Gospel Story Finder

When I served as mission president in eastern Canada, there was a lovely lady who served as the secretary of the genealogy committee in one of our fine districts. How she labored in her assignment! This dear woman was responsible for much of the genealogical research that had been done in her area of Canada. But she had come to a seemingly insurmountable barrier which she could not penetrate. She went to her Heavenly Father, poured out her soul to Him, and literally made a plea that somehow He would intervene, somehow the way would be opened. Without waiting for a specific answer, she continued her research.

One day she was traveling down the main street of Belleville, Ontario, and came to an old bookstore. She felt compelled to enter the bookstore, and as she perused the countless array of books, her eye caught a two-volume set on a top shelf, and she knew she had to see those books. She asked the clerk for assistance, and when he handed them to her, she read the titles: Pioneer Life on the Bay of Quinte, volumes 1 and 2. She turned to the first page, the second, and the third. Those two volumes contained nothing but family history from the first page to the last. One volume supplied the key which opened the lock to the mystery which had frustrated her work.

She was elated until she asked the price, and then her elation turned to doubt. “Two hundred dollars for the two rare volumes,” said the clerk. However, the quorum of elders in the district was able to purchase those two volumes after their worth had been verified. The books were sent to the genealogical archives in Salt Lake City, and it was reported that they also provided some of the missing keys to the research of the late President Henry D. Moyle of the First Presidency, for some of his forebears had come from the Bay of Quinte near Belleville, Ontario. A great blessing had been realized because a dear woman with “faith, nothing wavering,” had performed her duty.

Before I was five years old, I had discovered that the walkway of vinyl between our dining room and our kitchen was a good place to sulk, especially when I wanted my dissatisfaction to be noticed. I would sit there for a long time and feel that no one understood or loved me.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. My teenage sister, Rebecca, found me there one evening before dinner. She knelt down and quietly said to me, “Manda, let’s go count your freckles.”
It was a simple suggestion but so kindly put forth that I forgot my frowns and followed her to the bathroom mirror. She set up a stool for me so I’d be tall enough to see my nose up close in the mirror. With her chin resting on my head, she started with number one, and I helped her as high as I could count. I remember proudly entering the kitchen with the announcement that I had more than a thousand freckles, and we hadn’t even finished counting.
With just a small investment of her time and energy, my sister had changed my black mood. And, although my sulkiness that night probably wouldn’t have lasted very long, by giving me some positive attention, Rebecca insured me against the next time I felt unhappy.

Our family was returning from a weekend getaway to Peace River, Alberta, Canada, about five hours north of our home in Edmonton. Darkness had long since descended on the northern landscape, and although the wind was blowing snow wildly across the road in front of us, all seemed peaceful and calm inside our van.
Suddenly an ominous warning light appeared on the dashboard. I had seen it only once before, years ago, and now I feared what was in store. I quickly turned off all unnecessary power, but the engine soon stalled. I knew we had traveled several kilometers since we had passed the last town, and it would be many more kilometers before we reached the next town. I could not even remember the last time we had encountered a vehicle going in either direction.
As we desperately considered our options, our 11-year-old son, Casson, said, “We need to pray—now!” Not three months before, Casson had been devastated by the loss of his younger brother, who had passed away from cancer. How many prayers had Casson sent up to heaven as he struggled to understand why he had lost his only brother?
My wife and I were not sure how fully he had understood our explanation that our prayers need to be aligned with Heavenly Father’s will and not necessarily with our own desires. Yet here he was, showing us that we needed to turn to Heavenly Father and continue to have faith in Him.
Not long after we had finished praying, the headlights of an approaching vehicle began to sparkle in our rearview mirror. Within seconds a long flatbed truck en route to Edmonton stopped in front of us.
As the driver and I approached each other, he asked in a thick French Canadian accent, “Do you have any children in that van?” When I told him yes, he said he had passed another stopped vehicle several miles back but had not pulled over because of the bad weather. However, as he had approached us, he felt a distinct impression that we had children who needed his help. As a result, he stopped.
Within a few minutes he had our vehicle winched onto his truck, and we were heading to Edmonton. It was a cold trip back, but we were warmed by the sweet confirmation that Heavenly Father does hear prayers. Sometimes the answers come in ways we don’t envision, and sometimes the answers are more powerful and direct than we can ever imagine. We just need to have faith and trust in the Lord.

Troy knocked on the door of room 803.
Mrs. Palmerton, his high school teacher, opened the door, but only a crack because of the chain lock.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice weak.
“I got the Alka-Seltzer you wanted.”
She opened the door wide enough to take the package. Troy could see beads of sweat on her forehead.
“Are you still throwing up?” he asked.
“Twice since you left for the medicine. Maybe it’s the flu—or food poisoning. Except we both ate the same thing on the plane, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, whatever it was.”
“Troy,” she said, her voice momentarily resuming the authority of a teacher, “be sure to practice your presentation tonight. Remember you give it tomorrow morning at 11:00. If I get to bed now and rest, I’ll be okay by then. Now here’s 20 dollars for supper. You can eat downstairs in the hotel restaurant. But don’t go outside by yourself tonight, will you? New York isn’t a place you can just walk around in. There are pickpockets and gangs and who knows what else waiting out there to prey on tourists like us. So just stay in your room tonight. But tomorrow, after your presentation, we’ll take one of those nice bus tours where you don’t actually have to get out …”
She would have continued but got sick again and had to leave him.
His room was next to hers. All expenses were paid for by the school board back home in Idaho as a reward for winning the state competition.
He entered his room and chained it the way Mrs. Palmerton had told him. Then he walked to the window and looked out. Across the street was a building with cubicle offices stacked in endless rows and columns. There were people in the offices. He wondered what they did all day.
Half a block away stood a huge billboard of a girl wearing designer jeans. She was winking at him.
Farther away, down a side street, he could see a flashing neon sign outlining a woman’s form. It flashed consecutively in oranges, reds, and pinks.
On the street, January winds swooped through the concrete canyons, giving momentary life to the cardboard and plastic litter. Taxis and buses and black limousines driven by men in dark suits honked and intimidated their way home.
It was 4:30 New York time, but only 2:30 on his watch, which was still set to Mountain standard time.
He took one last disapproving glance then turned from the window.
At least I can always watch TV, he thought.
On top of the TV he discovered a small metallic black box. In front there was a white button and, below that, three black buttons marked “A,” “B,” and “C.”
A poster on the box told about full-length uncut movies available to hotel guests. All you had to do was to push the white button then one of the lower buttons to make a selection. The cost was only five dollars and was automatically added to the bill.
A booklet described which movies were being shown that day. Two of them, the ones designated by “A” and “B,” he had seen, but not the third one. Movie “C” was X-rated.
The booklet said that by turning to channel 3 he could see a preview of the three movies available that night.
He decided it wouldn’t hurt to see the preview.
When the preview was over, he realized he was in trouble.
He wanted to watch movie “C.”
He watched the preview one more time, then became ashamed for even watching that, and then turned the TV off and began to pace the floor.
The white button and then the “C” button, he thought. That’s all there is to it. It’s all done with a computer. Nobody even knows.
Mrs. Palmerton will know when she pays the bill, he thought.
No she won’t. The bill will just say I saw one of the three. I can tell her I saw the “A” movie. There’s nothing wrong with the “A” movie. She doesn’t need to know. Besides, it’s her fault I’m trapped in this room tonight anyway.
In his hometown there was a theater that only showed X-rated movies. People had tried to close it down but had never succeeded.
One time in priesthood meeting, the priests’ adviser asked if they had ever thought about going to any of the movies at that theater.
“Troy, how about you?”
“I guess I’ve thought about it, but I’d never go.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just my luck you’d drive by just as I was going into it,” he said, only half joking.
“Is that the only reason you don’t go?”
“No. I don’t go because I know it’s not good to have that stuff in your mind.”
He stood before the black box, touching its smooth surface. Nobody would know, he thought. It’s all done with a computer. Nobody knows what you watch.
He turned the TV on to see what was on the network channels. News and reruns and a cooking show with a lady plucking a goose.
Nothing good on, he thought, turning it off again.
He returned to the window. The girl in jeans was still winking at him.
But she winks at everybody, he thought. Millions of people a day.
He went back to the TV and looked up the movie schedule. The next showing of movie “C” was at 5:30, just 15 minutes away.
It’s just a movie, he thought. It’s not going to kill me to see a movie.
He looked outside and thought how dirty everything looked.
Finally he took some hotel stationery from the desk and sat down and drew a long line through the middle of the page. On the left he put a heading, “Why I should,” and on the right another heading, “Why I shouldn’t.”
Quickly he wrote down the reasons why he should watch movie “C”: (1) Because I want to. (2) I don’t have anything else to do. (3) Nobody will know. (4) How do I know it’s bad unless I see for myself?
Then he listed the reasons why he shouldn’t watch it.
The first reason he listed was: Karen.
Karen was a girl in his ward. They had dated for the last few months.
“Do you know when I like you most?” she had asked a few weeks ago.
“When I wear my aftershave and my sweater and get to use my dad’s car,” he answered.
“No, not then,” she smiled. “It’s in sacrament meeting when I watch you break the bread and bless the sacrament. You look so, well, clean.”
He grinned at her. “After all the money I’ve sunk for aftershave, you tell me that.”
“It must be neat to hold the priesthood, to realize that the Savior was the first one to give that prayer and that in a way you’re standing in for him.”
“I’ve never thought about it like that before,” he said quietly.
Another time he had driven her home from church. They sat in the car while she told him about her lesson that day. The bishop’s wife had come to talk to the Laurels.
“She said one thing that really impressed me,” Karen said. “‘You never know but that the guy you’re dating may some day turn out to be your bishop. It happened to me, didn’t it? You treat him like a future bishop.’ So that’s what I’m going to do, Troy.”
He wasn’t sure if he really wanted that or not, but it turned out okay. She still let him kiss her, but now only on the steps to her house, not in a parked car.
The second reason he listed was: The bishop would find out.
He’d find out because I’d end up telling him, he thought.
It was only a month ago since he had had an interview with the bishop.
“Are you morally clean?”
“I think so.”
The bishop didn’t leave it at that. “What does it mean to you to be morally clean?”
“Well, you know,” he stammered, “keeping your body clean, and things like that.”
“Okay—what kinds of things?”
Bit by bit Troy told what he understood. With each new addition to the definition, the bishop had asked, “And are you free from that problem?”
At that time the bishop was satisfied. But if he pushed the “C” button, the next interview would be different, because he knew he wouldn’t lie to the bishop.
The bishop would be disappointed in me, he thought, staring again at the “C” button.
The third reason on the list was: Dad.
It was just over a year since his father had ordained him a priest. He still remembered part of the ordination. “Always remember the priesthood isn’t like clothing you can take off when you enter a room. The priesthood goes wherever you go. Don’t take it into places or situations where it doesn’t belong.”
The fourth reason was: It won’t tell the truth about love.
Three years ago his mother had brought home from the hospital her sixth baby, a girl named Becky. He had held her that first day she was home and touched her tiny fingers and toes. She was beautiful to him.
His mother nursed Becky, and Troy sensed that experience was good for the baby, to have the time and closeness with her mother.
Troy knew his mother and father loved each other very much, even more than they loved any of the children in the family. They kissed and hugged in front of the children and held hands sometimes in church.
That was love, he thought, not like movie “C.”
The fifth reason was: God would know.
Even though I am alone in the room, He would know what I do. I can’t hide anything from Him.
The last reason: I would know.
He finished the list and stood up. It was 6:00. He had missed the time for the 5:30 showing of movie “C.”
I’ve won, he thought. I am strong. Nothing can weaken me.
He decided to go down to the lobby and look around. There was a store in the lobby, and he decided to buy some gum.
At eye level, there were magazines with pictures on the covers like none he’d ever seen in the small grocery store in his hometown.
I could buy one of those, he thought.
No, I’d be too embarrassed to buy one. The lady at the cash register would wonder what kind of person I am to buy something like that.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see her again.
I’ve got to get out of this rotten place, he thought, leaving suddenly.
He walked around the lobby and watched people and tried to imagine what they were doing in the hotel. Some had French or German accents.
A few minutes later he returned to his room.
He turned on the TV to see what was on the regular channel. More news and a mayor telling people to fix the drips in their faucets.
I’m strong, he thought. I could watch the preview again and still not push the “C” button. Nothing can weaken me.
He watched the preview again, and the same battle erupted all over again.
The next showing was at 7:30—just 45 minutes away.
Then after that, he thought, there’s one at 9:30, then 11:30. I’m going to give in sometime—it might as well be now.
He glanced at his list on the desk, read it again, then crumpled it up and threw it away.
Looking outside, he saw the flashing lights blinking on and off outlining a woman’s form in harsh reds, oranges, and pinks.
Then he watched the preview again.
Finally he turned it off. Except for the noise from honking taxis, the room was quiet, but inside his head a battle raged on, and he knew he was losing.
He walked to the set and glared at the buttons as if they were the enemy. The white button and then the “C” button. That’s all there is to it.
The TV was off, and he knew it didn’t count, but he pushed the white button and then the “C” button.
Now just turn it on and do that, he thought. It’s so easy. Nobody will ever know. lt’s done by a computer, and computers don’t care what you do.
“No!” he said loudly.
He turned and sunk to his knees by the bed.
“Father in Heaven, I need help, and I need it now.”
He pleaded with the Lord for help and, when it was over, he decided he had to leave the room until 7:30 had passed.
He put on his jacket and went downstairs.
I should eat sometime, he thought, walking aimlessly around the hotel lobby. lt’s 5:30 in Idaho—Mom is fixing supper.
On his third lap around the lobby he noticed a list of churches on a bulletin board. He decided to see if the Mormon Church was listed. It was.
If I skip supper, I can go there and see what it’s like.
In his pocket he felt the 20 dollar bill Mrs. Palmerton had given him for supper. He remembered she advised him not to go out because of the bad things that lurked outside, but they didn’t seem as threatening as what lurked in his own room.
He walked outside. A man in a red uniform asked, “You want a taxi?”
He nodded his head.
The man put a whistle to his lips and blew hard. A taxi, one of a long line, pulled up. The man in the uniform opened the door and Troy got in.
“2 Lincoln Square,” he said, faking confidence.
They drove very fast through the streets. He enjoyed looking at the passing buildings.
In a few minutes they were there. The ride only cost three dollars.
He stepped out and looked around and wondered where the church was.
There he saw two girls, talking quickly in Spanish. They entered a door of a building on the corner.
They look like Mormons, he thought, following them inside. The first thing he saw was a display case telling about the gold plates. A nice lady sat at a desk and smiled at him.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I’m a Mormon from Idaho.”
“How nice. My husband and I are serving a mission here, but we’re from Pocatello.”
When her husband came down, she let him take over while she showed Troy the visitor’s center. There was a lifelike scene of the Prophet Joseph Smith in the grove.
When they finished the tour, he asked about the two girls he had seen.
“They belong to the Spanish-speaking ward that meets here also. They have activity night tonight. If you’d like to look in, we can get on the elevator and I’ll show you where to go.”
When he stepped out of the elevator, it was just like any Mormon meetinghouse. They were having a dance in the cultural hall. He walked inside and sat down to watch.
A lady was teaching the group how to dance the rhumba.
Their only problem was a lack of guys.
A girl walked up to him, and in a machine-gun-like stream of Spanish, asked him something.
“What?” he grinned.
She started to laugh.
“I’m from Idaho,” he said.
She didn’t seem to understand, so he tried another word she might know. He pointed to himself. “Cowboy.”
“Cowboy?” she asked in awe.
“Cowboy.”
She called one of the guys over and pointed to Troy and said, “Cowboy.”
“Cowboy?” the guy smiled. He knelt down, challenging Troy to an arm wrestling contest.
Before long they all gathered around and watched. The two were evenly matched, but finally Troy’s arm began to ache, and he lost.
His opponent laughed and began slapping him on the back.
A minute later, the girl grabbed his arm and took him out on the dance floor.
He didn’t understand the words of the dance instructor, but he could watch and learn. Before long he had it down.
Then it was time for refreshments. He and the girl ate and giggled.
The bishop came over and introduced himself. He spoke English too. The girl’s name was Maria, and the guy he’d arm wrestled was her brother. They’d come to the states only a few months ago. Maria and her brother had been members of the Church only three weeks.
Maria began talking very seriously, and although he couldn’t understand the words, he knew she was bearing her testimony.
They danced for half an hour more; then they had a closing prayer.
Before they left the cultural hall, Maria gave him a huge crepe paper flower used as a decoration for the refreshment table.
They went down to the first floor. When the bishop came, Troy asked him how he could get a taxi.
“Easy,” the bishop smiled. He walked a little ways into the street and stuck his arm straight up. A few seconds later, a taxi pulled up and stopped.
Troy got in the taxi, waved at them, and said with a cheerful confidence, “Take me to the New York Hilton.”
A few minutes later he entered his room. It was 10:00.
The phone rang. “Troy, is that you?” Mrs. Palmerton said. “I’ve been calling for the past hour. I was so worried. Where have you been?”
“I took a taxi down by Lincoln Center and went to a dance. I learned to do the rhumba and the bossa nova.”
She gasped. “You went outside?”
“I took a taxi.”
“But who were you dancing with?”
“Friends.”
“You have friends in this town?” He smiled and thought about the Church. “I have friends in every town.”
She gave him a parting list of instructions, then hung up.
He placed the crepe paper flower on the TV. It was so big it covered up the black box.
A few minutes later, his teeth brushed, pajamas on, he took one last look outside.
Nice town, he thought to himself.

By following her parents’ counsel, Makena, who is the oldest in the family, is also setting an example for her younger sister and brothers to follow. For instance, she has taken to heart what she has learned about personal prayer.

“I like to pray,” she says. “That’s a good thing. I like to be able to pray wherever I am, in any situation.” Prayer even works in school, she says. Once she was intimidated by a history teacher who would ask questions and assign homework if you gave the wrong answer. “I prayed she wouldn’t call on me or that I would know the answer,” says Makena. She wasn’t called on, but more importantly, she says, “I felt peace.”

A few weeks before leaving to serve a full-time mission, I went to visit the home of an old friend who was not a member of the Church. I intended to stay for just a few minutes, but due to a heavy rainstorm, I had to stay longer than anticipated. So my friend, his mother, and I sat down and began to talk about the Church and my upcoming mission.
I explained that I might be assigned to serve in cities such as Rio de Janeiro, Belo Horizonte, or Brasília.
For some reason, my friend’s mother decided to give me the address of her sister who lived in a town near Rio de Janeiro. She said that I should go and visit her if I were ever sent there.
I left for my mission on July 7, 1982. I served in many different cities, including one near the place my friend’s aunt lived. I thought about visiting her, but her home was not in my area. I didn’t tell the missionaries assigned to that area about her because I was still hoping I would be able to go myself.
At that time, missionaries served for 18 months. The time passed without seeing my friend’s aunt and her family.
Years later, while attending a ward social, I happened to see my nonmember friend. I learned that he had been invited by one of his relatives, an aunt named Etiene who had recently been baptized into the Church. I then found out that Aunt Etiene had just moved into our ward from the state of Rio de Janeiro. I quickly came to love his aunt Etiene, and we loved to talk together about our memories of Rio de Janeiro. To my embarrassment, I learned that she was the same woman I wanted to visit during my mission. She had been baptized only recently, after the unexpected death of her husband.
Fortunately, she has forgiven me for not encouraging other missionaries to visit her. However, she was disappointed over the time she lost while she was not enjoying the blessings of the gospel.

During the night a little bird had been blown from its nest by the high winds in the storm. Apparently hatched just a few days earlier, it had few feathers, but enough to be identified as just a common sparrow.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman walking to her car in the parking lot saw the little sparrow and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless little bird, she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues, which were changed often to keep a clean and comfortable bed for the little bird.
She fed it often each day, watching it gain strength, and within a few days it opened its eyes and could see for the first time. It saw the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It heard and became accustomed to the sounds around it, and it was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage.
The sparrow trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings rapidly, and when the cage door was opened it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand as she walked through the house and even when she went outside. To help it become accustomed to the outside world where it soon would have to live, she would take it out on the lawn where she and her sister would sit under the tree and visit while the bird would look and observe all around it.
It came time for the girl and her sister to go to girls’ camp, so the bird went with them and spent the week on Cedar Mountain with the girls. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flying from the girl’s hand to the low branches in a nearby tree.
The bird was glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love, and although it was learning to fly, it did not leave. When the girls’ camp was over, the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
The girl, realizing the bird must soon join its own kind, took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. The girl left it there, assuming it would now join the other birds, and she returned into the home.
It wasn’t long before a chirping could be heard outside in front of the home, and when the girl went out to see what the bird was chirping about, it flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the first few nights the bird would come back to the house and want to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends, living in the trees close by the home. When the girl would go outside and whistle, it would respond and return and land on her hand, and my daughter, Trinilee, would feed it.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend and could be in great danger for its life amongst humans, it trusted her and had faith it would not be harmed and would be fed by her—and it responded to her beckoning call.
Have you ever wondered about our faith? Do we have that kind of trust and faith in the Lord? Do we respond to His beckoning call to serve and be fed at His hand?
We should strive to be in His presence and to respond to His call, yet many of us lack the faith and the trust to come unto the Lord when He calls. He is calling us today to be faithful and to trust Him, that He might feed us.
The Savior, speaking through the Prophet Joseph Smith, said to John Whitmer: “And now, behold, I say unto you, that the thing which will be of the most worth unto you will be to declare repentance unto this people, that you may bring souls unto me, that you may rest with them in the kingdom of my Father. Amen” (D&C 15:6).
I believe our Heavenly Father, and I trust Him. When He reveals to us, speaking through our living prophet today, that we need to do more and that more of us need to become involved in the work of bringing souls unto Christ, then we need to step forward and say, “Here am I; send me” (Isa. 6:8).
I truly love my Heavenly Father and our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, and I am grateful for the many blessings and opportunities They have given me. I pray with all my heart and soul that I can measure up to the plans They have for me, whatever those plans may be.
I pray we will all show the kind of faith and trust in the Lord that the little sparrow demonstrated in my daughter and that we will respond to the call of the Lord.

When it was time for them to leave, Brigham was so sick he couldn’t stand up. His wife, with a newborn child, was also sick, as were his children. Determined to fulfill his promise to the Lord and go on a mission, Brigham crawled out of the house and staggered to a wagon. After a painful ride to the river’s edge, and then across the river, he lay on the ground for a long time. A horseman came along and gave him a ride to the Kimball home where he found Heber also sick. The two men lay bed-ridden for a week or two, but finally determined that they had to be about the Lord’s business. They got up, arranged for a wagon to take them out of town, and said good bye to their wives (Mary Ann had come across the river to help nurse Brigham). Weakened by their illness, the two men climbed into the wagon and lay down. Brother Kimball said to Brigham, “Let’s not leave them this way.” They staggered to their feet, waved their hats and shouted, “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Zion!” and collapsed to the floor of the wagon.

Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.

“For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”

Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”

When our children were missionaries, they learned that when we stand as a witness of Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost will confirm that testimony. One of our daughters had a golden investigator named JieLei. This young adult woman obeyed each new commandment she was taught, no matter how difficult. She was a student struggling to make ends meet financially, but she began paying her tithing when she learned about that law. Her part-time job required her to work on Sunday, but she had the courage to ask her employer if he could change her hours to another day so that she could attend sacrament meeting.
In spite of her diligence, JieLei still did not have a firm testimony of the Book of Mormon. Our daughter and her companion knew that she needed a witness from the Spirit to confirm its truth, so they prepared a lesson for her about the Holy Ghost. As they worked on it, somehow it didn’t feel quite right. When they prayed about it, they felt impressed to go a different direction, to give a lesson instead about Jesus Christ.
When the appointed meeting came, these missionaries began teaching JieLei about Jesus Christ. Tears started streaming down her cheeks. She kept asking, “What is this I am feeling?” Then they bore witness to her that it was the Spirit. Exactly what they had wanted to have happen did happen. It was then that our daughter remembered that one of the great roles of the Holy Ghost is as a testifier of Christ. Jesus Himself said, “The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, … shall testify of me.” Our daughter realized that as she stood as a witness of Jesus Christ, the Holy Ghost confirmed it. We too can stand as witnesses as “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ” and look to Him as the source for “a remission of [our] sins.”

Not far from this tabernacle there lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then the husband and father. Friends visited; words brought a measure of comfort; but grief continued unrelieved.
The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world which surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the inspiration of the Lord which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

Living Christmas card. When I served as a missionary in Brazil, all of our appointments fell through on Christmas night, so I suggested to my companion, “Let’s be a live Christmas card and visit our neighbors!” To my surprise, we were well received at every house. As we sang the wonderful hymns of Christmas and read their corresponding scriptures, I felt something extraordinary and profound. I understood more fully the love of the Savior, and I could see tears in the eyes of our neighbors who before had been so suspicious of us. After we returned home and had our dinner, I recorded the following in my journal: “Tonight we shared the birth of the King of kings with our neighbors. The Spirit magnified us and united us for eternity.”Nivaldo P., Brazil

I will always remember one time when I performed the sealing for an ancestor. She had lived a difficult life, including the death of her first husband, the death of a toddler, and bankruptcy. During the sealing, the veil was thin, and the joy she felt while receiving her covenants was palpable. The Spirit filled my heart and the hearts of everyone in the room. It drew me closer to my Savior and gave me a surer witness of Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and the eternal nature of families.

David D’Arcy, 17, Adelaide. David was at a local shopping center when he and his friends were attacked by some other youth. “We were fighting,” he recalls with embarrassment. Suddenly the fight was broken up by the appearance of six men in suits, white shirts, and ties.
Later, a school friend introduced him to the missionaries—the same ones who had played peacemaker. David was baptized on his 17th birthday. “Those missionaries,” he says, “I love ’em.” Guess what David D’Arcy wants to be when he is 19.

It all adds up for Elizabeth Thompson, 14, of the Bangor Ward, Bangor Maine Stake. She was the first student ever chosen to represent Orono Junior High in the National Math Counts competition.
The competition involves geometry problem solving. Elizabeth was in high form for the event, held in Washington, D.C. She didn’t win but gained invaluable experience.
Elizabeth would one day like to be more involved in engineering technology and archaeology, but for now she spends time getting good grades, reading, and being involved in sports and theater.

A true story from the USA.
Edith listened to the pitter-patter of rain against the window. Drip, drip, drip.
She frowned. It had rained all day, and the sky was gray. It was cold and sad outside. Kind of like her.
She sat on a bench in a quiet corner, tugging on her itchy black dress. Her shiny new shoes were black too. She wished she was home instead of at the funeral place.
Her older cousin, Savannah, sat down next to her. “How are you doing?” Savannah asked. All her family had traveled to be at the funeral this morning. Everyone wore black clothes and looked sad.
Edith shrugged. “OK, I guess.” She didn’t really want to talk. Her dad had died a few days ago in an accident. She felt all twisted up inside thinking about it. She missed him so much.
Savannah reached an arm around her, and Edith leaned in. She was grateful for her cousin. But why did God have to take her dad away from them?
“Is God mad at me?” Edith asked.
Savannah frowned. “Why do you think that?”
Edith looked at her shoes. “He took my daddy away.”
Edith felt tears in her eyes. She looked up to see Savannah wiping away a few tears of her own.
“Edith,” Savannah said, “Heavenly Father isn’t mad at you at all. He loves you and your family so much. Sometimes things happen that we don’t understand, but He always loves us.”
“Really?” Edith asked.
Savannah nodded. “Really. It can help to remember that you’ll see your dad again! Because Jesus Christ was resurrected, we’ll all be resurrected too.” She smiled. “And we can try to remember all of the things we love about your dad to keep him close.”
Edith thought about her dad. He loved talking about Jesus. He had the best smile and the funniest laugh. He gave the best hugs. And he always cheered her up when she was feeling sad. Suddenly, she felt warm, like she was getting a hug right from her dad.
She looked up. “That helps a little. But I’m still sad.”
“It’s OK to be sad. I’m really sad too,” Savannah said. “We all miss your dad a lot.”
Edith thought about something she had learned in Primary. “Heavenly Father can help us when we’re sad,” she said. “Can we say a prayer right now?”
Savannah nodded, and they folded their arms.
“Heavenly Father, thank Thee for Jesus and His Resurrection,” Edith said. “Thank Thee for always loving us. Please take care of my dad. Please help us to remember him and keep him close in our hearts. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Edith opened her eyes and took a deep breath.
When they walked out of the building, it was still cold and rainy. But now there was a tiny ray of sunshine peeking out through the gray clouds. It still seemed sad outside, but now, it felt just a little bit hopeful too. Kind of like her.

I was leaving junior high school, embarking on a new adventure riddled with unknown possibilities and, of course, filled with fun. Little did I know that the first few months of high school would feel disastrous and ultimately change my life.
It all started normally enough for a freshman. I felt small at this new, big school. Everything seemed twice as big, but it was nice knowing I was going through this with my friends. When we checked our class schedules, we saw that I didn’t have any classes with my friends. As the weeks passed, we drifted apart. Instead of the close relationship we’d once shared, I would be lucky to see the backs of their heads as they walked in another direction.
My lunch hour was miserable. I tried to make myself look busy, like making several unneeded trips to my locker to retrieve books I didn’t need, tying my shoes, or pretending to look for someone who would never be found. I guess I wasn’t very good at pretending, because my older brother, Shawn, noticed.
Since my childhood, Shawn was always there, whether it was teasing me incessantly or putting his arm around me after a bad day. He never really asked me what was wrong; he just knew. He started inviting me to eat lunch with him and his friends. When I was with him, he never ignored me. I remember him yelling, “Hey, Sis!” and walking over to put his arm around me.
Slowly I became stronger, and I became comfortable in my own skin. I realized I didn’t need my old friends to define who I was. I had my brother, my friend.

What am I going to do? I can’t bear my testimony. I don’t have a testimony! I thought.
It was family home evening, and Mom had taught the lesson. “I think it’d be very nice if we all took some time to share our testimonies with each other,” she said excitedly. “I’ll go first.”
At least she started on the other side of the room. It felt like Mom was looking right at me as she began. Who is Jesus, anyway? I wondered. I had heard all the stories, gone to Primary, but I still didn’t know Him. What if it is really just a story? Mom seemed to really feel what she was saying, like she really believed it was true.
Mom ended her testimony, and then it was Tiffany’s turn. She began, “I want to bear my testimony. I know the Church is true, I know there is a true prophet. …”
How does she know that? She’s only 10! I thought as I listened to her go on like it was so simple. It wasn’t simple, though—not for me. I didn’t know if I believed it, any of it. I had so many questions.
Tiffany finished, and it was Danny’s turn. He sped through bearing his testimony, and then everyone was looking at me.
I thought about just saying I had a testimony. But I decided I would just tell the truth. They are going to be so mad.
“Jennie, it’s your turn. Would you bear your testimony, please?”
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t know if it’s true. I’m sorry.” Dreading what they would say and how they would react, I ran to my room and threw myself onto my bed.
Mom followed quickly and sat down on the bed next to me. She reached forward and gently patted me on the back.
“Jennie …”
“Mom, I just don’t know if I believe it like you do. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.”
“Well, it’s about time!” she said.
“What?” Surprised, I sat up.
“You’re 13 years old. It’s about time you started questioning and searching for yourself. You can’t live off of your father’s testimony or mine. You have to figure it out for yourself now.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“No. It’s OK that you don’t have a testimony now, but you have to decide what you’re going to do about it. You must find out for yourself,” Mom said.
“What should I do?”
“Read the Book of Mormon. Then pray about it. Ask God.”
“How will I know?” I asked.
“You’ll feel it. He’ll tell your heart.” She smiled, got up from the bed, and left my room.
Moved by my mother’s advice, I determined to read the Book of Mormon and find out if what my parents had taught me was true.
A few months later I came to the last chapter in the Book of Mormon. I remember thinking about Moroni’s promise as I knelt down beside my bed. I wondered if it really could be that simple.
As I began to pray, a feeling of peace and assurance came over me—so much so that I felt guilty for having even doubted. In that sweet moment, the Lord planted a seed in my heart that has since become a growing testimony of the truth.

While camped on the Bear River, Brigham Young contracted mountain fever and became so ill that he could not continue to travel. It was decided that eight wagons and several men would stay behind with him, and the rest would go on. But as the main group moved on, others were stricken with the fever. The pioneers decided to let the sick rest while an advance company with 23 wagons and 42 men led by Orson Pratt scouted out the best route through the mountains.
The advance party found the Donner Trail, made the year before, and began to follow it. The trail was very rough, so the men spent much of their time clearing trees and leveling the ground for those behind them.
On 21 July 1847, Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow went down Emigration Canyon ahead of the others to scout out the area. They had only one horse, so they took turns walking and riding. A few miles from the mouth of the canyon, Erastus realized that he had lost his coat. He took the horse and turned back to find it. Orson walked on alone and was the first of the pioneers to set foot in the Salt Lake Valley. He and Erastus returned to camp, and the next day the advance company entered the Salt Lake Valley and headed north.
On 23 July they traveled to an area near where the Salt Lake Temple now stands. Orson Pratt called everyone together and led them in a prayer of thanksgiving and of dedicating themselves and the land to the Lord. After the prayer, the pioneers immediately went to work unpacking the wagons, establishing a settlement, and plowing the dry, hard land so that it could be planted. On that same day, Brigham Young and his group crossed Big Mountain. From its summit, President Young looked out of the carriage he was riding in and declared: “This is the right place. Drive on.”* The next day, 24 July, the last of the company arrived in the valley. It had taken the pioneers 111 days to make the journey to the Salt Lake Valley.
Sunday, 25 July 1847, the Saints worshiped and gave thanks for their safe journey. It had been a long trip, and for many years Saints would continue to sacrifice to cross the plains—but at last a place had been found where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints could prosper.

Heber gave so generously because of his love for his fellowman and because of his faith in the Lord’s promises. As a young man, he had attended a Church meeting and heard an appeal for donations. After the meeting, he handed his bishop $50. The bishop returned $45 to him and said that $5 was his fair share. Heber returned the entire $50 to the bishop, saying, “‘Bishop Woolley, didn’t you preach here today that the Lord would reward fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.’ He said: ‘My boy, do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?’ I said: ‘Certainly.’ Well, he took it.” As Heber walked from the meeting, he got an idea. He wired a man he didn’t know and completed a business transaction. Heber’s profit was $218.50. The next day he went to his bishop and said: “I have made two hundred eighteen dollars and fifty cents, after paying that fifty dollars donation the other day, and so I owe twenty-one dollars and eighty-five cents in tithing. I will have to dig up the difference between twenty-one dollars eighty-five cents and eighteen dollars fifty cents. The Lord did not quite give me the tithing in addition to his ‘four to one’ income.”