Gospel Story Finder

Receiving gospel ordinances and keeping covenants had a dramatic influence on Diana’s family. Diana and her younger brother, Emmanuel, were the first to join the Church. Before that time, Diana says, her family argued a lot. She knew her parents wanted the best for her and her brothers, but they were strict.
“We felt more fear than love for my dad,” she says.
Several months after she was baptized, her father and older brother, Richard, joined the Church, followed more than a year later by her mother.
“My father changed,” Diana says of her father’s conversion. “When we did things wrong, he would talk to us about it. We had fewer arguments. There was more harmony in our home.”
Covenanting to follow Jesus Christ had drawn them closer to Him and to each other. They had a common purpose: to become an eternal family. A year after Diana’s mother was baptized, the family was sealed in the temple.
“It was a beautiful experience,” Diana says. “I can’t explain how I felt when we walked into the sealing room and saw my parents there. I didn’t want to leave.”

What! Me teach that class of unmanageable teenagers? Trouble comes in bunches, I thought as I walked out of the bishop’s office.
My husband was serving a tour of duty in the military, and I had come home to be with my grandmother, who had terminal cancer. Two active preschoolers, a new baby, a ravenous old furnace that required hand-shoveled coal in subzero weather, Grandma’s failing health, and now the thought of one more responsibility were more than I could bear.
I cried all the way home. I had heard all about that Sunday School class of 16-year-olds. But the bishop told me that the bishopric had fasted and prayed about what to do and “the Lord had sent me.”
At first I was bitter. But eventually, as I prayed, I began to remember the things the Savior had done for me. I realized that the least I could do for him was teach that class. Though the idea still seemed overwhelming, my attitude changed, and I went to work. Before long, I was anxiously trying to reach the teenagers in my Sunday School class. As the months passed, I came to know and love each of them.
Still, with all the other pressures I had, Christmas that year found me in anything but a joyous mood. That Christmas Eve, I sat alone near the Christmas tree in my living room trying in vain to put together a train set for my little boy. I could see the heavy snow falling outside, and suddenly a terrible aching filled my heart. I felt alone. I thought I had been doing better, but tonight, with my husband halfway around the world, my burdens overwhelmed me. Seeing Grandma slipping away, caring for the little ones, putting up with the weather, feeding the furnace, struggling with the train—it all seemed more than I could bear. I bowed my head and tearfully cast my burdens on the Lord.
As I knelt there, I heard a knock at my door. It was late, and I wondered who on earth it could be. I opened the door to find three of my Sunday School boys standing there, covered with snow. They had been sledding and had seen my light and decided to stop in to wish me a Merry Christmas. I invited them in and filled them up with hot chocolate and pie.
Soon they had the train set together, and we finished wrapping the Christmas presents. Everything looked beautiful. Each boy hugged me, thanked me for being such a good teacher and friend, and wished me Merry Christmas before they left. I stood watching them go under the streetlights. Suddenly my burdens felt lighter, and that night I knelt to thank Heavenly Father for sending them to me.
A few weeks later Grandma worsened and had to be hospitalized. It was necessary for me to stay nights with her there, and I cherished these last hours alone with my grandma. The girls from my Sunday School class took turns staying with my children while I was at the hospital. Another girl came after school every day to cook dinner for my family so I could get some rest. The boys built a coal shed and rigged a chute so I didn’t have to carry coal anymore. They tended the old furnace and did all the heavy work. I was surrounded with love and caring from each one of those young people. I couldn’t have made it without them.
Grandma died in May, and my husband eventually returned home. It has been years since that winter when my class of “unmanageable teenagers” helped me, but I will never forget the lesson I learned. I know far better now that we can do anything the Lord asks us to do and that the blessings we receive from our service far outweigh our efforts.

Just as Joseph could not possibly have understood why the Lord needed him in Egypt, as a slave and then a prisoner, we may have experiences that, without faith and humility, make little or no sense to us. Margaret and I had just such an experience about nine months after returning from our three years presiding over the England London Mission. Reflecting on these unusual events is extremely humbling, as it shows that the Lord trusted us to trust in Him, even though we could not see the divine destination where He would lead us. Let me share the events I’m referring to.

Before leaving for London in July of 2000, Margaret and I sold our Boston home, as we planned to retire to Utah after our mission. But near the end of our mission we felt strong promptings to change our plans and return to Boston to continue my career at Harvard for a few more years. Because we had sold our family home, we needed to find a place to live. After an extensive search, we purchased a small home; just right for the two of us, about a mile from where we had lived for over 20 years before our mission. We moved into this home and immediately went to work, renovating and improving it like we had done to prior homes several times before. For the next eight months, we lived there comfortably.

Then, one Sunday afternoon, while waiting to meet with the Stake President, I received a strong impression from the Spirit that we needed to move. I was shocked! Another move was not in our plans and it made absolutely no sense, given my limited perspective. Yet I knew I had been told that we needed to move!

After my meeting that afternoon, I drove down the street we had lived on for so many years before our mission. I hadn’t been on that street for nearly four years. But as I followed the gentle guidance of the Spirit, I noticed a home for sale across the street from the home we had raised our family in. The thought quickly crossed my mind – “I wonder if that is the house the Lord wants us to buy.”

For two weeks I pondered the impression I’d had, wondering why we needed to move. Unable to make sense of it, but trusting in the Lord with faith and humility, I concluded I just needed to act upon the prompting, and so I told Margaret what had happened. She, too, was shocked, but we both felt we should do as the Lord had prompted, so we put our home on the market and began looking for another.

After a few days of looking, we felt that the house across the street from our previous home was the one we should buy. Now if you knew the Boston housing market, especially at that time, you would have known as I did that this was not a wise financial decision! We had been in our other home for less than a year, and now we were selling it and buying a home larger than the two of us could need, but we felt strongly prompted that it was what the Lord wanted us to do. We were grateful for the Lord’s guidance, even if we did not understand it.

The day after we moved in, Margaret walked next door to the elderly neighbor she had been acquainted with when we had lived on this street before our mission. You might say that Margaret engaged. She knew that this 80-year-old woman, Barbara, had been raised in the Church but had become inactive in college and hadn’t been back to church for over 60 years. When Margaret entered her kitchen that morning, Barbara threw her arms around her and began telling her about her 40-year-old daughter, Karen. Karen was dying of stomach cancer, and she and her husband were now living with Barbara so she could help with Karen’s care.

Before Margaret could even think, she opened her mouth and said, “Barbara, do you think that Karen would like a priesthood blessing?” Without hesitating, Barbara said, “Yes, I know that she would.”

That night a close friend from the ward joined me and we gave Karen a priesthood blessing. It was then that Margaret and I began to understand why the Lord needed us to buy the house next door to Barbara and her dying daughter. A mile away would not have been sufficient for what the Lord needed us to do. Our trust in the Lord had created an amazing opportunity for us.

Within a week, we started sharing the gospel with Karen. She had always wondered about the Church because she knew that her cousins in Utah were members and they were always so happy. We visited with her almost daily, teaching her and comforting her and her mother in any way we could. Karen started attending church with us and loved the people in the ward and everything she was learning. She felt like she was coming home! Within a couple of months she was baptized.

Karen said that the day she was baptized was the happiest day of her life. Even though she only lived three months after her baptism, and she was in daily pain, she was filled with joy and happiness and peace from the Lord. Those last few months of her life were truly a gift from the Lord to her and all of those around her.

We felt in a very small way like Joseph of Egypt. We didn’t know the Lord’s plan, but we trusted Him. And with His guidance we were able to help save a small family struggling with spiritual hunger at a critical time in their lives. That experience became a milestone in all we had learned previously about trusting the Lord.

We eagerly climbed the steps to the Upper Room—the traditional site of Christ’s last supper. During our short stay in Jerusalem, our group of American students and teachers had seen the signs of past wars—but also some encouraging signs of peace and hope in this holy, yet often-bloodied, city. Now we had come to the Upper Room to review the quiet moments the Savior had spent during the last Passover of his life.
Gathered in the large room with its high ceilings and graceful arches, we realized that this wasn’t the actual setting of that sacred event: the building we were in had been constructed on this traditional site by Franciscan monks in the 1300s.
But that didn’t matter. Jesus Christ did celebrate his last Passover in an upper room somewhere in this city, he did wash his Apostles’ feet, he did give them the sacrament, and he did urge them to “love one another.” (John 13:34.) We were worshiping the Son of God and the event in his life was very real; the setting was not the important thing.
Whenever we stopped at a biblical site, we hoped there would be time and privacy enough to read the scriptures together and sing hymns as a group. In some cases we were undisturbed; in others, another tourist group came behind us and we politely moved on—or moved to one side out of the way. Since time was precious during our visit to the Holy Land, we began to hope for as few intrusions as possible.
After we had gathered in the Upper Room, someone in our group read Christ’s words from the New Testament, and then we all began to sing the song “Love One Another.” As we sang, another group of visitors entered the room. They were led by a bearded priest wearing a long brown robe, speaking a language I didn’t understand.
I’ll have to admit that while we sang, I thought more about the other group than about the words of the song; because they had come, we would have to leave instead of lingering. And I wondered if they considered our song and our presence as an intrusion into their own brief moments in that room.
We finished and, without a word, began to leave. As I passed the priest, he unexpectedly turned to us. With an accent, he said three short words: “God bless you.”
“God bless you.” The words seemed to be more than a common salutation. They were like a prayer—a blessing spoken in kindness by a stranger in a land that has known more intolerance than peace. Perhaps he had been touched by our simple singing of the Savior’s words. Perhaps he was simply expressing goodwill to a group of fellow worshipers. In either case, his words carried with them the spirit of the Savior’s own words at that Passover meal—words that we had just sung and that I had been too preoccupied to hear.
As I walked back down those steps into the busy city, I hummed the song again to myself—and was thankful for a stranger, a friend, who had gently reminded me of its message.

I watched Ma’s eyes moving up and down the rough board walls partly covered with pasted-up newspapers. Five times now I had watched her read our lean-to walls, and it brought an ache to my heart.
If Ma had a book to read, I thought, maybe it wouldn’t seem so bad to be down in bed day after day. I tried to think of likely places to find her a book. “I heard once that Mr. Piney keeps books, Ma. I think I’ll go borrow one tomorrow.”
Ma looked at me, and I caught a flicker of interest in her tired eyes. “You’d ride ten miles just to get me a book, Jase?”
I grinned at her, glad that I’d thought of it.
Ma gave a deep sigh. “It would be nice to read a book,” she said.
When Ma had hurt her back, Old Doc Thomas had told her that staying down flat was the only choice that she had for a while. I fixed the meals, did the chores, and kept the garden plot weeded so that Pa could work in the mines long enough to get money to pay Doc for his visits. And I tried to keep Ma happy while Pa was gone.
The next morning, after fixing Ma a bowl of mush and putting some lunch on the chair by her bed, I climbed onto Hoofer and rode bareback toward the Pineys’ ranch. Their house was over the hills and across a sizable creek from our place. I figured that I could reach the Pineys’ place by noon and be back by chore time. But I hadn’t counted on a storm coming up, and it made me uneasy when it started to rain before I even got over the first hill.
I knew that the creek swelled sometimes when it rained in the hills, and I hoped that it wouldn’t happen now. When I reached the creek, it was shallow and running clear. I splashed Hoofer across with a joyful shout, and we went pounding on to the Pineys’ ranch.
I hadn’t figured on wasting any time at the Pineys’ place, but Mr. Piney insisted that I stay long enough to dry myself out. Then Mrs. Piney set a platter of warm biscuits and honey in front of me. After I had stuffed the third biscuit into my mouth, I told them about Ma and about me thinking that she needed a book to read.
Mr. Piney went to his bookshelf, and I watched his fingers sliding over the smooth covers of each book. He loved those books, I could tell. My heart sank. Maybe he loved them so much that he wouldn’t want to loan me one.
“Do you know about Shakespeare, Jase?” he asked me.
I swallowed the last of the biscuit that I was eating. “No, sir, but I reckon Ma does.”
His fingers stopped on a book with a dark red cover. He took it down from the shelf and opened it. He smoothed the pages just like I sometimes smoothed Hoofer’s velvety neck. “I wouldn’t want it to get soiled or damaged,” he said softly.
I held my breath.
“I’m going to trust you, Jase.” He wrapped the book in a cloth and handed it to me. I felt as if I was being handed a treasure of jewels or gold. And my heart sang just knowing that I would be carrying such a treasure to Ma.
It had stopped raining, and the sun was coming out, so I started home. I rode along, envisioning how Ma’s eyes would sparkle when I gave her the book.
When I reached the creek, it was overflowing its banks! The only way to cross it would be to swim Hoofer. But how can I protect the book? I wondered.
I held Hoofer back and watched the swirling water. Maybe I could hold the book high above my head with one hand and hang onto Hoofer’s mane with the other. Or maybe I could tuck it up high under my galluses and against my chest. …
I closed my eyes against the sight of the water and prayed to know what to do. I wanted to get the book safely home to Ma, I told the Lord. I wasn’t worried about Hoofer. He was a strong horse, and he had swum the creek before. It was the book that worried me, I told Him.
Then it was like my own voice inside me, reminding me of Mr. Piney’s trust in me. It was telling me that I didn’t have any right to take a chance of getting his treasured book wet. Tears began stinging my eyes when I knew what I had to do. I turned Hoofer back toward the Pineys’ ranch.
Mr. Piney didn’t ask any questions when I handed him the cloth-wrapped package. I was glad, because my throat was too tight to do any explaining.
“It will be here whenever you come back for it,” was all that he said.
With my throat aching something terrible, I loped Hoofer back to the creek. I only slowed up at the creek bank for a moment; then we plunged into the swollen water. I clung to his mane and tried to lift my legs away from the water. It reached his belly quickly, and I felt its tug against my legs.
Hoofer was splashing up onto the far bank when one big splash caught me full on, drenching me. The water hit my face, and I gasped and sputtered. Then a wave of pure thankfulness spread over me. I was surely glad that I had seen fit to return the treasured book.
It was near dark when I rode into our yard. I saw that Ma hadn’t even lit the oil lamp beside her bed. I went in, feeling choked with what I had to tell her. I saw the movement of her arms in the corner where she lay on her bed, and I wet my lips. “I didn’t bring you a book, Ma,” I said.
“To have you home safe, Jase, is worth more than any book,” she told me.
I touched a match to the lampwick, and shadows fled the lean-to room. Lamplight flickered on the newspapered walls. “Did you ever read Shakespeare, Ma?” I asked.
She gave a sigh of remembering. “A long time ago.”
In a few days the creek would again run shallow, and when it did, I’d ride back to Mr. Piney’s ranch for that treasured book.

I have just read a copy of the New Era, which our seminary teacher let me bring home. Never have I known God lived so much as when I finished reading some of the articles. And the Church is really great for giving us this help. My father and mother were formerly active in the Church and went to the temple, but they do not live as they did once. I showed them this magazine and my father said he’d pay half of the subscription rate. He even read some of the articles about things he likes. So I want to take the magazine as much for him and mother as for myself. As a result of reading some of your articles, I am really going to try to live better and to get my parents active again.
Name Withheld—a girl

My dad, my brother, and I were hired to clean an apartment. While we were cleaning, I found a video game. I was excited because I had just gotten a new video game player. I took the game home with me. Later that night my dad’s friend came over, and I told him about the game I found. He warned me that it showed bad pictures. I got the game, broke it in half, and threw it away because President Gordon B. Hinckley has told us not to listen to or watch these things. I felt the Holy Ghost, and I knew I had done the right thing.

Not long ago, while riding on an airplane, I talked with a young man who was seated beside me. We moved from one subject to another, and then came to the matter of religion. He said he had read considerably about the Mormons, had found much to admire, but that he had a definite prejudice concerning the origin of the Church and particularly Joseph Smith.

He was an active member of another religion, and when I asked where he had acquired his information about the LDS church, he indicated it had come from publications of his church. I asked what company he worked for. He proudly replied that he was a sales representative for IBM. I then asked whether he would think it fair for his customers to learn of the qualities of IBM products from a Xerox representative. He replied with a smile, “I think I get the point.”

I took from my case a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and read to him the words of the Lord expressed through Joseph Smith, words which are the source of those practices my friend had come to admire in us while disdaining the man through whom they had come. Before we parted, he agreed to read the literature I would send to him. I promised him that if he would do so prayerfully he would know the truth not only of these doctrines and practices which have interested him, but also of the man through whom they were introduced. I then gave him my testimony concerning the prophetic calling of Joseph Smith.

I had heard the same story over and over again in church, the one about testimonies and planting seeds. But on fast Sunday, I usually just slumped down in my chair and thought about how boring testimony meeting was. So of course I didn’t think that a recent lesson in my Sunday School class about testimonies would affect me any differently than any of the other things I had heard, but I was wrong.
During class I was asked to read the familiar story in Alma 32:26–43, in which Alma compares faith to a seed. I had read or heard that story many times before, but for some reason, this time I couldn’t get the line that says “Because ye have tried the experiment, and planted the seed” (Alma 32:33) out of my head. I thought about the seed of my own testimony, and how I had never really “tried the experiment” to see if it would grow.
Near the end of the lesson our teacher brought out the most beautiful plant I have ever seen. It was full of bright red and orange flowers. Then she brought out another plant, except this one was brown and wilted. Our teacher explained that the flower that was beautiful and bright had been nourished and looked after, while the wilted one had been forgotten about and neglected. She then handed us a pot of dark soil and a single seed. She challenged us to nourish the seeds as a reminder to nourish our testimonies. She also challenged us to bear our testimonies often.
By the next month my seed had bloomed into a bright, flowering plant. On fast Sunday, my Sunday School teacher bore her testimony right after the bishop, and it made me think about her challenge. I also thought about my beautiful plant and how I wanted my testimony to be just as beautiful. I knew that I had a testimony, and that part of helping it grow was sharing it with others. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I finally got enough courage to stand.
As tears rolled down my face I looked down at my Sunday School teacher, and I could tell that she was proud of me. As I sat down I thought that even though my testimony didn’t seem like much right now, I knew within myself that my testimony was the beginning of the most beautiful thing I would ever grow.

I grew up in Tahiti. My mother and father joined the Church when I was a child, but I was not baptized right away. When I was 11 years old, I went to Primary one Wednesday afternoon. We sat on a mat under a mango tree while my Primary teacher told us the story of the First Vision. As she spoke, my heart started to pound. I had a strong feeling that Joseph Smith’s First Vision was true and that he was a true prophet. After that spiritual experience, I told my parents, “I have a testimony, and I want to be baptized.”

The 3:30 school bell rang. Matt dashed for the door, grabbed his coat from the hook, and jumped down the steps ahead of the other students. Once outside, he rounded the corner of the building. Pressing his palms against the wall, he inhaled deeply as though trying to disappear into the red bricks. His eyes searched for a possible hiding place, but there was none—no trees or bushes or anything—only the flat cement playground.
His heart pounded as he remembered Joe’s words from recess: “You just wait till school’s out. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Matt blinked back his tears and watched the others trooping out, yelling and shouting. Then he noticed Joe scanning the school yard.
How can I get away from him? Matt wondered. Cautiously he inched along the wall behind a screen of students, hoping he could make it to the back door without Joe spotting him.
When Matt finally reached the back corner, he scooted around it and went inside. With a sigh of relief, he ran to the front of the building and slipped into his own classroom. He stood behind the big plant near the wide window and watched where his tormentor went.
Joe was still asking questions of the students and looking around. But Matt could tell that no one knew where he had gone.
Matt heard the door open. Mrs. Scott came into the room and exclaimed, “Why, Matt! I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here. I’ve never seen anyone leave so quickly.” Then she noticed his white face. “Matt, are you sick?”
A tear slid down the boy’s cheek, and he quickly brushed it away and shook his head. “Joe’s after me. He says he’s going to beat me up. He’s out there now looking for me.”
Mrs. Scott stood with her hand on Matt’s shoulder and watched from the window. “Too bad about Joe,” she said.
“Why too bad for him? I’m the one who gets sick every morning because I’m afraid he’ll get me. Look! He thinks I got away. Maybe he’ll go home now,” Matt said, momentarily relieved. “But it’ll be the same all over again tomorrow.”
“Joe hasn’t much of a home to go to,” Mrs. Scott commented. “His mother died last year, and his father is out of a job. He has an older sister—and that’s all he has. He’s unhappy and can’t seem to concentrate on his schoolwork.”
“He’s mean, and he doesn’t like me,” Matt insisted.
“That’s what’s so sad about Joe. He really wants friends but doesn’t know how to get them,” Mrs. Scott said. “Why don’t you sit down here and read a little while until we’re sure Joe has gone. Then you can walk home without any trouble.”
Mrs. Scott continued to watch Joe from the window while Matt opened the book he had started during reading time. It was about Abraham Lincoln. His pounding heart settled down and his chin rested in the palm of his hand as his eyes scanned the pages. Suddenly something caught his attention. He reread a line several times, then exclaimed, “Mrs. Scott, listen to this! ‘Abraham Lincoln always destroyed his enemies by making them his friends.’”
“Very interesting,” Mrs. Scott responded. “But why does that make you so happy?”
“Well, Joe’s my enemy. Abraham Lincoln would destroy him by making him a friend. You said Joe needs friends. I wonder …”
“Maybe it would work, Matt,” Mrs. Scott remarked thoughtfully. “Joe’s gone home now, though.”
“For now I’m sure glad he goes north and I go south,” Matt replied. “See you in the morning, Mrs. Scott.”
All the way home Matt thought about how he could make Joe his friend. As he opened the kitchen door, he smelled the aroma of hot sugar cookies. “Mmmmm—cookies!” he said as he greeted his mother.
“Where have you been?” his mother asked. “I knew you’d want to help make the cookies, but I couldn’t wait any longer … Matt, is there something wrong?”
Matt sighed and sank into a chair. “I have a problem,” he replied. Picking up a warm cookie, he nibbled it thoughtfully. Then he had an idea! “Mom, would you make more cookies tomorrow?”
“You weren’t thinking about eating all of these tonight, were you!” she exclaimed.
“No, but maybe they’ll work with somebody else.”
“Maybe what will work? I don’t understand you these days, Matt. You have a stomachache every morning and don’t want to go to school. Then you’re late coming home. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
“Not yet, Mom. But you’ll understand tomorrow, if my plan works.”
The next morning Matt was nervous, but he didn’t have a stomachache.
“Have a good day,” his mother said as he started out the door.
“Maybe I’ll bring somebody home after school. Will you have the things ready to make cookies?” Matt asked.
“Yes, if you want me to, I will.”
Matt was at his desk early and was reading his Lincoln book when the other students entered the room. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joe sauntering over to him. Matt’s stomach knotted as Joe leaned on his desk and hissed, “Where’d you disappear to yesterday?”
Matt swallowed hard and looked straight into Joe’s eyes. “Joe”—he swallowed harder—“my mom has something neat for us if you’ll come home with me today after school.”
Joe was taken completely by surprise. Then his face hardened as he leaned on Matt’s desk again with his fists clenched. “Sure. Big deal!”
Matt clenched his own fists under his desk and kept looking straight into Joe’s eyes. He forced himself to smile. “No kidding, Joe. You’ll like it!”
Joe’s face relaxed. “Your mom, huh? OK—I’m game!”
Matt stayed in at recess to help Mrs. Scott. He couldn’t take a chance on upsetting Joe on the playground and spoiling the whole thing.
After school Matt met Joe and asked, “Do you have to go home first and tell your mother you’ll be late?”
Now it was Joe who swallowed hard. “My mom’s not there. Nobody cares if I come straight home.”
“Oh,” Matt said, remembering too late what Mrs. Scott had told him about Joe’s family.
“I don’t have a mom anymore,” Joe went on. “What’s this neat thing supposed to be your mom has for us, anyway?”
Matt could tell that Joe’s wall of toughness was beginning to crumble. The two of them ran almost all the way to Matt’s house. His mother was smiling as they burst into the kitchen. “Well, I see you brought a friend.”
“This is my friend Joe, Mom. Oh, good, you have the things ready for the cookies.”
“Don’t forget to scrub your hands, boys,” Matt’s mother reminded them with a wink.
The boys helped Matt’s mother add all the ingredients for the soft dough, and then she rolled it out.
“Choose the cookie cutter you want, Joe,” Matt said.
Joe picked up a cookie cutter with the outline of a bat. Matt picked a ghost-shaped one.
Matt showed Joe how to cut out the cookies and put them carefully onto the cookie sheets with a spatula. Later they removed the baked ones just as carefully. They were really enjoying themselves by now. Occasionally they would eat some of the plain dough they pulled away from the cut cookies.
When all the cookies were baked, Matt’s mother made icing so they could decorate some of them.
“I’ve never done anything like this in my whole life!” Joe exclaimed. “Could I take a couple home to my sister?”
“Oh, you can take a box full,” Matt’s mother said with a smile of understanding. “Why don’t you two go out and play ball while the icing is setting?”
Later, as the boys packed the cookies in a flat box for Joe to take home, Matt thought happily to himself, Abraham Lincoln was right! You can destroy enemies by turning them into friends!

When these five deacons heard how President Russell M. Nelson climbs stairs two at a time1, they decided to start jogging stairs at their school’s bleachers. Can you figure out how many stair flights each deacon could do that first Saturday morning?
Clues:
Jian did six more flights of stairs than Mason.
Garret did two more flights than Jian.
Mason did half as many flights as Hector.
No two friends did the same number of flights.
# of Flights of Stairs
2
4
6
8
10
Garret
Hector
Jian
Mason
Sam
Garret, 10; Hector, 4; Jian, 8; Mason, 2; Sam, 6

It started out like any other day at school. Our teacher, Miss Blackstock, was writing on the chalkboard while I sat daydreaming at my desk. Then our principal walked in with a boy I had never seen before. The principal whispered something in Miss Blackstock’s ear, and everyone got quiet trying to listen.
The boy stood at the front of the classroom while the other kids stared at him. His faded plaid shirt hung loosely. There was a hole in the knee of his pants. With slumped shoulders, he dug his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the floor.
After the principal left, Miss Blackstock said, “Class, I would like you to meet Caleb Sanders. He recently moved here from Montana. That is quite a distance from here! Caleb, you may take the seat next to Luke.”
She pointed to the seat next to mine, and the class watched as Caleb nervously made his way down the aisle. As Miss Blackstock turned back to the chalkboard, whispers filled the room. Some of the kids were saying mean things about the way Caleb was dressed.
“Look at those weird boots,” someone said.
“He could hike up the Himalayas in those!” another boy chimed in.
I glanced over at Caleb, but he just sat there staring at his blank notebook page and clutching his pencil. I knew that he must have heard them because I saw him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Then a couple of boys snickered so loudly that Miss Blackstock stopped writing.
“I see that everyone is eager to talk to Caleb, so let’s have him come up here and tell us a little bit about himself,” she said.
The class got quiet and stared at Caleb. I felt sorry for him. The boy who sat behind him kicked the back of Caleb’s chair and jeered, “Go ahead, mountain boy.”
Caleb slowly made his way to the front of the class. His hair partly covered his eyes, and his boots scuffed the floor when he walked. The kids around me snickered again. I knew that Miss Blackstock was trying to help, but I was afraid this would only make things worse.
One boy raised his hand and asked, “Where did you live in Montana, under a rock?”
The class burst into laughter.
The girl on the front row asked, “Does everyone in Montana dress like you?”
I felt my face getting hot as anger welled up inside me. If someone didn’t stop this, I knew Caleb would remain an outcast for the rest of the school year. But if I stuck up for him, the kids might laugh at me too.
Then I remembered what my stepmom told me when I tried out for the soccer team. She told me about David in the Old Testament. David was the youngest of all his brothers, but the Lord chose him to be king. It didn’t matter what he looked like. Sometimes people judge others by their appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.
I knew Caleb needed help, so I raised my hand. Miss Blackstock called on me. Caleb didn’t look up. He probably expected me to make fun of him too.
“I’ve heard that there are some cool parks in Montana with great hiking trails. What are they like?” I asked.
The class got quiet. I felt my face turning red again, but Caleb smiled. I could see that he was relieved to answer a kind question. In a quiet voice he started to speak.
He told us that his family had lived on a large ranch in Montana, and he had even owned a horse. He told about his favorite trail in Glacier National Park and how he had encountered a real live bear. As he told more and more about his home, the other kids began asking questions about the bear, the hiking, and the rock climbing.
After school I wasn’t sure if anyone would sit by me on the bus. I held my backpack close and stared out the bus window. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Caleb.
“Can I sit here?” he asked shyly.
“Sure!” I said, moving over to make room.
I never would have guessed how that day would turn out. I am glad I had the courage to be nice to Caleb. Now he has many friends—and I’m proud to be one of them.

1. Talya sat in the back of the Primary room and watched the other children prepare for their program next Sunday. Because she was only visiting her grandma for a week, she was not going to be in the Primary program.
2. Talya liked watching the other boys and girls practice their scriptures and talks.
3. One little girl, Rachel, stepped to the microphone. She stood there silently. She could not remember what to say.
4. Rachel burst into tears. She was scared to stand and speak in front of so many children.
5. Talya knew Rachel needed a friend. Even though she did not know Rachel very well, Talya went to the front of the room and gave her a big hug.
6. After Primary, Talya told her grandma about Rachel. “Is Rachel one of your friends?” Grandma asked.
7. “No, but she looked so sad,” Talya said. “I wanted to help her feel better.”
8. Grandma gave Talya a big hug and a smile. “I’m glad you could help Rachel,” she said.

That help came to my father years ago when his work took him to Australia. He was alone on a Sunday, and he wanted to take the sacrament. He could find no information about Latter-day Saint meetings. So he started walking. He prayed at each intersection to know which way to turn. After walking and making turns for an hour, he stopped to pray again. He felt an impression to turn down a particular street. Soon he began to hear singing coming from the ground floor of an apartment building close by. He looked in at the window and saw a few people seated near a table covered with a white cloth and sacrament trays.

Now, that may not seem like much to you, but it was something wonderful to him. He knew the promise of the sacrament prayer had been fulfilled: “Always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).

After the conference Brigham immediately took Willard Richards and went with Elder Woodruff to personally survey the remarkable harvest of converts among the United Brethren in Herefordshire. And there he did not merely check things out like a good administrator, but joined fully in the preaching with all its risks and rewards. As Elder Woodruff recorded in his marvelously detailed diary:
“May 14—I walked to Ledbury with Elder Young, from thence to Keysent Street and preached but amid much disturbance and as the meeting was about breaking up the congregation was besmeared with rotten eggs. …
“June 3rd … A notable miracle was wrought by faith and the power of God in the person of Sister Mary Pitt at Dymok. She had been confined six years to her bed, with the spine, which mostly deprived her of the use of her feet and ankles, and had not walked for 11 years, only with the use of crutches. Elders Young, Richards, and Woodruff laid hands upon her and rebuked her infirmity and her ankle bones received strength and she now walks without the aid of crutch or staff.”29

I was recently called as Relief Society president in my district. I am truly grateful for the privilege of having this new assignment because I consider callings to be a sign of the trust the Lord places in us to help further His work. But at the same time, it is a challenge to live up to that privilege, and we often feel uneasy about whether we will be able to fully fulfill what the Lord expects of us.
My first assignment in this new responsibility was to choose my counselors. I prayed and meditated deeply for several days after the call was extended to me. Our district is made up of five branches. I had an extensive list of sisters from whom I could choose, but I didn’t know most of them personally.
Still, I strove to draw closer to the Lord, seek inspiration, and ask for His guidance in prayer. One night, I had a special dream in which I was visiting the home of a sister I didn’t know. My husband was with me in the dream. While in her home, we learned about many of the challenges she was facing in her family. As we left her home, I said to my husband, “I know that she (mentioning her name specifically) will be one of my counselors.” When the Relief Society presidents from each branch shared with me the list of names of the sisters who didn’t have a calling in their units, to my astonishment, the name I had mentioned in my dream appeared on one of them. When I looked at it, I knew this was the sister the Lord wanted me to choose as one of my counselors.
I wanted some reassurance about that impression. Before I made a decision, I decided to visit each branch, participate in their classes, and meet as many of the sisters as I could. I wanted to know for myself if she was the right choice. I felt a deep commitment to making a decision that the Lord would be pleased with. Due to circumstances, I wasn’t able to visit all the units, which concerned me.
This was my state of mind as I began watching general conference. I already had two names in mind, but I hadn’t suggested them to my district president yet. With a prayer in my heart, I listened to the conference, hoping to receive inspiration. I received my answer as Elder Steven D. Shumway of the Seventy taught, “While the easier path may be to give faithful members a second calling, the more excellent way is to invite the unlikely to serve and let them learn and grow.” I realized the sisters didn’t need my approval, nor did they need experience to serve in this calling. The Lord knew them and their potential. He directs His Church, and He chooses His leaders.
After I turned in the names and the sisters received their new callings, I talked with the good sister I had dreamed about and learned more about her. She told me she wasn’t very active in the Church, but even though she didn’t know what she should do, she had a great desire to learn. She knew this new assignment would allow her to draw closer to Heavenly Father and enjoy His love more fully. This filled my heart with great joy.
This experience helped me reaffirm my conviction that Jesus Christ directs His Church, that leaders are called by Him, and that we don’t need perfect knowledge but rather a genuine willingness to learn and do the things the Lord expects of us. President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “It is the Lord’s work, and when we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help. Remember that whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies.”

Illustration by Vlad Gusev
I was in the middle of the Forbidden City in Beijing, China. Only minutes before, I had been surrounded by friends and teachers, but I was suddenly completely and utterly alone.
I immediately understood the danger I was in. A solitary 15-year-old American stood out like a sore thumb in the bustling palace museum. I had come to China with other high school classmates on a school-sponsored trip, and our teachers and guides had warned us numerous times about the possible dangers of touring a foreign country if we were not careful.
I walked around the area, pushing through crowds of tourists—Chinese and foreigner alike—and stood on my tiptoes trying to look for the matching red and white shirts that each member of our group wore. But I saw nothing. Somehow, my group had slipped away without me and I had no idea what direction they had gone in. I sat down and watched the entrances and exits. Ten minutes passed, then 30, then 45. No one from my group appeared.
Someone grabbed my hand. I looked up to see a short woman with slightly crazed eyes and long fingernails. She pulled at my hand. “Follow me,” she said in broken English. “Pretty girl, follow me.”
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Get back,” I yelled, pulling my hand back. Before she could grab it again, I raced through an exit and entered another section of the city.
I ran for a while until I was even more lost than before. I sat on a nearby step, away from the groups of people, and started to cry. I knew a few words of Chinese but certainly not enough to get directions back to our hotel, somewhere on the other side of the sprawling city of Beijing. And at this point, I was not even sure where an exit was.
Amid tears, I started to pray. I admitted that I had been foolish to wander from the group, even for a moment, and I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me find a way back to my group.
I stood up and walked back in the general direction I had come from. I did not receive any immediate revelation—and I was unsure of what that revelation would sound or feel like even if I did receive it. I had felt the Spirit before, a warm feeling after serving someone or hearing a talk in church, but I had never felt anything specific—certainly not directions on where to go. I started walking forward uncertainly, continuing the prayer in my heart.
I finally reached a fork in the road. I started to go right when I heard a voice whisper, “Stay.”
The voice was so soft that I almost disregarded it completely as one of my own thoughts. But it contained a sureness that I certainly didn’t feel at the moment. “Sit on that bench,” the voice said. I looked up and saw a bench in the middle of the fork. I went over and sat down. Only three minutes later, a familiar white and red shirt appeared in the crowd and waved toward me. It was our tour guide for the day.
I jumped up from the bench I was sitting on. I was so happy I almost hugged the woman.
“We have been looking for you for an hour!” she said. “Where were you?”
As she led me back to my group, I explained to her where I had been, starting with my separation from the group and ending with my decision to sit down instead of going right at the fork in the road.
“You’re very lucky,” she said. “If you had gone right at that turn, it would have taken you in the opposite direction from the rest of the group. The city is so big, I would never have been able to find you.”
I left China a few weeks later, managing to not get lost again during the trip, but I have thought back many times to the moment when I heard the voice of the Spirit whisper to me. It was not the kind of prompting I had received before, but it is what the Lord knew I needed in order to avoid going down a wrong path. I also recognized how easy it would have been to ignore it if I had not been listening.
Since that day, I have heard the Spirit many times in many different ways, warning me of both physical and spiritual danger. Sometimes I have seen the consequences of following or disobeying that voice like I did that first day in the Forbidden City. More often, I haven’t been able to see the results. But I have learned that when I humble myself and am willing to listen, the Lord will help me recognize the Spirit’s promptings and He will guide me back to where I need to be. With Him, I am never alone.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

When he was 15, his family moved to New Jersey, where he had some of his most memorable testimony-building experiences. “It was during that time that my faith matured into a full-blown testimony,” he says. “I grew up with faith among family and friends and others who influenced my life; I don’t recall a time when I didn’t have that belief that the gospel was true. But in New Jersey I became conscious of knowing that it was true and that it mattered.”2
During that time, he and his brother Greg participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in New York for two summers. Once when he was about 16 years old, he was searching for a personal testimony of the gospel and thought that the pageant would be the perfect time to get it. He recalls:
“One night after the performance, I decided to go to the Sacred Grove alone. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I thought, This is it—the place, the time. What more ideal setting could I have? I prayed for a long, long time—well over an hour. Nothing happened. I finally gave up and walked back to Palmyra, wondering, What did I do wrong or what didn’t I do right? What was missing?
“I’ve since thought a lot about that experience. One of the lessons I learned from it was that you shouldn’t try to dictate to God the timing or the content of revelation. It was later that summer—when I was home by myself in a little basement bedroom, reading the Book of Mormon—that a witness came very powerfully. It just overwhelmed me. I know from that experience the truth of what Joseph Smith witnessed and the truth of the Book of Mormon and the reality of the Savior. That hasn’t been my only witness, but it was a great strengthening of my testimony.
“I found that you don’t have to be in a special place to receive that witness. You will receive answers to your prayers if you are earnest and keep asking and searching. … Anywhere in the world, the Lord will speak to you.”3

My family has made Christmas a memorable occasion for as long as I can remember. When I left for the Brazil Porto Alegre South Mission, I didn’t realize how hard it would be for me to spend Christmas away from them for the first time.
During my first Christmas in the mission field, I longed to be with my family, but my companion and I were alone. A sense of self-pity and sadness seized me.
On Christmas Eve, a dear family invited my companion and me to dinner. We had a nice evening, but this family’s happiness just reminded me that I was away from my own family. That night we went home, and I tried to sleep and forget that the next day was Christmas. For the first time in my life, I was relieved when Christmas was over.