Gospel Story Finder

There, as everywhere, you can find the sort of faith that makes people whole. I wish each of you could enjoy with Bishop Carter and his family, as I’ve done, a meal of dumplings, mashed potatoes, wurst, and homemade sauerkraut. Bishop Carter was branch president and bishop in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, for more than 17 years. He once told me a story that reflects their kind of faith—about their chapel, built years ago on choice donated property in a beautiful, wooded, idyllic setting that looks almost too perfect to be accidental. After the building plans were drawn up and the contracts negotiated, the city council, resistant to Mormons building in their town, declared an ancient, gigantic oak tree in the middle of the property to be a historic landmark, a move to prevent construction. Members gathered in prayer, and that very night something the town couldn’t legislate happened: a terrific storm swept through the valley, and lightning struck the tree, splitting it right to the ground and turning that historic oak into humble kindling. Construction began the next week.

During a previous spring term at BYU, I attended a training class for would-be Book of Mormon teachers. It was a spring as beautiful as this one, and we were expected to reread the entire Book of Mormon. During the middle of the term I had to leave for several days to attend a law school conference in Florida. I thought I would see a beautiful new place, but monsoon-like rain kept me in for three days. After my meetings adjourned each day, I spent my time alone in the hotel room reading Ether, Mormon, and Moroni. I walked the floor reading to stay awake, as beds mean sleep to me. After completing the Book of Mormon this time, I wrote the following in my journal:

I feel to sing a song of thanksgiving for the Book of Mormon. I have spent hours reading and thrilled at the message of the brother of Jared, the prophet Ether, and the prophets Mormon and Moroni. I have thought deeply about faith, hope, and charity and how they interrelate. I have hope in Christ’s appearing and in my resurrection. That hope gives birth to faith and is likewise fed by the same—that he is my Redeemer and the Redeemer of all mankind. And through that faith and hope, I will continue to pray to be filled with His pure love—even charity. I want to be a participant in the covenant of God with his children that a Savior would be provided to redeem them from their sins. I want to be a part of the proclamation of that message.

April 14, 1832, was a snowy day in Mendon, Monroe County, New York. In spite of the cold, thirty-year-old Brigham Young went down into the waters of the river near his home and was baptized by Elder Eleazer Miller. Immediately after, at the river’s edge, he was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. Brigham Young had given his heart to a great cause, and he never wavered from the promises he made that day.

When Leah woke up that morning, she looked out the window. She smiled because everything was covered with snow. She dressed for school quickly and rushed down to the warm kitchen. “Mom,” she said happily, “did you look outside?”
Her mother smiled and nodded. “Yes, I did, honey. Isn’t the snow pretty?”
“When I get home from school, can I play in it?” Leah asked hopefully.
“Yes, you may. But you’d better hurry and eat your pancakes now, or you’ll be late for school.”
“Mom!” Tim called from the basement. “Where are our winter boots?”
“Under the stairs,” Mother called back. “In the tall cabinet.”
Leah’s older sister, Carol, wrapped a scarf around her neck. “I found my boots. See you later, Mom,” she said as she gave Mother a kiss. Then she patted Leah’s head and added, “Have a good day, Pumpkin.”
Soon Tim left for school too.
“I wish I could stay home and play in the snow,” Leah said.
“That would be nice,” Mother agreed, “but today is a school day.”
Leah nodded and popped the last piece of pancake into her mouth. “That was good! Thank you.”
Mother smiled. “Thank you, honey, for enjoying it. Now hurry and get ready.”
Leah went to the closet and took out her coat and hat. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat. Then she went downstairs to the tall cabinet beneath the stairs. She opened the door and looked for her boots. There they were, white and clean, waiting to tramp in the snow. Leah liked them a lot. She sat down and pointed the toe of her shoe into the opening of one of the boots. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her boot over her shoe.
“Mom,” she finally called up the stairs, “I can’t get my boots on.”
Mother went down the stairs. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Don’t tell me they no longer fit.” Mother knelt in front of Leah and put a boot beside Leah’s shoe. “They look like they might barely fit.” Mother tugged and pushed, but the boots would not go over Leah’s shoes. “Well,” Mother said as she looked in the cupboard. “Let me see … Yes, here’s a pair of Carol’s old boots. Let’s see if they fit.”
Leah tried on one of the boots, and it slipped on without any trouble. “They fit, with room left over.” Leah giggled.
Mother laughed too. “Not too much room, though. I’m glad you can get into them. They’ll keep your shoes nice and dry.”
All the way to school Leah watched the tracks the boots made. The bottoms made squiggily lines like snow tires. Leah was glad that her sister’s boots fit her.
When recess came, Miss Higgins asked, “How many of you would like to go outside and play in the snow?”
Everyone raised his hand and cheered.
“All right,” Miss Higgins said with a smile. “Bundle up and out we go.”
Leah pulled on her boots easily, and soon she was outside playing. Then Leah saw Melanie standing alone near the school building where the snow barely covered the ground. She wasn’t playing with the others because she wasn’t wearing boots.
When recess was over, everyone lined up at the door, waiting to go back inside. “Quietly now, class,” Miss Higgins said. “Shake the snow from your boots and walk quietly past the other classrooms.”
Leah looked at Melanie’s shoes. They looked like they were sopping wet, and Leah knew that Melanie’s socks were wet too. Leah looked at the footprint Melanie’s shoes made in the snow, then made a boot print beside it. Melanie’s shoe print was quite a bit smaller than the print from Carol’s old boot! Leah smiled to herself as she followed the line into the school.
After school Leah looked for Melanie.
“Melanie?” she called. “Do you want to walk in my boot tracks as far as my house?”
Melanie shivered and smiled. “Thanks, Leah,” she said happily.
“Don’t you have any boots?” Leah asked over her shoulder.
“My parents will probably get me some when they can.”
Leah nodded. “I have some white boots at home … I can’t wear them anymore. I think they’d fit you!”
Melanie hesitated. “Maybe your mother wouldn’t like me taking your boots.”
“She wouldn’t care,” Leah told her classmate. “I’m the youngest in the family, so I know she wouldn’t mind.”
Melanie smiled and shivered again. “Well, if she says that I can have them, that’d be great!” Melanie said, hurrying on as Leah turned up the walk to her house.
“Mom,” Leah called, “I’m home!”
Mother turned from the sewing machine and gave Leah a welcome-home hug. “How was school, honey?”
“We played in the snow at recess time and pasted pictures in our books this afternoon. It was fun.”
“That’s good,” Mother said.
“Mom,” Leah said quietly. “Melanie Harper doesn’t have any boots. Can I give her my old white ones? I think they’ll fit her.”
Leah’s mother looked at her for a long minute, then gave her a second hug. “Honey, it’s more than OK. It’s a very caring thing to do, and I’m proud of you. I know how much you liked your white boots.”
“Melanie will like them too. Do you think Heavenly Father would be happy if I give them to her?”
“Honey,” her mother replied, “Heavenly Father is always pleased when we help each other.”

A true story from Peru.
Spencer held Papá’s hand as they walked through the grass. His older sisters walked ahead, gathering rocks and twigs.
“Papá, why do we use things from outside for the Nativity?” Spencer asked.
Papá picked up a piece of moss. “This is something families have done here for a long time. We gather things Heavenly Father has given us in nature to make a place for baby Jesus. It helps us remember that He was born in a humble place.”
Spencer looked at the moss in Papá’s hand. It wasn’t fancy, but it was soft.
When they got home, they gathered around the wooden table in the living room. Papá placed a small clay Mary and Joseph on the table. Now they would use what they found outside to make the stable and the manger. Then, on Christmas Eve they’d add the baby Jesus to the Nativity scene.
Spencer watched as his sisters worked. They added colorful flowers and wove branches into a little fence. They made it look so nice.
Spencer carefully placed some moss on one side of the stable and added a few rocks. But when he looked at what he had made, it didn’t seem as good as what his sisters made. His path looked crooked. His moss wasn’t smooth.
He sighed. “My part doesn’t look very nice,” he said quietly.
Mamá put an arm around him. “Why do you think that?”
“It doesn’t look as good as theirs.”
Papá moved to sit beside him. “Spencer, do you know why we make this Nativity?”
Spencer shook his head.
“To help us feel close to Jesus,” Papá said. “The Savior is the most special part of Christmas. He doesn’t need fancy gifts—just our love and our best efforts.”
Spencer nodded. He looked at his little pile of rocks and moss again. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but he had done his best.
Over the next few days, they gathered by the table to light a candle and sing Christmas songs. Spencer liked how the manger for baby Jesus stayed empty. It reminded him that they were waiting for something special—just like the shepherds and Wise Men did.
Finally, Christmas Eve came. Mom handed Spencer the tiny clay baby Jesus, and he placed it carefully in the manger.
As Spencer looked at the Nativity, he didn’t worry about how perfect it looked. He thought about Jesus Christ.
Spencer smiled. This year, he had given something to Jesus by doing his best, even when it wasn’t perfect. And he wanted to keep giving—by being kind, loving others, and trying to be more like Him.

Brady insisted, however, that he was going to be baptized. He had been looking forward to it for a long time, even though his disease had caused him to be so weak that much of his life had been spent in hospitals. His father prayed and had a calm feeling that somehow Brady would be able to be baptized without drowning. So when Brady turned eight, Brother Blaser didn’t ask if it could be done, he just gave me the job of figuring out how to do it. Not able to get any information from Church headquarters about anyone with a tracheotomy being baptized, we tried waterproof tape on Brady’s skin, and it seemed to stick even when wet. The baptism was scheduled.
Because my faith was not as strong as Brady’s and his parents’, we took resuscitation equipment to the baptism. After the spiritual talks, everyone waited while we took the plastic tracheotomy tube out of Brady’s throat, leaving a hole which the tightly stretched layers of special tape held together to keep the water out. Brother Blaser carried his son into the baptismal font, where I was waiting dressed in white. A doctor isn’t often needed in the baptismal font, but my job that day was to help Brady keep water out of his nose and mouth and to be there in case something went wrong. Nothing did. The spirit was there as Brady was baptized a member of the Church.
Medically, the baptism was impossible. But it was accomplished because of the faith and determination of Brady Blaser and his parents.

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.

It happened every Sunday in church. No matter how hard Jeremy tried, he always got the wiggle-waggles. He tried very hard to sit still during Primary. He kept his arms folded as long as he could and sang all the Primary songs. Jeremy listened to the lesson in his class and tried to answer questions. But sometimes, even when he tried his very hardest to sit still, they still came—those bothersome wiggle-waggles!
It usually happened toward the end of Primary and carried on through sacrament meeting. Jeremy would start to fidget, then he’d play with his tie. He’d rattle his papers from Primary, then twist around in his seat. He tried talking to his best friend, Thomas, but Thomas would put a finger to his lips to tell Jeremy to be quiet. Thomas never seemed to get the wiggle-waggles.
Sometimes Jeremy would untie his shoes. When the wiggle-waggles were really bad, he would slip off his shoes and kick his stocking feet back and forth.
“Sit still, Jeremy,” his Primary teacher whispered to him.
“Shhh, Jeremy, I want to listen to Sister Bernard,” Thomas said quietly when Jeremy tried to tell him about his new toy dump truck.
“Put your feet down,” his mother cautioned in sacrament meeting.
“Leave your shoes on, son,” his dad told him.
Jeremy tried to sit reverently and quietly. He really did! But he still had those wiggle-waggles every Sunday.
One night at family home evening, Jeremy’s mother brought up the wiggle-waggle problem.
“I try to sit still, Mom. I really do!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“It seems to me that we need to figure out a way to stop those wiggle-waggles from bothering Jeremy,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Let’s all think about it, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution.”
On Sunday morning, just before the family left for church, Jeremy’s mother gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she said, “Jeremy, I want you to write down a sentence about your lesson in Primary, and a sentence about the talks that you hear in sacrament meeting. Do you think you could do that?”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll talk about what you wrote on your paper for family home evening,” his mother added.
All through Primary, Jeremy sat very still. He listened carefully to the talks and scripture and wrote down the scripture reference. Jeremy sang with his best voice during singing time, and even wrote down a verse to one of the Primary songs. Then he wrote a sentence about sharing time. Jeremy didn’t talk to Thomas once. During the walk to their class, Thomas commented on how reverent Jeremy was. During his Primary class, Jeremy quietly wrote down a sentence about the lesson. Before he knew it, Primary was over.
“I didn’t get the wiggle-waggles once!” Jeremy proudly reported to his parents as they sat down for sacrament meeting.
During the next hour, Jeremy tried very hard to sit quietly. But after a while, he started to feel the wiggle-waggles creeping up on him. He glanced down at his paper and read the words of the Primary song he had written down: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still and think about Jesus, his cross on the hill, and all that he suffered and did for me; it shouldn’t be hard to sit quietly.”*
Jeremy thought about the song. That was the secret! He should think about Jesus. Jeremy knew that Jesus would want him to sit quietly and listen.
Jeremy listened as Elder Vasquez, one of the missionaries serving in his ward, related an experience about a 10-year-old girl who had recently been baptized. He listened when Elder Brown, the other missionary, told the congregation that he was from England and had been on his mission for only three months. As Jeremy listened to the missionaries, he decided that he would like to be a missionary, too.
Jeremy was surprised when the closing hymn was announced. He looked down at his paper and noticed that he hadn’t written anything about the missionaries. He had been too busy listening to them! And the wiggle-waggles hadn’t bothered him once!
As they were leaving the church after sacrament meeting, Jeremy’s parents told him how happy they were that he’d been so reverent. Jeremy told them how the Primary song had taught him to think about Jesus and what He wanted him to do.
Just then, Sister Harper came up to Jeremy’s parents and said, “Jeremy is so quiet! I wish my Kerry would learn how to be quiet and reverent like Jeremy. She gets so wiggly!”
Jeremy’s mother winked at him.
“It looks like the wiggle-waggles found someone else to bother,” she said.
“Yes.” Jeremy smiled and held up his piece of paper. “And I know just what she can do to fix it!”

When I was a stake president, there was a young man by the name of Jim Sirrine in our stake. As I recall, Jim was not particularly talented, not particularly athletic or gifted, but, like the rest of us, a normal garden-variety member of the Church. One evening, his ward youth decided to do a food drive for the homeless. They met at the Church, had a prayer, and then sent each youth, with a little wagon, out to collect cans of food from those who lived within the ward boundaries. They were to return in 45 minutes and the one with the most cans of food in their wagon would win a prize. They all left for their stations and returned at the appointed time. Jim returned a few minutes late but with an empty wagon. The other youth chided him, and asked him if he has gone to get a drink at the local 7-Eleven. Jim just laughed and went over and quietly sat down. The attention of the youth soon turned to the many cans of food, and seeing who was the winner with the most cans collected.

As they counted the cans, a member of the bishopric, Brother Whitehead, went over and sat down next to Jim. He quietly said, "Jim, I have a feeling that something happened out there tonight that you didn't tell us about." Jim explained that he was about ready to return with his wagon full of cans, when he decided to go to one more home. He rang the bell and a lady came to the door. He explained to her what they were doing and asked if she would be willing to contribute. She said it was a wonderful project, and said she would be right back. In a moment, she returned with two cans of food. Jim thanked her, put the cans in his wagon, bade goodbye and began down the walk.

Jim then said, "As I got half-way to the street, I had the strangest feeling, and I turned around and returned to the door. Again I rang the bell. When she answered, I said, 'Ma'am, I don't know you and you don't know me, but as I was leaving here, I had the strangest feeling that you need this food more than where I am taking it. And so I have decided to leave it here with you.'" As he said that, she burst into tears and just sobbed. Well, what does a teenage boy do when a grown woman begins to cry? What does a grown man do when a grown woman starts to cry? So he just began to unload the cans on her porch and left. As he finished the story, Jim said, "Brother Whitehead, I may never know why she needed that food so badly, but I know that it was the right thing to do."

As I heard that story, I thought, what a wonderful thing that Jim was prepared to hear the voice of the Holy Ghost speak to his soul as it invited to spontaneously serve. Jim knew who he was, and because he did, he was a pure vessel in the hands of the Lord to bless the lives of that woman and her family.

My wife and I attended a sacrament meeting near Recife, Brazil. A young boy, possibly 9 or 10 years of age, wearing his new blue suit on a very hot day, went to the pulpit and in a very relaxed way looked at the congregation. He said, “Our family has been studying about moral agency.” He then read: “Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh. … And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil.” The boy then said, “Some of my older friends are choosing to smoke and use drugs, but we all will have to accept the consequences of our actions.” He finished with his testimony, saying, “I can see that this is true.” This testimony from one so young was powerful and touched our hearts deeply.

We talked long into the night. “Should we or shouldn’t we?” The bishop had announced in priesthood meeting that they needed a full-time custodian for the stake center. My husband Ace had inquired about it after the meeting and had been told to talk it over with his wife and then meet with the three bishops the next evening.
Would he like such a job? It was a large church house that served three wards and a stake. With all the activities, there would be plenty of work. I would undoubtedly help, dusting the organ and piano and washing a few windows. Since we lived close by, he could come home for lunch and also reduce transportation expenses. There would be no more long hours working in the sun, rain, wind, and snow that his present job with a plumbing supply company demanded, and no more need to work a second job at night as a warehouse custodian. But at age fifty-nine it’s hard for a man to change jobs. Suppose the new job didn’t turn out well?
Monday the big decision was made. We would take it! Ace gave his employer notice that he was quitting Sunday; we went to church and for the first time really looked at the building. There was a lot to do.
The first task we undertook was to clean the stairways on each end of the hall. One was four feet wide, the other six feet wide, each with seventeen steps. It had been some time since they had been cleaned and they were a dull gray, covered with black marks from shoes, spills, etc. For two hours we worked with suds, cleanser, and steel wool. How pleased we were, though, to discover they were a light, cream-colored vinyl with dark streaks that resembled marble.
Ace found there was always something that had to be repaired or replaced. He changed all the locks on the outside doors and replaced the latches on the rest room doors and cultural hall doors. He fixed the showers in the girls dressing room and this does not mean “bolted them shut” but “bolt (anchor) them to the floor” the lockers (which were in the middle of the floor for some unknown reason) back into place. He mended several broken classroom tables that had been stacked in the furnace room.
We hadn’t been working long when construction was started on a new stake president’s office and high council room in a cemented area that had been used as a patio. The laborers worked just a short time each day, drilling and crushing cement and creating dust that permeated the building. We would just get the building cleaned when they would start working again. The ward members didn’t understand the situation, so there was a lot of criticism. This went on for about three months.
One day we were told they were going to have a youth conference in the Junior Sunday School room. The leaders asked if it could be fixed up a little special, so we really went to work. We washed all the windows and woodwork, scrubbed and polished the floor, and even sent the curtains out to be cleaned. Everything just sparkled. After the meeting was over I asked Ace if they were pleased. He said, “Well, one of the counselors in the bishopric asked if we couldn’t be a little more careful about dusting the chairs.” They had needed extra chairs for the large crowd, so someone had brought them from the construction area! We had a good laugh, realizing for the first time that it was not the things we did that were noticed but the things we didn’t do.
It took some time to get all the plastered walls throughout the building washed. We started with the rest rooms, then did the foyers and halls, the Relief Society room, the high council room, and the classrooms. We painted all the heat convectors, door frames, stair railings, entrances, and various other places. The carpets in the foyers and the Relief Society room were worn and soiled with several orange punch stains that were impossible to remove. Ace asked the bishops if someone could be hired to shampoo the carpets but was told not to bother since they planned on replacing them right away. After waiting a few weeks, Ace rented a shampooer and cleaned the carpets himself. This made an immense improvement. Little by little the building began to shape up.
After two years of custodial work, another ward was added to our building, making a total of four. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we had Relief Society, with the officers arriving as early as 8:30 A.M. The Relief Society room, foyer, kitchen, south steps, nursery, and rest rooms had to be ready. While Relief Society was in session, we cleaned the rest of the classrooms, the chapel and the cultural hall.
Then at 3:00 the Primary officers began to arrive. The relief society room, nurseries, kitchen and rest rooms had to be checked and cleaned if needed. When Primary was over we picked up, swept, straightened chairs, and cleaned backboards to get ready for activity night. This went for about a year; then two wards moved out of the building. It seemed like we were on vacation!
One beautiful morning a salesman sold us a can of chemical cleaner to be used on stainless steel sinks, drinking fountains, and other types of metal. I decided to try it out on the brass light switch plates, which were covered with film and grime. After polishing a half dozen with good results, I went into the boys rest room where there was a larger plate with three switches on it. I wiped it off with the chemical, and was reaching for my damp sponge, when I heard a crackling sound. I turned to see flames shooting out of the plate clear to the ceiling! I raced down the hall shrieking. “Fire! Fire! I’ve set the church on fire!” Ace came bounding down the hall into the rest room. The fire was out and it was pitch dark. The switch box had completely burned out. I learned that chemicals and electricity don’t mix.
Last summer we began our two-week vacation on a Monday morning. Ace insisted on coming home both of the following Saturdays in order to clean the building before Sunday. I was feeling rebellious at having to come back before our vacation was over. As I cleaned, I said to myself, “This is absolutely stupid. Nobody cares whether this place is clean or not. If they did care they wouldn’t throw trash around. Nobody will even notice that the work was done.”
All at once I felt as if someone was there with me. It seemed as though someone spoke to me and said, “I care. It is my house and I care! Suppose we had visitors tomorrow and the house was dirty? What would investigators think? I would be embarrassed.” I was really shaken. It was such a strong impression. Never again have I begrudged the time I have spent cleaning His house.
During our first few months as custodians we were either ignored by the members or treated with what we felt was condescending sweetness. Gradually as we became acquainted, their attitudes began to change. Ace was always there, ready to set up tables or help in any way. He made friends with the children and young adults, letting them in the building to play basketball or volleyball whenever he was there. They reciprocated by trying not to track up the foyers, especially on Saturday when he had it all cleaned for Sunday.
After the first year or so people began treating us more warmly. Some of the Primary teachers and classes brought us goodies and baskets of fruit for Christmas. One year a group of boys made a nativity scene for us out of cardboard and molded sugar. They also brought a wreath made of pine cones and nuts. Another Primary made a lovely poster with all their names on it telling us how they loved us and appreciated the way we kept the building clean.
The Relief Societies invited Ace to eat lunch on work day. Once we were even invited by the stake presidency to have dinner with them and the high council while they entertained the visiting General Authority at conference time.
We retired last spring after six years of keeping house for the Lord. We have worked hard; we have laughed; we have cried. We have made hundreds of friends and hope we have made no enemies.
The tears and troubles have been many, but just the same, this has been a wonderful experience in our lives!

Would you believe that every member of the Hillcrest High (Salt Lake City) cheerleading squad is LDS? Would you believe that they won first place in three divisions at the USA National Cheerleading Championships? It’s true.
To prepare for the competition, the team held practices at 6:00 A.M. as well as during class and after school. They also found time to do service projects like performing for and helping students at a school for students with special needs.

Like a lot of kids in Ireland, Annie went to a Catholic school. She was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in her class.
Annie had a nice teacher who taught about lots of things. She even taught about Jesus. Annie loved listening to stories about Jesus. They were the same stories she learned about in Primary and at home.
One day Annie’s teacher told her class about when Jesus walked on water. Annie smiled. That was her favourite story!
Annie had learned the song “The Miracle” in Primary. That song told about Jesus walking on the water. Annie always felt warm inside when she sang it. She thought about the words in the song.
“Jesus walked upon the water. He stilled the storm and calmed the angry sea.”
Annie wanted her class to know the song too! She raised her hand and said, “I know a song about that!”
Her teacher smiled. She asked Annie to share it the next day in class.
Annie was excited when she got home. Mummy helped her find the song on the computer so Annie’s teacher could play the song for her class.
The next day Annie and her whole class listened to the song. Annie felt the warm feeling she always felt in Primary. She was glad she shared this special song about Jesus.

A few years ago I was writing about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I did not view myself as the obvious choice for that assignment, as servants of the Lord go. My credentials were more being “steadfast and immovable” (Mosiah 5:15) than being an expert on the Joseph Smith story. I had to become an expert—on the job. When you think about it, most of our work for the Lord is like that. He calls us to do things so that we can learn how to do them. I gave days and nights for more than two years to study and write about Joseph Smith. It was consuming. I love him as the prophet of the Restoration. I came to understand his single-minded devotion to the cause of Christ, his willingness to give his life for the work of the Lord. I testify to you that he was and is a prophet of God.

I wanted, more than anything, to get the story of his life right—for him. I wanted to tell of his nobility, goodness, devotion to the Savior. I could almost hear him testifying of the work of the Lord. But here’s the rub. When I finished with my writing and watched it move forward to print and screen, there was an ache in my soul. I felt it wasn’t good enough.

Day after day I walked in the cemetery near my home thinking that all those pioneers buried row upon row could somehow help me. (It was an odd place to search for peace.) I struggled with the thoughts that I had let Joseph Smith down. Worse, I had let the Lord down. Yet I had tried so hard. Perhaps some of you identify. You too may have unresolved issues or efforts in your own life. You’ve done all you can do. Your desires are righteous. You’ve put them before the Lord and hoped for resolution.

And there’s the lesson. We seek resolution, saying, “Fix this, Lord,” instead of seeking peace.

To the beleaguered Saints clutching to life in tents and dugouts along the bank of the Mississippi in 1840, the Prophet Joseph Smith said, “I intend to build a temple as great as Solomon did if the Church will back me up.” And then this personal desire: “If I can behold that temple completed . . . I will say, ‘O Lord it is enough. Let thy servant depart in peace’” (Words of Joseph Smith: The Contemporary Accounts of the Nauvoo Discourses of the Prophet Joseph Smith, comp. and ed. Andrew F. Ehat and Lyndon W. Cook [Provo: Brigham Young University, 1980], 418??). It seems a fair request from a man whose whole life was given to the Restoration, who had faced mobs, been tarred and feathered, experienced repeated financial reverses, had friends turn against him, and been unjustly jailed time and again. Would he live to see the temple completed and the power of the priesthood unite families for the eternities? No.

Two years later, in May 1842, with the temple not yet above ground and baptisms for the dead being conducted in the cellar font, Joseph Smith knew the Lord was not going to grant him his worthy wish. Without waiting to complete the temple, he invited nine men into his Red Brick store and gave them the endowment. Over the next two years, nearly sixty men and women received their endowments from the Prophet Joseph. Bathsheba Smith, my third great-grandmother, was one of them. She wrote at the time, “[We felt privileged to be] led and taught . . . by the prophet himself who explained and enlarged wonderfully upon every point” (Diary of Bathsheba Wilson Bigler Smith, in author’s possession). The work of the Restoration would roll on without him. Peace is often spoken in these words: “Not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).

So there I was, walking in the cemetery, weeping as I talked out loud to the Lord, and knowing it was too late for Him to fix the book or documentary. The men mowing the lawns were looking at me. They thought I was talking to myself. They thought I was crazy. And then in this obscure and unlikely setting, a thought came to me. (Isn’t that the language of the Spirit?) It was this: Joseph Smith wanted more than anything to see the temple completed. He had to give the endowment in the Red Brick Store. It wasn’t the way he wanted it, but it worked. It worked for the Restoration. It worked for Joseph—he did all the Lord asked of him. So had I. “My peace I give unto you” (John 14:27) still sounds in my soul.

Our prophet has asked us to do the very best we can (“Standing Strong and Immovable,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, 10 January 2004 [Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 2004], 21); and the Lord has urged us to “be still and know that I am God” (D&C 101:16). I knew my offering had worked because I had felt it. Faced with the reality of his shortened tenure, Joseph Smith did the very best he could in the unfolding of the Restoration. And it worked.

So is his sense of humor. There is usually a smile on Si’s face, and he loves a good practical joke. When his mother went to the hospital once for her daily visit, she was in for a shock. Two hospital orderlies with very serious faces were sitting near Si’s room, and his door was closed. She opened the door and went in.
Si’s room was darkened, and he was covered with a white sheet. Anita’s heart faltered. She walked over and pulled back the sheet. Si was laughing! Then the orderlies came in, and they were laughing too.
Si is an inspiration to his whole family. His youngest sister, Barbie, reflects, “I was only five years old when the accident happened, so to me having Si like this is just a part of our way of life. It’s not a burden for us. I guess it would be if Si made a big fuss about it, but he doesn’t, so neither do I. Sometimes I wish I could make him better, but then I think no, because he’s blessed so many people’s lives. I do hope that sometime he’ll be well again. He’s really a great guy.”
Si’s father, Dr. Frank Peterson, concludes, “It’s unfortunate that he’s immobilized, but everything else about this has been positive. I’m proud of him.”
Si has a firm testimony, and he bears it frequently. His mother reads his lips and then gives voice to his feelings to the accompaniment of the rhythmic hum of his respirator.
“One of the main purposes of this earth life is to be tried, to prove ourselves worthy to return to our Heavenly Father, and so trials that come to us are an important part of our lives. Every one of us will be tried in one way or another. The important thing is how we accept our trials and grow from them. They can be stumbling blocks or stepping stones.
“I am grateful for my membership in the true and living Church, and I am grateful for the priesthood that I hold. I am grateful for my family who loves and supports me, and for the many others who help me so much. I know that my Heavenly Father lives and that he hears and answers my prayers. I am grateful for my Savior, Jesus Christ, and for his sacrifice for me. I know that my accident had a special purpose in my Heavenly Father’s plan for me.
“I feel fortunate that the trial I have been given is so obvious that I receive a lot of encouragement and help from many people. Your trials may be just as difficult as mine, but perhaps not as obvious, and so I pray that you will be able to accept them and have the strength to endure and grow from them.”
This thought is typical of Si Peterson. Trapped inside the prison of his own motionless body, with every possible excuse to turn his thoughts bitterly inward, his mind reaches out to others in prayer and service. Even lying flat on his back, he is a giant. Si Peterson—a typical young Latter-day Saint and a unique human being.

Everyone looks forward to turning 16, and Evan Wilson was no different. He especially looked forward to the honor and duties that go with being a priest in the Medicine Lake Ward of the Minneapolis Minnesota Stake.
Evan, however, is not your average quorum member. Yes, he plays football, wrestles, and runs track for the junior varsity teams at the local high school. He sings in choir, is an Eagle Scout, and goes to the stake dances. Evan also has Down syndrome. He served faithfully as a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, always taking the same position when passing the sacrament because a routine brought comfort and success. He was solemn and respectful while passing the sacrament. Evan was equally successful in the responsibilities of a teacher.
For months before his 16th birthday, Evan practiced reading the sacrament prayers aloud with his family. Evan is not a strong reader or a particularly articulate speaker, and he needed the practice. He turned 16 and became a member of the priests quorum, attended quorum meetings, hung out with the priests, and assisted with the sacrament by distributing and collecting the sacrament trays. But offering the sacrament prayers seemed beyond his grasp. He had the prayers memorized, but he rushed, resulting in slurred pronunciation. He was not yet ready to pray before the congregation.
One day Jeff Clark, the priests quorum first assistant, shared an inspired idea with the bishop: help Evan say the prayers more slowly and clearly by using a simple flip-chart. He suggested breaking down the sacrament prayers to one word per page. Evan’s basic skills allowed him to read one word at a time, and through practice and pacing (which the flip-chart controlled), the words became more distinguishable. With practice, more reading aloud, more patience, and more prayer, Evan was ready.
Finally, the eagerly awaited Sunday arrived when Evan would bless the water for the first time. A loving, patient bishop came down from the stand and knelt next to him. While the bishop flipped the cards, Evan painstakingly pronounced the prayer word-by-word, page-by-page, with the bishop’s support and approval.
Many were moved while this special young priest uttered his first sacrament prayer. A quorum presidency had demonstrated the reality of modern revelation and what can happen when they acted upon that inspiration. They were given what President Thomas S. Monson called the “privilege to lift” those whom they were called to serve (see “Our Sacred Priesthood Trust,” Ensign, May 2006, 57).

This sacred Easter morning, I’d like to share an experience that helped me understand how much we need Jesus Christ to guide us in our lives. I pray that the Holy Ghost will bear witness to you of the resurrected Christ and that our desire to follow Him will grow.
Several years ago, as a young lawyer, I was involved in resolving a border dispute between countries that had been at war. The work required me to travel on foot through remote areas that were part of the recent war zone. Thousands of land mines had been laid during the war. Expert deminers were there, working to deactivate the mines; however, to my surprise, not all locations of the mines were known. Consequently, on occasion people would accidentally step on them and be injured or killed.
To help me complete my work, I’d been provided a special guide named Winta. Winta was well known in the area. He was from a border town that had been attacked. He escaped and then volunteered to stay in the region throughout the war to observe the activities of the opposing army. He knew the terrain and what occurred during the war.
Because it was possible that some places I would travel had undetected mines, I was given the following instructions: Carefully follow your guide. Winta knows this border area from personal experience. Walk in his footsteps a few paces behind him. Where he goes, you go. Where he steps, you step. I was literally to follow in Winta’s footsteps.
For several days I followed Winta through many areas in the border region. At first I felt uncertain and apprehensive, hiking at times in abandoned trenches, destroyed villages, and other areas where the armies had been. The more we walked together and I remained safe, the more my confidence grew. Thanks to Winta, I completed my work without harm and safely returned home. As I followed in his footsteps, walking with my guide, I developed great trust and gratitude for him.

To become consistently charitable is a lifelong quest, but each act of love changes us and those who offer it. Let me tell you the story of a young woman I met recently. Alicia, as a teenager, had drifted far from the Church, but later she felt stirrings to return. She often visited her grandfather in a retirement home on Sundays. On one of those days she decided to attend the Latter-day Saint meetings there. She opened the door and found a Relief Society meeting, but no empty seats. As she was about to leave, a woman motioned to her and scooted over to make room for her on her chair. Alicia said: “I wondered what the woman would think of me. I was covered with body piercings, and I smelled of smoke. But she didn’t seem to mind; she simply made a place for me at her side.”
Alicia, heartened by this woman’s charity, returned to activity. She has served a mission and is now sharing that same kind of love with other women. The elderly sister who shared her chair understood that there is a place for every woman in Relief Society. Sisters, we gather for strength, but we bring with us all our weaknesses and imperfections.
Alicia told me something I will never forget. She said: “I only do one thing for myself when I go to church: I take the sacrament for me. The rest of the time I watch for others who need me, and I try to help and nurture them.”

Even over the loud cheers, Jacob could hear Coach Vance’s directions.
“Stop! Look! Go left … score!” Coach Vance yelled, guiding Jacob to score the winning shot of their final soccer game.
Jacob’s team had won the championship, and that meant only one thing: pizza party!
The whole team headed over to Coach Vance’s condo for the big celebration. Many of the boys congratulated Jacob on his winning goal. Jacob felt like the guest of honor! He didn’t have many friends in this new town, and he was eager to feel accepted.
As they waited for the pizza to arrive, some of Jacob’s teammates began looking through Coach Vance’s magazines. The boys started snickering. They called Jacob over to look too, but Jacob immediately felt uncomfortable with the pictures they showed him.
He saw pictures of adults drinking bad drinks and smoking and women dressed immodestly. Jacob was confused and disappointed. He thought Coach Vance was perfect!
Jacob knew that looking at bad pictures was wrong. He didn’t want to look, but he didn’t want the other boys to tease him. He pretended to be interested, but he felt sick inside.
Suddenly, Jacob had a strong feeling he shouldn’t look at the pictures. It was as though someone was telling him to stop.
“Stop now,” Jacob felt again.
“Stop now, Jacob!”
Suddenly Jacob recognized the feeling: it was the Holy Ghost.
As the boys continued to look through the magazines, Jacob felt the Holy Ghost tell him even more clearly to leave. The more he listened, the better he could hear the voice.
Jacob said to his teammates, “Guys, I don’t think we should be looking at these.” Then he left Coach Vance’s home.
As Jacob walked home carrying his heavy trophy in his backpack, he thought about how heavy and uncomfortable it must be to carry sins around. He decided it was definitely easier and lighter to live a clean life. He decided right then to never look at bad pictures again. Jacob knew that the Holy Ghost was the best coach he could have to help him choose the right.

A young boy and his parents are on the Brooklyn with other Latter-day Saints going to California in 1846. A storm so terrible that the captain of the ship told them to prepare to die was followed by being stuck under a blazing sun in the Doldrums. Finally a wind came up and blew the Brooklyn around Cape Horn—but it wouldn’t let them land in Chile! So they sailed 360 miles away from South America to an island where they got—for free—all the supplies needed to finish their voyage. Papa said that it was one of the times that God worked in a mysterious way to bless them.