Gospel Story Finder

At the beginning of 2007, my husband and I were called to produce a cultural celebration for the rededication of the temple. The event was to be held on November 3, a day before the rededication sessions.
Our aim was to involve as many youth as possible from the stakes in Tongatapu and to come up with a presentation that would spiritually prepare the Saints for the temple dedication the next day. The event would be broadcast and televised live to the outer islands as well as to Tongan stakes around the globe, so this was a mighty task.
During the week of the rededication, it rained heavily. At our final rehearsal, on November 2, the skies were overcast. I asked the youth to return to their homes and pray for good weather so they would be able to perform for Tonga and for those who would be watching via satellite, especially the prophet. That night it rained hard, and the next morning the weather was still foreboding.
On Saturday evening, 3,000 young people gathered at Teufaiva Stadium to hear from Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had been sent to rededicate the temple due to President Hinckley’s frail health. I will never forget the performance. Everything fell into place. The weather was perfect, the sound system that had malfunctioned earlier was excellent, and those young men and young women danced their hearts out.
We had witnessed a miracle. Heavenly Father heard the prayers of His children and kept the rain away. At the same time, we were able to set the tone for the temple dedication the next day, reminding members that eternal families are the treasure that lasts and that temples are built to bring such blessings to pass.

A couple weeks after I started going to seminary, Heather asked me if I was interested in having the missionaries teach me the discussions. What are missionaries, I thought? I imagined two old bald men who carried briefcases everywhere they went and had no personality. But when I met the Elders, I knew I was wrong. They made learning fun. Not only did I grow to love them and the family that invited me into their home every Sunday night, I also grew to love the Lord and his church.

George Albert was very ill. The doctor had diagnosed typhoid fever, a terrible disease at that time, and ordered the boy to stay in bed for at least three weeks. His mother was told that George Albert should have only liquids and that she should brew him some coffee.
At this very young age, he demonstrated a great faith in his Heavenly Father and willingness to follow His commandments. George Albert wanted to get well, of course, but he didn’t want to disobey the Word of Wisdom. He asked his mother to bring him water instead of coffee and to send for their home teacher.
Brother Hawks came quickly in answer to Mrs. Smith’s request and gave George Albert a blessing, promising him that he would soon be well. And the very next morning when the boy awakened, the fever was gone and young George felt much better. Some years later in telling a group of children about this experience, he said, “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery. I am sure that he healed me.”

John was not active in the Church when his bishop visited and told him that the Lord had a work for him to do. He invited John to quit smoking. Although John had tried many times to stop, this time he felt an unseen power helping him.
Just three weeks later, the stake president visited John. He called him to serve in the bishopric. John was shocked. He told the stake president he had just quit smoking. If this meant he would have to abandon his tradition of attending professional football games on Sunday, well, that was just too much to ask. The stake president’s inspired response was simple: “John, I am not asking you; the Lord is.”
To which John replied, “Well, if that is the case, I will serve.”
John told me that these sacrifices to serve were the spiritual turning points for him and for his family.

Haruki, it is time for bed. Did you say your prayer yet?
No, not yet.
We will kneel with you.
Haruki knelt down and started to pray.
Thank Thee for my family, my house, my friends, and my toys. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Haruki, that was a good prayer, but you forgot to start by saying, “Heavenly Father.”
Why do I have to say that?
When we pray, we are talking to Heavenly Father. He loves us.
When we pray to Him, we can thank Him for everything He gives us. We can also ask Him for things we need.
Heavenly Father loves me?
Yes, He does. How does that make you feel?
I want to say my prayer again!
Heavenly Father, thank Thee …

Another early African pioneer is Anthony Obinna of Nigeria. He relates that one night in the late 1960s “I was sleeping and a tall man came to me [in a dream], took me to one of the most beautiful buildings, and showed me all the rooms.” In 1970 he read an article in an old Reader’s Digest titled “The March of the Mormons,” which included a picture of the Salt Lake Temple. “It was exactly the same building I had seen in my dream,” he said. Brother Obinna wrote to the Church for LDS literature.

In 1978, when the Obinna family learned of the revelation on the priesthood, they wrote to the First Presidency: “We are happy for the many hours in the upper rooms of the temple you spent supplicating the Lord to bring us into the fold. We thank our Heavenly Father for hearing your prayers and ours.”

When the missionaries arrived in Nigeria, they found many people prepared for the gospel as a result of Brother Obinna’s teaching and leadership. The first LDS chapel built in Nigeria is near the Obinnas’ home in Aboh Mbaise.

Let me illustrate: Several years ago, while teaching a course in American literature at Brigham Young University, I assigned a famous novel, a book familiar to many students, a book that I found to be, when I first read it after my mission, a thought-provoking, stimulating, uplifting, and essentially spiritual book, a book of “good report.” I had read and studied the book without feeling my delicate relationship with the Holy Spirit bruised in the least. I was surprised, then, when a lovely young female student approached me after class, with tears in her eyes, to confess that the first few pages of the book had so upset her that she could not continue reading what she felt to be indecent literature. Although it was not what I considered an “indecent” book, by any standard, I saw that her relationship with the Holy Spirit had apparently been harmed by exposure to this book, and I promptly asked her to read, instead, another book by the same author. Still concerned about the assignment, I queried other students. At their various levels of development they had found the book generally unobjectionable. Indeed, one of the students, a returned missionary, thanked me for the opportunity of reading the book, for he had met many people in his missionary experiences who resembled characters in the book, and the novel had opened to him, he insisted, new insights into those people and new vistas regarding life in general. The occasionally earthy (not obscene) language had not troubled him, for he had heard such language and dismissed it; instead, he had thrilled to the portrait that the author had penned of children of God on a troubled journey through a life full of wrong turns and dead ends that arose because the characters were having to learn, the hard way, of the need to be in harmony with eternal principles. The young man was ready for the book. In fact, when I told him of his classmate’s response to the novel, he asked, “Have we both been reading the same book?”

The book was as different as the experience that each student brought to it. The young lady was on a level of development that prevented her from seeing beyond some of the rawness described in the work; the alternate selection was more suited for her personal development, and she was delighted by her insights into that novel. Perhaps there would come a point when she would be ready for the other book. There had surely been a point in the returned missionary’s life, as in mine, when we, too, would have been unable to see beyond some of the rawness of life as depicted in the book to the genuine beauty and truth of the work. The young lady was right in rejecting the book. The returned missionary was right in reading it. Finding that self-understanding which enables us to make careful and proper selections which will not discourage the Holy Spirit from remaining with us is part of reaching for spiritual maturity. Enroute to such maturity, most of us make some mistakes, along with a lot of right decisions.

Annie Clark Tanner wrote this about her mother’s needlework: “Mother was an accomplished artist at needle work. Her industry in this line, as she plied her needle when crossing the ocean in a sailboat, attracted the attention of the captain and his wife for whom my mother sewed, and thus she enjoyed the best accomodations on board. When she was traveling across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley, she made yards of fine muslin embroidery with which she trimmed her first baby clothes. I noticed a small mark of yellow on the embroidery and asked her what it was.
“‘That mark,’ she said, ‘is a little iron rust from a wire on the bow of the wagon where I tied my work when crossing the plains.’”

Cody knew he was in trouble when Mrs. Miller assigned the homework. “You are to write a short essay about a trip that you took during summer vacation,” she announced, “and read it to the class tomorrow.”
Cody knew that Jim Green would be delighted. He had been all the way to Florida.
When class let out, Jim was waiting for Cody at the door. “Hold on,” he said, smirking and blocking Cody’s way. “What are you going to write about?”
Cody didn’t say anything. He just did a neat sidestep around Jim, resisting an urge to push him aside.
“Hey, Cody! Tell us about your trip to Grover’s store,” Jim yelled after Cody as Cody ran to catch his bus, his ears blazing almost as red as his hair.
Grover’s store was a small country store near Cody’s home. Cody wasn’t ashamed of it, and Jim’s poking fun at it—and him—really made him burn.
As he rode home on the bus, Cody wondered why Mrs. Miller would do this to him. She knew that since his dad had died two years ago, he and his mother were hard-pressed to run the farm and had no money for trips. He had always thought that Mrs. Miller was OK—sort of strict sometimes, but always fair. He’d thought Mrs. Miller was his friend.
The days after his dad died had been hard on Cody. At first he’d had something to hold onto: Besides being a good student, he was the best athlete for his age in the neighborhood, and he took pride in leading his community league track team and in being quarterback on the league football team.
Then Jim had moved into town when his father bought the hardware store, and everything had changed. Jim was in his class at school, and being tops was a lot harder to come by.
Cody remembered his first meeting with Jim. Cody was practicing for the 100-yard dash, getting ready for the field meet. He was breezing along, confident that nobody could catch him, when suddenly this black-haired kid was matching him stride for stride.
So the competition between the two boys had begun. And it was so keen that Cody found himself having to stretch to stay even with Jim. But stay even he had managed to do, although sports ceased to be as pleasant. After tomorrow and the essay reading, school would be unbearable too.
That night at supper Mom asked, “Did something happen at school today, Cody? You seem down.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Cody pushed his food around on his plate. “I have to write an essay for tomorrow’s English class. It’s supposed to be about a trip I took during summer vacation.”
“And, of course, you didn’t take a trip.”
“You’ve got it, Mom. And tomorrow everybody will know it. Jim Green will never let me live it down.”
“So it’s Jim Green again.” Mom’s brows knitted over dark blue eyes. “I wish you boys would at least try to be friends. You might like each other.”
“Fat chance!” Cody snorted. “The only thing I have that Jim wants is my position on the football team.”
“You never can tell, Cody. You might have a lot in common if you gave each other a chance.”
“Ha!” Cody pushed his chair back, got up, and started clearing the table.
“What are you going to do about the essay, Cody?” Mom wanted to know.
“Make up something, I guess.”
“You know that won’t do, Cody. It wouldn’t be right.” Mom was thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “Can’t you think of a special place around here to use for a subject?”
Cody remembered Jim’s taunt about Grover’s store. Even though it really was a special place, he decided against using it for a subject. There’s a shortcut to the creek that nobody knows about but me, he thought. It isn’t a trip, but it’s all I have. I’ll probably be laughed right out of school.
The next day Cody listened as the others read their essays. A few of the kids had been to Disneyland, and a couple of them had gone to the Smokies—wonderful places that Cody could only dream about. When Jim read about his trip to Florida, Cody could almost see the white sand and feel himself swimming in the warm water.
The closer the time came for him to read his essay, the farther Cody scrunched down in his seat. Maybe Mrs. Miller wouldn’t notice him, wouldn’t call on him to read his silly paper. Or maybe they would run out of time, and he could hand his paper in unread. But just as he checked his watch to see how much class time was left, Mrs. Miller called, “Cody, it’s your turn.”
Cody rose on legs he hoped nobody saw were trembling. Then he got the same feeling he got when he crouched at the starting line of the 100-yard dash. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. I’ll give it my best shot, he thought.
He read: “I didn’t take a regular trip on my vacation, so I’ll tell you about a special place I visited almost every day. It’s a shortcut through the woods to my secret swimming hole. If you go by the main road, the creek is two miles away, but by taking the shortcut behind my house, it’s only about a half mile.
“One day last summer I left the house just as the sun rose over the pasture cedars. I walked across the pasture, looking at the many tiny spiderwebs decorating the grass to where the path enters the woods. Deep in the woods the trees are tall, and everything was still. Arrows of sunshine came down through the trees. As I walked along the hill, I was on the lookout for squirrels and birds.
“Across the hollow I could see the cave where some folks claim Indians once held powwows and where I’ve found a few arrowheads and bits of flint. It’s also been said that an old man dug enough gold out of that cave to make a ring. I’ve looked, but so far I haven’t found any gold. Anyway, that day the entrance to the cave was occupied by a mother skunk and her three kittens. Soon I reached a mossy ledge above the creek. The water is deep at this spot, so the ledge is a perfect place for diving into the creek—”
The bell rang. Cody handed his paper to Mrs. Miller, who was smiling broadly. “Good work, Cody,” she said. “I knew you’d come up with something.”
As Cody ran for his bus, somebody pounded along beside him. He knew without looking that it was Jim. Cody pulled up short, spun around, and looked Jim square in the eye. Instead of the challenging grin he hated, he saw a friendly, smiling face.
“Hey, Cody,” Jim said, “those woods of yours sound pretty neat.”
“So?” Cody was distrustful.
“So maybe sometime you’d let me go exploring with you.”
“When?” Cody asked, still hesitant.
“How about Saturday morning?”
“OK,” Cody said over his shoulder as he boarded his bus.
Cody spent the whole trip home wondering how a simple thing like a shortcut to the creek could make a friend out of Jim Green. Maybe Mom was right, he finally decided. If we give each other a chance, we might have a lot in common.

I received one of those blessings just a few weeks ago. Since general conference falls on a weekend that would normally include the fast and testimony meeting, I fasted and prayed to know how I should still obey the commandment to care for those in need.
On a Saturday, still fasting, I woke at 6:00 and prayed again. I felt impressed to look at the world news. There I read this report:
Tropical Cyclone Pam destroyed many homes as it made a direct hit on Port Vila, the capital of Vanuatu. It killed at least six people in Vanuatu, the first confirmed from one of the most powerful storms ever to make landfall.
“Hardly a tree stood straight [as the cyclone] bellowed across” the Pacific island nation.
World Vision’s emergency assessment team planned to view damage after the storm died down.
They advised residents to seek shelter in sturdy buildings such as universities and schools.
And then they said: “‘The strongest thing they’ve got is cement churches,’ said Inga Mepham [from] CARE International. … ‘Some of them don’t have that. It’s hard to find a structure that you’d think would be able to withstand a Category 5 (storm).’”
When I read that, I remembered visiting little homes on Vanuatu. I could picture in my mind the people huddled in homes being destroyed by winds. And then I remembered the warm welcome to me of the people of Vanuatu. I thought of them and their neighbors fleeing to the safety of our cement chapel.
Then I pictured the bishop and the Relief Society president walking among them, giving comfort, blankets, food to eat, and water to drink. I could picture the frightened children huddled together.
They are so far away from the home where I read that report, and yet I knew what the Lord would be doing through His servants. I knew that what made it possible for them to succor those children of Heavenly Father was fast offerings, given freely by the Lord’s disciples who were far away from them but close to the Lord.
So I didn’t wait for Sunday. I took a fast offering to my bishop that morning. I know that my offering may be used by the bishop and Relief Society president to help someone in my neighborhood. My small offering may not be needed near where my family and I live, but the local surplus could reach even as far as Vanuatu.

Johnny’s family situation wasn’t picture-perfect. His parents divorced when he was two, and his dad isn’t active in the Church, although he did support Johnny in his own way—going to his Primary programs and encouraging him in what mattered most.
In high school, Johnny made seminary a priority, even if he had to go alone. During summers when he lived with his dad, he drove himself and his sister to church. He read his scriptures without anyone nudging him. And when the time came to serve a mission, he chose to serve, even though he was nervous.
For Johnny, letting his covenants guide his life wasn’t about having a perfect family or ideal circumstances. It was about choosing Jesus Christ, even when it was hard. As he did this, his relationship with Christ deepened and allowed him to increase his faith and hope for the future.

I am so grateful for the ongoing building of temples in this “dispensation of the fulness of times” (Doctrine and Covenants 128:18). Since the early days of the Restoration, faithful Saints have made many sacrifices to receive temple ordinances and covenants. Following their great example, in 1975, after many economic sacrifices to travel from Mexico City, my dear wife, Evelia, and I, being accompanied by our dear parents, were sealed as an eternal husband and wife in the Mesa Arizona Temple. That day, as we were united by the authority of the priesthood in the house of the Lord, we truly experienced a glimpse of heaven.

The Lord’s light helped Shelly Ann Scoffield face a frightening trial in her young life, but she faced it with great faith and love for Heavenly Father. One day Shelly began to feel sick. She saw a doctor, who determined that there was something seriously wrong. Shelly said: “I was scared. I had huge masses on my lungs, and the doctor began to say things like cancer and chemotherapy and radiation.” But Shelly didn’t give in to her fears. True to her training in Personal Progress, she got busy and set a long list of goals to accomplish while she couldn’t go to school because of her treatments. She busied herself with accomplishing good things. She was mindful of her blessings, including a father with the priesthood who had administered to her, a wonderful family, super friends, and great doctors. “Best of all,” Shelly said, “I have a testimony of my Heavenly Father, that He loves me and will help me through this struggle.”
Shelly recorded her thoughts for her young women friends, and I would like to share with you some of what she said:
“I want you girls to know that now is the time to grow close to your Heavenly Father. Work to show Him you can do all that you promised you would do. I am trying. I am learning more now than I have ever in my life known about the gospel. I know that Heavenly Father is with me. When I’m feeling pain and sorrow, He is too, and He just wants me and every one of you, when you’re feeling those things, to get down on your knees and pray for His help, because He is so willing. He loves you so much. I pray that throughout your life, throughout your struggles, that you’ll learn from them and stay close to Him and have faith. Gain a testimony and stay true to what is right.”
Shelly Scoffield passed away November 3, 1998, strong in the faith.

Recently, Bishop and Sister Hughes of the Ashton-Under-Lyne 1st Ward, Ashton Stake, were approached by their local council to be the face of their Foster Care Fortnight campaign intended to encourage other members within the community to consider fostering children in need. Bishop and Sister Hughes were invited to share some brief thoughts about why they care about fostering. They responded with this quote, “Because children are our future doctors, shop workers, police, social workers, and chefs.” Bishop Chris Hughes shared his family’s experience of fostering.
“We have been foster-carers for three and a half years now. In that time, we have looked after and loved ten children. Fostering is something that we always wanted to do and just presumed we would do it when our children were a lot older or had left home. When we moved into a larger house, we thought that our two boys would like to have separate rooms, but they begged not be split up as they had shared a room since being little. As we had a spare bedroom, we contacted our local council and started the in-depth process to become foster carers. We were able to share the gospel during this process when answering questions like “Do you have a shrine in your home?” “I thought you wore skirts down to your ankles”, and so on.We care for one or two children at a time, usually younger than four years old. Our birth children are fantastic with our foster children. They read to them, play with them, kiss and hug them and make them feel welcome.
“All our foster children have attended church with us. We always ask their parents for permission and so far, everyone has allowed them to attend.
“Ashleigh is the main foster carer; she attends all the meetings, takes the children to family time, school, nursery, and extracurricular activities. I help as soon as I get home from work. Being a foster carer is hard work, but the love and the satisfaction outweighs it. When it’s time for a little one to go home, be adopted or move to another carer, each one takes a little bit of our heart with them; but there’s plenty more to be shared around.
“We have been participating in Foster Care Fortnight and featured in a promotional advert for our local authority, to encourage others to become foster carers, as there are not enough. If you feel as if this is something you could do please do some research and contact your local council’s fostering team.”

I was invited to my best friend’s birthday party and was so excited to go. When Mommy told me it was on Sunday, I thought it might be OK to go since she was my friend. Mommy told me I could go into my room and ask Heavenly Father what I should do. I went into my room and asked Heavenly Father if I should go to the party. I felt that I should just go to church that day. We called my friend’s mommy and told her we wouldn’t be at the party, but would like to have my friend come and play. The next Friday my friend came to my house to play, and we had so much fun! I felt good that I did what Heavenly Father wanted me to do.

Seven-year-old Íngrid Fabiola Martínez Barredo knows something about temples. When she was five years old, she and her parents were sealed as an eternal family in the México City México Temple. The trip took eighteen hours each way on a bus crowded with members from their ward and stake. Like many members in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, she is thankful to have a temple just minutes away in her own city now.
Even though the long trip to the temple was uncomfortable, Íngrid and the other Primary children accompanying their parents to the temple did their best to make it pleasant. “They sang their favorite hymns and songs on the way, such as ‘Count Your Blessings’ and ‘I Am a Child of God,’”* her dad, Javier, said. Several members on the bus thanked the children for helping make the trip more enjoyable.

I then turned to a brother on my left and said, “My hero is Jim Newton and his wife, Helen.” Shortly after Jim and Helen’s son Zach received his mission call to Peru, he was taken in an automobile accident. When I heard of the accident, I rushed to the hospital, hoping to hear that Zach was alive and would recover. The parents, in a most dignified and peaceful manner, explained that Zach would now be serving his mission on the other side of the veil. As I witnessed the calm resolve of these two strong parents, I realized that through the pain and anguish there was a peace that could come only through a deep and abiding faith in a loving Father and an atoning Savior. My faith was strengthened, and through their inspiration my resolve to follow their example in meeting similar trials and tragedies was reaffirmed.

Moving from his hometown hadn’t been easy for Charlie. After Dad had been offered a better job, the family decided to move. Charlie’s seven-year-old brother, Justin, didn’t mind the move. Justin made friends wherever he went.
But going into a new sixth-grade class in the middle of the school year was hard for Charlie. Most of the kids had known each other since kindergarten. No one seemed interested in getting to know him. So Charlie was excited when Ryan and a couple other guys in his class asked him to go to the mall with them after school. They were going to look for some equipment for baseball season, which was only two weeks away.
As the boys walked into a sports equipment store, Charlie pulled a catcher’s mitt from the wall and tried it on.
“That’s a cool mitt,” Ryan said.
“I know,” Charlie said. “Too bad I don’t have any money.”
“Just stick it in your backpack,” Ryan said. “Nobody’s watching.”
“What? You just want me to take it?” Charlie asked.
“They overcharge for everything in this store,” Ryan said. “We probably pay too much for a lot of things.”
Charlie wanted that mitt. Baseball season started soon, and he needed a new catcher’s mitt. A lump formed in his throat. He knew he shouldn’t take the mitt.
“Go ahead. Take it,” Ryan said.
“Not right now,” Charlie said. “Maybe later.”
Charlie hung the glove back on the wall and turned around. The boys were laughing.
“Baseball season is coming up,” Ryan reminded Charlie as they left the store. “You’re going to need a glove soon.”
Charlie couldn’t concentrate on his homework that evening. He still wanted that mitt. He started to wonder if Ryan was right. At dinner, Mom and Dad noticed something was wrong.
“How are things at school, Charlie?” Dad asked.
“I got 100 percent on my spelling test,” Justin said.
“That’s great,” Dad said.
“How about you, Charlie?” Mom asked. “How’s that essay coming along?”
“I’m almost done,” Charlie muttered. “I’ll go finish it now.”
Charlie’s teacher had assigned him to write an essay about freedom. Charlie pulled out his notebook, picked up his pen, and began reading from his textbook. “Freedom has two parts—agency and responsibility.”
Charlie had learned about agency at church, but he never really thought about it being connected with freedom. He started thinking about the catcher’s mitt. He knew he shouldn’t take it. He decided he wouldn’t—no matter what the other guys thought.
The next day at school, Charlie told Ryan he wasn’t going to take the catcher’s mitt.
“What’s the big deal?” Ryan asked. “They’ve got hundreds of them.”
“Stealing is wrong, even if the store has a lot,” Charlie said.
Ryan laughed as Charlie walked away.
That night, Charlie told his parents how he had been tempted to take the mitt.
“What stopped you?” Dad asked.
“I just knew it wasn’t honest,” Charlie said. “I knew it would be the wrong choice.”
Dad placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We’re proud of you,” he said.
Even though Charlie still hadn’t made any good friends in his new class yet, he felt happy as he lay in bed that night. With baseball season just around the corner, he knew he would have a chance to make some new friends.

As a teenager, I had a rebellious streak a mile wide, and I acted in ways that were contrary to how I was raised. I began drinking alcohol when I was 13, and by my senior year of high school, I drank every weekend.
I attended church on occasion to reduce confrontations with my parents, but I would sleep through sacrament meeting and then head to the beach before Sunday School. To say my parents were unhappy with my behavior would be an understatement. To their credit, they respected my agency while continuing to encourage me to live the gospel. Still, I had no intention of staying active in the Church, and I certainly didn’t see a mission in my future.
After high school, I attended a community college and continued my rebellious ways. But late one night, I remember lying on my couch wondering about my future. What type of girl would I marry? If I turned my back on the Lord, would I ever find my way back? As important as these decisions were, I wasn’t motivated to change.
A short time later, I attended a friend’s backyard party with alcohol and a blazing bonfire. After joking around with my buddies for a while, I stepped away for a moment and closed my eyes.
When I opened my eyes again, I had a moment of clarity. I watched my friends acting foolishly and no longer saw myself belonging to that group. I left and decided to stop drinking and going to parties. That meant I would need to change my group of friends, which was not easy. But I did it.
Those decisions have blessed my life. I eventually served a mission and have fulfilled many callings. Most importantly, I married a wonderful woman in the temple. This has led to the choicest blessings of my life.
I recently read about the conversion of Alma and the sons of Mosiah (see Mosiah 27) and how they experienced a mighty change of heart (see Alma 5:12–14), brought about in part by the faithful prayers of Alma’s father. Then I thought of my parents and realized, over 30 years later, that my sobering experience at that party was a direct result of their prayers.

Betsy picked up her teddy bear and hugged him. “Yum, Yum,” she said, “time for bed.” She dressed Yum Yum in a polka-dot nightshirt and put him beside her pillow. “OK, Mommy,” Betsy called. “I’m ready.”
Mommy came in while Betsy said her prayers, then tucked her into bed. “Sweet dreams,” she said as she turned off the light.
“I want the light on, Mommy,” Betsy pleaded.
“But, darling, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be right there in the living room. Daddy too.”
“But Yum Yum likes the light.”
“All right, honey.” Mom smiled at her and turned the light back on.
Two minutes later all the lights in the house went off. Betsy screamed and clutched Yum Yum. Then she heard Daddy’s voice.
“It’s all right, Betsy,” he said. “Mommy and I are right here.” He scooped her out of bed and carried her to a chair by the window. “Look,” he said, “the lights are out all over town.”
“I’m scared,” Betsy said.
“You weren’t frightened a minute ago when the lights were on, were you?” Daddy asked.
“No, Daddy.”
“Then don’t be frightened now, Betsy. Look out the window and tell me what you see.”
“All I see is the moon and the stars.”
“That’s right,” Daddy said. “And they’re always there. I think that they are God’s way of saying that He’s always there. That’s why we don’t have to be afraid of the dark. Do you understand?”
“I think so, Daddy, but I’m not sure that Yum Yum does,” Betsy said.
Mommy said, “Do you remember the song we sang at Christmas—‘Silent night! Holy night!’? Well, a special star shone that night because it was a special night. I think that all nights are silent and holy, so when we see the stars and the moon, we don’t have to be afraid, because we know that Heavenly Father is watching over us. Now, are you ready to go back to bed?”
“Yes, Mommy. And Yum Yum is too. We aren’t afraid of the dark anymore.”