Gospel Story Finder

When my wife and I were young parents with little children at home, we challenged our children to memorize the Articles of Faith. The prize, or reward, for completing them was a night out with Dad. We were pleased that our three oldest completed the challenge. When our seven-year-old son first memorized all 13 Articles of Faith, we sat down to pick out a night and activity that we could do together. I was so busy with work, social activities, and Church responsibilities that I couldn’t give my son a night out for about two weeks. He was sorely disappointed. However, I found that in the city where we lived there was an all-night bowling alley. We immediately picked a date and chose to start our activity at 5:00 in the morning. Our plan was to get up at 4:00, have breakfast, and then go downtown.
When that day arrived, I felt someone shaking my shoulder very early in the morning. As I tried to open my eyes I heard my son say, “Is it time, Dad?” I looked at my alarm clock; it was only 2:00 a.m.!
“Go to sleep, Son,” I said. “It’s not time yet.”
An hour later the same thing happened. “Dad, Dad, is it time to go?” After sending him to bed for a second time, I couldn’t help but feel his excitement.
Then at 4:00 a.m. we got up, had something to eat, and left for the bowling alley. We had a wonderful time.

Anthony Quasie had a life-changing experience while just a boy growing up in Cape Coast Ghana. His mother told him that when he was 5 years old, he witnessed a man, who was hired to help at his home, cut the neck of a chicken just enough for the chicken to run around in pain before dying. He remembers his mother saying that “I folded my arms and cried all day”, and when it came time to eat the chicken, it made him very sick. He grew up not liking it when people mistreated animals.
This tenderness of heart allowed Brother Quasie to be touched by the Spirit when he first heard about the Church. In 1986, when he was 16 years old, the Church was new in the Cape Coast area. One night, a friend invited him to see a movie in the town open market. It was a movie about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and the Book of Mormon. After watching the movie, he felt that it was true and wanted to learn more but wasn’t sure how to get more information. Then he met Elder and Sister Nelson from the United States. They taught him the gospel by having Anthony proselyte with them and after a week, they asked him if would like to be baptized. “I decided to be baptized without consulting my parents, who were Catholic. I took that decision independently”, he said.
In those days, baptisms in Cape Coast were done in the ocean. On 30 April 1986, Brother Quasie was baptized on the same beach that the first Ghanaian members had been baptized a few years earlier.
The day after his baptism, he wanted “to have an experience like Joseph Smith in the grove of trees, so I walked into a very deep thick forest”.
Initially he was scared, but he summoned the courage to kneel and pray. But he didn’t see anything. “I wasn’t sad, but I really wanted to know how to explain everything to my parents”, he said.
When he came home that evening, something happened that he would never forget.
“I was sleeping with four of my siblings and around 2 a.m. I had a dream. In that dream, the Savior visited with me, and he opened His arms to me. In the dream, I stood up and tried to embrace the Savior, but then I woke up and I was standing and trying to hug someone who wasn’t there.” He was so touched by this experience that he decided to share it with his parents.
When he joined the Church, he knew that it was true, and he wanted to bring his family to the Church. Now, after these many years, almost all of his family members have joined. Anthony’s conversion not only blessed his own family, but also the people he worked with in Kenya as a missionary, and the countless others he has served throughout his life.

When I was growing up, young men went on missions when they were twenty years old. Not all young men were expected to go on missions, as they are today. My father had always hoped that I would go on a mission, and he had encouraged me several times. But as I got older, I wondered, Is that really what I want to do?
My priests quorum advisor, Dale Waite, was a great example and a wonderful teacher. We boys all thought he was terrific. One time he took us to a ward outing at a swimming resort. We had a good time swimming, playing volleyball, and just enjoying being together. That night we piled into Brother Waite’s car to go home—the car sure was full! Full of good memories of the evening’s activities, we were starting up the old highway in the dark of night, when Brother Waite asked, “Did any of you hear the First Presidency’s announcement today?”
None of us had; we were all ears. Brother Waite told us, “The First Presidency has announced that young men can be called on missions at nineteen years of age.” When he said that, the Spirit of the Lord came over me, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. I knew that the message was, “You are going on a mission.” I had never had that kind of experience before, but the feeling that I was to go on a mission never left me.
When I was old enough, I was called to serve in Germany. I loved everything about my mission. It was a turning point for me. I came to love Heavenly Father, His Son, and the gospel as never before, and I loved to hear the word of God preached. I came to love the scriptures; I loved reading them and understanding them. I found that the General Authorities who came to see us in the mission field were men of God and had great power to change people’s lives. I saw people accept the gospel and repent and be baptized and be filled with joy.
When I came home from my mission, it was with the firm resolve that I would never be the same—and I never have been. And all of that happened because a priests quorum advisor stayed close to the young men in his quorum, taught them the gospel, and helped them learn in a very simple way that they could go on missions and be touched by the Spirit of the Lord.

The young man had been on the job a little more than a year. He hoped his part-time assignment under one of the most influential supervisors in the organization might develop into a challenging, satisfying full-time assignment.
Then one day as he and his supervisor met with their manager, the young man’s trust in his supervisor vanished. The manager criticized a report the young man had prepared, and the supervisor, who had reviewed the report and changed the section in question, sat silently, offering no help.
“But I handled this in what I wrote originally,” the young man said, turning to his supervisor. The supervisor answered, “I don’t remember reading anything about it.”
The young man was certain of what he had written. Later in the day, after the supervisor left, the young man went to the file where everyone in the department filed copies of their reports. All the copies were in place, in proper order, except the one in question. It had disappeared.
After that day, the young man was careful to keep a second copy of everything he wrote. He cooperated with his supervisor as the job required, but when an opportunity came for a less prestigious assignment under a supervisor he knew to be honest, the young man took it. His life had been affected by someone who bore false witness.

God offers us counsel not just for our own safety, but for the safety of His other children. An example from Church history is that of Reddick Newton Allred. He was one of the rescue party sent out by Brigham Young to bring in the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies. When a terrible storm hit, Captain Grant, captain of the rescue party, decided to leave some of the wagons by the Sweetwater River as he pressed ahead to find the handcart companies. With the blizzards howling and the weather becoming life-threatening, two of the men left behind at the river decided that it was foolish to stay. They thought that the handcart companies had either wintered over somewhere or had perished. They decided to return to the Salt Lake Valley and tried to persuade everyone else to do the same.
Reddick Allred refused to budge. Brigham had sent them out, and his priesthood leader had told him to wait there. The others took several wagons, all filled with needed supplies, and started back. Even more tragic, each wagon they met coming out from Salt Lake they turned back as well. They turned back seventy-seven wagons, which returned all the way to Little Mountain, where President Young learned what was happening and turned them around again. When the Willie Company was finally found and made that heartrending pull up and over Rocky Ridge, it was Reddick Allred and his wagons that waited for them.
While the record does not prove it, I am confident that Brother Allred prayed while he waited. I am confident that his prayers were answered. He then knew that the counsel to stand fast was from God. We must pray to know that. I promise you answers to such prayers of faith.

The girls learned self-defense while the fellows considered career opportunities. Not your typical youth conference—but there’s nothing typical about Malibu, California, either.
The youth of the Los Angeles California East Stake spent their youth conference at a Malibu ranch. They began with get-acquainted games and films of the 1973 Southern California Dance Festival in which many of them had participated.
The three-day conference included a prebreakfast hike; instructions in macrame, soap carving, and decoupage; rowboat races; an obstacle course; football; volleyball; softball; self-defense for the girls; and a career workshop for the fellows. Even after all that they weren’t too tired to enjoy a session of ballroom dance instruction followed by a dance.
On the serious side the young people enjoyed guest speakers, a scripture chase, group discussions, and a testimony meeting.
Also included in the conference activities was a tug-of-war over the lake, and the losing team went for a swim. Later there was a panel discussion in which all the bishops in the stake fielded questions from the young people. It was a great success for the 150 youths who attended.

I was going to Arkansas to do one particular story. Period. But the flight schedules left me just enough time to do an additional story. So I asked Monty, my local contact, if he had any suggestions.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “since you asked—how about Rochelle Abram up in Bentonville?”
I had never worked with Monty before. Did he really know what kind of story I was looking for? I wasn’t completely sure myself.
What I didn’t want was to put some super-gifted super-achiever on a pedestal and make everybody else feel inadequate. Maybe I was just looking for an ordinary kid who has some qualities worth writing about.
I grabbed pencil and paper. “So tell me about Rochelle, Monty.”
He began, and mentally I responded to each point. “… multi-talented …” (The Church has lots of multi-talented kids.) “… state championships in gymnastics …” (We’ve done gymnast stories.) “… has done very well scholastically …” (That’s better, but—) “… a fine influence among the youth here …” (Okay. Now I’m listening.)
On the map, the road between Ft. Smith, Arkansas, and Bentonville looks fairly straight. In reality, it has more twists and turns than a soap opera plot, more bad grades than my fifth-grade report card. But since it winds among beautiful green hills, past some delightful little towns and villages, you don’t mind too much.
With Monty as guide, we found the Abram home, nestled among tall trees on Trail’s End Road, the driveway full of cars. This was Rochelle’s graduation night. Family and friends had started to gather, and it promised to be a little hectic.
Jerry Abram, Rochelle’s dad, greeted us warmly, pulled us into the house with a car salesman’s handshake, and introduced me to some of the family as we moved through the living room. A young woman approached from a hallway and he announced, “This is Rochelle.”
I doubted that boys had to be bribed to take her to the prom. Light blue-green eyes, warm smile and perfect white teeth, reddish-blond hair framing an oval face and fair complexion—Jed, my photographer, was going to have an easy time of it. But my anxiety about trying to do a story on a too-perfect girl had increased.
We discussed a few details, like what she would wear for the photographer and how much time we had before she had to go to commencement exercises. Then we went out onto the deck at the back of the house and sat down at a wrought iron table. It was after 5:00 P.M., and the tall trees that surround the house cast lacy shadows over us. I turned on my tape recorder, and we began to talk while Jed circled about, taking picture after picture.
First, just to break the ice, we talked about school and friends. I learned that Rochelle’s circle of friends includes LDS youth in the larger town of Fayetteville, 30 minutes away. “We just get together on weekends and do stuff and have a lot of fun.” Like what? “Just about everything. We like to hike and camp and fish and do all the tomboyish things,” she laughs. “We’ve also had dinner parties with the guys.” Pretty normal so far.
Before coming to Arkansas, I had talked some more to Monty and others about Rochelle, and everybody mentioned gymnastics. So I asked, and learned that she started in the sixth grade and began competing in seventh grade. “And you took state honors—first place,” I prompted.
“Yes, I got first place in uneven bars in the state high school competitions last year and this year.” She paused. “And I got first place in floor exercises in the USGF (U.S. Gymnastics Federation) competition this year.” Another slight pause. “I enjoy it; it’s a lot of fun.”
Fun? The closest I’ve come to a back flip was on an icy morning a few winters ago. But I know that even for the talented, gymnastics training is punishingly difficult. “What has it done for you?”
“It’s taken up a lot of my time, and it’s a lot of hard work, but it teaches you patience and endurance. It’s kind of hard sometimes because you want to learn a trick and be good, but you have to work at it. And it’s really discouraging sometimes. But it’s given me more confidence in myself because when you do well you feel better about yourself.”
As Rochelle talked, I studied her face and listened to the inflections in her voice. No hint of false modesty. Others confirmed that she doesn’t talk freely about her accomplishments, even to her parents. You get the impression that she does things for the joy of doing—not for the trophies and certificates, but for the satisfaction of tackling something tough and doing it as well as she possibly can.
She treats school the same way, taking the challenging advanced placement courses instead of going for the easy A. I commented on the fact that she would be attending BYU on a four-year academic scholarship instead of going to some college on a gymnastics scholarship. She just laughed. Gymnastics may be fun and challenging, but it isn’t her life. Rochelle will be studying things like biology and chemistry. “I want to pursue a career in a health-related field, probably in some area of research,” she said.
What does she see herself doing ten years down the road? “Hopefully a mission, marriage, and a family.”
We took a break for a few minutes. Jed needed photos in a different setting, and I wanted to talk to Rochelle’s parents.
Jerry Abram came out and sat down. “Rochelle is not a spectator; she is a participant,” he said when I asked him to sum up his daughter. “I don’t know what she’ll contribute to the Church—whether she’ll ever be a Relief Society or Young Women president—but I know what she’ll contribute to other people. She always has time for others.”
For example? “In our stake there was a young man, a ninth grader, who was not participating. So Rochelle went to his house every morning, woke him up if necessary, and took him to early-morning seminary. It wasn’t an assignment; she just did it. I asked her about it, and she said, ‘It’s there to do.’”
When Jerry Abram talks about his daughter, there is both pride and some wonder in his voice as he discusses her skills and accomplishments. But it was when we talked about her qualities that his eyes became moist, his voice slightly husky. Asked about Rochelle’s spiritual gifts, he said, “She excels in the same way. She craves spiritual knowledge.”
I asked Rochelle’s mother, Mary, what her daughter’s best quality is. Her first thought was, “She is a true, sincere friend.” Then, as she continued to speak about Rochelle’s relationships with others: “It’s her commitment to Christ and to gospel standards.”
Commitment to Christ. I thought back on something that everyone but Rochelle had talked about so far—the death of Rochelle’s fraternal twin sister, Rhonda, in an auto accident just 11 months earlier.
When Rhonda was killed, two other girls also died in the one-car rollover. Both of them, Kathryn and Michele, were also LDS and close friends of both of the Abram sisters. The tragedy shook the town. Yet the Christ-centered faith of Rochelle and her family not only carried them through, but became a blessing to many others.
Hundreds of townspeople attended the joint funeral for Rhonda and Kathryn that was held in the LDS chapel. Michele’s funeral was two days later. Many commented afterward that they had always been taught that Mormons are not Christians. Now they knew otherwise. And a dozen or so have since come into the Church after being fellowshipped by Rochelle and her family.
A little later in the evening Rochelle and I talked again. The shadows had lengthened further and a light breeze toyed idly with the leaves. Through the closed glass doors you could faintly hear the growing crowd of friends talking and laughing. But out where we were it was quiet enough to hear the calls of insects and birds.
“Do you mind if we talk about Rhonda for a minute?”
Her gaze was direct and open as she said that was fine.
I asked her how her sister’s death had affected her.
“It makes me want to be a better person. She was such a great example—almost perfect.”
Like many of her answers it was short and to the point. I guess I could have followed up, tried to draw her out. But her parents had commented on how deeply she has felt the loss of her sister and how private she is about her grief. What would be the point in prying further? Instead, after a short silence, for some reason I changed the subject and asked, “What do you fear most?”
This time she paused. Her soft voice took on a slightly different quality as she answered. “Not being accepted, I guess.”
The surprise must have registered on my face. She laughed at herself and at her answer, as though she realized how silly it might sound to someone else, someone aware of her accomplishments.
I sat back and looked at this young woman from a small town in the northwest corner of Arkansas. Rochelle Abram—who wins titles in gymnastics. Loves to swim in the creek with family and friends. Is graduating with high honors. Recently shot a hole in her brother’s bedroom window with a BB gun while trying to hit a slow-flying bug. Eats peanut butter and jelly for Thanksgiving dinner because she doesn’t like meat and vegetables. Needed two full days to clean her room before company came.
It was time for Rochelle to go into the house and finish getting ready for her graduation. I looked down at my tape recorder and notebook and thought about the story contained on tape, on paper, and in my memory. Monty was right. She is worth writing about. Hooray for anybody who has gifts, develops them as well as possible, and is modest about them. Three cheers for those who accomplish things for the sheer joy of doing.
But far more importantly, I decided Rochelle was worth writing about because she excels in some ways that everyone can excel in: commitment to Jesus Christ and his gospel, putting aside our own fears and tragedies and reaching out to others. Even a Rochelle Abram sometimes worries about acceptance. It’s a natural fear most of us have. But instead of holding back, afraid to stand out, she goes ahead and does when “it’s there to be done.”
Next time Monty recommends a story, I’m ready to listen.

While on my mission, I served in a ward that needed a bishop. Stake leaders were looking for someone who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, paid his tithing, and had a supportive wife. Leaders considered one worthy priesthood holder, but his wife did not say yes to the calling.
Because of that experience, I promised the Lord that I would never get in the way of what He needed my future husband to do. I promised to always support him in his calling. I’m grateful I didn’t know the future. I don’t know what I would have done if––when I was making that promise––the Lord had said, “That’s a great promise to make because I need your husband to die for his country.”
I thought I was going to be a bishop’s wife. Instead, I became the wife of a worthy priesthood holder who answered the call to serve and sacrifice in a way I had not imagined.

Kids were never my thing. I was the youngest in my family, had no experience with babies, and got scared when a toddler looked at me. So of course when I first got married, having kids was a life change I wasn’t too excited to make.
My husband was all for starting a family from day one, but I insisted that we wait. Those first couple months, “Let’s talk about it in a year” could have been my motto.
While this may not be the reason for everyone struggling with the decision to have kids, I knew what was holding me back: fear and selfishness, plain and simple. When I thought of being a mother, my mind wasn’t filled with cute smiles and sweet laughter. Instead, I thought of sleepless nights and limited free time. Not to mention pain and discomfort. I can still remember the first time I heard about giving birth. I decided then and there that I was going to adopt.
My entire life, I had felt uncomfortable around children, so when I thought of having my own, I couldn’t see how it was possible. How would I be able to give everything up for them?
The first eight or nine months of our marriage went by without much change. My husband had this running joke that anytime I asked, “Guess what?” he would reply, “You’re pregnant!” I’d roll my eyes and move on, with plenty of excuses as to why having children was not going to happen any time soon.
Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t feeling pressure to have children. My husband and I had conversations and agreed to take things one step at a time. But in my mind, having children wasn’t going to happen for a long while.
Even still, I knew that Heavenly Father knows more about how my life can and should turn out. Which is why, despite my firm conviction that having children should wait, I continued to pray about the decision both alone and with my husband. We told Heavenly Father our plan but admitted that we would accept a different plan if it was His will. That was an important step in the change of heart that slowly came over me.
That change didn’t happen all at once. In fact, I can’t really remember exactly when it started. But slowly, I had begun to be less averse to the idea of starting a family. I had begun to actually consider it, especially once my excuses were hitting their end. I had wanted to wait until I was done with school—I was about to graduate. I wanted us to know where we would be in the next year—my husband had received a job offer. Slowly but surely, things were starting to fall into place.
I thought it would be scary, running out of the excuses I had held onto for so long. And yet, that’s just it. I wasn’t scared. The fear that I had held inside of me for the past 10 years was no longer there. Or at least, it was accompanied by a peace strong enough to drown it out.
So by the time our first anniversary came around, I just didn’t have any reason to say no to starting a family anymore. The Lord had changed my heart and quieted my fears.
Later, a friend ask me how I knew it was the right time. I had to admit that it wasn’t through any grand feeling of courage or love for children, no burning of the heart. It was just through the absence of fear. It’s like God said to the early Latter-day Saints: “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear” (Doctrine and Covenants 38:30). To me, my lack of fear was the answer from the Lord saying, “Yes, you’re ready.”
It was pretty exciting, that first time that I could finally laugh and say yes to my husband’s reply, “You’re pregnant!”
Photo illustration from Getty Images
Now here I am with a young baby in my arms. I’m still learning how to be a mom, and I still don’t know what to do around other people’s kids. But I know that no matter what shortcomings I may have when it comes to children, Heavenly Father is rooting for me. He prepared me for this time. I have felt His divine help, even through lingering feelings of doubt and fear. The sleepless nights and lack of free time are small sacrifices for the joy that has come to me and my family. I know that Heavenly Father is aware of our fears and our circumstances. And if we seek His help, He can help us overcome them and move forward in faith.

Devan DeWitt has come a long way since joining the cross-country team two years ago as a sophomore. He wasn’t a particularly fast runner when he began, but as time went by he improved. By his junior and senior years, he had earned the right to compete at the state cross-country championships.
“When I discovered I could succeed at running, it helped me in other areas,” he says. “My grade-point average went from a 2.6 to a 3.0, and I had the courage to try out singing. Now I’m in the a capella choir.”

On one occasion, Karl G. Maeser was leading a party of young missionaries across the Alps. As they reached the summit, he looked back and saw a row of sticks thrust into the snow to mark the one safe path across the otherwise treacherous glacier.
Halting the company of missionaries, he gestured toward the sticks and said, “Brethren, there stands the priesthood [of God]. They are just common sticks like the rest of us, … but the position they hold makes them what they are to us. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.” (In Alma P. Burton, Karl G. Maeser, Mormon Educator, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1953, p. 22.)

“If someone gives you a valentine, do you have to give one back?” I asked my mom. She was stirring some pudding for dinner.
“Well, Elizabeth, if you ‘have to give,’ you’re not talking about giving anyway—you’re talking about obligation or repayment. Giving means you do it because you want to, out of love.”
My mom never misses a chance to give a little lecture like that. “I guess I won’t, then, because for sure it wouldn’t be ‘out of love.’ I can’t stand Jeremy Rawlins.”
“But, Elizabeth, isn’t everyone in the class supposed to bring a valentine for everyone else?”
“Yes, but Jeremy told me that he’d made a special valentine for me in family home evening. He’s sure I’m just going to love it.” I couldn’t keep from adding sarcastically, “Sure I will.”
“Family home evening?”
“It’s something they do every week at his house. He’s always talking about what they did during family home evening—how they went to this place or that, how they made something, or how somebody special came over. I get pretty sick of hearing about it.”
“It sounds like fun. So why don’t you like him?”
I had to think about that. I didn’t really know exactly why I didn’t like him. “He’s just so annoying,” I said.
“In what way?” My mom never gives up.
“I don’t know. He’s just so nice, so cheerful all the time.”
Mom stopped stirring. “Cheerful and nice are annoying? We could use more annoying people like that around here.”
I didn’t know how else to explain it. “Well, anyway, I think he’ll just get a regular little dumb valentine from me.”
Mom gazed out the window. I knew she was hatching up something. “You know, we could do that,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Have a little family home evening and make some valentines. Not for Jeremy—for our grandparents and each other.”
“No we couldn’t. Family home evening is on Mondays, and this is Tuesday already.”
She looked at me sort of blankly. “Who says it has to be on Monday?”
“I think it’s a rule of his church.”
“Well, since we don’t belong to his church, we can have it whenever we want. Thursday night would be just right. Ask Jeremy a little more about it tomorrow, like what kinds of things they do and how they organize it.”
Great! Now I had to talk to Jeremy. Once my mom gets an idea, she never gives up on it.
By the next day after school, things were getting worse. When Mom walked in from work, I just kept watching the TV and didn’t speak to her.
“Well, let’s not get annoyingly cheerful like that awful Jeremy person,” she said. I think she meant to be funny, but I didn’t laugh. “Thanks to you, he’ll be here any minute,” I grumbled, still not looking at her.
“Jeremy is coming here?” She dropped a big shopping bag on the chair.
“He’s bringing over some book, something he called the Family Home Evening Resource Book.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“Yeah, nice.”
Just then the doorbell rang. I let Mom answer it.
“You must be Jeremy. How very nice of you.” I couldn’t hear what he was saying. “Will you come in? Elizabeth is here.”
Oh great, I thought. But I guess Jeremy declined the invitation, because Mom came back by herself. “He has basketball practice,” she explained. “He’s a very pleasant boy.” She sat right down and started looking at the book.
After dinner the next night, she put out all this stuff on the kitchen table—red paper, lace doilies, glue, markers, old magazines, and seed catalogs. We cut and pasted great big valentines for my grandmas and grandpas and for each other. I have to admit, it was kind of fun.
Afterward I cut out a picture of a basketball star, glued it on some red paper, and wrote, “You’re a star!” I thought I might give it to Jeremy the next day. I mean if he gave me a really good one, at least I’d have something to give back and I wouldn’t have to feel stupid.
When I went to bed, my mom was still sitting in the kitchen, reading more in the Family Home Evening Resource Book.
I really had bad news for her when she got home the next night. I waited until she’d hung up her coat and kind of settled down to rest in her favorite chair before starting dinner. She was looking at me, kind of waiting. “I got lots of valentines,” I said.
“Good. I hope you didn’t eat so much candy that you won’t want dinner.”
“Not too much,” I said. “Jeremy gave me a valentine with a wrapped chocolate heart pasted on the front. I ate that.”
“Did you give him yours?”
“Well, yeah. I mean what else could I do? I stuck a few little candy hearts on his. I hope he likes glue.” I laughed.
“What else?” she asked. My mom always knows when you haven’t told her everything. I handed her Jeremy’s valentine. She opened it and read:
“You’re so smart and funny, and I like you a lot.
P.S. Would you and your mother come to our house for a special family home evening next Monday night at 7 P.M.?
P.P.S. If you can, bring a story about one of your ancestors—maybe a grandma or grandpa.”
“How nice,” my mom added. “I’d like to go and see how they do a family home evening.”
“Well, I told you he was annoying—but nice.” I sighed, and then I smiled at her. “I kind of want to go, too,” I confessed.

“Do you want to help me in the garden today?” Mike’s grandpa asked.
“Sure!” Mike said.
Mike loved gardening with Grandpa. The garden had all sorts of flowers, but their favorites were the roses. Mike helped Grandpa water and trim the rose bushes all summer. It didn’t feel like work—it was too fun!
When fall came, Mike and Grandpa trimmed the rose bushes one last time for the year. When they were done, Grandpa said, “These bushes look so healthy! I think next year’s garden will be our best yet.”
That winter Mike’s grandma passed away. At her funeral Mike put his arm around Grandpa when he saw him crying. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” Grandpa said with tears in his eyes.
Day after day, it was hard for Mike to see Grandpa look so sad. One day Mike thought Grandpa might enjoy walking through the garden. But as soon as Grandpa saw the frozen rose bushes, he turned around.
“You go ahead. I don’t like seeing my rose bushes so bare,” Grandpa said.
Mike helped Grandpa walk back to his recliner. Maybe he’ll be happier when spring comes, Mike thought. Then we can work in the garden again.
When spring came, Mike came to help Grandpa trim the rose bushes. They worked in the garden just like before, but Grandpa hardly ever smiled.
Mike prayed to know how to help Grandpa feel happy again. One morning an idea popped into his head: Look in the newspaper.
That’s strange, Mike thought. How would that help Grandpa feel better? Then the thought came again. So he looked through the newspaper.
This is a waste of time, Mike thought. Then something caught his eye: “Now taking nominations for Gardener of the Year.” Mike didn’t understand the word nominations. But it said that readers could send in a letter about a gardener they knew. The newspaper editor would read the letters and choose a Gardener of the Year.
Mike asked Mom to write a letter about Grandpa. “Well, it’s your idea,” she said. “So maybe you should write it. But I’ll help you.”
Mike wrote about how Grandpa was a great gardener. He wrote about how much fun they had working together in the garden. And he told about how happy his grandpa would be if he won the award.
Three weeks later Grandpa got a surprise visit while he and Mike were working in the garden. A newspaper reporter said that she was writing a story about him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you’ve been chosen as Gardener of the Year!” she said.
Grandpa smiled big and said, “What? I can’t believe it!” Mike had missed seeing Grandpa smile like that.
Later that week Mike, Mom, and Grandpa went to a special dinner to honor Grandpa. The people from the newspaper gave Grandpa an award and asked him to give a speech. Grandpa talked about how he enjoyed gardening with Mike and how much he loved flowers. Just before he sat down, Grandpa smiled right at Mike and said, “This year, we’re going to have one of the best rose gardens ever!”

I guess I knew it would happen sooner or later. You know, have one of those experiences you only hear about in Sunday School or seminary lessons—the “what would you do if …” kind. It happened to me during the summer following my high school graduation.
One evening, two friends and I went to see a movie. It was almost midnight when the movie let out. On the way to the parking lot, one of my friends suggested we head to another theater to watch an X-rated movie scheduled to begin about 30 minutes later. My other friend quickly agreed.
I wasn’t tempted to go; I knew I would not go. But I was not sure how I would get out of going. One excuse after another flashed through my mind. None of them sounded convincing to me, and I was sure they would not convince my friends. I thought about saying I wasn’t feeling well—and at that point, I wasn’t! In the end, I simply said I did not want to go.
My friends tried their best to persuade me. Among other things, they said if they took me all the way home, they would be late to the other movie. Thinking fast, I told them I had a friend who lived just around the corner. I said they could take me there.
“What friend?” they asked.
“Just a guy I know,” I answered.
“Who is he, and what’s his name?”
“His name is Bill.” I was sure my friends were not buying this. I cleared my throat and swallowed hard.
They persisted. “Ah, he won’t be up this late. Just come with us,” they said.
“He’ll be up,” I said, hoping I was right.
My friends finally agreed to drive by Bill’s home, and if the lights were on they would stop and let me out. Otherwise, they were taking me with them.
A few minutes later, we arrived at Bill’s house. What a relief! The lights were on. I got out of the car and went to the door. My friends waited to see if someone would answer. I knocked, and after what seemed like an eternity, Bill opened the door. I quickly explained what was happening and asked if I could call my dad and wait inside for him to pick me up. Bill agreed and practically pulled me into the house as I waved my friends on their way.
While we waited for my dad, Bill told me he had decided to watch television for a few minutes before going to bed. “Otherwise,” he said, “I would have been in bed a long time ago.”
It wasn’t long before my dad came to take me home. As we drove, my dad said if I were ever in trouble like that again, he would drive across the state in the middle of the night to get me out of the situation.
That’s probably a pretty good place to end one of these Sunday School stories. But here’s just one more thing. You see, before that night I had never referred to my friend Bill Cantrell by his first name. I had always called him Bishop Cantrell.

As a young swat team leader some years ago, I found this to be particularly true. On one occasion, our team was called to a house on the east side of Salt Lake City. This house was a notorious drug house and we were going to raid the house on a particular afternoon when we knew that there would be drug transactions taking place inside. As our team assembled and surrounded the outside of the home, I prepared to enter the front door. We knocked the door off of the hinges and I threw a flash bang grenade into the now open front door. Once the grenade exploded we rushed inside to the scrambling terrified people who were seeking refuge from the intruders. Noticeable, as we entered was the unexpected presence of women who were also running in fear. They were scantily dressed and it became immediately apparent that their purpose was not honorable.

In the corner was one woman who appeared no older than 18. She was visibly frightened and after we rounded up the suspects we had come for, we were faced with the dilemma of the young prostitute. We were not interested in arresting her and so I asked her if there was someone we could call who could come and pick her up. Her tears began to fall as she sat in silence for a few minutes and then she surprised me with her response. “Could you please call my young women’s leader,” she asked. I responded that I would be happy to call whoever she desired. She provided me with the phone number that she had memorized and I called the young woman’s leader. A woman’s voice was heard on the other end of the line. I explained the situation and gave her the name of the young woman we were holding that had requested assistance from her “young women’s leader”. Although this was in the middle of the afternoon, there was no hesitation in the voice on the other end of the line. “Tell me where you are,” she asked, and once I provided the address, she stated she would be right there. Within 30 minutes, the young woman leader entered the door-less front entrance. She quickly looked around the room and spotted her young woman huddled in the corner. In a sweeping gesture, she took up a blanket from a mattress and on bended knee she crawled to the side of the young prostitute and wrapped her in the blanket. As tough as a swat team may appear on the outside, most of the men that were with me shed tears as we watched this compassionate woman who, in the moment of distress, came to the rescue of one of those whom the Lord had given her stewardship. There were no words of condemnation and no looks of disgust as these two women cried in each other’s arms. Once the crying stopped, this leader pulled up her young friend and with the most kind and loving gestures led her from the house.

For many years my wife and children and I have had the tradition of spending summer vacation on a small beach near our home in southern Brazil. Sometimes we moved because of work, but no matter how far we lived from that small beach, we always made the annual trip with much anticipation and joy. Likewise, extended family members and friends would travel long distances so we could all be together once a year. Everyone came as early as they could and stayed as long as possible.
At that small beach our family had many wonderful opportunities for spiritual growth and gospel teaching. Most of our extended family members were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and did not share our religious beliefs. To them the Lord’s day was just another day to play and have fun. Because more of the family would be at the beach on weekends than during the other days of the week, our presence and participation in Sunday activities was not only expected but also insistently requested—including by our children.
Our children were small and only just learning to apply the truths of the gospel. To them the temptation of participating in activities with their cousins and friends on Sundays was great. Spending time with family is an important part of the gospel, and breaking the Sabbath would have been easy to rationalize. After all, the closest unit of the Church at that time was more than 60 miles (96 km) away from the beach. Our friends and neighbors in our home congregation were far away, and none of them would ever know if we stayed at the beach instead of driving to the chapel and attending our meetings on Sunday. We went to church the entire year, and our extended family could be together only a few weeks a year.
Nevertheless, we never missed going to church on Sundays—not even once! We remembered the Lord’s teachings:
“And that thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day;
“For verily this is a day appointed unto you to rest from your labors, and to pay thy devotions unto the Most High; …
“But remember that on this, the Lord’s day, thou shalt offer thine oblations and thy sacraments unto the Most High. …
“And on this day thou shalt do none other thing, only let thy food be prepared with singleness of heart that thy fasting may be perfect, or, in other words, that thy joy may be full” (D&C 59:9–13).
We chose to keep this commandment, and we taught our children that they should keep it as well. Soon they understood that it was more important to worship God on His holy day than to please family and friends or to satisfy their own desires.
On Sundays at the beach, we would wake up early, dress up for Sunday worship, and travel by car to the nearest chapel. During our trip and throughout the entire day, we would enjoy the peace and joy the Lord has promised to those who keep His commandments. We came to learn that this feeling of peace and joy does not come from the world.
After several years of this routine, something wonderful happened. Our children stopped questioning the importance of worshipping God on His holy day, and several of our children’s cousins began to ask if they could go to church with us! Little did we know that the feeling of peace and joy we felt was also being felt by our nieces and nephews upon our return from our meetings. Eventually a great blessing resulted. After some of those children became adolescents, two of them from one family told their parents, “We want to become Latter-day Saints.” Soon the entire family was baptized. Recently, one of the children, now a returned missionary, was married in the temple.
We still go to that beach every year, but everyone knows that on Sunday our family will not be there to play. Instead, we will go to church and worship God with family members who join us—a group that is becoming larger and larger every year!
When we look back on those years and think about the choice we made, we thank God for helping us have the courage to do what was right and to teach our children to do the same. We don’t have the slightest doubt that that decision strengthened our children as well as our extended family. It gave us the Lord’s promised peace, played an important role in the conversion of family members, and blessed us with a satisfaction not found in alternative Sunday activities that do not fill the soul.

Daniel Godoy, 23, radiates light and goodness, and his choices have a lot to do with that. He’s an influence for good just by his example.
As an only child from a small town outside of Santiago, Chile, he grew up seeing his parents’ dedication to service and to the gospel. Daniel was the first in his home stake to serve a mission at 18 after the mission age was lowered, inspiring many young men to prepare to serve earlier too. After his mission in Colombia, he was also the first in his hometown to leave the country to pursue higher education. His drive inspired others to get an education. “In some way I inspired them to aim high,” he says. “It was awesome to know that little step that I did helped to inspire other people.”
Getting an education in the United States is also the key for Daniel’s plans to help others and do good in the future. “My long-term goal is to go back to Chile and help people there—serve them. I came here because I know that I can have opportunities that will lead me to help people in Chile as well.”
Still, Daniel admits: “I’m not perfect. But I’m trying to do my best, and I feel like that will be inspiring for others and give them the motivation to keep going as well.”

Megan shares a painful experience of discovering that a dear friend was choosing a devastating life style. For months Megan was angry with her friend and was worrying how to talk him out of what he was doing. She explains: “I had never really felt like I had received an answer on what I was supposed to do. I felt very alone. There was no one I could discuss it with, and I couldn’t let him know that I knew for fear of getting someone else in trouble. What happened when he told me was completely unexpected. All I did was tell him that I loved him and that I would be there for him no matter what the future would bring. I was astonished that those words were coming out of my mouth. I know now that that was the best thing I could have said. I know I was guided by the Spirit not to say what I had felt before. I know that if we seek an answer with an earnest heart that we will be answered, even if it is not in the way we were thinking it would be. I was looking for validation of the way I felt, when really I needed to think about him and how he was feeling and what would be best for him. I am grateful for the gift of the spirit and for its guidance.”

While I was serving as mission president recently, two of our elders asked if I would meet with an investigator who was scheduled for baptism the following day. She had some questions they were unable to answer. We drove to her home, where I met a young widow in her late 20s with a child. Her husband had been killed in a tragic accident a few years earlier. Her questions were thoughtful, and she was receptive. After these were resolved, I asked if she had any other concerns. She indicated that she did and that she wanted to speak with me alone. I asked the elders to step outside and stand on the lawn where they could see us clearly through a large window. As soon as the door closed behind them, she began to weep. She recounted her years alone, filled with heartache and loneliness. During those years she had made some serious mistakes. She had known better, she said, but had lacked the strength to choose the right path until she had met our missionaries. During the weeks they taught her, she had pled with the Lord to forgive her. She sought assurance from me that through her repentance and through the ordinances of baptism and the receipt of the Holy Ghost, she could be cleansed and become worthy of membership in the Church. I taught her from the scriptures and bore testimony of the principle of repentance and of the Atonement.
The next day my wife and I attended her baptism and that of her little girl. The room was filled with friends from her ward, ready and anxious to stand by her as a new member of the Church. As we left that service, I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for the magnificent principle of repentance and for the Atonement that makes it possible, for the miracle of conversion, for this great Church and its members, and for our missionaries.

“Easter is a good time to think about Jesus and to remember His Resurrection,” Sister Rojas said. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Because of Him, people who have died will live again.”
Alonso looked up at his Primary teacher. Does that mean I can see my parents again? he wondered.
Mamá had died years ago when Alonso was very young. Alonso didn’t remember her very well, but he liked looking at pictures of her. Then Papá died too.
Now Alonso lived with Abuela, his grandmother. She had been teaching him about her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was going to be baptized and confirmed next year, when he was old enough.
Sister Rojas held up a picture of a white building. “Another amazing gift from Jesus is temples. This is one of the temples here in Chile.”
Alonso looked at the gold statue on top of the building. It was beautiful! He wondered what happened inside.
“Temples are where families are sealed together forever,” Sister Rojas said. “This temple in Santiago is where I was sealed to my parents after we joined the Church. Because we were sealed, I can be with them even after this life.”
Alonso felt excited when he heard that. “Could I be sealed to my parents?” he asked. “Even though they already died?”
Sister Rojas nodded. “Yes! That’s one of the reasons temples are so important. They bless all of our family members, including those who have died.”
For the rest of the day, Alonso kept thinking about temples. He asked Abuela to teach him more. She talked about the white clothes people wear inside and the beautiful artwork on the walls.
“Best of all, it’s where you can be sealed to your parents,” Abuela said. “We’ll ask two people from the ward to stand in for them during the sealing.”
“Can we go tomorrow?” Alonso asked. “I want to be with Mamá and Papá forever!”
Abuela smiled. “I’m glad you want to go,” she said. “But the nearest temple is in Concepción. We don’t have enough money for bus tickets.”
“I’ll help save for the trip!” Alonso said.
From then on, whenever Alonso found a coin on the street or had a chance to earn some money, he paid tithing and then added the rest to their temple fund.
After months of saving, Alonso and Abuela finally had enough money to travel to the temple. They asked Brother and Sister Silva to come with them. On the day of the trip, they took a long bus ride to the city of Concepción. It was almost sunset when Alonso spotted something gold in the distance.
“I can see the angel Moroni!” Alonso said, pointing to the statue on top of the temple’s blue dome roof.
They spent the night at an apartment next to the temple. In the morning, Alonso went inside the temple for the first time. He saw a big picture of Jesus. He and Abuela got dressed in white. He felt happy and peaceful.
When it was time for the sealing, Alonso walked into a beautiful room with mirrors on the walls. A temple worker showed Alonso, Abuela, and the Silvas how to kneel around a special table called an altar. It was covered in soft fabric.
Brother and Sister Silva were there for Alonso’s mom and dad. Abuela was there for his sister who died before Alonso was born.
Closing his eyes, Alonso imagined his family all together.
I can’t wait to see them again, Alonso thought. I’m so grateful families can be together forever!
See Come, Follow Me for Easter.