Gospel Story Finder

The baby boy born to John Anderson Widtsoe and Anna Karine Gaarden Widtsoe came into this world with his wrist attached to the side of his head. He was their first child, and there was some doubt that he would live. But after a crude surgical operation to release the arm, the boy survived. They named him John Andreas Widtsoe, and thus began the life of a remarkable man whose warmth and generosity as a master teacher influenced the lives of countless people for good throughout the world.

One of their memorable lessons occurred during a torrential downpour one Sunday. My parents knew they had a commitment to keep with the Lord—they had to go to church. Our umbrellas were broken, so we only had jackets and boots to shelter us from the storm. My mother got the idea to cover us with plastic garbage bags. We weren’t embarrassed to be the only people walking down the street in the rain. We knew we were doing what the Lord would have us do.
When we arrived at the house we used for a chapel, we realized that we would be the only ones attending that day. Many Sundays were like that. My father served as the branch president and often conducted meetings attended only by children and a few Relief Society sisters. He would also bless and pass the sacrament.
I miss those days we attended church as a family. Singing hymns together and learning about our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, remains a treasured memory. My heart is still on Robinson Crusoe Island. All my childhood memories, including gospel teachings I received from my parents, occurred there.
With few members of the Church on the island, we didn’t have the programs or resources many members enjoy. But my parents taught us to attend church, pray, and read the scriptures. I found strength and direction as I read the scriptures and had moments of personal revelation. I remember one Sunday in particular when I received confirmation to serve a mission.
When I was a college student in Viña del Mar, Chile, I remembered my parents walking to church with me in the sun, rain, hail, and wind. Each Sunday, this memory prompted me to get out of bed, get ready, and go to church—regardless of what was happening outside.
The gospel of Jesus Christ has been the center of my life as a child, missionary, and now as a wife and mother. Now that I have my own family, my husband and I will pass down to our children the faithful example of my parents.

My father died of cancer when I was 4 years old. I grew up wondering why he had to die. I questioned God and asked why life was so unfair. Ten years later, when I was 14, I met the missionaries. As they taught us, my mother felt that they were teaching the truth and that we should listen. When we joined the Church, the gospel of Jesus Christ and an understanding of the plan of salvation came into my life at a time when I really needed it.
Later, when I was sealed to my parents in the temple, my mother whispered to me, “I feel your father’s presence.” As I thought about the blessings of being sealed, I knew that the Lord was aware of our family and that He had been with us often, even when we were unaware.

While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.

When the full-time missionaries came to my home in France to do a service project, my parents were not active members of the Church, and I hadn’t been baptized. Soon the missionaries taught me the gospel, which I loved. And soon my parents returned to church.
“Who’s going to baptize you?” the missionaries asked me.
“My father,” I replied.
My father, who was from Italy, was a good man. He taught me to see people as Jesus would see them. Sadly, he died a few weeks before my baptism.
Later, when I received my mission call, I was so excited that I asked my mother to open it.
“You’re going to be happy,” she said, crying. “You’re going to your father’s home country!”
I had dreamt of serving in Italy. Missions are about serving people, not about serving in areas. But I prayed that I would serve in Italy, specifically the city of Gaeta, where my father’s ancestors had lived since the 10th century.
After serving in Rome and Sicily, I received the glad news that I was being transferred to the area that included Gaeta. Before that transfer in early 2023, my companion and great friend Elder Jack Beck gave me a gift I will never forget. Elder Beck is a talented artist. From a small picture I had of my father, Elder Beck drew a beautiful portrait of him.
I looked at that portrait every day during personal study. It gave me strength to share the gospel.
As soon as I was assigned to Gaeta, I sought out my relatives. When I showed my father’s older brother the portrait, he wept. He hadn’t seen his brother for years and had no pictures of him.
I taught my uncle that one day he would see his brother again—not in a portrait but in person. I taught him that through the gospel, he could live with his brother again in love and peace with the Savior.
I saw great miracles in Gaeta as I shared with family members the good news that because Jesus Christ overcame death, loss of loved ones is only temporary (see Mosiah 16:8). I testify that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior has made it possible for our families to be gathered eternally.

He gave much of this service while he and Susan were raising three young sons and he was making a remarkable contribution in his work at the University of Arkansas. Doyle Z. Williams, dean of the College of Business at the University of Arkansas, describes Elder Bednar’s contributions not in terms of offices held or honors received—of which there were many—but in terms of personal influence: “David Bednar was part of our leadership team. He sharpened our vision. He always exuded enthusiasm for students and a passion to help his fellowman. To all our discussions he brought reason and compassion. He inspired his colleagues and students by his example and was held in the highest esteem.”

Dean Williams, who is not a member of the Church, saw a power to influence others that was also observed by Jerry Abram, President Bednar’s counselor in a far-flung Arkansas stake. Brother Abram describes his impressions this way: “We traveled an average of 2,000 miles [3,200 km] per month together, so I got to know him very well. He called my wife to be the stake Relief Society president, and he set my daughter apart when she departed for England to serve her mission. He spoke at her twin sister’s funeral with such power and compassion. Our daughter was 17 years old when she and two of her girlfriends died in a tragic automobile accident. The funeral was tender, but Elder Bednar helped make it bearable. He stood behind our family during our darkest hour. After the funeral I wrote in my journal that he was the most spiritual and compassionate man I had ever met.”

A new girl joined our school class in the middle of the year. She looked and spoke differently than the other students. She had moved around a lot and had a hard time making friends. She had sad things happening in her family and came to school crying on some days. I knew I wanted to try to help this girl, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I should do because she did not always like to talk with other children. I prayed about what I should do and could feel the Holy Ghost whisper that I should just try to be her friend.
I helped her with her schoolwork and told her that our Heavenly Father gave her special talents for her to use and share with others. I invited her to play with me and other students at recess. A few months later, she said I was the first friend she ever had.
She had to move again, and I felt really sad. I asked the school secretary to send a letter to her at her new address. In the letter, I told my friend I would miss her and that she would always be my friend. I drew pictures of us playing together and reminded her of some of her talents. I told her she should be brave and try to make a new friend because she could help someone else. I prayed that she would find a friend in her new school and that the other children would be nice to her.
I know that Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I am thankful that He helps us to help each of them.

My parents have always taught me how truly important paying tithing is and the blessings that come from doing so. I knew it was what I should do, but every time I got money, it seemed so much easier to just keep it all, spend it all, and not pay my tithing. As I got older, I became better at paying tithing but would occasionally forget to pay it here and there. I honestly couldn’t see how it could be such a blessing!
This last year, I was earning money just about every week doing odd jobs, and since I didn’t have a full-time job, it really was a blessing to have money when I needed things. When I was paid, though, it was always in checks or larger bills. I’d say to myself, “Oh, I’ll pay my tithing later when I get some smaller bills.” But as time kept ticking away, I fell into a bad routine. Once I got smaller bills, I’d decide that I needed a drink or something out of a vending machine at school, and I’d spend the smaller bills. Every time I’d get paid, the same thing happened, and I wouldn’t pay my tithing. I would just spend it.
Then my best friend left on his mission, and I started sending him different things. But for a month, I didn’t have any babysitting jobs, cleaning jobs, or anything. One day I went to go get money to send a package to him, but there was no money to be found in my wallet. I was so confused! Where had all my money gone? I thought about all those times I bought drinks, treats, even clothes, and all those things started to add up in my head. I put sending the package on hold.
The next day, I did end up babysitting for one of my neighbors and decided that I would pay my tithing right then and there because I knew I was very behind. I paid it all, the full amount. The next day I went to church, gave that little envelope with my tithing in it to a member of the bishopric, and had this really warm feeling inside. I wasn’t sure why; I had even less money than I had before.
That night I had three people call me to help them that week, whether it was cleaning, babysitting, or little jobs like that. I agreed to them all, and by the end of the week, I had more money than I’d hoped for. I sent the package and still had money to spare.
I realized something that week. Just paying the 10 percent that our Father in Heaven has asked for opened up a door for me to receive blessings. Since then, I’m in the habit of paying my tithing as soon as I get home and putting it in an envelope. As the week goes by, I add to it so that by the time Sunday comes, I count it, pay my tithing, and it’s no longer in my hands.
I can’t even begin to explain the wonderful feeling of knowing you’ve paid a full tithe. I will never go without paying my tithing again now that I know and have gained a true testimony of how important it is to pay not just part of it, but all of it.

In 2019, when my wife and I went to buy some plastic containers for the house, we decided to buy a small one that at first, we thought would be used for garbage. However, when we got home, I had the feeling that I should use it to store the rice, since at that time we were using a smaller container. When we added the rice that we had, it was half full. At that time, I had a job, and the little container remained half full.
I lost my job in November 2019, and my wife was the only one working in our family. A few months later, in March 2020, the country closed with the arrival of the pandemic, and I was not able to find a job, but we witnessed a miracle. During the months from March to June the little container that we used to store the rice was filled, and not only that, but it also stayed full all that time. We had so much rice that I was able to give some to the people who asked at my door.
As I reflected on it, I realized that the same thing that Elijah the prophet promised to the widow of Zarephath was done to me (see 1 Kings 17:10–16). I am very grateful to my Heavenly Father for providing food for my family in these difficult times that we went through.

One of my good friends asked me to go to our Senior Ball, and I was really excited to go with him. I wanted to look nice, and I knew I wanted to wear a modest dress. My mom and I shopped at a few stores, and I found a beautiful, modest dress that I was excited to wear.
A group of four couples had decided to go to a nice restaurant for dinner before the dance. My date and I and another couple arrived at the restaurant first. We chose to be seated at a table while we waited for the other two couples to join us.
About five minutes after we were seated, our waiter came over to our table and asked for our order. Since we were waiting for the other couples to arrive, we were not ready. Our waiter paused and said, “There is someone in this restaurant who would like to pay for your dinner, and they need to leave soon.” My mouth dropped open. The four of us were astounded. We placed our order but asked our waiter to bring our food when our entire party had ordered. After the other two couples arrived, we told them that our meal had been paid for by an anonymous patron of the restaurant.
After we ate our dinner, our waiter brought us the folder for the bill. My date picked it up and, with the other young man watching, opened it. They both looked up at each other and then looked at me and the other young woman. “This isn’t for us. It’s for you ladies,” my date said. I opened the folder and read a note that was left inside. It read, “Thanks for dressing modestly! You look great!”
We never figured out who was kind enough to pay for our dinner, but it made our dance even more memorable. I had never thought that wearing a modest dress would be noticed by anyone, but I am glad that I made the choice. Dressing modestly is a choice, and this experience made me want to continue to dress modestly.

Ann had spent months crocheting, undoing, and crocheting again. She had wanted the yellow booties to be perfect.
More than once she had thrown them aside. Mama had always picked them up and encouraged her to start again. “A few puckers won’t matter,” Mama had said.
Ann sighed. If she had known that the baby would be a girl, she would have chosen pink. But Mama had said, “Yellow is a pretty color, nice for either a boy or a girl.”
A car pulling into the driveway interrupted Ann’s thoughts. She rushed to the door to see if it was Dad bringing Mama and the new baby home from the hospital. It was! Ann ran out to the car. She tried to hug Mama, only to be told to be careful of the new baby.
The baby’s blanket was pink. Pink for a girl, of course. Ann wished again that she hadn’t chosen yellow. The blanket loosened, and a pink sleeper showed. The baby would never wear the yellow booties!
“Here, let me take her,” Dad said, reaching for the baby. Then he helped Mama from the car.
They made a big fuss over the baby as they went up the walk. Dad worried that the blanket was too tight. Mama laughed at her cute button nose. Ann felt ignored as she tagged along behind them.
In the house, Mama sat down with the baby. “Come meet your new sister,” she said to Ann, moving the pink blanket from the baby’s face.
Ann looked at the baby.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mama asked, fingering a tiny hand.
“She’s pretty,” Ann said in a low voice. But she really thought that the baby looked red and wrinkled like an old apple she had once found in the back of the fridge.
The doorbell rang. Grandma and Grandpa gave Ann only hurried hugs. They had presents for the baby. Grandma held up a dainty pink dress.
“And look at these,” said Grandpa. “I chose them myself.” He took the lid off a box and showed a pair of tiny pink satin slippers.
Ann wished again that she hadn’t made the yellow booties. She could have bought beautiful satin slippers for less than the yarn had cost. She thought of the booties, puckered and ugly, on her dresser.
Friends and neighbors came. Aunts and uncles and cousins dropped by. Everybody brought presents. There were little shoes and lovely dresses in an array of pink, lavender, and blue. But Ann didn’t see one yellow dress.
Maybe I should throw the yellow booties away, Ann thought. They don’t go with anything, and nobody will miss them. She went to her room. The booties weren’t on her dresser, where she was sure that she had left them. Everything in the room looked wavy through the tears in her eyes. She wiped her wet cheeks.
Grandma came in and declared, “Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your mama wants to see you in her bedroom.”
Ann went to see what Mama wanted. The baby was kicking on the bed. She was wearing slightly puckered yellow booties.
“She’s wearing my booties!”
“Of course she is,” said Mama. “I thought she should wear them home from the hospital. They’re her most precious gift—handmade with love by her big sister!”
Ann really looked at her new sister for the first time. How could she have thought the baby was wrinkled like a forgotten apple in the fridge? Her skin was as pink and soft as a new apple blossom!
“Dear, would you go with Dad to the store tomorrow and choose a beautiful yellow dress to match the booties?” Mama asked. “She needs something special to be blessed in.”
Something special to be blessed in, Ann thought to herself. And yellow, to go with her yellow booties. A big smile covered her face as she watched the baby give a last sleepy kick. The yellow booties do look nice.
“Yellow is going to be her best color,” Mama said. “You could even buy a little yellow bow for her hair. Would you like that?”
“I’d love that,” Ann said.

Alena skipped into her grandma’s house with her mom and dad. She had a big smile on her face. Grandma Stanley was busy in the kitchen. Alena smelled the ham, the apple pie, and her favorite treat—homemade bread.
“How’s my girl?” Grandma said. She scooped up Alena to give her a kiss. “I’m so glad you’re here to celebrate my mom’s birthday.” Alena grinned. She loved family get-togethers. And today was extra special. It was her great-grandma’s 90th birthday.
“Time to eat!” Grandma called from the kitchen. Mom put the last few dishes on the table.
Grandma ushered everyone into the dining room. Aunt Alyson took pictures of the family. Alena silently counted 15 people around the big oak table. Dad offered the prayer. As soon as he said “Amen,” everyone started dishing up the food.
While the family ate, Great-Grandma Grish told stories from when she was young.
“When I was Alena’s age, I loved to eat clabbered milk. I don’t think I’ve had that dessert for 80 years.”
“What’s clabbered milk?” Alena asked.
“After milking the cow, my mother would pour the cream from the milk into a small bowl and set it on the stove overnight. In the morning the milk looked like custard. I would sprinkle on cinnamon and sugar and eat it like yogurt.”
“What did it taste like?” Alena asked.
“De-licious,” Great-Grandma said. Everyone laughed as Alena scrunched up her face in a silly frown.
Aunt Alyson took more pictures of the family as they listened to the guest of honor.
Great-Grandma finished her last piece of bread and butter, and Aunt Sandy handed her a few gifts.
Alena was sad. She hadn’t brought a present for Great-Grandma. But she wanted to give her something special for her 90th birthday. Suddenly she had an idea. She ran to Aunt Alyson and whispered in her ear.
Aunt Alyson smiled and winked at Alena as Great-Grandma opened the present from Alena’s mom and dad. Alena quietly stood next to Great-Grandma and smiled. Aunt Alyson snapped a picture.
When Great-Grandma finished opening all her presents, Alena giggled and said, “You have one more to open, but you’ll have to wait a few days.”
“I can hardly wait,” Great-Grandma said, giving Alena a squeeze.
A week later Great-Grandma got a package from Alena. Inside was Alena’s note: “Thank you for sharing your stories about when you were my age. Here is a special reminder of your special day.” In a purple frame was a picture of Alena smiling next to her Great-Grandma Grish.

Devastating earthquakes and tsunamis have recently occurred in diverse places, including Chile, Haiti, and the islands of the Pacific. A few weeks ago Presiding Bishop H. David Burton, Elder Tad R. Callister, and I were able to meet with the Saints who had lost family members as a result of the tsunami that hit the eastern side of Samoa last September. The chapel was full, and it was an emotional meeting. We were able to assure these choice members that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, they can be reunited with the loved ones they have lost.

The stake president, Sonny Purcell, was driving his car when he saw the enormous wave coming far out at sea. He honked his horn and stopped children on the road walking to school and warned them to run for higher ground and safety as fast as they could. The children followed his instruction. He frantically drove, reached his four-year-old daughter, put her in the car, and then tried to get to his mother. Before he could reach his mother, the wall of water picked up his car and swept it over 100 yards (91 m), where it lodged in a tree. He scrambled to secure his daughter on top of the car and then swam to rescue his mother, who was clinging to a branch of another tree near their house. With great effort he swam with her to the car and safety. Many were not as fortunate. They did not have time to get to higher ground and safety. Many lost their lives, particularly the young and the elderly.

We told the Samoan families that members all over the world expressed love and concern and had prayed for them and contributed fast offerings and humanitarian aid for both the members and their neighbors. The same is true for the members and their neighbors in Chile and Haiti. We do this because we follow Jesus Christ.

As we met with the families in Samoa, the significance of spiritually going to the higher ground, living a better life, and clinging to saving ordinances was abundantly clear. The Savior’s example and life teach us to spiritually avoid the low pathway, where the things of this world dominate. As I shook hands with the members after our meeting, one sister told me her family had not been to the temple and they had lost a daughter. She tearfully said their goal now was to prepare themselves for the sacred ordinances of the temple so they can be together eternally.
As I have pondered what this sister said and the current condition of the world, I have felt an urgency to counsel each of us to seek the higher ground—the refuge and eternal protection of the temple.

Jenny rested her head against the school bus window. This was the first time she had ridden the bus to school, and she felt strange—sort of lonely, despite the greetings by the other children.
When the bus stopped at the corner of Cedar and Oak, she noticed an old man with white hair standing by the curb. He looked at the bus and waited. Just as the bus began to move again, he quickly raised his arm and gave a friendly wave.
“He waved to us,” Jenny blurted out to Billy who had sat down next to her. “Why did he do that?”
“I don’t know. He just does. He’s just some old man.”
One morning before Halloween, Jenny said, “Look, Billy. There’s a cardboard pumpkin on the old man’s door.” When the old man waved, Jenny smiled and waved back. She felt good inside.
By late November, the days grew colder. One morning, as a bitter chill frosted up the windows, Jenny said, “I wonder if the old man will be there today?” She crooked her neck to look up ahead. She saw him tacking up a colorful turkey decoration. “Hurray!” she exclaimed.
In the days that followed, Jenny didn’t wonder anymore if the old man would be there. She knew that he would be. It was as simple as that.
Time drew near for school to let out for the December holidays. Every morning Jenny anxiously glanced at the old man’s door. On a cold and dismal morning just before school let out, Jenny spotted a snowman decoration on the old man’s door. In spite of the cold, she felt sunshine inside when the old man smiled and waved.
A light snow was falling when school started again in January. Bundled up snugly, Jenny bounded up the steps of the bus. It sputtered and shuddered as it neared Cedar and Oak. When everyone began to cheer and shout, Jenny knew that the old man was there.
And then one morning, as a February drizzle fell in a gray and dreary mist, Jenny thought, Valentine Day is almost here. I wonder what the old man will put on his door. Her eyes searched for him. He wasn’t at the curb, or on the sidewalk, or on his porch. As the bus rolled by, she pressed her hands against the window, peered at his house through the streaks of dribbling rain, and felt sad. Where’s the old man? she wondered. She turned to Billy. “Do you know his name?”
“Mr. Brown. He’ll probably be back tomorrow.”
But the next morning he wasn’t there, either. Nor the next morning. Nor the next.
Finally Jenny said, “We have to call and find out where he is.”
Billy rolled his eyes. “There are hundreds of Browns.”
“But we know his address—717 Cedar.”
At lunchtime Jenny and Billy found a telephone book in the office. “Just look at the Browns one at a time,” Jenny said. “Not the name, just the address.”
“OK, but this could take days,” Billy moaned.
Jenny lowered her head. “Just start looking,” she said firmly.
With a steady rain beating against the windows, they read through the listings on the first page, then the next. Just as Billy licked his finger to turn the page, Jenny shouted, “Here it is—717 Cedar! Brown, Quincy. Let’s call.”
“Not me. Maybe he’s not there anymore.”
“But maybe he is.” Jenny picked up the phone and dialed the number.
After two rings, a woman’s voice said, “Hello?”
Jenny gulped. “Mrs. Brown?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jenny. A friend of Mr. Brown. Is he there?”
“A friend of his?”
“Sort of. I used to see him from the school bus every morning.”
“Oh, the school bus. He’s been worried about that.”
“Worried? That’s great! I mean, I’m glad to know he still lives on Cedar.”
“Oh, yes, but he’s been in bed with the flu. He’s over the worst of it, but until he gets his strength back, he has to stay inside. Unless the sun is out. Sunshine would do him a world of good.”
Jenny thanked Mrs. Brown and hung up. Sunshine, she thought. She raised an eyebrow and looked at Billy. “You’re thinking,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m thinking about sunshine. We have a few more days before Valentine Day. And I know just what we can do.”
When Valentine Day finally arrived, the sky was cloudy as they rode to school.
“All set?” Jenny asked.
“All set,” Billy said. “But the sun isn’t out.”
“The bus driver said it will be OK. He checked with Mrs. Brown. She’ll be there if Mr. Brown can’t be.”
As the bus rumbled along, Jenny could hardly breathe. But even though she wished as hard as she could, the sun did not come out.
“It’s not going to work,” Billy said. “Maybe we should wait.”
“We can’t,” Jenny said with a sigh. “Valentine Day is today. I guess we’ll have to give them to Mrs. Brown.”
The brakes whined as the bus slowed to a stop. When Mrs. Brown came outside, Billy and the others rifled through their backpacks and found the valentines they had made, and Jenny reached under the seat and pulled out the huge red heart trimmed in white that they had all signed. They watched silently as the bus driver collected them and gave them with a grin to Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown smiled at everyone on the bus, then hurried back to the house.
“We didn’t even get to see him,” Jenny mumbled.
That afternoon as the closing school bell rang, bright rays of sunshine streamed in through the classroom window. “Great!” Jenny grumped as she frowned at the clear blue sky. “Where were you this morning?”
She slumped in her seat as they rode the bus back home. Even though the sun was shining now, inside she felt as if the clouds had not gone away.
When they reached the corner of Cedar and Oak, Billy poked her with his elbow. “Look!”
Jenny turned her head and peered out the window. “Wow! There it is,” she said. “The heart we made is on Mr. Brown’s door.” She bounced up and down and clapped her hands. “And look at that.”
A roar went up, and everyone clambered for the windows on that side of the bus. Valentines filled Mr. Brown’s yard. Red hearts on long skinny sticks poked up all over the place. As they got closer, Jenny squinted her eyes. “They’re ours,” she squealed. “The ones we made for him.”
“Look over there, Jenny,” Billy said, as another cheer came from the bus.
There, standing in the sunshine and waving from the curb, was the old man at Cedar and Oak. Jenny beamed as she waved back.
“Well,” Billy said, “the old man is back, and things are just the way they were.”
Jenny’s eyes sparkled. She felt warm and snug inside. “No,” she said with a smile. “Mr. Brown is back, and things will never be the same old way again.”

Ever since my baptism the Liahona (Spanish) has always been a source of inspiration for me. I was therefore angry when my father began to give the magazines to his friends at work. I wanted to keep them to use in the future.
My attitude changed completely when one day someone called at the door looking for my father. He said that my father had given him a few Liahonas and that he had talked to him about the gospel, but now my father no longer worked where he worked. This brother had read and reread the Liahonas and had pondered what they contained. Days later, when the missionaries knocked on his door, Heavenly Father had prepared him to recognize the truth and make covenants with the Lord. He immediately sought out my father to thank him for sharing the magazines.
Since that experience, I understand better that the Lord uses every means to bring the truth to those who are ready to serve Him.
Giesi Romeo Aquirre DávilaMexquital, Guatemala

“Don’t ask me how the science fair went!” Michelle declared, walking into the house after school.
“What happened?” Morgan asked.
“Didn’t you just hear me say don’t ask?” Michelle snapped. She walked right past her little sister and up the stairs. Bang! Her bedroom door slammed shut.
Morgan asked Mom why Michelle was mad. Mom explained that Michelle was hoping her project on hermit crabs would win at the science fair, and that it must not have happened.
“So why won’t she talk to me?” Morgan asked.
“Maybe she will later, honey. For now, we should leave her alone,” Mom said.
“But I want to play with her, like I always do when she comes home from school.”
“I don’t think she wants to play games right now. Maybe you could color or play dolls while I start making dinner,” Mom said.
Morgan went to her bedroom and took out some paper and crayons. She started to draw a picture with flowers. She colored it for a few minutes and then stopped. She quickly jumped up and ran to Mom.
“How long till dinner?” Morgan asked.
“About 45 minutes.”
“Is that enough time to make a happy book for Michelle? I want it to be done by dinner,” Morgan said.
Seeing Mom nod her head yes, Morgan ran back to her room and closed the door.
“Michelle! Morgan! Dinnertime!” Mom called a little while later.
Morgan hurried out of her room and ran to Michelle’s spot at the dinner table. She placed some papers facedown on Michelle’s plate. Then she sat in her own chair.
When Michelle came to the table, she pointed to the papers and grumpily asked, “What’s this?”
“It’s a happy book,” Morgan said softly.
“Oh.” Michelle picked up the papers and turned them over. She studied the first one.
“That’s a picture of a trophy. ‘Cause I liked your hermit crabs the best,” Morgan said. “The next one is a picture of a sad face.”
“Why?” Michelle asked.
“Because I got sad that you were mad and didn’t want to talk to me or play games with me.”
Michelle flipped to the next picture. “I know this one is a heart, right?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “A heart means I love you.”
Michelle looked at the last picture, then at her sister.
“It’s my favorite. It’s me and you playing a game together.” Morgan looked at her older sister. “Did my book make you happy?”
“Yes, very happy,” said Michelle. “I’m sorry for being angry when I came home from school. I wasn’t mad at you. My project didn’t win anything, and I thought it would, so I was upset.”
“That’s OK. I still love you,” Morgan said.
“I love you too, Morgan,” Michelle said with a smile. “After dinner do you want to play a game?”
“All right!” Morgan cheered.

When Eliza was baptized, she promised God that she would “ever praise His name in the congregation of the saints.”2 She stayed true to that promise, giving more than a thousand sermons in her lifetime. Yet those who had the privilege of hearing her might be surprised to learn that public speaking made her very anxious. Even while teaching school in Nauvoo and recording the minutes of the Relief Society meetings there, she hesitated to speak up.

An invitation to face her fears came in 1868, when President Brigham Young asked Eliza to help organize Relief Societies throughout Utah. “I want you to instruct the sisters,” he said. The idea was so frightening that Eliza described her heart skipping a beat.3 But she found the courage to do her best, and over time she learned that accepting challenging callings filled her with strength beyond her own.

To one group, Eliza explained that the President of the Church had called her to go on a mission, and she testified that it is easiest “to do at [once] what is required of us.”4 To another group, Eliza confessed that she didn’t feel competent to speak. “But with your faith and prayers and the spirit of the Lord, I may be able to say something that will comfort and bless you.”5 She learned through experience to seek the Spirit to enable her to speak with power.

Eliza encouraged women to find the courage to stand and share their testimonies: “By speaking your best thoughts they will be increased and strengthened.”6 Not only did she learn to speak with authority herself, but she taught others to face their fears and open their mouths.

Some couples wonder about physical limitations, but not Keith and Jennilyn Mauerman of Utah, USA. Years ago, four months after they were married in the Los Angeles California Temple, Keith was drafted and sent into combat. An airborne squad leader, he was walking ahead of the other soldiers when a land mine exploded. He lost both legs. When he arrived back home, Jennilyn rushed to his side.
“I knew I didn’t have to worry,” Keith says, “because we have an eternal marriage. My wife has supported me all along. She still sustains me every day.”
When Sister Mauerman retired, they decided to serve a mission. But would Elder Mauerman’s being a double amputee cause a problem? “There are always things I can’t do,” he says, “but there are so many things I can do, we knew there would be a place for us.”
While completing their recommendation forms, he checked a box indicating he had served in the military. Soon they received a call from Church Military Relations. “I had an ID card that would allow us to enter military bases, so they asked our permission to recommend us for a military relations mission.”
The Mauermans were called to serve at a military base in North Carolina, USA. Elder Mauerman recalls: “The sign at the gate said ‘Fort Bragg, Home of the Airborne.’ When the guard greeted us with the airborne motto ‘All the Way!’ it was the first time I had heard it in years. It felt like home, even though I had never been to Fort Bragg. I knew our mission call was a perfect fit and that the Lord is mindful of me.”
“We taught lessons about becoming self-reliant and resilient and about strengthening marriage,” Sister Mauerman says. “Initially we didn’t want to share our story, but we found that sharing it made all the difference. Soldiers and their spouses looked at us and said, ‘If you can do it, we can too.’”
The Mauermans had such a positive experience in North Carolina that they asked to serve again. Today they travel about 40 miles (64 km) from their home in Orem to Salt Lake City two times a week to serve in the Church Military Relations office. They also teach senior couples at the missionary training center in Provo, where they find that just about every group includes somebody who has overcome obstacles in order to serve.

I had been living for a few months in Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, when the branch Relief Society president asked if she could come visiting teaching. I realize now that she waited so long to visit so I could have time to learn a little French. At that time our family was the only North American family in the branch. Some of the women spoke French, but the majority spoke Lingala, a tribal language. Although I tried not to feel alienated, I felt very different from the sisters in my branch.
The Relief Society president was a widow with two sons. She was always smiling a beautiful, big smile. When she arrived to visit me, she came accompanied by the Spirit of the Lord.
After greeting me, she asked me to get my English Bible. She spoke very slowly so I would understand her message. We read in her French Bible, and then in my English one, Ephesians 2:19: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
I smiled as I read the verse she had chosen. My Relief Society president understood the struggles I was experiencing.
As she prepared to leave, this sweet sister presented me with a gift of 10 eggs. I knew it was a sacrifice for her. I felt guilty accepting the eggs and tried to decline the gift. But her eyes told me they were given in love.
I accepted the eggs, and we basked in the love that she had brought. It filled the house and made everything seem brighter. After a prayer with her, I watched her leave the yard, her petite and gracious form wrapped in African cloth. I no longer felt a stranger, but at home with the Saints of God.

Originally from Fiji, Reena Naidu’s family moved to Sydney, Australia, when she was young.
She discovered her gift for art in high school when an assignment required her to submit a self-portrait. “At about the same time, I read a Church talk about developing our talents and I felt inspired to develop my artistic skills,” Reena says.
She followed that inspiration to the National Art School in Dalinghurst, Sydney, where she earned a master’s in fine arts. Today she is a manager for an art supplies company where she helps others select the right materials for their art projects.