy realized what she had to do. She’d known it all along. Slowly she unwrapped her parcel and pulled out the blue woolen shawl she had made for President Lincoln.
“I think this will help,” she said.
The look of gratitude in the woman’s eyes when she saw the shawl warmed Nancy deeply, the way a cup of hot milk spreads its comfort on a cold day. She felt infinitely older as she tucked the shawl around the old woman and smiled at her with newly awakened feelings.
After a moment, Nancy turned to look at the platform and watched the president move through the people massed around him, away from her and out of her life. She knew she’d not meet him face to face today, perhaps never. And she knew she would never give him the shawl but, somehow, it didn’t matter anymore.
Is this growing up? she wondered. It felt different, yet made to order, like a new cloak put on over an old dress. The old dress was still there underneath, but the cloak was what showed. Underneath she was still a child and the child would always remain a part of her, but as she grew she’d add more garments of growing. Precious moments of understanding would be added until one day she’d be a woman.
She hugged the thought closer and then settled down to wait for the old man and her father to find her.

“Mrs. Ramirez, who is that?” Sydney asked, pointing to a girl sitting at a desk. She had never seen this girl in their class.
Mrs. Ramirez smiled. “That’s our new student, Yulia. Yulia just moved here from Ukraine. We’re excited she’s here.”
Sydney looked at Yulia. She looked scared. Sydney knew she would be afraid if she moved to a new country. That would be hard!
Sydney went and sat next to Yulia. Smiling, she said, “Hi. My name is Sydney.”
Yulia timidly smiled back but didn’t say anything. Sydney tried to talk to her, but Yulia just shook her head.
“She doesn’t speak English,” Sydney thought. “She needs help!”
Throughout the day Sydney was Yulia’s buddy. She showed Yulia around the school and helped her with classwork.
At lunch, Sydney asked Yulia, “Do you want to play with me?” She pointed to the playground to help Yulia understand. Yulia smiled and nodded. They played together for all of lunch recess.
Sydney began teaching Yulia lots of English words. She wanted to help Yulia feel more comfortable talking to people. Sometimes it was hard to understand each other, but the two girls soon became good friends.
In class a few weeks later, the girls were drawing a picture together. Sydney drew flowers and insects while Yulia drew grass and trees.
“We made a beautiful garden!” Sydney said when they finished.
Yulia smiled. “Yes, it is pretty. I like to draw.”
Mrs. Ramirez came over to their desks. “What a beautiful picture! I’m glad you two are working together.” She took their drawing and taped it on the class bulletin board. The girls smiled proudly.
One day when Sydney got home from school, her mom said, “Mrs. Ramirez called. She wanted to let you know that Yulia is in the hospital. She is having surgery on her heart tomorrow. She’ll be in the hospital for a while to recover.”
Sydney thought about Yulia the next day during school. She looked at their drawing on the bulletin board. That gave her an idea.
After school, Sydney told her mom, “I want to take Yulia something to cheer her up after her surgery. She liked drawing in class. Maybe we can take her some art supplies.”
“That’s a great idea!” Mom said.
Sydney and her mom bought a drawing pad and some bright crayons. Sydney couldn’t wait to give them to Yulia. A few days later, Sydney and Mom went to the hospital. They found Yulia’s room and knocked on the door.
Yulia’s mom opened it and smiled. “Please come in. Yulia is resting.”
Yulia turned as they entered the room. Her face was pale, and she looked tired. “Hi, Sydney.”
Sydney pulled out the drawing pad and crayons. She shyly set them on the bed next to Yulia. “I thought these might help you feel better.”
Yulia’s eyes lit up. She reached for the crayons. “Thank you! I really like to draw. Can we draw right now?”
“Sure!”
Sydney pulled a chair over to the side of the bed. The two girls laughed and talked together while they colored. Sydney was glad they had come to visit Yulia. When she and her mom left the hospital, Sydney had a warm feeling in her heart. She was glad she had helped make her friend happy.

Sometimes I find myself under obligations of work requiring quiet and seclusion such as neither my comfortable office nor the cozy study at home insures. My favorite retreat is an upper room in the tower of a large building, well removed from the noise and confusion of the city streets. The room is somewhat difficult of access and relatively secure against human intrusion. Therein I have spent many peaceful and busy hours with books and pen.
I am not always without visitors, however, especially in summertime; for when I sit with windows open, flying insects occasionally find entrance and share the place with me. These self-invited guests are not unwelcome. Many a time I have laid down the pen and, forgetful of my theme, have watched with interest the activities of these winged visitants, with an afterthought that the time so spent had not been wasted, for is it not true that even a butterfly, a beetle, or a bee may be a bearer of lessons to the receptive student?
A wild bee from the neighboring hills once flew into the room, and at intervals during an hour or more I caught the pleasing hum of its flight. The little creature realized that it was a prisoner, yet all its efforts to find the exit through the partly opened casement failed. When ready to close up the room and leave, I threw the window wide and tried at first to guide and then to drive the bee to liberty and safety, knowing well that if left in the room it would die as other insects there entrapped had perished in the dry atmosphere of the enclosure. The more I tried to drive it out, the more determinedly did it oppose and resist my efforts. Its erstwhile peaceful hum developed into an angry roar; its darting flight became hostile and threatening.
Then it caught me off my guard and stung my hand—the hand that would have guided it to freedom. At last it alighted on a pendant attached to the ceiling, beyond my reach of help or injury. The sharp pain of its unkind sting aroused in me rather pity than anger. I knew the inevitable penalty of its mistaken opposition and defiance, and I had to leave the creature to its fate. Three days later I returned to the room and found the dried, lifeless body of the bee on the writing table. It had paid for its stubbornness with its life.

I am not a naturally patient person.
I like to think of myself as a go-getter, a person who does the things that need to be done. When I’m confronted with a problem, I like to work at it until it feels resolved.
So you can imagine how things went when I knowingly married a man working to overcome a pornography struggle—I was relentless. In my mind, we were going to address this problem my way: immediately and unceasingly until everything felt resolved. I wanted therapy, filters, addiction recovery meetings (ARP), items to check off a list.
There’s nothing wrong with these things—they can be very helpful tools. But I was using them to take control of the situation instead of turning to Jesus Christ.
My husband and I tried many solutions throughout our engagement and first year of marriage—he continued working with priesthood leaders, we attended ARP meetings, and my husband welcomed any questions about his struggle and how he was addressing it. We had many raw, vulnerable conversations. And he did make a lot of progress.
But I was hurting and impatient. I’d given this problem my all, so why wasn’t it resolved by now?
One night, one of my favorite scriptures came to mind:
“Let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed” (Doctrine and Covenants 123:17).
I had done just about everything I could think of—and then I’d continued at that frantic pace, attempting a new solution every time I felt any sort of distress. Standing still and waiting with faith hadn’t been part of my process at all.
I began learning about replacing chaos and frustration with stillness and compassion. And as I practiced turning to the Lord instead of trying to control my husband, something amazing happened: I began to learn from my husband.
I knew my husband was a wonderful man in many ways. But I’d always seen this as his big shortcoming. I thought he needed my help.
Instead, I came to realize that we both need the Savior’s help. My husband was being blessed for turning to the Savior, and while my reasons for needing Him were different, I needed the Savior’s power in my life just as much. While I stubbornly try everything on my own before turning to the Savior, my husband’s struggle with pornography has taught him that involving Jesus Christ should always be the first step.
He knows the value of daily repentance, what it means to fail one day and then try again the next. As Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, explained: “Worthiness is not flawlessness. Worthiness is being honest and trying. We must be honest with God, priesthood leaders, and others who love us, and we must strive to keep God’s commandments and never give up just because we slip up.”1 He also believes in the principle that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy taught: “There must be a consistent, day-in and day-out effort. And although we won’t likely be perfect, we must be determined to mirror our persistence with patience.”2
This realization expanded my perspective—I’d acted like the end goal for my husband and me was resolving this pornography problem. But I had to remember the bigger picture; the end goal has always been returning to Heavenly Father and living with my family for eternity. While that includes striving against pornography for as long as it takes, even if my husband never viewed pornography again, we would still need to focus together on a lifetime of working toward a celestial marriage. We would still be flawed people who need grace and mercy.
So we started living with that expanded perspective, implementing small, sustainable changes in many aspects of our lives. Often we focused on spiritual improvements, like establishing a time to read our scriptures together. Other times we focused on diet and exercise changes or connecting more throughout the day. We also continued those habits we’d had all along—therapy, ARP meetings, filters—but this time, we embraced progress instead of expecting perfection. Rather than giving all our energy to a single problem and hoping everything would be perfect once it was resolved, we began working on our lifelong project of becoming better and more Christlike people.
Learning about slow change and regular repentance changed my life. As President Russell M. Nelson explained: “Nothing is more liberating, more ennobling, or more crucial to our individual progression than is a regular, daily focus on repentance. Repentance is not an event; it is a process. It is the key to happiness and peace of mind.”3
I finally realized that I am not exempt from the need for daily repentance just because I don’t have a compulsive habit. Repentance has been the key to my healing because it helps me turn to the Lord every day. Through repentance, I stopped seeing my to-do list as a way to “fix” my husband and instead let it be something that brings me closer to Christ. Through repentance, I realized that peace doesn’t come from absolute control; it comes from absolute trust in the Lord.
I also know that the Lord can take even the most damaging and frightening challenges and use them to help us grow. Because of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). I love my husband. I feel true joy and peace in my life, more than I imagined I could, and I know that it has come through my daily efforts to turn to the Lord and allow Him to change me.

I was excited! Spring was here, and I could play outside without a coat. Kindergarten was almost out for the summer, and I was getting ready to play ball and help Dad with the garden. But I forgot all about Mother’s Day. I didn’t remember until my Primary teacher reminded us the Sunday before. I knew then that I would have to have a secret meeting with Aaron and Jarom.
Aaron and Jarom are my two brothers. Aaron’s four, and Jarom’s only two, but he’s real smart. He can talk really good. In fact, he can do nearly everything Aaron and I can.
That night when we were in bed, I talked to Aaron and Jarom and told them that next Sunday was Mother’s Day and that we just had to get Mom a present. We knew Dad was going to give her something—he always does. But we wanted to give her a big surprise just from us.
We thought about giving Mom a motorcycle or a horse or a pickup truck. Those things would have made good presents, but we knew we couldn’t ever get anything like that till we were a lot older.
We finally decided that we would get all our money together and go to Brother Bob’s store to buy Mom something.
The next day after I came home from school, Aaron and Jarom and I walked to the store. We only had two dollars and three quarters and a dime and four pennies. It wasn’t very much, but we thought we could get Mom something she’d like.
Well, there really wasn’t much in Brother Bob’s store for Mother’s Day, because he sells mostly food and things like that. We looked at the bubble gum, but Mom doesn’t like bubble gum very much. We looked at some boxes of candy because Dad sometimes buys it for her. She likes candy, but just one of those boxes of chocolates with a big bow on it costs lots more money than we had. There was a real good pocketknife inside a glass case, but it cost over ten dollars. There was a watch inside the case too. It was just a little one, not like the big one Dad wears. We figured that since it was such a little watch, we probably had enough money to buy it. But when we put our money on the counter, Brother Bob said we didn’t have quite enough.
We were going to go to the big store by the ice-cream place, but that was a long way away. You have to cross the highway to get there, so we decided not to go. Instead, we each bought a sucker and went home.
On the way home we decided that if we couldn’t buy something for Mom, we’d make something. I remembered that Mom once said she’d sure like a rocking chair to rock Jared in at night. An old rocking chair wouldn’t be very hard to make. We had wood and nails and tools and everything at home.
Every day after school Aaron and Jarom met me at the corner. Then we ran around to the backyard and worked on the rocking chair. Jarom didn’t work much; he just kind of watched us. He’d get tired and go into the house for his blanket, but he always came back and sat on a box and rubbed his blanket and sucked his thumb. We still liked to have him there because it was his present too.
We had a hard time trying to build Mom that rocking chair though. We’d seen Dad hammer and saw, but he had bigger muscles than Aaron and I. I scratched my hand with the saw, and Aaron got silvers in his hands trying to hold the boards still. And I hit my thumb, trying to hammer in a nail.
We worked every day till Saturday, but by Saturday we still didn’t have a rocking chair. We’d hammered some boards together, but they were rough and had crooked nails sticking out of them. It didn’t look like any rocking chair we’d ever seen. It looked more like a table. But Mom didn’t need a table; she needed a rocking chair.
It was hot. Jarom had his blanket and was lying down on a box, sucking his thumb and looking at our rocking chair. I was thinking, and Aaron was over by the grapevine hunting for something. Pretty soon he yelled, “Hey, Alma, come here! Look what I found!”
I threw my hammer down, and Jarom left his blanket and ran over to the grapevine with me. Under the branches, sitting on some crunchy leaves, was a big, fat horned toad. He was brown and had little bumps all over him.
I’d seen horned toads before, because Aaron likes to catch them. But this one was one of the best horned toads I’d ever seen. Aaron picked it up and tickled its tummy and rubbed it against his cheek so he could feel the bumps.
Aaron said, “I know, Alma! Let’s give Mom some horned toads! She said that she thinks they’re cute and that they’re funny to watch when they run. Let’s look for some more, and we’ll each give her a horned toad for Mother’s Day.”
There’s an empty lot behind our house that’s covered with weeds and rocks and other good places for horned toads to hide. Jarom went there with us, too, but he had to leave his blanket behind, because it would get weed stickers in it.
We hunted for a long time, and finally we found another horned toad. It was almost suppertime. We were about ready to give Mom just two horned toads, when suddenly Jarom saw a tiny one. I grabbed it. Now we each had a horned toad to give to Mom.
When we went into the house, we didn’t let anyone see the toads. I found an empty shoe box and put some rocks inside so the horned toads would think they were still outside. Then we wrapped the box in newspaper and punched some holes in the top very carefully.
The next day, after the family came home from church and Primary, Mom started fixing dinner. After my brothers and I helped her set the table, we went out to the garage and brought in our present. I put the box on Mom’s plate so she’d know we hadn’t forgotten about Mother’s Day. Aaron and Jarom and I were grinning as Mom tried to guess what was in the present. She was going to shake it, but we told her she’d better not because it might break. She kept trying to guess, but she couldn’t. Not even Dad could guess what our present was.
After family prayer and the blessing on the food, I told Mom to open our present. I knew we couldn’t eat until Mom had opened it.
She took the paper off really slow, and then she took the lid off the shoe box. Her eyes got really big, but she didn’t say anything, and we weren’t sure if she liked our horned toads. We didn’t know if she thought they were too little or not the right color. But then she got a great big smile on her face, and she looked at Aaron and Jarom and me. Her eyes were sparkling like they do sometimes when she’s real happy. We knew then that she was glad to get those three horned toads.
She got up and gave us each a great big kiss and said, “I’ll never forget this Mother’s Day. Horned toads are the best Mother’s Day surprise I’ve ever received!”
After we’d all had a good look at the horned toads, Dad said we should take them out to the garage for a while. But Mom said it would be OK to put them on the chair by the telephone if we wouldn’t bother them while we ate.
After dinner, Mom looked at her horned toads and said, “I don’t like to see toads closed up in an old shoe box. Why don’t you boys build them a house outside where they won’t feel sad and where we can go to visit them.”
The next day after kindergarten, Aaron and Jarom and I went out in the backyard by the grapevine. We’d seen lots of horned toads there, so we knew that that was one of their favorite spots. We found a shady place where there were lots of crunchy leaves. We got some rocks and put them in a little pile under the grapevines, and that was Mom’s horned-toad house. The horned toads really liked it. As soon as we let them out of the shoe box, they waddled as fast as they could into their little rock house.
Those horned toads were our very best Mother’s Day present. And Mom said one of her favorite times of the day was when she went out to the grapevine with Aaron and Jarom and me and watched her very own horned toads.

In 1931 Amelia married George Palmer Putnam, a publisher who had interviewed her before her flight across the Atlantic. And in April of 1932 Amelia was eager to try another major flight. She had flown over one thousand hours in the preceding two years, but she wanted a new challenge. She decided to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone, in spite of the warnings of her friends and family.
On May 20, 1932, she climbed into her Lockheed Vega and took off from Harbor Grace, Newfoundland. The flight was torture. Heavy rain and fog enveloped the plane. Then ice began to form on the wings. Raw gasoline, leaking from a broken gauge, flooded the floor and made sickening fumes. Amelia began to fear that fire might break out at any time. Suddenly, the plane began to dive. The ice had weighted the wings too heavily. Amelia tried everything she’d learned from her past flying experience, and, finally, one hundred feet above the Atlantic, she pulled the plane up.
Hour after hour the plane droned on. Then a patch of green appeared. Ireland! Amelia had made the flight in fourteen hours and fifty-six minutes, becoming the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic.
Before returning to America, she was entertained by European royalty. King George V and Queen Mary of England, Belgium’s King Albert, and dignitaries from several other nations decorated her.
America welcomed her home with more honors. She received the Distinguished Flying Cross from Congress and the National Geographic’s premier gold medal. Cheering crowds greeted her everywhere she went.

In 1972 my husband, Giuseppe, and I—both originally from Italy—decided to immigrate with our young family to Australia. At that time we knew nothing of the difficult but wonderful spiritual journey still ahead.
As our three children began to grow up, I became concerned about their religious education. I had been reared in Italy’s dominant religion, and I was familiar with a number of others. But I didn’t feel any of them were right for my children.
One sunny day in 1980, I took the children to the park. As I sat under a tree watching them play, I began to think once again about which religion to teach them. I looked up into the sky and uttered a brief, sincere prayer. “Father in Heaven,” I said, “I am so confused about all these religions. I want to teach my children the truth. If the true Church is on this earth, I ask Thee to help me find it.”
Two days later I was talking to a neighbor when I saw two young missionaries walking down the street. My heart beat hard, and I heard a voice inside me say, Call those missionaries. My neighbor tried to dissuade me, but the voice was insistent: Talk to them. So I did.
I discovered that they belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Something about them impressed me, and although I didn’t speak English well and they didn’t speak Italian, I invited them to my home.
The missionaries told us that the true Church had been restored and that it had a prophet and apostles, just as in Christ’s Church anciently. They told us about the Prophet Joseph Smith, about how he saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and organized the Church under divine authority. It all made perfect sense to me, and a wonderful spirit enveloped us. I felt that Heavenly Father was answering my prayer.
The missionaries began visiting us. When they had finished the discussions, they asked if we wanted to be baptized. I was excited about being baptized, but Giuseppe was not as sure. Nevertheless, he and I and the two oldest children became members of the Church.
One week later some of my husband’s friends had a long talk with him. They got him to drink alcohol, and they said a lot of negative things against the Church. He came home angry and told me he didn’t want to have anything to do with the Church. He said the children could not go to services, and if I went by myself, he would not let me in when I came home.
I felt very confused. I went into the bedroom and curled up on the bed. I thought about everything my husband had said. Then I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me.
I soon fell asleep and had a beautiful dream. In my dream, I was with a large group of people. Half were on the left, and half were on the right. In the middle was a figure in white with two missionaries. The missionaries were wearing name tags that read, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They began walking toward me, and I knew that I was not to worry, that I had made the right decision.
I woke up crying, but I felt great peace and joy. I tried to tell my husband about the dream, but he didn’t want to hear anything about it. I was more convinced than ever that I had found the true Church.
I also knew the Lord would not forsake me. So when Sunday came, I gathered my courage and went to church with the children. When we returned home, we found the house locked and all our belongings outside. I was worried for the children’s sake, but I also felt we were being protected. I checked all the windows and found one that wasn’t locked. My son Luciano crawled in and opened the front door, and we took our belongings back in. From that day on, my husband and I had many arguments about the Church. In spite of this difficulty, my children and I continued to be fully active.
Two decades have now passed since we joined the Church, and we have been blessed in many ways. Two more children were born into our family. The year 1996 was especially wonderful. Luciano went on a mission to Italy, and our eldest grandson was baptized. And if that was not enough, Heavenly Father touched my husband’s heart concerning the Church. In December 1999 our family was sealed in the Sydney Australia Temple.
I have learned that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers. I also know that if we have faith in Christ and are determined to grow spiritually, we will, in time, receive all the righteous desires of our hearts, whether in this life or the next.

Years ago I was on a mission in England. I had been called to labor in the European Mission office in London under President Joseph F. Merrill of the Council of the Twelve, then president of the European Mission. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. President Merrill said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”
I do not hesitate to say that I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked over to the Goodge Street station to get the underground train to Fleet Street. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come more than 8,000 kilometers and that I would wait. During the next hour she made two or three trips to his office; then finally he invited me in. I shall never forget the picture when I entered. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”
I held in my hand the reviews. I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive and even belligerent. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people. Years later he granted another favor of substantial worth to the Church, and each year until the time of his death I received a Christmas card from him.
I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way.

Many years ago, when I was a young boy during the decade of the 1960s, I would attend church with my family each Sunday. At that time, we would attend Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the late afternoon. I remember attending junior Sunday School and sitting in the Primary room with other children as we sang Primary songs such as, “Jesus Once Was a Little Child,” “When He Comes Again,” and “I Am a Child of God.” One particular Sunday morning, as I sang with the other children, I felt a warmth fill my heart. It went from my heart to my chest, and then it filled my whole body. It was a warmth that brought peace to my soul. In that moment, I felt my first experience with the Holy Ghost witnessing to me that God the Father lived, and that He knew me. It was a simple experience, but it was sweet to me and one that I remember vividly over fifty years later.

Get tough with yourself. President Spencer W. Kimball gave us a powerful example in a talk to the youth of Stockholm, Sweden. Describing his own boyhood, he said:

“As I was out alone, milking the cows, or putting up the hay, I had time to think. I mulled it over in my mind and made this decision: ‘I, Spencer Kimball, will never taste any form of liquor. I, Spencer Kimball, will never touch tobacco. I will never drink coffee, nor will I ever touch tea—not because I can explain why I shouldn’t, except that the Lord said not to.’ He said those things were an abomination. There are many other things that are, too, that are not in the Word of Wisdom. But I made up my mind.

“That’s the point I am trying to make. I made up my mind then, as a little boy: ‘I will never touch those things.’ And so, having made up my mind, it was easy to follow it, and I did not yield. There were many temptations that came along, but I did not even analyze it; I did not stop and measure it and say, ‘Well, shall I or shall I not?’ I always said to myself: ‘But I made up my mind I would not. Therefore, I do not.’

“I’m a little older than any of you here tonight, and I want to just say that I will soon go into another year and that I have never tasted tea, nor coffee, nor tobacco, nor liquor of any kind, nor drugs. Now that may sound very presumptuous and boasting to you, but I am only trying to make this point: that if every boy and girl—as he or she begins to grow a little more mature and becomes a little more independent of his friends and his family and all—if every boy and girl would make up his or her mind, ‘I will not yield,’ then no matter what the temptation is: ‘I made up my mind. That’s settled.’” (In Conference Report, Stockholm Sweden Area Conference, 1975, pp. 86–87.)

Keoni Barney, 16, is a recent Church convert in the Mount Vernon Stake. “All the kids were just so nice,” he says. He found out about the Church when he moved in with his aunt and uncle and started dancing with the youth at their practices. He says his friends’ examples helped him gain a testimony. “I’ve never seen so much energy out of a group of youth in my entire life,” Keoni laughs. He says he can’t keep up with them, but maybe it’s the over-sized collar on his disco outfit that’s holding him back, he jokes. “I love having the opportunity to be in the dance festival.”

When I receive the New Era, I open to a random page and start reading. This month I happened to open up to the Mormonad page, “They Are Ten Commandments” (Feb. 2010). I had been trying to get into the “popular” crowd, and that seemed to require not keeping the commandments. When I turned the page, I read the lyrics to the song “Be Strong.” I read the words and knew I had to change what I was doing. I need to be strong to resist the world’s temptations. I know that when we do, God will be with us always.
Alycia S., Arizona

One of Néstor’s students there, Carolina Urrutia, was particularly impressed by him. She felt that he was different, somehow, from other gifted people—so much so that she decided to find out why. Néstor was very willing to tell her about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and as a result, he had the privilege of baptizing her. Subsequently, she and Néstor were influential in the conversion of another of his students, an actress and teacher named María Reiñanco.

I pulled a book from my shelf the other evening. I read again the life of Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, sister-in-law of Joseph Smith, mother and grandmother of two presidents of the Church. A convert to the Church, originally from England and then from Canada, she came to Kirtland in her late 30s. There she met and married Hyrum Smith, who was left with six children after the death of his first wife.
Mary loved him and brought an added dimension into his life. In that process she set a course which brought her happiness only to be followed by immeasurable sorrow, for there was laid upon her a terrifying and fearful responsibility which took her from Nauvoo across Iowa to Winter Quarters and, in 1848, on the long trail that led to the Salt Lake Valley. At the age of 51 she was worn out, weary from the struggle. She passed away September 21, 1852.
Her life is the epitome of the Relief Society woman of those days. In fact, some of her experiences predated the organization of the society in 1842.
Mary’s boy Joseph was born at a time when her husband was snatched away by the mob militia then terrorizing Far West. Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were taken to Liberty, Missouri, where they were imprisoned. Under the compulsion of Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order, she left Missouri with the stepchildren for whom she had taken responsibility, as well as her own son. Her sister Mercy placed Mary, who was seriously ill, on a bed in a wagon box with her infant boy cradled at her side.
In February 1839, when winter was still upon the land, they traveled east across the state and then across the Mississippi to Quincy, Illinois, bumping along in a springless wagon where every jolt brought pain.
When her husband and the Prophet escaped from Liberty Jail and came to Quincy, life again improved. The Saints moved to what became Nauvoo and established their beautiful city on the Mississippi. But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on her window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”
Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.
Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.
While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.
All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.
Such was the faith, sweet and simple and beautiful, which graced this woman’s life. She walked in the light of the Lord. She lived by that light. It guided her in all of her actions. It became the lodestar of her life. She exemplified the tremendous faith of the women of this Church—the women of the Relief Society, who today on a thousand fronts carry on the dedicated work of this remarkable organization.

Samantha,* a girl in my first-grade class, was kind of mean. She would step on people’s heels, yell at them, and even hit them. Nobody liked her. Nobody played with her. Sometimes other kids told lies to get her into trouble. I didn’t like her at first, either, but I always defended her when I knew someone had lied to get her in trouble.
In second grade, her desk was next to mine. She kept on being mean, so she was moved away from the other kids. I felt sorry for her and offered to help Samantha with her schoolwork. The teacher let me.
Then Samantha’s baby brother died. That’s when I learned that she has a hard life. She had lived in another state, and her father had drinking problems. When she moved, one of her cats died and another ran away. Then her two dogs died. One day in class, she started crying because she missed her baby brother. I went over to her, and I got to help her that day.
At Christmastime, I drew her name for our gift exchange. Mom and I prayed about what to give her. We gave her a small nativity set, and she really liked it. She became nicer to everyone, and soon everyone wanted to sit by her.
For Valentine Day, we gave each other the same card. We didn’t plan it that way.
She moved away at the end of second grade. That was the last time I saw her. I miss her. Sometimes I even cry a little bit. My teacher thanked me for helping Samantha and said that I had changed her life. I feel good that I chose the right.

If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame or jealousy or disappointment or envy, from self-recrimination or self-justification, consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or who were otherwise afflicted. His was a life of service, both to the Church and to his community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and always looked forward to the missionary reunions. When he was older, he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions. That modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion, when the Spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his own. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things about his life I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community with a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He married his sweetheart, and presently everything was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick.
After many hours of labor, the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
John’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife. He had no way to tend both the baby and his work.
As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
He thought of little else, and in his bitterness, he became threatening. Today, no doubt, he would have been pressed by many others to file a malpractice suit. And there are lawyers who would see in his pitiable condition only one ingredient—money!
But that was another day, and one night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader.
This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from that wise servant was simply, “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial—his Gethsemane. How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed and somebody must pay for it. It was a clear case.
But he struggled in agony to get hold of himself. And finally, he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I understood! It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

An acquaintance recalls that when he was a young boy, an electrician came to do some wiring. It was necessary to string some wires in a little crawl space under the house. Since the space was too small to accommodate an adult, the electrician asked the boy if he would go in and pull the wires through. When the boy had done it, the man handed him a quarter, and the proud boy went to show it to his mother. Her response was, “Oh, a quarter is too much. Go back and tell him that a dime is plenty.”
No doubt the mother was only trying to be fair to the electrician, but the fact that the man remembered the incident after thirty years seems quite significant.
How much better it would have been for the mother to have said, “A quarter is a lot of money. He must have thought you did a real good job.” Or she might have used the experience to teach him about service and help him realize the good feeling that comes from service offered freely. Such an approach would contribute to the child’s self-esteem instead of lowering it.