Gospel Story Finder

Kate looked at the kitchen table covered with dirty supper dishes, trying to decide where to start. “It’s hard to believe that summer’s almost over,” she sighed as she started to stack the plates.
“I know what you mean,” Becky said. “It’s our last week of summer vacation, and we still haven’t gone to the new water park. Do you think Mom will take us there if we ask?”
“Maybe,” Kate said as she carried the plates to the sink. “But I know that Mom’s really busy this week. And we did a lot of fun things this summer. We just didn’t go to the water park.”
Becky followed Kate back into the dining room. She leaned against the table while her sister gathered up the glasses and utensils. “Yes—if you call driving all day to get to a family reunion fun,” she muttered.
“It was fun,” said Kate. “You’re just being ornery.” She picked up four glasses and headed back to the kitchen. Becky followed.
“It was all right,” Becky agreed, “but I’ll bet we’re the only two kids in our whole school who haven’t gone to the water park.”
Losing patience, Kate turned to Becky. “Will you please stop complaining and help me with the dishes?”
Rolling her eyes, Becky opened the dishwasher and was starting to load the dirty dishes, when their mom came in.
“Thank you for doing the dishes,” Mom said. “I appreciate all the work the two of you do.”
“No problem, Mom.” Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” Becky agreed. “We were just saying that it’s too bad that the summer’s almost over and we never made it to the new water park.”
“That is a shame,” Mom said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning. If you two will clean the garage while I’m gone, I’ll stop and buy tickets to the water park, and we can go when I get home.”
“That would be great!” Becky exclaimed.
“It’s a deal,” Kate said.
“Cleaning the garage is a big job. Do you think you can do it without me?”
“No problem,” Becky said.
The next morning Kate jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. Mom had already left. “Good morning,” Kate greeted her grandmother.
“Good morning, dear. Are you ready for your breakfast?”
Kate nodded and followed her grandmother into the kitchen. “Becky and I are going to clean the garage. Then Mom is going to take us to the new water park.”
“That’s what your mother told me,” said Grandma. “Would you please go wake Becky.”
“Sure.”
“What’s the big hurry?” Becky grumped when Kate tried to talk her into getting up.
“We need to eat breakfast and start cleaning the garage.”
“No, we don’t. You heard what Mom said. She’s picking up the tickets while she’s out. She’s not going to tell us that we can’t go after she’s already bought the tickets.”
Kate frowned. “But we made a deal.”
“If you’re so worried, you go clean the garage. Tell Grandma that I’ll have breakfast later. Right now I need to figure out which swimming suit I want to wear.”
Kate trudged back down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked.
“Becky says she’s not going to help. She thinks Mom will let us go even if we don’t clean the garage.”
“What do you think?” Grandma asked.
“We said we would clean the garage,” said Kate, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” said Grandma, “you’ve made your decision, and you’ll have to let Becky make hers. Sometimes we want to make other people’s decisions for them, but we can’t.”
After breakfast, Kate marched out to the garage and looked around, trying to figure out where to start. She decided to start by moving everything she needed to so that she could sweep out the leaves that had collected around the edges. At first she was angry at Becky for not helping, but soon her thoughts turned to the job that she was doing.
When Mom arrived home, Kate was organizing cans of food storage on a shelf.
“Where’s your sister?” Mom asked.
“In the house,” Kate answered.
“Isn’t she helping?”
Kate shook her head.
Just then Becky appeared in the doorway. “Hi, Mom,” she said cheerfully. “Did you get the tickets?”
“Yes I did,” said Mom. “Did you help clean the garage?”
“I was just coming to help.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Becky looked over at Kate and smiled an I-told-you-so smile. Her smile disappeared fast when Mom added, “You can finish cleaning it while Kate and I are at the water park.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep your end of the bargain, so you may not come with us.”
Becky couldn’t believe her ears. “But didn’t you already buy me a ticket?”
“I bought tickets for the girls who kept their promises and cleaned the garage. Did you keep your promise?”
Becky hung her head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought that you’d let me go anyway.”
“You made a choice. You’ll have to live with the consequences.”
Tears streamed down Becky’s face. “That’s not fair.”
Mom put her arms around Becky. “I know it isn’t what you want,” Mom said, “but it is fair.”
Becky watched out the living room window as the car pulled away from the house. “I blew it, Grandma,” she said.
Grandma nodded. “You made a bad choice. What you need to do now is learn from your mistake. If your mom had taken you to the water park, you would have thought that it’s all right to make promises that you don’t intend to keep. And it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Now, I have a deal for you, if you are interested.”
Becky looked up. “What is it?”
“If you’ll go finish up the garage, when you’re done, we’ll bake some cookies for the family.”
“Chocolate chip?”
Grandma smiled. “Chocolate chip.”
“It’s a deal,” Becky said, heading toward the garage. “And this time I mean it.”

Last fall I watched the example of a 10-year-old boy in Armenia. As we waited for sacrament meeting to begin, he noticed the oldest member of the branch arrive. He was the one who quickly went to her side, offering his arm to steady her faltering steps. He assisted her to the front row of the chapel, where she could hear. Could his small act of kindness teach us that those who are greatest in the Lord’s kingdom are those who look for opportunities to serve others?

I remember one day when I was feeling hopeless and stuck. I was crying to my best friend about a weakness I have. A weakness I feel like I’ve always had.
It had been knocking me down, and honestly, I didn’t even want to try to get back up again. I’d been working toward receiving my endowment and serving a mission for a couple of years, but my struggle was holding me back. I didn’t feel like I was even worthy to keep trying to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That night, I just wanted to give up. But my friend’s love and support reminded me of a few experiences that keep my testimony strong and help me trust in the Savior’s power to change me.
Maybe they’ll help you too.
I have to be honest—I haven’t always believed Jesus Christ’s promise that He can “make weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). I’ve felt like I’ve messed up too many times and that His promise of forgiveness isn’t available to me.
But learning more about the gift of repentance has changed my approach to overcoming weakness. President Russell M. Nelson taught that “repenting is the key to progress.” Repentance isn’t something we do once we’ve fixed ourselves and are ready to move on from our struggles; it’s how we invite the Lord’s power into our lives.
I’ve often felt that Satan knows exactly how to discourage me. But as President Nelson also taught: “Please do not fear or delay repenting. Satan delights in your misery. Cut it short. … The Savior loves us always but especially when we repent.”
It’s taken a long time, but I’m finally learning to trust that the Savior wants me to repent. He wants me to return to live with Him and Heavenly Father.
The Savior’s endless invitations to repent helped me look at other gospel principles in a new light—like charity. In the Church, we define charity as “the highest, noblest, strongest kind of love, not merely affection; the pure love of Christ.” I’ve always believed in the importance of charity, but I don’t think I understood how to begin developing charity until I started understanding how the Savior’s offer to forgive my sins as often as I repent is an expression of His perfect love for me.
And when I started believing that the Savior would truly offer me endless opportunities to repent and come unto Him, I started to see the people around me differently. I realized that I could follow His example by practicing charity toward those who hurt me. I could extend forgiveness and understanding to those who unrighteously judged my imperfections.
These two principles—repentance and charity—have been the foundation of my efforts to allow Jesus Christ to change me. I’ve begun to see them as complementary and interlocking principles.
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, taught that “gratitude for the remission of sins is the seed of charity.” This has been true for me as I have changed through repentance and have felt gratitude for God’s love and forgiveness. And now I want others to experience God’s love as I have.
So on days when I lose motivation and am tempted to skip church or to let the important things slide, I remember that maybe I can bolster someone else. Maybe I can be an example to those around me who are also struggling.
The love I feel for my Savior and the charity I feel for those around me keep me strong. It reminds me of the charity He has for me. I’m still working on overcoming my weaknesses, but I know that trusting in His healing power will help me continue to grow and become more like Him.

As soon as the snow started to fall that day in January, I began listening for Jeremy. He was due back around 3:00 P.M., and I knew there wasn’t much chance of his plane being early. But every time I heard footsteps in the hall, I found myself watching for his head to poke through the door of our dorm room.
It wasn’t a question of missing him, although I guess I did. I can easily survive ten days without that skinny intellectual. The problem was, I was curious. Had his father shot him or not?
Jeremy was my roommate. The first day I walked into the dark cell that passes for our dorm room, Jeremy was sitting at his desk listening to classical music and reading a chemistry text as if it were a light novel. I hate classical music.
I walked in and set my luggage down on one of the two beds—the one that didn’t have crackers spilled on it. “Hi,” I said, holding out my hand across the narrow room. “I’m Paul Jones. I guess we’re roommates.”
“Jeremy Kahn,” he said, taking my hand and crushing it in fragile-looking fingers that felt like steel cables. I have milked cows all my life. Consequently, I have strong hands. I squeezed back hard to teach him a lesson—and made no impression whatsoever. I retrieved my mangled hand, and he smiled.
“I guess you’ve heard about my abnormality,” he said.
I checked him out for signs of leprosy, but he seemed pretty much intact.
“I’m Jewish,” he said.
“Oh, I should have known,” I said. “You look Jewish. But believe me, we Mormons have the greatest respect for the Jewish people. In fact—”
“What do you mean I look Jewish. He was frowning now.
“Oh, well, you know, Curly hair, dark eyes …”
“Go ahead, why not say it—‘big nose!’”
“Well, you do have a big nose.”
“So, do all Christians have small noses? Yours is no beauty.”
“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry if I offended you. There’s nothing wrong with looking Jewish.”
“There’s no such thing as looking Jewish,” he said. “I have Jewish friends with straight blond hair and blue eyes and pug noses.”
“So you look more Jewish than they do. You should be proud of it.”
He slammed down his chemistry book on the desk. “Stereotypes! You’re full of stereotypes. All you Mormons are!”
“Hey, watch it; that’s a stereotype!”
He looked at me for a moment as if deciding whether he should laugh or throw his book at me. Then he laughed. “I should warn you,” he said. “I’m going to be a problem.”
“Why are you going to be a problem?” I said. “Are you a genius or something? Do you practice black magic? You don’t look like much of a problem to me.”
“Actually I’m only a near-genius,” he said, “but I’m going to be a problem because you’re going to try to convert me to Mormonism, and I’m not going to convert.”
I held up my hands as if in shock and looked as innocent as I could. “Me try to convert you? Whatever gave you such a wild idea?”
“Because I’ve already had one guy in here mumbling something about the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph. The dorm mother had to tell me that she was of the tribe of Ephraim before she would give me my sheets. And then a guy with a Bible surgically attached to his right hand came in and informed me that I would never be happy until I accepted Christ as my Savior. And I’ve only been here a half hour!”
“The gospel is very precious to us Mormons,” I said. “We feel that we should share it with others.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “And a Jew would make a really fine trophy, wouldn’t he? You could have my head mounted and hung over your desk. And another endangered species bites the dust.”
“You’re being a little oversensitive, aren’t you?” I said, beginning to unpack.
“Yeah? Well, I guess you don’t know much about Jews, do you? Or about being a minority.”
“Look, buddy,” I said, “I’ll admit I’ve never known much about Jews. Or Buddhists. Or nuclear technology. But that doesn’t mean any of them is bad. And while we’re on the subject, I might add that every human being is a minority of one. Nobody else knows your heart, your mind, your fears, or your hopes because they’re yours alone. So let’s not be Jew and Mormon this year. Let’s be me and you. We’ll never really know what it would be like to be each other, but we can compare.”
When I finished he began to applaud. “Bravo!” he said, with his already-familiar sarcastic smile. “Where do I send my 25 cents for additional copies?”
I was just about to get mad then, but he held up a skinny hand, and his face broke into a real smile. “Shalom, Paul,” he said. “The fact is, I liked your speech, and I accept the Jones doctrine of co-existence. I think we can be friends.”
Just then I noticed an old tennis shoe on my side of the room, “What’s that?” I said.
Jeremy observed it carefully. “It appears to be my tennis shoe,”
“Well what’s it doing on my side of the room?”
He sighed and picked it up. “Just my luck,” he said. “Ten thousand roommates to choose from, and I get Felix Unger.”
When I came back from the bathroom a few minutes later, he had made my bed. I thanked him, never suspecting that he had short-sheeted it.
That night as I sat on my innocent-looking bed, I pondered my fate. Jeremy had not really been as different as I had expected. I hadn’t seen him wear a skull cap, and there was no menorah in sight. He’d eaten everything on his plate at dinner and had spoken English all day. I knew there were different kinds of Judaism as there are different kinds of Christianity, and I assumed that whatever kind he was, he knew what he was doing. We didn’t talk about religion at all that day, though we were together a lot, buying books and eating in the cafeteria and reading countless bulletin boards. But as I sat on my bed exhausted just before midnight, I realized we’d reached a moment of truth. How do you pray under scrutiny?
I decided I’d better get used to it and slid off the bed to my knees. My head sagged to the mattress in its usual way as I took my usual deep breath and started my nightly mumble in the mind. But I felt eyes burning holes in my back. I wondered why Jeremy’s eyes could chastise me so painfully while knowing for all my 18 years that “angels above us are silent notes taking” had never made me bat an eye. I straightened up and began again.
It was a longer than usual prayer because there was a lot more to discuss here than there’d ever been back home. Then I got up with aching knees and sat on the bed to wind my alarm clock. Somewhere down the hall a door slammed as heavy feet tore past our door. There were voices coming from every direction. I guess it’s true that dorms just get going at midnight.
“That was a long prayer,” Jeremy said. “Did you really memorize all that?”
“We don’t memorize our prayers,” I said. “We just pray from the heart.”
“Makes sense,” he admitted. “That way you know you’re on the right page.”
With that mountain crossed, I threw back my covers and thrust my feet as far as they’d go into the bed—which was all of about 30 inches.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jeremy said. “I thought Mormons slept kneeling.”
Much later I was scoring a lay-up for the Boston Celtics in overtime when something woke me up. I forced my eyes open wide enough to see Jeremy sitting on his bed in a warm-up suit, tying up his jogging shoes.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m putting on my prayer suit, can’t you see?”
“You’re what?”
“Look, Jones, you commune with the infinite by praying. I do it by jogging.”
I squinted at the clock. “It’s 5:45 A.M.,” I said.
“I know,” he said, going to the door. “I overslept.”
As the weeks went by, Jeremy and I discovered that we got along pretty well. For my part, once I got used to his dirty socks and used Bic pens being scattered on my side of the room, his 5:30 jogging schedule, and his devotion to classical music, I kind of liked the guy. Occasionally I had to challenge him to a game of one-on-one basketball to put him in his place, and it didn’t hurt my opinion of him that he could dribble behind his back and had a sweet jump shot from the top of the key. (Of course, he couldn’t afford to miss because I could outrebound him ten to one.) We talked (and argued) about a lot of things together, but the one thing we never talked about was his family. That surprised me because I had always heard that Jewish families were very close. I also made it a point not to preach religion to him, not yet anyway, knowing how he felt.
It was during general conference in October that things changed. During the Sunday morning session, which I was listening to on the radio in our room, he looked at me and asked, “Who are those guys you’re listening to?”
I explained General Authorities in about two sentences. He nodded and said, “That one talking now sounds just like my dad. If he were a General Authority, all he’d talk about is how Judaism’s dying out because of the rebellious young generation.”
“Does he really think it is?”
“He knows it is. In fact, it took me months to get him to say I could come to school here. He went crazy when we first talked about it. Said I’d turned my back on my heritage.”
That gave me a chance to bring up something I’d always wondered about. “Why did you come to school here?”
He laughed. “Because it was as far away from my father as I could get. I love him, but I needed to get away from him before he swallowed me up.”
Then I cleared my throat and really walked out on thin ice. “Jeremy, what do you think about your religion?”
He sat down and thought for a moment.
“I am a Jew,” he said. “Millions of people have suffered and died so that I could say that, and I’m not going to forget. I will always be a Jew. I’m more proud than I can say of being Jewish. But I’m talking about culture and tradition and heritage. When it comes to religion, well, I think it’s a good religion, like all the others. But bits and pieces of other religions I’ve run into make a lot of sense too. It seems to me that if dad would dare let me study religions and make my own decision, if Judaism is the only truth, I’d find out and be a better Jew. And if not … well, I don’t know, I’ve never considered that possibility. And then there’s Christ. It’s strange, but I find myself wishing it were true about him. It must be very comforting to believe in someone who loves you that much, even …” He was quiet for a moment. “And then there on the radio, all those men are saying stuff about faith and charity and morality, and it’s good stuff. Can’t some of it be right too? Of course, you think it is, and millions of others too, but my dad wouldn’t even listen. He’d condemn it in a minute. He misses a lot that way, I think.”
“Well, he’s not alone in that.”
“But if he’s wrong? What then? And if he’s right, what will become of all your little old men on the radio?”
I didn’t think I could say anything as effective as keeping my mouth shut, so I just sat back and let him think. In a minute he continued.
“It’s been bothering me for a while. I love my dad, and I love my heritage. For centuries my people have looked for a Messiah, and you Christians say he’s come. It would be so nice to surrender and stop looking. You Mormons paint such an attractive picture—eternal life after death with those we love, eternal progress. It would be nice to believe, easy almost. But we Jews have never taken the easy way. I’d rather stay out in the cold than come into a warmth that is only wishful thinking. My heart is divided in two. How am I supposed to put it back together?” He shifted his position at the desk. “Can you turn the radio up a bit? I guess I need to listen.”
Jeremy seemed to go into hiding during the next three days. He’d slip into our room late at night, sleep till around 6:00, and be gone again. I never saw him in his jogging outfit anymore, and he quit playing practical jokes. That worried me the most. If he wasn’t putting honey on the toilet seat or smearing shaving cream on the phone, he just wasn’t happy. Life had really gotten dull without all that. I assumed he was studying for midterms. He was premed, and his organic chemistry book alone weighed more than my mom’s Volkswagen. I thought I glimpsed him a couple of times going into the library, and once I was sure I saw him at the fourth floor reference desk, but by the time I got close, he had disappeared into a corner somewhere. I didn’t talk to him for almost a week until one day I came home from a ward football game to find him sitting on his bed reading a worn-looking paperback copy of the Book of Mormon. He jumped up, grabbed his sweater off the floor, and turned to leave.
“Hey, don’t leave,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all week. Is something wrong?”
He turned slowly from the half-opened door. “Yes,” he said bitterly. “Something is wrong. Everything is wrong! You and your Nephi and your little old men have ruined my life! I had a good life. I had a close family, a promising career, and not a complication in sight. And then you and your crummy Church came along and destroyed it all. Your stupid Book of Mormon is true and you know it! And you know what that all means, don’t you? Your whole crummy Church is true! Now I’ll have to get baptized and start being a Mormon. Don’t smile, Jones; it’s not funny. My dad’s going to kill me and then disown me. I’ll have no family or future or anything else. Sure, your family is forever. Now mine won’t even be for this life. It’s all your fault! What am I going to do?” He stared for almost a full minute at my speechless bewilderment. Then he flung the door open the rest of the way and was gone, the Book of Mormon clutched tightly like a life preserver in a drowning man’s hand.
A few weeks later I watched the water in the font close briefly over Jeremy’s head and open up again as he emerged grinning in his wet, white clothes. A few days after that I listened as he bore his first testimony from the stand.
Jeremy went home at Christmas to break the news to his family. He hadn’t known how to put it in a letter, and he couldn’t say it over the phone. So it was going to happen face to face, like David faced Goliath.
“But not till I’ve slept in my own bed once, and seen my nephews and my little sister, and had a chance to gather my valuables,” he said. “Because the minute it’s out, my dad is going to throw me out of the house.”
“Have a little faith, Jeremy. Think of the pioneers and all they went through.”
“I’m not going to have to think about it. I’m going to know how they felt because when my dad’s through with me, I’ll have to cross the plains on foot myself, if I can cross them at all. Do you know what disown means? Do you realize this will be the last time I’ll ever see my mother?”
I laughed. “Don’t overdramatize. You know it’s not true. Your dad might be a bit shocked, but he’ll get over it.”
“You don’t know my dad at all. He’s going to kill me. He keeps loaded guns in the house for just that purpose.”
“Would you shut up and get on the plane.”
“Take a good look at me. You’ll never see me alive again.”
And so I waited anxiously as 3:00 approached on the day of his return. I was excited to hear his story and anxious to find out how he stood with the father he both loved and feared. I wore a trail in the carpet as I paced and finally went out to shoot some baskets to pass the time. I returned at about 4:00, hoping he would be there.
He was. I grabbed him from behind as he bent over a drawer stuffing socks in a corner. He whirled in surprise and threw one arm around my neck in a wrestling hold. We went down and struggled on the floor until I knew I was beat.
“Uncle!” I choked, just before he pinned me.
Then he talked about skiing in New England and his friend Bernie at MIT and his nephew’s latest invention. I only heard half because I was listening beyond it all for something more. Finally I interrupted.
“And your dad, how was he?” Jeremy didn’t bat an eye. “Fine, he didn’t feel real good, because he always gets a cold about this time of year, but he was better toward the end and even went skating with us at Central Park. Did I tell you I saw my old girl friend? She’s married to a guy she …” He slowed down under my steady gaze and finally stopped.
“I didn’t tell them.”
The clock ticked. A girl laughed in the lounge far down the hall and around the corner. Jeremy’s eyes were trained on his shoes.
“Well, it’s your decision. But …”
“At least I’m still part of my family.”
“Are you really? You’re really part of a lie. They think you’re something you’re not.”
“If it makes them happy, why worry about it? Let them go on.”
“Go on living a religion you know isn’t the whole truth? Go on living without the blessings you could show them how to receive?”
He sighed. “I couldn’t. My mom would love me anyway because she’s my mom. And my sister and brothers would at least try to understand. But my father … you don’t know how he gets. He used to beat me. He used to have this belt. I love him, but he’s got this awful temper, and in his eyes, I’ve done worse than murder. I’ve betrayed him and my family and their God.”
My silence was deafening. He looked steadily at me. “I wanted to tell him,” he said. “But … you don’t know my father.”
I returned his steady gaze. “No, Jeremy, you don’t know my Father.”
“Your father?”
“My Heavenly Father.”
The snow piled against the window silently while we sat facing each other. I finally stood and left the room. I tried to watch the TV in the lounge for a while, but the silence of the still mostly empty halls bothered me. I wandered outside without my coat to the snack bar and idly ate a hamburger. I wandered up on campus until I realized how cold I was and how wet the snow had become. I tramped back to the dorm in the darkness, half expecting Jeremy to be gone. The light was off in our room, but I paused outside the door, thinking I heard a voice. I tried to discern who was speaking. The voice was too low to really hear, so I finally turned the knob and slid into the room. As my eyes adjusted to the dusk inside, I saw him just replacing the telephone in its cradle.
I couldn’t believe it. He was crying! He turned quickly away to hide his tears and then walked to the window.
“That was dad.”
There was a long pause, then, “I told him.”
“Is everything okay?” I asked his back.
He thrust his hands into his pockets. “He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then he said he didn’t know who I was and hung up. All I heard was the dial tone.”
The snow still fell as he stared at it.
“I listened to that dial tone for a long time. Finally a recording came on and said, ‘Please hang up.’ I couldn’t believe it.”
Suddenly he whirled and pounded his desk top so hard it rattled. “Why did I ever think I could make him understand? I’ve always been afraid of him. Now I’m not afraid; it just hurts. I didn’t know anything could hurt like this.”
School started again, and Jeremy got a job shoveling snow and doing winter maintenance on the lawn sprinklers. His parents never called anymore, and even though his mother still wrote sometimes, there was no word from his dad. Jeremy buried himself in his calculus and chemistry and, in general, wasn’t much fun anymore. They came around with a sign-up sheet for basketball intramurals, and we couldn’t get Jeremy to sign.
So I played alone.
It got suddenly warm in February for about a week. Jeremy was out maintaining sprinklers while I sat on the window ledge one day, hoping I wouldn’t be noticed as I drank in the warming air, pretending to read a history book. The mailman went past. I dragged myself inside again with a sigh and got ready for my only afternoon class. On the way out, I halfheartedly checked the mail.
The letter was unmistakably from Jeremy’s dad. The first. I laid it conspicuously on his pillow and hurried out.
When I ran into Jeremy in the cafeteria several hours later, I managed a casual “How’s your dad?”
“Okay.” He stirred his mashed potatoes.
“I saw he sent you a letter.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, is he still mad? What did he say?”
“Just asked how school was, said if I didn’t make it to med school he’d kill me, and said everybody’s fine at home. Just like nothing happened.”
“That’s all?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Basically.”
“Did he say anything about the Church?”
He shook his head.
“Well, at least he wrote.”
“Yes, he will always love me because I’m his son, not because he thinks I deserve to be loved.” He buttered a roll and went on, talking around a mouthful of peas. “It’s not enough that he has cooled down to the point where he’ll write to me again. I want more than that. I want to be able to talk to him again, to teach him the gospel.”
“Who says you can’t?”
“What I like about you, Jones, is how you avoid the facts.”
“You obviously don’t know him as well as you think. You never expected a letter, did you?”
“I sent him a Book of Mormon. He didn’t even mention it.”
“And he won’t. Until he believes it.”
“He’d have to read it first.”
“Maybe he is.”
“Ha!”
Three weeks followed with three letters. The night of the fourth letter, Jeremy showed up to play basketball with the ward team, and he was grinning. As we sat on the bench waiting to play, we finally got to talk.
“Did you see I got another letter? It was pretty much the normal I-am-fine, how-are-you stuff for the most part, but at the end he got down to business. He told me he has thought a lot about my ‘betrayal’ and thinks he understands.
“He says that the whole thing turns on the Messiah. As far as he’s concerned when the true Messiah comes, he can make whatever changes he wants, because his changes won’t reject Judaism but perfect it. The trick is to tell the true Messiah from the false ones.”
“That’s very profound,” I said. “Of course it is. It’s the same thing I told him in my last letter. Anyway, he says that although I’ve made a fool of myself, it took courage for me to become a Mormon knowing how he felt about it. In fact he compared it to Moses leaving Pharaoh’s court and David facing Goliath. I humbly agree with him.”
“Before you start writing a second book of Psalms,” I said, “ask yourself if David left his dirty socks on the floor.”
He ignored me and went on. “He says that when I get home this spring we’ll examine the evidence and argue it out man to man. Right now he’s reading the Book of Mormon so he can really tear it to shreds. Good luck, dad. Oh, and there was a P.S. too. He says that if I’m going to be a Mormon, I’d better be the best Mormon there is because I’m Solomon Kahn’s son and his honor is at stake.” He laughed. “I have a feeling that by the time I become a priest my first assignment may be to baptize my own dad. And then who knows? How do you think I’d look in a dark suit?”
I stifled a nasty remark about his looks in anything.
He bounced a basketball on the floor for a few moments and then looked at me. “You were right, Jones. I didn’t know either of my fathers very well. I thought it was all up to me.”
The whistle blew, and we ran onto the floor before I had time to answer.

Ensign: Are Primary referrals a very fertile source of baptisms?
Sister Shumway: Oh, yes, and some very touching stories come out of these children-missionary experiences. I received a letter a few weeks ago from a mother who let her daughter go to the “Mormon church for the kids” with the neighbors. Here’s what she says: “Every Thursday all the mothers would gather every child for miles around, Mormon or not. They called and showed concern, love, loyalty, and most of all they cared enough about my child to make the effort. Every week my daughter came in with all kinds of things to tell me about Heavenly Father. After a very short while, we were impressed, so we asked for the missionaries … A whole new world walked into our home … Nothing has ever changed us or our lives so much since our daughter ran in and asked, ‘Can I go to Primary, please Mom, please? ’”

The prophets teach us that through keeping temple covenants, our families can be eternal. When our daughter Rachel was married, our family was able to participate in a special temple session beforehand. We greeted our children in the temple, hugged them, kissed them, and told them how much we loved them. We felt great happiness in the Lord’s temple with our children, knowing that we have been sealed as a family for time and all eternity.

Ben will never forget the baseball game his girlfriend’s parents came to watch. He hadn’t played at all until the last inning, when the coach put him in as a pinch hitter against a powerful pitcher. The game was at stake, and the pressure was on Ben. He whiffed the first two pitches, then made contact on the third—hard contact that sent the ball rocketing up the right field line for an easy single, a double if he hustled. Ben got so caught up in watching the ball that he tripped and fell on his way to first base. The other team made an easy out—the last one of the game. He was devastated.
“I was glad,” Ben says, “that baseball was not the only thing I had going for me. I had other interests in life, like art. When I didn’t excel in one thing, I would apply myself harder in another. My entire self-image was not based on success in one area.”

“Planning in advance and preparing yourself to live a perfect day is very important. Believe you can do it,” commented Gene. “I was one of those people who didn’t really forget about it, but I just kept hoping it wouldn’t come. I’d never thought of trying to live a perfect day before, and the idea was a little frightening.
“On a scale of 1–10 I would have rated my perfect day about a 6. I was a little better than normal, just because I was conscious and aware that I needed to at least try. But I didn’t really prepare myself, and I didn’t have the kind of day I would like to have had.”
How does one prepare for the day? “Those times in my life when I have felt really close to the Lord are when I have been praying with my family and studying the scriptures. I found that on my perfect day my thoughts would wander. All the garbage I had been feeding into my brain over the past several years seemed to surface on that day. I hadn’t prepared myself to live a good day—a perfect day. I was a failure in the attempt to live perfectly, simply because I didn’t take the time to prepare myself. But even so it made an impact on my life. I’d never even thought of trying to live a perfect day before, but now think of it often—and someday I’ll make it.”

Years ago I participated in the measurement of the nuclear characteristics of different materials. The process used an experimental nuclear reactor designed so that high energy particles streamed from a hole in the center of the reactor. These particles were directed into an experimental chamber where measurements were made. The high energy particles could not be seen, but they had to be carefully controlled to avoid harm to others. One day a janitor entered while we were experimenting. In a spirit of disgust he said, “You are all liars, pretending that you are doing something important, but you can’t fool me. I know that if you can’t see, hear, taste, smell, or touch it, it doesn’t exist.” That attitude ruled out the possibility of his learning that there is much of worth that can’t be identified by the five senses. Had that man been willing to open his mind to understand how the presence of nuclear particles is detected, he would have confirmed their existence. In like manner, never doubt the reality of faith. You will gather the fruits of faith as you follow the principles God has established for its use.

What a happy day for the Mqadi family. After the doors of the temple had been closed for the better part of 14 months due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Nala M. (age 11) finally had her opportunity to visit the temple for the first time in June 2021.
Looking back on the experience afterwards, Nala named some of the highlights of the experience. She loved the peace and cleanliness of the building. And she loved that she could be baptized by her older brother, Ntando.
Ntando (15) was able to perform this sacred ordinance because he holds the Aaronic priesthood. He had recently been ordained to the office of priest.
“It was spectacular having the opportunity to baptise my sister for her first time,” he remarked. “I also baptised my mom for my first time being able to baptise in the temple. I have the key to access the temple and I have the ability to do sacred ordinances. I have been truly blessed from it and I have received the blessing of serving the Lord in His temple.”
As is evident by the experience of the Mqadi family, although the priesthood is borne by men, it is used to bless all of God’s children.
“I felt blessed when I went into the temple,” Nala commented afterwards. “It was cool to be baptized by my brother.”
For Nala’s older brother, Ntando, it was also a day of firsts. It was his first time performing proxy baptisms in the temple. Being able to do this for his family members was meaningful for him.
The siblings’ mother, Tshepiso, said, “Being in the temple for the first time with Nala, and watching Ntando exercise the Aaronic Priesthood also for the first time at the baptistry was very special for me.
“I am grateful for the Spirit that testified to them of the divinity of the temple and the service performed therein. It touched my heart when they both excitedly requested to attend temple baptisms again. It is my prayer that this experience has ignited a desire within them to do more to participate and be part of the Lord’s work as they grow.”

In describing the last key to happiness, Elder Wirthlin told the story of one student in the graduating class, Emily Jensen. When Emily was 16, she was involved in a serious accident and lapsed into a coma. The accident and resulting coma changed her life. Emily, he said, had to relearn how to do everything—including how to eat, walk, and sit up.

By accomplishing her goal to graduate from college, Emily, Elder Wirthlin said, had demonstrated the fifth key to happiness: perseverance to the end. He said heroes are remembered because they persevere.

When President David O. McKay was a young missionary in Scotland, he was homesick, discouraged, and low in spirit. As he walked down the street with his companion, he noticed an inscription chiseled in a stone lintel of an unfinished building which read, “Whate’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.” From that moment, he began to act the part of a good missionary and became a great one. This was a learning experience that helped him in numerous important callings he received later in life. (See Cherished Experiences from the Writings of President David O. McKay, comp. Clare Middlemiss, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1955, p. 174.)

I might have continued to enjoy Relief Society without being aware of the many ways it has helped me, had it not been for a dreary spring morning and a perceptive comment from my small daughter.
While washing my dishes in a hurry that morning I looked out the kitchen window at dark clouds and blowing snow. Ordinarily, the weather would have made me feel gloomy, but the words of a favorite hymn, “The Wintry Day, Descending to Its Close,” kept going through my mind and I began humming.
From the breakfast table my little daughter called, “I bet it is Relief Society day!”
“How did you know?” I inquired. “Did you see me reading my lesson book?”
“No, mama,” she giggled. “You were singing!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “What has my singing got to do with its being Relief Society day?”
Watching for my reaction she answered slowly, “Every other morning you’re grouchy!”
I admit morning is not my favorite time of day, but I hope she was exaggerating my reaction to it. However, in her own way she had perceived that going to Relief Society made me happy. And I started thinking then about why I was so enthusiastic about Relief Society.
Relief Society offers me a variety of friends. There I enjoy getting acquainted with and gaining an appreciation for women of all ages, many whose backgrounds, talents, hobbies, politics, and ideas are quite different from my own. Caring about these women helps me want to serve them and their families.
Since Relief Society proclaims service to mankind as one of its reasons for existence, my own feelings about service have certainly improved.
Some years ago, for instance, a brother in our ward mentioned that his wife and several of their children were sick with influenza. I sympathized and asked routinely if I could do anything to help. He surprised me by saying, “Yes, you could bring our dinner tomorrow night.”
All the next day I complained about spending my valuable time preparing a meal for his family when he was well and perfectly able to feed them himself. What a contrast that was to the happy feeling I experienced recently while preparing dinner for the family of a sister who was recuperating from surgery.
What happened between these two experiences to change my attitude? Discussions in Relief Society about compassionate service have helped; the examples of joyful service in our ward have been even more influential. So many sisters are anxious to serve that in some instances it seems one practically has to sign a list and wait for your turn to serve.
Relief Society gives me a chance to improve my talents, discover new ones, and even learn to do things for which I have little talent. For example I felt good recently when someone quoted the words of Brigham Young: “Let the beauty of your adorning be the work of your hands.” (Discourses of Brigham Young, sel. John A. Widtsoe, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1977, p. 214.) I now find satisfaction in making clothes for myself and my children, even though I disliked sewing when I was young and certainly never considered it one of my talents. Many of these new skills were direct results of demonstrations in Relief Society.
I do not sing well. In fact, one of my teenage friends used to stop singing when we sat together in church so that everyone would know the musical mistakes were mine and not hers. But in one ward, I was really needed as part of a small group singing for stake preparation meeting. While we sang that day, I realized for the first time what it means to sing praises to the Lord. Although I still do not sing well, because of practice in Relief Society I have experienced a happiness I might otherwise never have known.
Many successful projects with our children are the direct result of ideas other women have shared. One sister related that because she raised her family during the depression and they had to work hard in their garden to raise food for the family, she entertained and taught her children during those hours with gospel stories. By reviewing at night Book of Mormon, Bible, or church history stories, she could relate them in detail to her children the next day. Her efforts encouraged love of the gospel in her children and also helped them enjoy work. Now we tell gospel stories in our family while working together, brushing snarls from long hair, and traveling.
Perhaps there are other groups that would help me enjoy sisterhood, womanhood, talents, and learning, but for me, in one final area of influence—renewed spiritual zeal—no other group compared with Relief Society.
When I first attended college I had lived away from home and learned about Sunday morning Relief Society, I was reluctant to participate because I felt it was just for older women. Before the year was over, however, one of the things I missed most on my weekends at home was the spiritual lift I received from attending Relief Society. I really learned to fast and pray and feel close to the Lord, especially when I prepared my lesson.
Now when I do not feel in tune with the Lord, I remember those days and am comforted to know that I can be close to the Lord again if I try. Relief Society is organized, planned, and carried out through inspiration. Weekly attendance helps me live God’s laws and receive his help.
A conversation some years ago with a friend was influential in my commitment to attend Relief Society. I had just stopped teaching school and was enjoying staying home. My friend asked, “If you don’t go back to work, won’t you be wasting all those years of education?”
My answers were not very convincing to her. “I know you,” she insisted. “You don’t like to cook or sew. You never even enjoyed tending children as a teenager the way the rest of us did. You are a good student and like to perform. You like to be out with people. You’ll be bored in a few years at home.”
“Well,” I replied with perhaps a little feeling of smugness, “I have Relief Society.”
“You can’t tell me that a meeting once a week will supply all your needs outside your home,” she protested.
Since then, I have discovered we both were right during that discussion. Being content at home has been more difficult for me than I anticipated. But belonging to an organization that encourages sisterhood and a desire to serve, encourages womanhood, develops talents, stimulates learning, and increases spirituality does make me happy. In fact, it keeps me singing.

BARBARA: I have a friend I am really close to at school. We were both trying out for something. We worked together, and helped each other, and we even prayed for each other. Then talking with her the other day, I found out she isn’t a member of our church. She is a Buddhist! I was so surprised! The whole time I had been treating her like a Mormon. We had become really close; she came up to me one day, started crying, and told me how much she appreciated me. And I thought, if we could only treat everyone as if he were a member, then we’d have no problems.

My baptism was to take place in a lake the following Sunday, August 22. The weather had been hot and dry. But on Monday, August 16, a steady rain began, and the temperature dropped sharply. Friday morning I awoke with terrible tonsillitis. My whole throat was congested, and I was running a fever. I thought it would pass before Sunday.
The missionaries came on Saturday to interview me. Elder Parker, a young and very tall missionary, asked me the questions. He also agreed to baptize me. I said nothing about my illness.
The day of my baptism arrived. When I woke up I found that my throat was still the same. It was then I realized for the first time in my life what the Lord wanted from me. I said to myself, “I’ll do whatever I have to for Him. I will be baptized. Everything will be fine. The water will be warm, and my sickness will disappear after I am baptized.”
On the way to the lake I told the sisters what had been going on with me. They both looked in my mouth and said, all bundled up in their raincoats, “This is no joke. Should we move everything to a pool?”
“No, no.” I had firmly made up my mind to go ahead with our plans.
It was beautiful when we got there. The lake was like a mirror, without even a ripple. It was about a hundred meters from the changing room to the water. It had rained all week and was muddy. When I came out of the changing room, I saw Elder Parker in his white clothes walking confidently through the mud toward the lake. That was a stunning sight.
We stood in a circle and sang a hymn. We could see our breath, but we were not paying attention to the weather anymore. As I took my first step into the water, I knew I was doing the right thing. It felt warm. And when I came up out of the water, I was happy and healthy. Everyone laughed and cried. I had taken my first step on the path home. Our Heavenly Father loves us and gives us trials, expecting us to make the right decisions, to not doubt what is good.
I will remember that miraculous day for the rest of my life. It will live in my heart with the memories of my grandmother, who sowed the seed that sprouted so many years after her death

While I was teaching early-morning seminary in Eureka, California, USA, I asked my students to think of themselves 10 years in the future. Then I asked them to write a letter with their testimony of the gospel and whatever else they would like to share with the older versions of themselves. I told them I would mail the letters in 10 years.
Time passed and I never got around to mailing the letters. One day 25 years later, my daughter Heidi found the letters and asked about them. After I explained what I had planned, she looked for the addresses of my former students using social media tools.
After she mailed the letters, we received some great responses. One of my former seminary students wrote:
“I need your dad to know that he just now found those letters for a reason. My 18-year-old daughter has been struggling with her testimony and feeling that being a ‘perfect Latter-day Saint girl’ isn’t for her. She doesn’t share her feelings with us. It’s been hard.”
My former student, devastated by some things her daughter had recently written in a blog, added:
“I knew I had to talk to her about it. As usual, when we have these conversations, her face was stony and defiant, and she didn’t say anything. I handed her my letter and told her I wanted her to read it.
“I saw her reread the first paragraph several times. I had written that I didn’t know if I had a testimony, that being a perfect Latter-day Saint was a lot and maybe not for me.
“My daughter started to cry. I needed her to know that I truly understand her struggles. She would never have believed it without that letter! Some of her wall has come down, and I truly feel like the timing of this letter was a tender mercy. If I had received it 10 years ago, I might have thrown it away or lost it! Please thank your dad for having us write the letters and for misplacing them for all these years! Nothing is a coincidence.”
Our loving Heavenly Father watches over all His sheep, and in His marvelous timing, He can work tender mercies and miracles through each of us to bring those who have wandered back to the fold.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
Mandy is busy with her campaign for student council.
Matt promised to help. But he’s been spending a lot of time getting to know his cousin Max in Australia.
Hey, Matt.
Hey what?
You said you’d help with my posters. I could really use your help now.
I did promise.
Be right there!
How’s this?
That’s great. Hope you won’t mind hanging on the wall at school for two weeks.

I recently met a young woman in the Philippines whose family became less active in the Church when she was only 7 years old, leaving her alone to walk a dangerous road to church week after week. She told how at age 14 she decided that she would stay true to her covenants so she would be worthy to raise her future family in a home “blessed by the strength of priesthood pow’r.” The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants, promises we’ve made to each other and to God.

My wife and I are serving our second senior mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We received our call to serve in August of 2023 as Area communication missionaries in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. We both had the privilege of serving previously in the Utah Salt City Headquarters Mission from 2017 to 2019. with our previous spouses.
While serving missions for the Church, missionaries are all asked to wear a black badge with the full name of the Church and the missionary’s name on it. In August 1980, the Church approved the standardized badge worn by its missionaries. Today, the badge is recognized worldwide and identifies men and women, both young and old, full-time and part-time, serving among the Church’s nearly 100,000 missionaries. While the badges themselves have no inherent power, they represent the covenants made with God by the wearer that he or she will “serve him with all [their] heart, might, mind and strength” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2). The missionary badges help to bring unity of purpose to those who wear them.
Consistent with this principle, in the dedicatory prayer offered at the Kirtland Temple on March 27, 1836, the Prophet Joseph Smith asked that from the power endowed to the servants of God in the temple, the Lord’s glory would come upon them. “And we ask thee, Holy Father, that thy servants may go forth from this house armed with thy power, and that thy name may be upon them, and thy glory be round about them, and thine angels have charge over them;” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:22).
The unity and success in spreading the restored gospel is a fulfillment of this prophetic petition.
While serving in the headquarters mission in downtown Salt Lake City, both my wife and I noticed the many knowing glances from people on the street when they saw missionaries. Hearts softened, subtle smiles came on strangers’ faces, and many members and friends of the Church would approach the missionaries to ask, “Where are you from?” or “Where are you serving?” These were asked with a sincere interest and allowed for easy conversations about service and families. Such is the power of the badge.
As we prepared for our mission to the Caribbean Area, there were many forms to fill out, purchases to make, medical checks, and visa challenges to overcome. As we went through all these important steps, I opened a drawer I used to keep memories and found a zip-lock bag with quite a collection of badges I used on my first senior mission. Some were mission-specific, and others were assignment-specific. Memories flowed back over the years of service these badges represented and the many life-changing incidents that mission service had provided me from my first mission in the late ’60s and as a senior missionary. This event had a powerful impact and showed me that the symbolic power of the badge is not limited to when it is worn but also as a remembrance of past service rendered.
With all the preparations completed, all the shopping, talks, and goodbyes with dear friends and family, my wife and I headed for the security check at the Salt Lake City International Airport with our badges prominently displayed. A nice woman just behind us in line asked the question, “Where are you serving?” As we passed through the security checkpoint, we couldn’t help but notice the subtle glances and smiles that came from the security supervisors in their elevated booth as we walked past.
While waiting for our connecting flight in Atlanta, we were approached by a government contractor who was establishing a military support facility in southern Utah and who was a member of our Church. He asked us the same questions. He was a tough, military-trained man who reached out in the most tender of ways to two servants on their way to their assignment.
And so, our mission started with the blessing of having the power of the badge.

"What were you assigned to bring?” Melissa asked Clara as they walked to Sister Wilson’s house for their Achievement Day activity.
“Four cups of flour,” Clara answered. “How about you?”
“Some yeast.”
“I wonder what we’re doing today. Hannah is bringing flour, too. Sister Wilson has kept it such a secret.”
“I know,” Melissa agreed. “All she would say was that it’s going to affect many ward members this Sunday.”
Still talking about the mystery, the girls soon came to Sister Wilson’s house. Before Clara could knock, Sister Wilson opened the door and invited them in. Tina, Jenny, and Susan were already sitting on the couch. A tape of Primary songs was playing softly in the background. Just as Clara and Melissa sat down, Hannah arrived. Now all the girls were present, and the mystery project would soon be revealed.
Sister Wilson offered the opening prayer, asking that they might understand the importance of the great sacrifice Jesus Christ made for them. She also prayed that the food they would prepare might be blessed for the sake of all who would eat it.
After the prayer, they made their way to the kitchen with their assigned ingredients. A couple of bowls and a mixer waited on the counter.
“Let’s see,” Sister Wilson began, “who was assigned to bring the yeast?”
“I was.” Melissa stepped forward.
“Good. We’re going to put the yeast into some warm water and let it dissolve. Meanwhile, we’ll put some of the other ingredients into this larger bowl. Who has the flour, sugar, and salt?”
“I do,” Clara, Hannah, and Jenny answered together.
As the girls worked, they visited, laughing and giggling. Amidst the chatter, Clara asked, “What are we making, and how will it affect the ward members?”
“Does anyone have any idea?” Sister Wilson asked.
“Are we making cookies?” Susan asked.
Sister Wilson smiled. “No, we are making the bread that will be used for the sacrament.”
The giggling stopped suddenly, and the girls spoke almost in whispers as a quiet reverence filled the room. They weren’t making bread just to learn how, but for use in a sacred ordinance!
When the yeast was dissolved, Susan poured in the milk she had brought and Tina added her oil. Then the girls combined the liquid and dry ingredients and mixed them together. They took turns kneading the dough on a flour-dusted counter. When it was smooth, the dough was covered with a cloth and allowed to rise. Then it was punched down, divided in half, shaped into loaves, and placed in loaf pans. While the dough rose a second time, they went into the next room for a lesson on the sacrament.
“Can anyone tell me what the bread and water represent?” Sister Wilson asked.
“The flesh and blood of Jesus Christ,” Melissa answered.
“That is right. Shortly before His crucifixion, Jesus gathered His Apostles around Him in an upstairs room. He knew that He was going to die, and He wanted the Apostles to always remember Him so that they could be strong and faithful to His teachings. He blessed bread and broke it into pieces. He gave it to His disciples to eat in memory of His body. He blessed wine and gave it to them to drink in memory of His blood.
“When we partake of the sacrament, we renew the covenant we made when we were baptized. Can anyone tell me what we promised to do?”
“I know,” Clara said. “We promised to keep the commandments.”
“We promised to remember Jesus Christ,” Jenny added.
“Very good,” Sister Wilson said. “We also promised to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ. The way we act, the things we do, the words we say should let others know that we are followers of Christ. The Lord promised us that if we keep our covenant, we will always have His Spirit to be with us.
“Is there anything special we should do during the sacrament service?” Sister Wilson continued.
Hannah raised her hand. “My mom always tells us that we should be reverent.”
“She’s right. We should also be prayerful and think of the Atonement. We need to examine our lives, looking for ways to improve ourselves and become more like Christ. And we should think about the promises we are renewing.”
After more discussion about the sacrament, the lesson ended. By then the dough had risen again, and it was time to put the pans into the oven. While the bread baked, the girls planned upcoming activities.
When the loaves were taken from the oven, they were a golden brown. “After they cool, I’ll slice them. Then I’ll give them to Bishop Carmichael. He’ll make sure they are used on Sunday.”
On Sunday, as the girls sat with their families in sacrament meeting, they sang the sacrament hymn reverently. They listened carefully as a priest blessed the bread, and when they said “amen,” they really meant it. Then the deacons passed the bread. When Clara took a piece from the tray, she was suddenly filled with gratitude for all the Savior had done for her. She thought about the Last Supper and what Jesus had taught His disciples about the sacrament. She knew that there were things she could do better to show that she was trying to keep the commandments.
Clara glanced quickly at Melissa out of the corner of her eye. From the look on her friend’s face, she knew that the sacrament had touched her heart, too.
After the meeting, the girls stopped in the foyer to talk a moment before going home. “I’m glad Sister Wilson let us help make the sacrament bread,” Jenny said.
“I thought it made the sacrament extra special,” Tina added.
“It wasn’t just the bread that made it special for me,” Melissa replied thoughtfully. “It was really thinking about the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and what the sacrament means in my life.”
Clara smiled. “I felt the same way. It wasn’t the bread that made the difference. It was the Savior.”