Gospel Story Finder

Olga stared at the picture of the temple hanging on her wall. She sighed. If only her family could go to the temple! But there were no temples close by, and it was too hard to leave her country.
Olga had been baptized years earlier. But then the missionaries were forced to leave the country. Members of the Church weren’t allowed to go to church anymore. They couldn’t even talk to others about their faith.
Olga still kept living the gospel. So did her husband, Jirí. They prayed and read the scriptures. They had home evening and taught their children. On Sundays, they had sacrament meeting in their little apartment. They hung up lots of temple pictures.
And when Olga and her family felt lonely, they remembered that there were thousands of Church members around the world.
One day something exciting happened. President Russell M. Nelson, the Sunday School General President, came to their country to visit. Olga smiled as she shook President Nelson’s hand. Then he made her a special promise. “Sister, one day you will come to the temple.”
Olga’s heart felt warm. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Months passed. Then years. Olga looked longingly at the temple pictures hanging on the walls. Going to the temple seemed impossible!
After four years, Olga and Jirí were invited to go to general conference in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Olga was worried they wouldn’t be able to go. Things in their country were still difficult. It would take a lot of paperwork to travel. But somehow everything worked out. Olga felt butterflies in her stomach as their plane took off for the United States. It was a miracle!
Olga and Jirí went to conference and listened to the prophet. They got to see Temple Square and go to the visitors’ center. But the best part was going inside the temple!
Dressed in white, Olga felt like she was in heaven as she made special promises with God. She even got to be sealed to Jirí. President Nelson’s promise had come true!
Olga and Jirí returned home. As time passed, things in their country got better. Finally they were able to go to church, and missionaries could teach again.
One day the phone rang. It was President Thomas S. Monson. He called Olga to be matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple. Jirí would be the temple president.
Olga smiled as she stood in her long, white dress inside the Freiberg Temple. The temple had once seemed so far away. But now she could treasure it every day! It was a wonderful dream come true.

While I was serving as a bishop many years ago, my counselors and I decided that we would visit all of the members’ homes once a year. During one such visit we walked along an abandoned railroad track that was lined on both sides with small cardboard-box homes no larger than six feet by six feet (about 2 m by 2 m). This small space served as a family’s living room, dining room, bedroom, and kitchen.
The adults living in that area have set ways and established routines. Men are mostly unemployed or underemployed. They spend much of their time gathered together around makeshift tables smoking and sharing bottles of beer. The women also gather, focusing their conversations on the most controversial news of the day, sprinkled with backbiting and gossiping. Gambling is also a favorite pastime for the young and old.
What disturbed me most was that the people seemed content to live out their entire lives in that manner. I later concluded that perhaps for most of them, hopelessness allowed them to believe they were consigned to this fate. It was indeed a heart-wrenching sight.
Later I learned that my counselor, who was an engineer, used to live in that area. I never would have guessed it because his family was much different from the families I saw there. All his siblings were educated and raising good families.
My counselor’s father was a simple man. After I met him, questions came to me. How had he elevated himself? How did he pull his family out of those conditions? What made him catch a vision of what could be? Where did he find hope when everything about him seemed hopeless?
Many years later, in the Manila Philippines Temple, I attended a gathering of all the mission presidents and their wives then serving in the Philippines. A wonderful surprise greeted me as I entered one of the rooms in the temple. Standing before me was the father of my counselor—that quiet, unassuming man—dressed in white.
At that moment there opened before my eyes two scenes. The first scene was of a man drinking beer with his buddies and wasting away his life. The second scene showed the same man dressed in white and officiating in the ordinances of the holy temple. The stark contrast of that second glorious scene will forever remain in my heart and mind.
What allowed this good brother to elevate himself and his family? The answer is found in the power of the word of God.

It was a big day for Julie. It was her first day in first grade.
It was a big day for Caroline too. It was the first day she wouldn’t have Julie to do things with.
Mother fixed a big breakfast.
After eating, Julie brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and picked up her new lunch box. Then Mother and Caroline walked with her to the corner, where Mother kissed Julie good-bye and Julie got on the school bus. Caroline and Mother waved as the bus drove away.
“I want to go to school, too,” Caroline said to Mother.
“You aren’t old enough yet, Caroline,” Mother told her. “But since this is a special day for Julie, why don’t we do some special things too?”
“Can we ride on a school bus?” Caroline asked eagerly.
“No,” Mother said as they walked home, “but we can go for a ride in the car.”
It wasn’t like riding in the car usually was, because this time Caroline got to sit in the front seat instead of the backseat. She could see everything much better.
First, they went to the library and Caroline picked out two picture books all by herself to take home.
Then they went to the park, where they fed the squirrels. And at the playground, Caroline got to go down the slide as many times as she wanted to.
They had hamburgers and french fries for lunch—with a sundae for dessert!
Next, they went shopping at the grocery store. Caroline got to help push the cart.
When they went home, Caroline helped Mother put away the groceries. Then they played her favorite board game.
Even though Caroline loved her special day, she missed not having Julie to talk to and play with.
Soon, however, Mother told Caroline, “It’s time for Julie to come home.”
They walked to the corner and waited. Along came the big yellow bus. It stopped, and Julie got off.
“We went to the library today, and I picked out two books all by myself,” Caroline told Julie as they walked home. “And I got to sit in the front seat of the car all the time! And feed the squirrels. And push the grocery cart.”
“I have my very own desk,” Julie said. “And my teacher is Miss Larson. And we had recess. And I have a new friend named Kathy.”
“I missed you,” Caroline said.
“I missed you, too,” Mother said.
“And I missed both of you,” Julie said. “School was fun, but I’m glad to be home.”

Tanya had an uncle problem. Her mom had brothers but no sisters. Her new dad had brothers but no sisters. She couldn’t remember her other dad, who had died when she was very young, but he had brothers and no sisters too.
There were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed. There were Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob. There were Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony. Not one of her uncles was married, so there were no aunts for Tanya to visit and no cousins for her to play with.
Tanya’s uncles always made a fuss over her. Uncle Max played football with Tanya, Uncle Al read her stories, and Uncle Ed made her carvings out of soap. Uncle Gerry helped Tanya with her schoolwork, and Uncle Bob helped her with her stamp collection. Uncle Vince sang with Tanya, Uncle Rick played his guitar, and Uncle Tony told Tanya jokes. It was never boring when her uncles were around.
At school concerts, Tanya’s mom and dad sat in the front seats. Next to them sat all her uncles. They took up the whole row. They didn’t just clap when Tanya’s class was on stage—they stomped and whistled and cheered.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Sometimes it embarrassed Tanya a little bit.
At picnics in the park, her uncles played football, baseball, and tag with Tanya. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. And Tanya would blush.
At Halloween her uncles dressed Tanya up as the front part of a dragon and gave her two flashlights to use for its eyes. Behind her was a lumpy, bumpy, green garbage-bag dragon with eight pairs of uncle legs. The back end of the dragon thumped and bumped and giggled.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Tanya wished that her uncles wouldn’t be so noisy.
One day Tanya asked her mother, “Can we have just one uncle visit at a time?”
“Why, honey?” Mother asked. “Don’t you think it’s fun when we’re all together?”
“Well, there are so many of them that sometimes it seems noisy and confusing,” Tanya said.
“You’re lucky to have so many uncles, Tanya. Lots of kids don’t have any relatives nearby,” Mother reminded her. “Besides, which ones would we leave out?”
Tanya thought for a moment. She loved all her uncles. “I guess we couldn’t choose just one,” she said with a sigh.
One day Dad came home from work looking worried. “Our company’s closing down here,” he said. “We have a choice—we can move to a city where the company has a job for me, or we can stay here and look for other work.”
“There probably aren’t any other jobs in this area in your field,” said Mom.
“I know,” Dad replied, “but how can we move away? All our relatives are here.”
“I think it would be fun to live in a different place,” said Tanya. “Can we, Dad? Please?”
Tanya and her mom and dad talked it over. The uncles came and talked it over too. Finally they all decided that it would be best for Tanya’s family to move. Tanya could hardly wait.
When moving day came, Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed carried boxes outside. Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob helped Dad carry furniture. Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony packed everything carefully into the rented truck. The uncles did not sing or whistle or laugh. One by one they quietly hugged Tanya and Mom and Dad good-bye.
Tanya sat in the cab of the truck between Mom and Dad. Her uncles stood in the driveway and waved as the truck pulled away.
Tanya didn’t sniffle like Mom or look miserable like Dad. She was too excited thinking about the trip to her new home more than a thousand miles away.
Soon they were all settled in their new house. Dad thought that his new job was even better than the one that he had left. Mom loved their new house and neighbors. Tanya liked everything about the new city, especially her new friends at school and at church.
But at school concerts Mom and Dad sat in the front row next to people that they didn’t know. Nobody stomped or whistled or cheered when Tanya’s class was on stage. The audience just clapped politely for every class.
At picnics in the park Tanya’s new friends played football, baseball, and tag with her. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed. But it wasn’t the same as the picnics she remembered.
When Halloween came, Tanya made her own costume; it was just for her. Afterward there was homemade pizza at her home. She and her friends played spooky games together. And though they laughed and yelled together, somehow it seemed too quiet.
“I wonder what the uncles are doing,” said Tanya one day.
“They keep pretty busy,” Mom answered. “Someday we’ll visit them, Tanya, but we have to save the money. It costs a lot to go that far.”
“I know,” Tanya said, sighing a bit wistfully.
The first year there was not enough holiday or vacation time to make the big trip to see the uncles. The next year Mom was sick for a while, and they had to pay medical bills. The third year their old car broke down, and they had to get a new one.
“I guess we’ll have to wait another year, Tanya,” Dad said. “I’m sorry.”
That week there was a public speaking contest at school. Tanya had never entered one before, but the prize was five hundred dollars, so she signed up just before the deadline. The local service organizations that were sponsoring the contest had chosen “Peace in Our World” as the topic.
The day of the contest came, and Mom and Dad sat in the front row. All the other contestants had written careful notes. Their speeches were clear and confident. They talked about world affairs, strong armies, and good government. The audience clapped enthusiastically after each one.
Tanya spoke last. She had not written any notes. She talked about the lumpy, bumpy Halloween dragon. She talked about soap carvings, stamp collecting, singing, and picnics in the park. Most of all she talked about her uncles.
“People all over the world can love each other, look after each other, and have fun together,” she said, “just like families. That’s what peace is all about.”
Tanya sat down, and the audience was quiet. At first she was afraid that everyone thought that her speech was dumb. Then they began to clap—and they kept on clapping! The judges had no trouble making their decision: Tanya was the winner!
“What will you do with all that prize money?” one of the judges asked.
“Buy some plane tickets,” Tanya replied happily, hugging Mom and Dad.
That summer when the three of them left the plane and entered the airport waiting area, there were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed … and Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob … and Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony! They were stomping and whistling and cheering. They were hollering and whooping and laughing. They were thumping and bumping and giggling.
But Tanya didn’t care if they were being noisy. “There are my uncles!” she squealed, running happily toward eight pairs of outstretched uncle arms.

Katie* was going roller-skating for her birthday party and was thinking about whom to invite. She wanted Jenny and Vicki to come—they were in her Primary class. She would invite Teresa, too, of course. She was Katie’s best friend.
As Katie waited for her Primary teacher to start the class, she noticed Alice walk in. Alice didn’t come to Primary very often. Her clothes looked worn, and her hair wasn’t combed. Katie thought that Alice’s words sounded funny when she talked and that Alice smelled strange. Alice hardly ever said anything at all. She mostly just sat there with her head down. Katie thought that Alice had probably never been invited to a birthday party.
Katie had been to Alice’s house once, when Mom was delivering something to Alice’s mother for Relief Society. Alice’s family was very large, and Katie wondered where they all slept, because they lived in a small trailer. When Mom had knocked on the door and one of the older children answered, Katie could see how dirty it was inside. Mom explained what she had and asked that it be given to Alice’s mother. The boy didn’t say anything. He just took it and shut the door. Katie was glad for her own clean home, even if she did have to share a room with her older sister, Tara.
Looking at Alice now, Katie remembered that visit, and she felt bad for the sad-faced girl sitting alone. She thought about Jesus and how He treated those who were poor, or sick, or didn’t fit in.
The next day when Mom asked if she was ready to work on birthday invitations, Katie announced that she would like to invite Alice.
Katie wondered what her friends might think and what Alice might wear. Most of all, Katie worried that Alice wouldn’t come. Katie talked to Mom and to Tara about her concerns, and they worked out a plan.
When it came time to deliver Alice’s invitation, Katie had butterflies in her stomach. Tara went to the door with her. A circle of little faces appeared, but no one spoke. “Is Alice here, please?” Katie asked.
One child left, and a few moments later, Alice was at the door. “Here.” Katie thrust the white envelope toward her. “This is for you. It’s an invitation to my birthday party.”
Alice didn’t say anything, but she looked surprised.
“It’s next Wednesday,” Katie said. “My mom and I will pick you up at eleven.” Katie and her sister said good-bye and got back in the car with big smiles on their faces.
On the way to Alice’s house Wednesday morning, Katie said a silent prayer that Alice would come. When she and Mom arrived, Alice’s whole family was outside. Katie felt awkward with all those children staring at her. She was relieved when Alice came toward her and silently followed Katie into the back seat.
At Katie’s house, Alice was welcomed by Tara.
“We have a while before the other girls arrive,” Katie told her. “Let’s go to Tara’s and my room.”
In the bedroom, Alice looked around, amazed. “Wow! Your room is really pretty!”
Tara opened the closet. “I think we are the same size,” she said to Alice. “I can lend you some pants and a shirt, if you’d like. Then you won’t have to roller-skate in a dress.” She pulled out a pair of blue pants and a matching top. “I think these will fit.”
“You can get dressed in there.” Katie pointed to the bathroom.
Alice looked into the bathroom and seemed ready to cry. “What’s wrong?” Tara asked.
Alice whispered, “Can I wash my hair, please?”
“Of course!” Katie told her kindly. “Would you like us to help you wash it in the sink?”
Tara and Katie helped Alice wash her hair. They helped her comb and style her hair, then left her alone to bathe and dress.
When Alice came out, there was a smile on her face. It was the first time Katie had ever seen her smile.
“Let’s eat,” the sisters said as they led Alice to the kitchen.
Alice didn’t say much during lunch, but she seemed to enjoy the food, and she ate everything on her plate.
After lunch, Tara took Alice aside and showed her the present she had gotten for Katie. “I have some paper we can wrap it in, and a marker to sign our names.”
“Oh!” Alice was excited. “I would love to give Katie a present.”
She and Tara wrapped the present and printed their names neatly on the outside.
Then the other party guests started to arrive. Katie had told her friends that Alice was going to be there. Each greeted Alice kindly, and soon she was talking with everyone. They opened presents and ate birthday cake. On the way to the roller rink, Katie didn’t get to sit by Alice—one of the other girls wanted to.
Katie and Teresa took Alice’s hands and helped her skate around the circular room. Alice giggled with delight. Katie had never heard Alice laugh before. Soon everyone was taking turns being Alice’s partner.
One of the girls came up to Katie and said, “I wish I had invited Alice to my birthday party.”
“There is always next year,” Katie said.
When the party was over, Mom took Alice home. Before getting out of the car, she grabbed Katie’s hand, squeezed hard, and said, “Thank you.”
As Katie rode home, she thought about her birthday presents. She liked them all, but her favorite one was the smile, laugh, and “Thank you” from Alice.

Mia was excited. It was her first time at church! The missionaries told her family about this church. They decided to come.
Mia looked around. She saw a white cloth on a table. Something was under it.
“What’s under that cloth?” Mia asked one of the missionaries.
Sister Hanson smiled. “It’s the sacrament.”
Sacrament. That was a big word. Mia had heard the missionaries telling Mommy and Daddy about it. But she wasn’t sure what it was.
Everyone sang a song. Two men lifted the white cloth. Trays of bread were under it! Mia watched them break the bread into pieces.
After the song a man said a prayer. Other men passed the bread to everyone.
“The bread helps us remember Jesus’s body,” Sister García whispered.
Mia took a piece of bread. She imagined Jesus standing in front of her.
Then there was another prayer. The men passed trays with tiny cups of water.
“The water helps us remember Jesus’s blood,” Sister García whispered. “He died for us because He loves us.”
Mia took a cup of water. She thought about how much Jesus loved her. She felt like He was giving her a big hug.
Later Sister Hanson gave Mia a little picture of Jesus. “We eat the bread and drink the water to remember Jesus. We promise to follow Him.” She smiled. “What did you think of the sacrament?”
Mia looked at the picture of Jesus. She remembered the warm feeling she had. She smiled too. “It was great! I love Jesus.”

“Our next thrilling adventure was one pleasant afternoon as we were slowly traveling along. Suddenly, all the wagons in our company were flying in every direction with lightning speed over the plains. I don’t think the fastest horses could have kept up with our cows. Father sat in the front of the wagon, talking to and whipping his staid, old oxen to keep them going right along. He was afraid the cows might get mixed up with other teams that were running, or might turn around and tip the wagon over with us all in it. We went over hump and bump. Sometimes we would be thrown up so that our heads hit the top of the wagon bows, then we would alight anywhere it happened inside the wagon. Nobody can appreciate the situation without the experience. Again death was staring me in the face and again I covered my head. If I had to be killed I didn’t want to see the process. Mother soon snatched the covering off my head, and when we came to a stop she gave me a thorough lecture to always look out and watch for the best chance for escape.
“Well, after the cattle had run as long as they could they stopped. There were several accidents, and a woman was killed. She was knocked down and trampled to death. She left a family of children. How we all dreaded stampedes—there is something dreadful in a lot of panic-stricken cattle. Even human beings are not responsible when fright overcomes reason.”

The Antelope Island District of the Greater Salt Lake Council of the Boy Scouts of America escaped from the frozen, snow-covered hills of a frigid north country last winter. To do so they had to successfully treat cases of frostbite, hypothermia, and snow-blindness; rescue avalanche victims; and build fires in garbage can lids without benefit of firestarters or prepared tinder. In addition, they applied basic first aid for bleeding, splinting, and shock; constructed emergency shelters for the protection of injured patrol members; and cooked bacon and eggs in tin cans over their garbage can fires. To attract the attention of the Air-Rescue Squad, they had to make proper rescue signals using nothing but colored plastic. Not bad for a day’s work!
All the above activities were part of the district’s winter activity and took place on a snow-packed, hilly golf course in Bountiful, Utah. The opening event, “Race for Freedom,” required six patrols to race each other in Klondike sledges they had built themselves. They had to be six feet long and 24 inches wide, but the rest of the details were left up to the boys’ imaginations. This was the first in the ten areas of competition and was introduced in the instruction booklet in the following way: “Your patrol has been kept in a freezing prison in the far north for months. During this time you have been planning your escape and have built a sledge to carry your supplies. You know that the weather and trek across the snowy wasteland will be your greatest threat. You think you are ready. Now comes the test.” Each troop received achievement ribbons and patches, and the winning units received patrol equipment. Although the sky was cloudy and the snow deep, the sun shone big and bright—a reflection of the enthusiasm with which the boys put their Scout skills to work. A real winter escape couldn’t have been better handled!

Virgilio Simarrón Salazar was a leader in his native Chachi community of northern Ecuador. To this day, the Chachi maintain their distinct way of life and their own system of justice with a communal council, governors, and judges. These leadership roles are typically positions of honor that families hold for generations and that are built on a deep foundation of community respect and esteem. Respect for the position was a trust to be cared for and passed on to the next generation.
But Virgilio Simmarón’s plans for his life changed in 1996, when his son, Wilson, returned from studies in Quinindé with copies of the Book of Mormon and a firm testimony of his new religion. Filled with the faith and enthusiasm of one who has found the truth, Wilson shared the message of the gospel with his family, and they were soon baptized in the waters of the Canandé River.
As the Simarróns shared the gospel with Chachi friends and neighbors, however, a serious conflict developed. Some Chachis felt that Virgilio Simarrón’s beliefs made him a heretic and even considered violence against him. Others felt that, as a governor, he should not participate in a new faith that might divide the people. With this concern, they took him to be tried by the communal council. It would be one of the most difficult experiences of Virgilio’s life.
Wilson relates what happened: “The council, in full assembly, told my father, ‘You will remain as our governor if you renounce the Church of Jesus Christ; you must retract.’ My father said, ‘I made a commitment to God, and when a man makes a commitment to God, it is not retractable. I cannot give up the Church. If you think I’m a governor who has divided the Chachi people, then oh my people, choose you this day another one in my place.’ Then I saw the scene of my father crying. The council was in total silence for more than five minutes—nobody said anything. Then someone said, ‘Then Governor, leave.’ Slowly my father stood, so my mom, my sister, and I went down and left the council.”
After Brother Simarrón was removed from his office, difficult days followed for the family. Feeling contempt from many who had once respected them, the family turned to the faith they had embraced and preached the gospel with great fervor. Their stake president, Omar Intriago Cesar, explains: “They began to preach the gospel from house to house to each family of this community. The Guayacana Branch started with Virgilio Simarrón and his son, Wilson. The Church was established because of his faith, his strength, and his testimony.”
In just a few years, the efforts of the Simarrón family bore great fruit. May 30, 1999, became a day of celebration in Guayacana when a large baptismal service was held. President Intriago recalls, “We arrived with Roberto Garcia, the mission president, and both participated in that glorious day, where on the beaches of the Canandé River, two missionaries baptized 60 people. Then, President Garcia on one side and I on another confirmed as members of the Church all who were baptized. It was a privilege that will never be erased from my life.”
Although Virgilio gave up his governorship to stay true to his testimony, he was able to pass on another legacy to the next generation: that of serving the people by establishing the gospel among them. He lived to see Wilson serve a full-time mission and then return to Guayacana to marry his wife, Ruth, and have children. Some years later, Virgilio died faithful in the Church. His wife, Maria Juana Apa, has lived to witness their son’s calling, in 2014, to serve as branch president in Guayacana.
Wilson is very aware of the heritage his father always wanted to give him. “My ancestors have always been governors, heads of soldiers, strong warriors,” he says. “I feel that all these ancestral roots still manifest in me. But now that I am a member of the Church, all that strength has helped me become a good soldier of Jesus Christ.”
Ruth and Wilson Simarrón

What you have done remarkably well together is to cherish, watch over, and comfort each other. I was a witness of that threefold miracle just one month ago in your service to one sister. As her father, I thank you and I want to extend my thanks to God, who guided one visiting teacher.
Our daughter Elizabeth, who lives in another state and time zone from us, was at home with her three-year-old daughter. Her other child was in her first week of kindergarten. Elizabeth was six months pregnant and looking forward to the birth of her third child, which the doctors said would be another girl. Her husband, Joshua, was away at his work.
When she saw that she was passing blood and that the flow was increasing, she called her husband on the phone. He told her to call for an ambulance and that he would meet her at the hospital, which was 20 minutes from her home. Before she could place the call, she heard a knock at the front door.
At the door she was surprised to see her Relief Society visiting teaching companion. They had no appointment for that morning. Her companion had simply felt she ought to come by to see Elizabeth.
She helped her into the car. They arrived at the hospital minutes before Joshua arrived from his work. The doctors decided in less than 20 minutes to take the baby by surgery to save Elizabeth and her baby. So a tiny girl came into the world, crying loudly, 15 weeks ahead of schedule. She weighed one pound, eleven ounces (765 g). But she was alive, and so was Elizabeth.
The words of Lucy Mack Smith were in part fulfilled that day. A faithful member of the Relief Society, prompted by the Holy Ghost, watched over, cherished, and comforted her sister in God’s kingdom. She and the tens of thousands of others who have given such inspired service over the generations have not only the thanks of those they helped and their loved ones but also of the Lord.
But the miracle of one Relief Society sister arriving to help just in time is multiplied through the power of a unified society of sisters. Here is just a part of the message Elizabeth’s bishop sent to Elizabeth and to Joshua at the hospital hours after the baby was born: “The Relief Society president has everything under control. We are already building a future plan to assist with your girls at home so Elizabeth can travel back and forth to the hospital while the unnamed cute baby remains there. We’ve done it before, long term, and [our] people jump at the chance.”
The bishop went on to say, speaking for himself and the ward: “We’ve even come to the hospital and sat with kids in the playroom when moms didn’t want to leave them somewhere else.”
And then: “We won’t execute our plan without coordination and concurrence from you, of course. Just wanted to let you know not to worry about the things we can [and will] do.”
What they did for my daughter made it possible for her to have a precious moment when she held, for the first time, her tiny daughter.
And then the bishop closed his message to Joshua and Elizabeth with one that sisters send out of their commitment across the earth to serve others for the Master: “Keep the faith.”

My son Justin grew up with a difficult disease. Sometimes he was very weak. He couldn’t always do things like everyone else, even though he tried. He knew what it felt like to be different.
One day Justin and his friends got together to play a game. They had to hit a ball with their arms to keep it in the air. One of the girls who came to play had a broken arm.
It would have been easy to say, “OK, we’re all playing, and she’s just going to watch.”
But instead, Justin said, “I have a great idea. We’re all going to play with one arm.” Everybody played the game using just one arm, including the girl who was wearing a cast. No one was left out.
Justin is my hero. He always looked at other people and thought, How do they feel? Justin was sick for most of his life, but he was happy because he helped other people and followed Jesus Christ.

I am impressed with the deep humility of President Kimball. Years ago he related an experience that emphasizes that the person in a Church position is not as great as the calling. Elder Spencer W. Kimball gives us this story:
“In a hotel in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania long years ago, I learned an important lesson when the president of the Rotary International said to the district governors in the assembly:
“‘Gentlemen: This has been a great year for you. The people have honored you, praised you, banqueted you, applauded you, and given you lavish gifts. If you ever get the mistaken idea that they were doing this for you personally, just try going back to the clubs next year when the mantle is on other shoulders.’
“This has kept me on my knees in my holy calling. Whenever I have been inclined to think the honors were coming to me as I go about the Church, then I remember that it is not to me, but to the position I hold that honors come. I am but a symbol.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1958, p. 57.)

During my senior year of high school, I prayed for the Spirit to lead me to someone ready to hear the gospel. I had a friend in mind as I prayed. This friend of mine, Ashley (name has been changed), had expressed some interest in my religion, and she already held herself to the same standards as Latter-day Saint youth. I was convinced this was the time she needed to hear the gospel.
I was serving in my Laurel class presidency at the time, and during a bishopric youth committee meeting, I received a strong impression to suggest to the bishop that we have a missionary activity in Mutual. I felt impressed that the youth of our ward should invite nonmember friends to this activity for a question-and-answer session with the missionaries serving in our ward. My bishop enthusiastically set up the activity with the elders, and I was sure that this was the answer I had been praying for. Now Ashley could come and learn more about the gospel in an environment where she would not feel any pressure. I was confident that after Ashley came to the question-and-answer activity, she would be touched by the Spirit, ask to receive the missionary lessons, and in about a month would be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
Now my prayers turned to how to ask Ashley to the activity. I prayed to serve as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to introduce His plan and gospel to someone prepared to receive it. At school I invited Ashley to the activity, and she said she would ask her parents if it was all right with them.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from Ashley. She told me her parents were definitely OK with it. In fact, she explained that before her parents married, her father had lived with two LDS roommates and was very impressed with how they lived. I was overjoyed because the only obstacle I had envisioned was whether or not Ashley’s parents would be OK with her pursuing another religion.
As I continued to pray about the upcoming missionary activity, I felt a calm reassurance that I was indeed an instrument in the hands of the Lord and that He was pleased I had acted on the prompting at the bishopric youth committee meeting. I looked forward to the activity with great anticipation. Ashley and I had been friends for many years, and I was excited to play a part in her introduction to the gospel and, of course, her resulting conversion.
On the morning of the activity, I received a phone call from Ashley. She had changed her mind and was no longer planning to come to the activity. I was devastated and confused. I had been praying for Ashley, I was sure she was ready, and she was the whole reason I had thrown myself into missionary mode. I also felt embarrassed. During the activity planning process, I had made it very clear to everyone that my friend Ashley was ready to learn and accept the gospel.
As I cried with frustration in my room, I began to be filled with self-doubt. If I had been wrong about Ashley, then maybe I had been wrong in believing that the missionary question-and-answer activity was actually a spiritual prompting. Engulfed in a teenage sense of uncertainty, anger, self-pity, and disappointment, I decided to skip the activity myself.
A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.
In quiet amazement I realized that the Lord had heard my prayers. He was using me as an instrument in His hands to find someone He had prepared to hear and accept the gospel. It had never occurred to me to invite Brian to meet the missionaries because he did not seem, in my opinion, ready. Not like Ashley.
At that humbling moment I realized how vital it is that I act on all promptings I receive by the Spirit. Although I continue to pray that Ashley will be ready for the gospel, I learned a significant lesson from the unexpected outcome of my attempt at sharing the gospel with her. The Lord always has a purpose for the promptings He gives us, and I do not need to know or guess what it is. Instead, it is my responsibility to carry out the prompting confidently and resolutely. As I pray for missionary opportunities, act on promptings, and accept the Lord’s will, rather than trying to impose my own, I can more fully serve as an instrument in the hands of God and help build His kingdom.

Ava stared at the mirror and sucked in her stomach. In her mind, she could still hear the girls from her swim team.
“Look at how your stomach pokes out! You should stand on the back row,” Mackenzie had said. Some of the other girls laughed.
Tears started rolling down Ava’s cheeks. She ran into Mom’s room. “I don’t want to be on the swim team anymore!”
Mom looked up from her desk. “What’s wrong? You love swimming!”
“I’m too fat!” Ava said. “Swimmers should be skinnier.”
Mom led Ava over to sit on the bed. “Where did you hear that?” she asked. “Athletes don’t need to be skinny. They come in all shapes and sizes.”
Ava sniffed. “Today we had team pictures, and Mackenzie said I was too chubby to be in the front row. And then Sarah said I should go on a diet.” Ava felt the tears coming again. “I’m done with swim team!” She buried her face in a pillow.
Mom stroked Ava’s hair. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “That was really hurtful. Some people think the way they look on the outside is the most important thing about them. That’s not true at all. And saying mean things about another person’s body is never OK.”
Later, Mom came into Ava’s room. “I thought you might like this,” Mom said, handing her a piece of paper.
“‘Each time you look in the mirror, see your body as your temple,’*” Ava read.
“President Nelson said that,” Mom said. “What do you think it means?”
Ava shrugged. “That my body is special, like a temple?”
“Exactly,” Mom said. “Temples are all beautiful, and they’re all built of precious materials. But no two look exactly the same. It’s what happens inside them that’s most important.”
Ava nodded. She was getting ready to go to the temple to do baptisms soon.
“A lot of people focus on if their body looks a certain way,” Mom said. “And sometimes that makes them feel bad. What’s a lot more important is how we use our bodies. Heavenly Father gave you a body to learn and grow and help people. Your body is a beautiful home for your spirit.”
Ava felt a peaceful feeling. She was pretty sure it was the Holy Ghost telling her that what Mom said was true.
“I think I’ll tape this on my mirror,” Ava said.
“Good idea,” Mom said. “When you see it, you could think about one thing your body can do.”
Ava already had one. “My lungs help me breathe when I freestyle.”
Then she frowned. “But I still wish I could be skinny.”
“Instead of focusing on being skinny, what about focusing on being strong?” Mom asked.
Mom flexed her arm, which made Ava laugh.
“I guess getting stronger will help with my swimming,” Ava said.
Ava and Mom decided on some goals—like eating more of her favorite vegetables, playing outside after school, and getting enough sleep at night.
“And now, young lady, it’s time for you to work on that sleeping goal.”
“OK, Mom!”
Instead of feeling bad about her body, Ava was beginning to feel more grateful for it. It could do a lot of wonderful things. Like swimming!
See family manual, pages 131–132; Primary manual, 130–132.

Many in the Methodist congregation where Elder Pratt preached were thrilled with his message until he told them of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the gold plates. Several of the men refused to listen further. John Taylor reminded them: “We are here, ostensibly in search of truth. Hitherto we have fully investigated other creeds and doctrines and proven them false. Why should we fear to investigate Mormonism? This gentleman, Mr. Pratt, has brought to us many doctrines that correspond with our own views. … We have prayed to God to send us a messenger, if He has a true Church on earth. … If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be.”3
John Taylor continued investigating the gospel, and on 9 May 1836 he and Leonora were baptized. In his later years, President Taylor remarked, “When I had investigated the subject, and became convinced that it was true, I said, ‘I am in for it; I must embrace it; I cannot reject the principles of eternal truth.’”4

Sue washed the last pan and handed it to her sister Betty. “I wish we lived in town and had a dishwasher,” Sue grumbled.
“If we lived in town, we couldn’t go down to the pond and sail the new boats Daddy helped us make. Mother said we could go as soon as we finished the dishes.” Betty paused and then asked, “What about the monster?”
“The monster” was the girls’ name for the big cast-iron kettle with a lid that their mother called a Dutch oven. It was heavy and hard to handle, and usually something had been burned in it.
“It doesn’t look dirty,” Sue declared.
“I don’t remember anything being cooked in it,” Betty added.
“But if it’s clean, why isn’t it put away?” Sue asked.
“Maybe Mother plans to use it tonight.”
“If we don’t have to wash the monster, we can go to the pond right away. If Mother asks us about it, we can always say we thought it was clean.”
So it was decided. Sue drained out the dishwater, and Betty went to get their toy boats and to put their cat, Ladybug, outside. When Betty came back, she was surprised to see Sue filling the sink with water again. ”What are you doing?” she asked.
“I just don’t feel right about leaving the monster. I’m going to wash it.”
“I’ll help you,” said Betty. “I don’t feel right about it either.” She took the cover off the Dutch oven.
Both girls gave a surprised “Oh!” Inside the monster were oranges, sandwiches, cookies, and a note that read: “For my two good helpers. This is for a picnic at the pond. Have fun. Mother.”

The roots of Tom’s mastery are sunk in Czechoslovakia where German-born Joseph Rehak moved with his widowed mother when he was only one year old. They were desperately poor, but Joseph was resilient, and as he grew up, he began to learn the fine art of pastry baking. He honed his skills and learned many recipes by going from shop to shop, working at each for a while and absorbing what he could from the finest bakers in Czechoslovakia. When he opened his own shop, he was as good as the best. The business grew rapidly, and when World War II came, he had a large business with many employees.
The war changed all that. He survived the Nazi occupation somehow, but after the war the communists took away everything he had. He fled to Canada and started all over again. With the help of his wife, he opened the bakery in Hamilton, and it prospered.
This experience, passed on to the family, impressed Tom deeply. “It really makes me realize how great it is to be in Canada with the freedoms we have,” he says. “A lot of people take for granted living in a free country, having food on their plate, and owning good clothes to wear. I don’t take those things for granted because my father’s rough childhood is a constant reminder of how good I have it.”

Of all the religious festivals, Kajri Shah loved Dewali best. Tomorrow evening, on the first night of Dewali, a myriad of oil lamps would be lit throughout Bombay, transforming the city into a sea of gold. According to Hindu belief, the tiny lamps would burn for nine nights so that the goddess Lakshmi could find her way as she brought good luck for the new year to each home.
It was Kajri’s job to clean and fill the oil lamps for the holidays, and usually she and Angeli, her neighbor and best friend, helped each other. Kajri leaned over the railing. “Angeli,” she called, “come over after breakfast. We’ll do my lamps first this time.”
But Angeli said, “I forgot to tell you. Daddy got a promotion, so he bought colored electric lights for our doors and windows. We’re going to have a very special celebration tomorrow.”
Kajri’s face fell. Electric lights! The mansions on Malabar Hills were always decorated with garlands of such lights on Dewali, but those people were rich. Everyone Kajri knew set out oil lamps to guide Lakshmi and to welcome the new year.
“Besides,” Angeli continued, “oil lamps are old-fashioned, don’t you think?”
Kajri didn’t answer. She turned her back on Angeli and headed for the kitchen.
“Old-fashioned!” she muttered.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” her mother greeted her. “Whom were you talking to?”
“Morning, Mummy (Mommy),” Kajri said. “Just Angeli—they’re putting up electric lights for Dewali.” She squatted next to her mother on the spotless floor and began rolling out the wheat dough her mother had prepared for chapati (thin, unleavened bread). She worked in silence while her mother fried the bread and spread each piece with honey.
As she cleared away the breakfast things, her mother asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Are we going to light those old oil lamps again?” Kajri asked. “They’re so—so old-fashioned!”
“Why, Kajri Shah!” her mother said indignantly. “We always use oil lamps. Besides, where would we get money for electric lights? Your father’s a clerk, not a bank president. And Raj …” Her voice trailed away.
“What about Raj?” Kajri said angrily. Her brother had gone to Ahmadabad for a job nearly three months ago, and they hadn’t heard from him yet. “He’s forgotten all about us!” She bit her lip. I shouldn’t have said that, she thought.
“You had better get started on the lamps,” her mother said softly, ignoring her daughter’s outburst.
The family had three hundred lights. Kajri had counted them last year. She had been excited then, because they had more than anyone in their neighborhood. Of course, Raj had laughed at her. She missed her brother, even though he teased her.
Kajri cleaned the small clay lamps and cut lengths of cord for wicks. Then she placed the lights around the balcony, in all the windows, and along the wall enclosing the flat rooftop. The roof was her favorite place on Dewali. At night she could see miles and miles of tiny fires glowing softly against the tar-black sky, and the sparkling rainbow of lights on Malabar Hills. Tomorrow Angeli’s house will be beautiful, she thought, and mine …
Suddenly her mother cried, “Aiiee! My dhal (lentil soup) is ruined!”
Kajri ran into the kitchen. Her mother was trying to take the lid off the leaking pressure cooker while dhal bubbled onto the burner.
“What happened?” Kajri asked.
“I don’t know,” Mother answered. “Just look at this mess!” She finally got the lid off and began stirring the dhal. “Now what? We don’t have money for a new cooker.”
“Can’t it be fixed?” Kajri asked.
“No,” Mother said, shaking her head. “The lid has cracked right through where the pressure valve fits.” She poured the remains of the soup into a copper pan and put it back onto the gas burner. “It just wore out. I’ll have to get along without it, that’s all.”
Kajri felt sorry for her mother. The pressure cooker was her mother’s prize possession because it saved her so much time in the kitchen, especially during the holidays.
Early the next day Kajri poured oil into all the lamps she had set out. “I wish Raj were here,” she murmured. They had always filled the lamps together, along with Angeli. This Dewali was so different. I don’t even feel like celebrating, she thought unhappily.
When the last lamp was filled, Kajri hurried to get ready for the special noon meal. After bathing in perfumed water, she put on her best skirt and blouse and plaited her black hair into a long braid down her back. Her mother and father, dressed in their finest clothes, were already waiting at the table, and she slipped into a chair between them.
Reaching for the bowl of steaming rice, her father said, “Everything looks delicious!”
“Well,” Mother sighed, “I guess I can get along without my pressure cooker.”
Father cleared his throat. “As soon as we can save enough money, Nilu, you will have a new pressure cooker.” He patted her hand. Kajri knew that they were both upset, partly because of the pressure cooker, but mostly because they missed her brother.
Just then someone knocked on the door. “Who can that be?” her father asked. “It’s too early for visitors.” He opened the door, and there stood Raj!
“Happy Dewali!” Raj shouted. He hugged his father, who was too surprised to say anything, and then his mother, who started to cry. Then he lifted Kajri off her feet. “How’s my favorite sister?”
“Raj! Put me down.” Kajri giggled. “I’m your only sister.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said, laughing.
After everyone had settled down, Raj explained that he was working in a textile mill. “All the workers got a whole week’s vacation for the holidays,” he said.
“Why didn’t you write?” Father asked.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Raj replied. “Besides, I was saving every rupee (about ten cents) so that I could come home.” He paused and looked at his sister. “I saved enough to buy you a Dewali present, and I bet I know what you want. Lights! Just like the ones on Malabar Hills.”
“Raj!” Kajri squealed. “Really? Can we get them right now?”
“Sure,” her brother said, “if it’s all right with Mother.”
“Go ahead,” Mother said. “I’ll keep the food warm. But hurry back.”
As they left the house, Kajri chattered excitedly, but as they neared the market, she grew quiet. “Raj,” she said at last, “Mummy needs a new pressure cooker, and, well, I can do without the lights.”
Raj looked at her thoughtfully, then pulled out his wallet and counted his money. “OK, little one,” he said. “Let’s see what Mr. Patel has in stock.”
When Kajri and Raj went home with the present for their mother, she exclaimed, “This is the best Dewali I’ve ever had. Raj is home, and I have a new pressure cooker. Now we really have something to celebrate!”
She hugged her son, but he said, “Thank Kajri. It was her idea.”
Mother hugged Kajri hard. “Thank you, dear, I know how much you wanted those lights.”
That afternoon Angeli came to visit. “I brought you a present,” she said to Kajri. “Happy Dewali.” She thrust a paper sack into her friend’s hand.
“But, Angeli,” Kajri said, her eyes shining as she pulled a string of colored lights out of the bag, “don’t you want these?”
“Daddy bought more than we could use,” Angeli said, “and I know how much you wanted electric lights too.”
“Mother was right,” Kajri said. “This is the best Dewali. Come on. Help me string these over the front door.”
When night came, the Shah family sat on the roof to admire the soft yellow glow illuminating the city. Thousands of oil lamps flickered on rooftops while, in the distance, electric lights glittered on Malabar Hills.
“You know,” Kajri said slowly, “I think I like our old-fashioned lamps best.”
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
“They’re like stars,” she explained.
Raj burst out laughing. “Well, Mother,” he said, “I’m glad we bought the pressure cooker instead of colored lights.” “So am I,” said Kajri.

For her Faith in God Award, Chevon Rayner is working on several activities and keeping a record of them in her journal. For the “Learning and Living the Gospel” category, she created a gospel crossword puzzle with 72 answers. She made it up from notes she took in her Primary class. She is studying the piano to develop her talents and meet the great need for pianists in the branches in Malaysia. Chevon also organized a dinner and made cakes for Valentine’s Day for the eight missionaries in her area. This is part of her “Serving Others” requirement. She also reads the scriptures every day.

I had never failed a class until Popularity 101. I didn’t know such a class existed or that I was even enrolled until the grades started coming in: kind of nerdy, jokes aren’t funny, uncoordinated, goofy hair, and so on.
The problem with this class is that there’s no teacher, there’s no textbook or study material, and the grading is based entirely on the opinions of your peers. In the beginning I didn’t even know what popularity was. All I knew was others had it; I did not.
The grading got tougher at age 13, when I began junior high school. Apparently, there wasn’t anything cool about me. I was becoming desperate. I was ready to do anything to be accepted. In my math class, I saw popular kids cheating on homework. Everyone was doing it. It seemed a small price to pay to be part of the group.
“Are you cheating?” asked Curtis, the student next to me.
“No,” I lied, amazed at how easily one dishonesty followed another.
I realized two things at that moment. First, “everyone’s doing it” is a poor excuse. What I was doing was wrong no matter who was doing it. Second, not “everyone’s doing it.” Curtis wasn’t cheating, and he had lots of friends.
I started watching Curtis. I tried sitting next to him when we had classes together. He didn’t swear; he didn’t cheat; he didn’t lie; he didn’t make fun of other people. This guy was straight out of the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. I wanted to be just like him.
Then one day something amazing happened.
It was lunchtime, the worst part of the day. “Cafeteria” was just another name for “Popularity Exam Room.” As I was once again faced with choosing to sit alone or to sit with people who challenged my standards, Curtis invited me to sit with him. His friends accepted me.
I’m convinced that single act saved me. While many of those I could have hung around with passed Popularity 101, many of them are in danger of failing life—having chosen paths that led them into serious problems such as addictions to tobacco, drugs, or pornography.
Through Curtis, I learned I could have fun and keep high standards. I learned that doing what’s right is cool. And I learned a secret about popularity—it’s Satan’s counterfeit for true friendship.
There’s nothing wrong with having friends; what’s important is how we go about gaining them. Popularity 101 (the world’s way) teaches to focus on yourself and what you have to do to be accepted by others—whether it’s swearing, drinking, smoking, or in my case cheating. True friendship (the Lord’s way) teaches to focus on others, to lift them so they feel accepted by you. This is accomplished through love, kindness, sincerity, and, like Curtis, having the Spirit so others feel comfortable around you.
Curtis and his friends weren’t enrolled in Popularity 101; they were enrolled in Living the Gospel. This class has all sorts of helpful textbooks—the scriptures, Church magazines, For the Strength of Youth. Classes are offered at general conference, in seminary, and every Sunday at church. There’s a tutor who will work with you anytime—the Holy Ghost. Best of all, this class is graded by a loving Savior.
I still flunked Popularity 101. But thanks to some guys who had learned to love others as themselves, I’m now studying with the Master Teacher so I can pass life.