Gospel Story Finder

One day my brother was playing soccer. During the game, one of my brother’s teammates fell down and started crying. My mom thought I should show him my stuffed animal to help him feel better. I had just bought it, but I walked over to the boy and asked, “Would you like to play with this?” The boy looked up and said, “Yes!” The boy laughed while he played with it, and he felt a lot better. Afterward I felt really good. I knew Heavenly Father would be pleased with what I did.

It was a Thursday like any other. My husband, Jean-Pierre, had gone to work, the older children were at school, and the younger children and I were at home in Val d’Or, Quebec. It was a routine day, and I began my usual tasks of gathering laundry, cleaning rooms, and preparing meals.
By 2:30 that afternoon, I needed a break. Sitting down to rest for a few minutes, I picked up my scriptures. I had been reading the Book of Mormon, but for some reason, I opened the Pearl of Great Price instead and began reading the account of the Creation from the book of Moses.
As I read, something inexplicable happened. I couldn’t stop reading. I felt that I was understanding at a deeper level than I ever had before—understanding not just through the words, but through spiritual impressions. I couldn’t put the book down and completely forgot about the time. By the time my family returned home, I had neither finished the housework nor made dinner.
I didn’t know why I had had this marvelous experience until several days later when I saw Noël and Huguette Demers at church. They had just returned from a three-week vacation, during which they had gone to the Washington Temple, more than 1,600 kilometers from our home. Some weeks before they left, I had asked Brother and Sister Demers to do the temple work for some of my ancestors whose names I had sent to the temple. I hadn’t been endowed yet, so I couldn’t do the temple work myself. Noël and Huguette hadn’t known when they would be going to the temple, but they had promised they would do the temple work for my ancestors if possible. In the meantime, I had forgotten about my request.
That Sunday when I spoke with Noël and Huguette and learned that they had completed the temple work for my ancestors, I immediately wanted to know the exact day they had been in the temple. They had done the work the week before, they said, on a Thursday. Then I understood. That ordinary Thursday, when I was having the most extraordinary spiritual experience of my life, turned out to be the very day they were doing the temple work for my ancestors.
Ten years later, when I went to the temple for my own endowment, I understood and appreciated even more the gift my Heavenly Father gave me by allowing me to share in the spirit of the temple on that ordinary Thursday afternoon.

Over the next few months, I started shopping for my mission attire. Coming from Scotland, I’m no stranger to cold weather so I was going to be well prepared. But every time I went to buy something like a winter coat, big woolly jumpers, hat, scarves, or gloves, I’d get the answer, “No!” I’d leave it a couple of days then go elsewhere. Again, the answer would be “No! Don’t buy that.” I couldn’t believe I was being prompted to buy certain clothes.
The promptings were very specific. I’d pick up clothes and I’d hold the hanger and wait for a yes or a no. I obediently bought according to those promptings. When I look back, I can’t believe how much the Holy Ghost kept prompting me and specifically telling me things each day—I was not asking for such clarity. I’ve never experienced this level of prompting ever since. That was how it was supposed to be—minute detail.
One morning I went downstairs and there on the carpet was the big fat white envelope. My heart leapt. I quickly grabbed it and immediately locked myself in the bathroom. I have a big family, and someone could have been lurking; I wanted to open it on my own.
I stared at the envelope, scared to open it. I kept thinking that it held the next 18 months of my life, my future. I was very anxious. I eventually opened it and scoured through the first few lines. I just wanted to know where I was going—it was the Greece Athens Mission. I’d never heard of this mission. I’d never heard of anyone even going to this mission. I would later find out that I was the first Scottish sister to go there. How cool! I would learn to speak Greek. l would serve my mission during one of the hottest summers they’d had, and another summer the following year. Greece was indeed a different, unusual place. The gospel was still in its infancy there; it had only been dedicated 25 years previously by Elder Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008).
I served my mission from May 1997 to November 1998. It was one of the best experiences of my life! I can’t believe that I hadn’t wanted to go. I could quite easily have missed out on this crucial experience. It was meant to be. I would never have chosen that path but it’s what Heavenly Father knew was right for me. Greece will always be a special place with special memories for me. Whenever I go back to visit, I get ‘goose bumps’ and butterflies in my stomach. When I left my mission, I left a part of my heart there, and there it will stay. It brought me so much happiness. It shaped my future. It put me on the right path, in the right direction. It was priceless. I loved it. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. It changed me for the better. My favourite word is fantastic, and Greece was fantastic!

On a winter’s morn, a father quietly awakened his two sons and whispered to them, “Boys, it snowed last night. Get dressed, and we’ll shovel the snow from our neighbors’ walks before daylight.”
The party of three, dressed warmly, and under cover of darkness, cleared the snow from the approaches to several homes. Father had given one instruction to the boys: “Make no noise, and they will not know who helped them.” Again, the word anonymous.

In her lifetime, Emmeline met and talked with six presidents of the United States. She spoke with two of these presidents in the White House on behalf of the Church. She hoped to lighten legislation against Latter-day Saints.

In January 1879, Emmeline and Zina Young Williams presented a message to members of Congress and to President Rutherford B. Hayes and his wife. Emmeline and Zina spoke against bills aimed to punish Church members in the Utah Territory for their religious beliefs. They also asked for consideration of wives and children who would be harmed by measures to send men to prison for participating in plural marriage.9 Emmeline wrote, “I thank God I was the first to represent our women in the Halls of Congress.”10

Seven years later, Emmeline traveled to Washington, DC, USA, with a similar purpose. She met with congressmen and senators. She talked with Rose Cleveland (the president’s sister and Acting First Lady) and then spoke with President Grover Cleveland himself. Emmeline and Dr. Ellen Ferguson represented the Latter-day Saint women of the Utah Territory and presented him a memorial plea urging fairness for the Saints in political matters.11

In these efforts, Emmeline was supported by leaders of the National Woman Suffrage Association, particularly by Susan B. Anthony, who greeted her warmly whenever they met and emphasized their common interest in improving the lives of women.12

This summer I had the unforgettable experience of camping with twenty-six hundred of these wonderful Aaronic Priesthood Young Men and their leaders. Amid a colorful array of tents and Boy Scout uniforms, the encampment took the shape of a giant twelve-spoked wheel. Each spoke housed one of Israel’s twelve “tribes.” The six days of camping at the Florida Deseret Ranch provided camping skills, special demonstrations, tests of physical fitness, inspirational programs, and numerous other activities (not to mention consumption of fifty-eight hundred gallons of milk, sixty-three thousand pounds of ice, one thousand cases of soft drinks, and one and one-half tons of bread). The young men and their priesthood leaders participated together, focusing upon priesthood objectives.
On the first evening at dusk, with each “tribe” in place, all of “Israel” marched to an arena for the opening campfire. The golden rays of sunset formed a magnificent backdrop for the mile-long line of young men as they marched two abreast toward the arena. With colorful banners held aloft, the modern-day sons of Israel passed beneath an archway emblazoned with the Scout Promise: “On My Honor.” Sentries stood holding torch-lighted signs inscribed with the Scout Oath and Law and Aaronic Priesthood objectives. As the priesthood leaders led their young men past these sentries, it was anticipated that each young man would make a personal commitment to strive daily toward eternal life, to be a worthy priesthood bearer, worthy to serve a mission; worthy to marry in the temple.
The decisions made that night were followed up during the next four days by special “mountaintop” experiences. The leaders of ancient Israel often went to a designated mountaintop to receive special instruction from the Lord. It was planned that these “Israelite” priesthood bearers would prepare themselves to come to especially designated locations at the encampment where they might receive spiritual guidance and counsel. Here they learned that, having committed themselves to live the basic principles of the gospel, they had also committed themselves to make other important decisions regarding such things as being morally clean, being honest in word and deed, keeping the Word of Wisdom, and so forth.
These are some of the “certain things” to which President Kimball referred in a recent conference address:
“We hope we can help our young men and young women to realize, even sooner than they do now, that they need to make certain decisions only once. … We can push some things away from us once and have done with them! We can make a single decision about certain things that we will incorporate in our lives and then make them ours—without having to brood and redecide a hundred times what it is we will do and what we will not do.
“… My young brothers, if you have not done so yet, decide to decide!” (Ensign, May 1976, p. 46; italics added.)
You can do it, my young brethren. You can become the men of righteousness and stature that your dreams and ambitions hold up before you. To accomplish this objective, you need to make some important decisions now, early in your life. This is the time to decide to decide!
First, decide to set goals. In his same conference address, President Kimball said:
“It is most appropriate for Aaronic Priesthood youth, as well as Melchizedek Priesthood men [and I would add, the women of the Church], to quietly, and with determination, set some serious personal goals in which they will seek to improve by selecting certain things that they will accomplish within a specified period of time.” (Ensign, May 1976, p. 46).
A friend of mine helped his son set goals in this manner. Don asked his son what he wanted to be, whom he would want to be like. His son named a member of the ward who lived nearby, a man he had admired for some time. Don drove his son to where the man lived.
As they sat in their automobile in front of his home, they observed the man’s possessions and his way of life. They also discussed his kindness and generosity, his good name and integrity. They discussed the price their neighbor had paid to become what he was: the years of hard work, the schooling and training required, the sacrifices made, the challenges encountered. The affluence and seeming ease with which he now lived had come about as the result of diligent toil toward his righteous goals and the blessings of the Lord.
The son selected other men whom he deemed models of successful and righteous living and learned from a wise father the stories of their lives. Thereupon at an early age he set his own goal of what he wanted to become. And with his goal before him as a guide by which to make other decisions along the way, he was prepared to stay on his chosen course.
Next, decide to work. Work is necessary if you are to reach your goal. J. Paul Getty, considered to be at one time one of the world’s wealthiest men, gave this formula for success: “Rise early, work late, and strike oil!” Mr. Getty has also made the thought-provoking comment that “it is possible for a man to get on a train that goes 60 miles per hour and say to himself, ‘I am going 60 miles per hour.’ But it is not true. Unless he is moving ahead on his own power, he is standing still.” (J. Paul Getty, Reader’s Digest, Sept. 1980, p. 94.)
Isaac Stern, the world-famous musician-violinist, was asked by a television talk show host at what point in his life he determined to devote his energies toward a career as a concert violinist. Mr. Stern told of having given his first concert in San Francisco at a young age. Music critics were extremely impressed and predicted a fine future for the promising young talent. With this encouragement, Isaac Stern began preparations for another concert a year later in New York City. The critics were not so kind to him there. It would require a tremendous amount of work, they judged, if Isaac Stern were to achieve success as a soloist.
Dejected and discouraged, the young Mr. Stern boarded one of New York City’s double-decker buses and rode it up and down Manhattan a number of times. He was, in his words, “crying inside” as he tried to decide where he was going from there. Were his critics correct? Had he gone as far as he was capable of going? Should he now seek a profession as just another member of an orchestra?
After his fourth bus ride through the city, he returned to his apartment where his mother was waiting. He had made his decision. “I am going to work, mother—work at my music until it works for me.” Today Isaac Stern is acclaimed as one of the finest violinists in the world. Work is a principle with a blessing. Work builds us physically and spiritually. It increases both our strength of body and our strength of character.
A basketball coach claimed, “If you find a man on top of a mountain, he didn’t fall there.” If you and I are to reach the summit of our divine potential, we must work each step of the way. The path may be rugged, difficult, unheralded; but it can be successfully climbed if we are willing to work with all our strength and commitment.
Next, decide to believe. Believe in God. Believe in yourself. Believe that God is very interested in you as an individual, that he is anxious for you to succeed. He has provided in the gospel of his Son Jesus Christ the sure pattern for ultimate success.
When our lives are consistent with his gospel, we receive confidence through his Spirit to meet the challenges of each day. We can say with Nephi: “The Lord is able to do all things according to his will, for the children of men, if it so be that they exercise faith in him. … Wherefore, let us be faithful to him.” (1 Ne. 7:12.)
The Prophet Joseph Smith’s belief in God, his faith in God’s interest in him, gave him the courage and optimism to say:
“Never get discouraged, whatever difficulties might surround [you]. If [you were] sunk in the lowest pit of Nova Scotia, and all the Rocky Mountains piled on top of [you], [you] ought not to be discouraged, but hang on, exercise faith and keep up good courage and [you] should come out on top of the heap.” (George A. Smith’s journal, quoted by Preston Nibley, in Church Section, 12 Mar. 1950, p. 16.)
You, our beloved young men and women, are in the most critical period of life. Youth is the time when habits are formed, when ideas are adopted. It is the time of decision. Decide today to heed these words of our prophet: “Decide to decide!”
Decide to make decisions about certain things once—those things will push from you that might otherwise destroy you—and decide about other things that you will incorporate into your life, things that will bring you eternal happiness. Decide to set goals which are consistent with your divine destiny. Decide to believe in God, who created you. Decide to believe in yourself, that you truly can reach goals—your goals. Decide to work. You can be successful in any righteous endeavor when you are willing to work under the guiding hand of the Lord.
May we all make our decisions in the favorable light of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Betsy Ward slid the pan of biscuits into the black castiron oven. She huddled for a moment in front of the warm fire. Then turning, she arranged the pewter mugs and plates on the massive oak table. It seemed strange to be setting two places instead of six. First they had stopped setting places for Pa and Dan. Lt. Ward had had to go with his men, but Dan was only sixteen and had done some fancy talking to convince Ma that he should go fight Redcoats too. Betsy sighed. Fighting Redcoats would be so exciting.
Then Grandma Clay began to ail. She became so sick that Ma left last week to go care for her. Ma said that Grandpa didn’t even know how to boil water! Even little Hannah, who went with Ma, knew how to boil water. Now just ten-year-old Betsy and twelve-year-old Nate were left on the farm.
Betsy heard Nate whistling “Yankee Doodle” as he slowly wandered back from the barn. Nate, Betsy thought, has no gumption at all. He doesn’t even want to fight Redcoats; he’s happy with his cows.
“Hey, Bet, someone’s coming.” Nate had stopped whistling and was standing in the middle of the yard.
Betsy pulled her cloak off the peg by the rocking chair and hurried out onto the worn stone steps of the farmhouse. Nate was looking down the snowy, winding road at a skinny, ragged boy trudging toward them. He was no older than Nate, but much thinner. Slung over his shoulder was a battered drum and an empty knapsack.
“This the Ward place?” he asked.
“Yep,” Nate replied.
The boy fumbled inside his torn jacket and pulled out a folded brown paper. “Lt. Ward sent this.”
Betsy snatched the letter out of the drummer boy’s fingers. Christmas wasn’t as exciting as one of Pa’s letters! Then she handed it to Nate. She hadn’t learned to read cursive before the schoolmaster joined the army. Nate didn’t open the letter. Instead, he invited the drummer boy in to eat, and it wasn’t until the dishes were cleared from the table that he carefully unfolded the paper.
“‘Dear Rhoda,’” Nate read aloud. Rhoda was Ma. “‘I pray that all is well and happy for you. How do the children fare, and how …’” It seemed to Betsy that Nate never would get to the interesting part.
“‘We are here in Morristown now. Food, especially meat, is scarce, and my men are in rags. As we marched into camp, our path could be traced by our bloody footprints in the snow! There is hardly a decent boot in camp and not one stocking in my whole company. Please send us stockings quickly, for we march again on Monday night.’”
The drummer boy coughed and said he’d best be moving along. After he’d gone, Nate looked at Betsy and shook his head. “Too bad Ma isn’t here. We can’t do much without her.”
Betsy stared at Nate. “Of course we can!” she exclaimed. “You go hitch the oxen to the wagon. I’ll be out in a moment.”
As Nate reluctantly ambled out, Betsy ran to the chest of drawers where Ma kept the knitting needles and neatly rolled balls of yarn. There were eight large balls, all previously destined for sweaters, scarves, or mittens. Betsy scooped them up along with a pair of needles. Then she slipped into her cloak and ran outside to prod Nate along. “Where is your red coat?” Betsy asked. “You move so slowly, I’d swear you were on their side and don’t want Pa’s men to get stockings.”
“It isn’t going to do any good,” Nate grumbled. “You can’t knit enough stockings with that little bit of yarn anyway, even if we do get to Morristown. Monday is just the day after tomorrow.”
“Who says I’m going to knit them all myself?” Betsy countered. “And we aren’t going to Morristown—not yet anyway. First, drive me to the Lawrences’. There are four girls there who’ll knit too.”
By the time Nate was ready to go, Betsy was seated comfortably among the brown, blue, and white balls of yarn, and her needles were clicking away steadily. Nate guided the oxen out of the yard and down the long road toward the home of their neighbors.
By the time they reached the Lawrence place, Betsy had her first stocking half finished. Mrs. Lawrence ran out to meet them as they pulled into the farmyard.
“Goodness, Betsy child,” exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, “you’re as blue as a berry! You, too, Nate. Come inside this minute.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. We can’t,” said Betsy, glaring at Nate who had started to climb down from the wagon. “Read her Pa’s letter, Nate.”
Nate settled back onto the wagon seat and read the wrinkled brown paper. He skipped the beginning and just read about the condition of Lt. Ward’s company and the request for stockings.
Mrs. Lawrence’s face paled—her two sons were there too. “They shall have all the stockings we can knit,” she promised.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lawrence. If the clear weather holds, the short road to Morristown will be open and we’ll go that way. Since we won’t come this way again, would you mind sending the stockings by on Sunday night? Thank you again.” Betsy nodded to Nate, and he clucked to the oxen. Soon they were on their way to the next farmhouse, the Pauls’.
Young Mrs. Paul lived alone. Her husband was with the company. She promised to knit until doomsday if it would help. Then Nate and Betsy turned toward the Dixons’. By the time the oxen pulled out onto the road again, Betsy’s first stocking was finished. After stopping at the Moon farm and the Tucker place in the valley, Nate pulled the wagon into their cousins’ farm, the last one in the parish. The sun had been down for an hour, and the children were numb with cold and weariness. They didn’t mind a bit being bustled into the warm, friendly kitchen and being coaxed into staying the night with their cousins.
The sun rose the next morning a little after Betsy had prodded Nate out of bed. It was a long, cold trip home, and the trip to Morristown the next day would be even longer and colder. But Betsy didn’t mind. By helping Pa, she was fighting Redcoats! As the wagon rolled toward the stoutly built farmhouse, she started humming “Yankee Doodle.” Before she had finished the first verse, Nate was humming too.
As Nate drove the oxen into their farmyard, he asked, “Bet, how many pairs of stockings do you think we’ll get?”
Betsy felt so good that she teased her brother. “I’ll not be surprised if we have enough for all of General Washington’s army and for a few of the British as well!”
After starting the fire in the kitchen and fixing a little dinner, Betsy relaxed in the rocker to knit and wait for the stockings to come. She had almost finished two pairs when Nate came in from the barn and lit the lamp. “I expect we’ll have company any minute now,” he said. “Should be quite a flock of stockings here tonight. You’ve done a good job.”
Betsy kept knitting and rocking, and Nate busied himself with his pocketknife and a chunk of pinewood. When he had whittled one piece into fine kindling, he went to the woodbox for another, then another. The only sounds were the scraping of his knife, the clicking of Betsy’s needles, and the howling of a fierce wind that had started up outside. No company came. When she finished her fourth stocking, Betsy’s knitting fell into her lap.
Nate said softly, “Why don’t you go to bed? When the stockings come, I’ll wake you up.”
Betsy nodded and trudged upstairs. When she awoke, it was day, but the sky was a blanket of gray. She pulled on her clothes and ran downstairs. Nate was sitting in the rocker, his head resting on his chest. “Nate.” Betsy shook his shoulder. “Where are all the stockings?”
Nate awoke scowling. “You can see them yourself.” He swung his arm toward the table. “Your two pairs.”
Betsy’s chin trembled, and her eyes started to burn. Blinking furiously to control her tears, she looked at the two lonely pairs of stockings. Her throat felt twisted and tight. “Well,” she finally managed to say, “get busy and hitch up the wagon. Pa and Dan will have stockings when they march tonight.”
“Betsy, we’ve been beaten. Two pairs of stockings aren’t worth the trip—haven’t you seen the new snow? We’ll have to go the long way.”
Nate’s voice was angry, but Betsy knew that he was just as disappointed as she was.
“It’s all right if you don’t want to come,” Betsy said with a gulp. “I’ll go by myself.”
Nate stamped out the door and hitched up the oxen. Then he called Betsy, and they rode down the bleak, snowy road. For miles the oxens’ muffled plodding and Betsy’s needles were the only sounds they heard.
Suddenly a figure ran awkwardly toward them from the Lawrences’ narrow side road. Nate stopped the wagon and lifted Mrs. Lawrence’s bundle into the wagon.
“We’ve been knitting all night,” Mrs. Lawrence told them. “We wanted to get the stockings to you, but the storm stopped us. We knew that it would force you to pass this way though. Anyway, here they are—twelve pairs!”
Betsy and Nate both thanked her. Betsy was elated. Fourteen pairs were better than two! Nate slapped the reins, and they were off again.
When they came to a fork in the road, there stood Mrs. Paul and one of the Dixon lads, laden with stockings. Farther down the road they met little Richie Moon with a basket of stockings almost bigger than he was. When they finally left the parish area, Nate pulled the wagon to the side of the road. They both scrambled into the wagon bed and started counting: 50 … 80 … 110 pairs of heavy woolen stockings! Enough for the whole company—and a few of the British too!
Nate winked at Betsy and started humming “Yankee Doodle.” Before he had finished the first verse, both their voices were ringing across the frozen New Jersey countryside.
Late that night, Lt. Ward’s company did march—with a warm stocking on every foot!

I am no longer a teenager. But I understand. My mother died when I was 15. That was 20 years ago. I have experienced all the feelings you have—the anger (at my mom and Heavenly Father), the frustration, the loneliness, the shock. All of these feelings are very real.
When my mom died, we did not talk about it. I think it took me years to work through her death because of that. Hopefully, your family can talk about your feelings and losses. Your mother still exists; that doesn’t end with death. Your mother is simply living somewhere else. She loves you very much.
If your family can’t talk about your mom, you need to find someone who can. I don’t think that necessarily means your best friend. Very few people have experienced the loss of a parent. Although they may be well meaning they may not connect with your feelings. You have already discovered that. Pray to Heavenly Father so that he can help you find a support group, a counselor, or a friend who will listen to you. You need to feel sad in order to understand your mother’s death and be happy again.
Something that helped me very much (although I didn’t realize it until years later) was staying close to the gospel, praying, and keeping the commandments. I allowed myself to be angry at Heavenly Father. I said so in my prayers. I think he probably expected that and allowed me to work through my feelings. In looking back, I can see that Heavenly Father surrounded me with his love. He protected me from myself and my grief.
You will always miss your mom. And finding peace might take a long time. For me, it took years. But I promise you that if you desire it, it will come. I decided that I owed that to my mom and myself. When you’re at peace you feel watched over and warm.
I may never understand why my mother died when she did. But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s okay. I wish you success.
Stephanie Ransom, 35West Valley City, Utah

Elder Marcus Bell Nash remembers as an eight-year-old boy puzzling over something a nonmember friend had told him. This friend had said that he believed his own church was true. Elder Nash says, “I knew our Church was true. I had never thought that someone else could think his or her church was true. I walked home puzzling and pondering this question. If he thinks his church is true, and I think mine is true, who is right?”
As he sat on the front steps, his head in his hands, he asked himself, “How do I figure this out?” Elder Nash says, “A voice came into my mind, and it said, ‘Now you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, don’t you?’ I answered the question inwardly, ‘Yes.’ Then the voice said, ‘Then you know the Church is true, don’t you?’ And I said, ‘Yes!’ All the doubt disappeared.”
That answer set the foundation of his testimony. Elder Nash developed a great love for the Prophet Joseph Smith and a powerful feeling for the Book of Mormon that built upon that foundation.

A true story from the USA.
“Can I have the last cookie?” Jack asked.
“Let’s save it for tomorrow,” Mom said. “It’s time for bed.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. He brushed his teeth. He put on his pajamas. And he kept thinking about the cookie.
He went to the kitchen for a drink of water. The cookie was in a bag by the sink. No one was looking.
Jack snatched it and dashed to his room. He pulled the cookie from the bag and took a bite. Yummy.
Then he heard footsteps. It was his brother! Jack dove under his blanket.
“What are you doing?” Trevor asked.
Jack found a book under the blanket. “Um … reading.”
Trevor pulled the blanket off Jack. “With a cookie?”
“I … I’m using it as a bookmark,” Jack said.
Mom walked in too. “A cookie for a bookmark?”
Jack pulled the blanket back over himself. He hoped Mom and Trevor would go away. They didn’t.
Jack’s face felt hot. He peeked out from the blanket. “I took the cookie so I could eat it.”
“Thanks for being honest,” Mom said.
Jack frowned. “But I don’t feel better.”
Mom sat on the bed. “Praying for forgiveness can help. Jesus Christ can help you feel peace again.”
Mom and Trevor knelt and prayed with Jack. He said sorry for taking the cookie and lying.
When he finished, Jack smiled. “Hey, I do feel better!” He handed the cookie to Mom. “And I bet this will taste even better tomorrow!”
Watch a video of this story at friend.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

George T. Benson was known for his industry and honesty. In addition to being a leading citizen in the community, he served in both the bishopric and the stake presidency. “Father was always very prompt,” President Benson recalls. “I have never known him to be late for a meeting. He would set a time when the buggy was to leave the farm and drive the mile and a half to church. Sometimes, if there was a late one, he would start the team up slowly at the appointed time, and more than once the children who were not quite ready would have to run to catch the buggy.”

Bryan’s favorite family home evening lesson was one his mom gave on repentance. She hid paper footprints around the house. Each footprint had a step of repentance written on it. The children first had to find the hidden steps. “I found some and let Rachel find some,” Bryan recalls. Then the family talked about each one and put them in order on the floor. Then each person walked on the footprints, naming the steps of repentance as he or she went.

“I want to be a missionary. I’ve been reading the scriptures to prepare.”

Bryan knows that all Latter-day Saints have been called to be a light to the world and that his home is a “lighthouse” for neighbors and friends. His family is looking forward to going to yet another house of light—the holy temple—where they will be sealed for time and eternity. They want all the light they can get.

Working with Spanish-speaking investigators is an experience shared by Elder Santiago Tinon from Chicago, Illinois, and Elder Alejandro Flores of E1 Paso, Texas. Originally called as English-speaking missionaries in the Utah Salt Lake City South Mission, the two elders are now working exclusively with Spanish-speaking people from Mexico, Guatemala, Venezuela, and El Salvador. In one month alone, this missionary pair had six baptisms. One of them was a young Mexican woman who had come to Provo, Utah, to study. She smoked cigarettes heavily but accepted the challenge to read the Book of Mormon. By the third discussion, she was converted and readily gave up her smoking. She was an example, Elder Flores says, of how well the gospel is accepted among Hispanics.

A world-renowned physician and professor at a prominent medical school came to my office when I had been serving only a month or two as a mission president. “President,” he said, “I am going to join your church. I am terribly busy. I must teach, I carry a heavy program of research projects, and at the present time I am revising my textbook. (He had written a textbook on his specialty that was used in most medical schools.)
“I already know the Church is true, but I don’t want to join and then not be the kind of member I should be. I know you are also a physician, so I want to ask you this question: Can I be a good Mormon and still be a good physician?”
I assured him that I had never found a conflict between my profession and my commitments as a servant of the Lord. Many years previously, when I was set apart as a member of a high council, I had been promised by Elder Alma Sonne, who did not know I was a doctor, that I would never experience a conflict if I were to accept willingly any calling that was given to me.
As this eminent professional and I talked, I could not resist asking the question: “Doctor, with your scientific background, how did you handle the Joseph Smith story?”
“I will admit that the story sounded utterly incredible to me at first,” he said. “But then I thought that if this man Joseph Smith truly were a prophet, his work should verify that fact. I proceeded to look up, read, and study everything I could find that Joseph Smith had ever written.
“I was amazed at the wisdom that had come from this uneducated, unlettered young man in the short time he had lived. Surely he could not have written any of this wisdom unless he was what he claimed to be—a prophet of God! Only God could have been his tutor.”
I could not resist asking the natural sequel to my first question. “How,” I asked, “did you handle the Book of Mormon?”
His answer was very matter-of-fact. “I read it and put it to the test” (see Moro. 10:4), he said. “Can you think of a better explanation than the one Joseph Smith gave?”
For me his answer summarized a basic premise: The Book of Mormon and the other scriptures are not on trial. We are. The proof of their divinity lies within them. A testimony of their truthfulness is ours for simply reading them prayerfully.

Nineteen-year-old Emily Rowland takes a deep breath. The task ahead of her seems nearly impossible. A trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down her face to drip off her chin, and her face becomes flushed, but she won’t give up.
Emily knows she must persevere, not only for herself, but for others who will follow. Her heart pounds and her muscles beg her to stop, but she knows it will be worth it.
This is Relief Society Homemaking meeting.
Of course, it’s not always this much of an ordeal—but this particular Homemaking night finds Emily and some of the other women in her ward—the University Ward near the University of Nevada at Las Vegas—working to improve their health and fitness, and that means working up a sweat doing aerobics. Other times Homemaking might mean learning about how to manage finances (not a bad skill for a college freshman like Emily), or how to look for a job, or maybe even how to change a flat tire.
What, no recipes, no baby quilts?
“Sure, cooking and sewing are important too,” says Emily. “It always amazes me how well Relief Society can adjust to individual needs. It’s a lot of fun.”
Emily and two of her friends, Aubrey VanDrimmelen and Charlotte Ballard, say that leaving Young Women behind was hard, and maybe even a little frightening. But it’s also something they all agree it was time to do.
“I really loved Young Women,” says Charlotte. “And Relief Society is different from Young Women. For one thing, there are a lot of people who are older than you. But after you’ve gone a few times, you realize how nice everyone is, how much they want to be your friend.”
Emily points out that going from Young Women to Relief Society happens at a time when most girls are headed off to college, entering the work force, preparing for missions, or getting married.
“Those are big changes,” she says. “Relief Society is a big change, too, but it helps you cope with all the other new things in life.”
Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”
Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”
“Last week, our lesson on Sunday was titled ‘Aging Is Part of God’s Plan,’” says Aubrey. “I looked at that and thought, How on earth is that going to apply to someone like me? I mean, no one in my ward is exactly getting old.”
Even though there is only one lesson in the Relief Society curriculum about aging, there are lots of lessons on family and social relationships. Does that mean that someone who is young and single can’t get anything from them?
“No way!” says Emily, who serves as a Spiritual Living teacher in her ward. “I work on my lesson all week, reading it so many times I practically know it by heart. Every lesson has something that is valuable, whether you’re 19, 29, or 79.”
Charlotte says that the age differences in Relief Society actually add to her experience.
“You can always learn things from people who are older than you,” she says. “You may not need to know those things right at the moment you learn them, but lots of them come in handy later on. There’s always a great spirit in Relief Society because people share their own experiences.”
Of course, one thing that doesn’t change whether you’re in Young Women or Relief Society is the chance to learn about the Savior and how to become more like him.
“I know with a surety that my Savior lives,” says Emily. “Sometimes you start to doubt things, but if you listen to the lessons in Relief Society you learn and grow so much because you’re doing the right thing. Relief Society helps you stay close to the gospel.”
And along with that closeness to the Savior and the gospel come a closeness and friendship with each other that the girls say is hard to duplicate anywhere else.
“There’s a lot of love in our Relief Society,” says Charlotte. “You can tell when you’re there that people are willing to help each other. There are opportunities to serve and teach everywhere.”
This year, young women all over the Church will be taking the plunge into Relief Society. With a little less than a year of Relief Society under their belts, Emily, Aubrey, and Charlotte know what that initial plunge feels like: exciting, scary, and possibly (for the newcomer) a little intimidating. They also know what it feels like to keep coming: rewarding, uplifting, and a smooth transition to a lot of fun, where age differences don’t matter much.
“Everyone in Relief Society wants you to know you are accepted and to make you feel good about being there. What could be better?” says Emily.
Aubrey agrees.
“It’s a little like reading the scriptures,” she says. “Every time you go, you learn something different. And the longer you do it, the more you learn.”
Friendship, love, skill training, and spiritual growth—it’s a good deal no matter what age you are and no matter what your needs are. And who knows? The first time you go, they might even serve a delicious, fancy dessert—with the recipe, of course. After all, this is Relief Society.
Feeling left out because there’s not a student or singles’ ward in your area? Well, whether you live hundreds of miles away from the nearest Church member your age, or just a few minutes from Church headquarters, your home ward is still a great place for you to be—including Relief Society!
Christy Pimper, another 19-year-old college student from Las Vegas, has chosen to attend her home ward. Here are some of her tips on finding a way to fit in:
Mentally prepare to make the move. “I really liked Young Women, but when I turned 18, I felt ready to leave. I was older than everyone and my needs were different. When it’s time to move on, don’t hesitate!”
Take the opportunity to develop your testimony. “The lessons in Relief Society are great. You learn things you never knew before, and you understand things you’ve known all your life much better than before.”
Make friends. “Even though everyone in my ward is older than me, I don’t feel left out. All the women go out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
Keep an open mind. “Relief Society is different from Young Women, but unless you give it a try, you’ll never really know for yourself what it’s like.”

A simple act of caring helped Judy* learn from a difficult experience. “It was probably the bleakest time in my life,” she recalls. “My divorce had been long and bitter, and I missed being with my four children. For six months I had been working with Dr. Susan Nelson,* a therapist who helped me recognize that I was partially responsible for what had happened. For the first time, I had to confront my personal weaknesses that, until then, I had denied. It all seemed so overwhelming to me.
“One afternoon in Dr. Nelson’s office, as I was speaking of everything precious I had lost, I looked up to see tears slipping down her cheeks. It surprised me. ‘If a paid therapist can care so much about me,’ I thought, ‘why can’t I care that much about myself?’ Tears began to roll down my face for the first time in years. It was the turning point. In her loving and caring way, Dr. Nelson reminded me that I am a child of God. I could then value myself enough to let go of the past and move on with my life.”

But tonight we should not speak much of age. You are young, and life’s exciting challenges are yet before you. Sister Nelson and I reflect on times when we were young. We met during our university days. Dantzel was a campus queen when I fell in love with her. I proposed to her while we were picking peas in a pea patch. Then and there we made a resolution that temple marriage was a must for us.

By the time I entered medical school we had become very good friends. Often, after I had spent a morning in the anatomy lab with its pungent aroma of formaldehyde, we ate our sack lunches together on the campus lawn. She always preferred for me to sit downwind from her.

We were married when she was a senior and I had graduated, but I was being recycled—as a sophomore once again, this time in medical school. We were so young that my father even had to sign my marriage certificate. Early married life on the campus was wonderful. With our limited means, we could only afford to share a can of soup for lunch. We really worked hard. She received her baccalaureate degree at age twenty, and I became a doctor of medicine at twenty-two. I thought I knew so much. My parents thought I knew so little.

We traveled east for what we thought was to be one year of internship. That year expanded to many years of postdoctoral education, research, and military service. My academic appointments took us to major cities of the central and eastern sectors of the United States as President Taylor has mentioned. In all, more than twelve years elapsed from the time I received my doctor of medicine degree until I was finally able to enter private practice. By then we had six children. But never through that long period of study did Sister Nelson murmur about the lack of material possessions.

Oh yes, there was one exception. I remember a night in Boston when we were walking down Boylston street. She pressed her nose against the windowpane of a furniture store and asked, “Do you think we will ever be able to afford a lamp?”

Adina, from Switzerland, learned how family members can help one another develop talents as they enjoy wholesome recreational activities together.2 Her family plans a monthly family outing where they learn more about each other’s hobbies. “We have the opportunity to give our siblings a deeper insight into our life and our passions,” she says. One time, her father taught the family about dog training (below). “It was nice to see his enthusiasm and how happy he was to share an important part of his life and hobby with us,” Adina remembers.
Through these family activities, Adina has developed many skills. She has also noticed more peace in her life: “The family is a place where I can rest from the stress of everyday life and breathe peacefully, as well as gain strength and know that I don’t have to stand alone in this life. I am thankful for this because the world today is so fast and loud. I am glad I have a place to regenerate and rest.”

• Moscow, Russia, Monday, June 24: The third “Music and the Spoken Word” performance is videotaped during this evening’s Bolshoi Theatre concert before 2,400, seated three-deep in the five circular balcony tiers of this renowned hall. For many, another rich, emotional evening occurs, the same as at all concerts in the former Eastern Bloc lands. Hope and the Spirit of the Lord seem to press everywhere!
The first encore, “Hospodi Pomilui” (meaning “Lord, have mercy on us”), a hymn during which that phrase is repeated seventy-seven times, seems this night to be as a great prayer of national penance in this land that has been seen by many as a symbol of oppression. The choir’s great, emotional pleading of the words powerfully moves the entire audience.
At the dinner of state held after the concert, the vice president of the Russian Republic announces that on May 28, less than a month ago, this largest of the fifteen republics in the Soviet Union has given official recognition to the Church throughout the entire breadth and depth of the republic, which covers three-quarters of the land mass of the Soviet Union and holds approximately 150 million people.
Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve joins the choir entourage, enlarged this day by the hundred or more Utahns joining Brother Jon M. Huntsman in the dedication of a factory in Armenia that will produce high-tech concrete to house homeless Armenians suffering from a 1988 earthquake. In appreciation for the service the Church rendered to quake victims, a plot of land in the city of Yerevan is given to the Church by officials of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic. Elder Russell M. Nelson and Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve and Elder Hans B. Ringger of the Seventy express gratitude for the gift. The site will be used to construct a multipurpose building containing offices, a Church meetinghouse, and residences for Church volunteer workers helping to train Armenians in home construction.
• St. Petersburg, Russia, Thursday, June 27: How is it possible for the emotional, spiritual, and musical highs to keep on going! Tonight six encores are performed to a cheering, crying audience! For the second time, an audience will not stop clapping until the last choir member has walked offstage, audience and choir members poignantly waving good-bye to each other.
“Wonderful! Wonderful! Spiritual! Spiritual! Leningrad is happy again! This is a holiday,” calls out a man in strongly Russian-accented English. The concerts are now over. But a day remains for visiting new Russian friends and tomorrow’s closing fireside of choir music and the testimonies of Russian converts. Elder Nelson tells the choir: “You have been totally successful in all we expected you to do.”

One Sunday morning, Janalee Gale, a nurse working at a large Salt Lake City hospital, heard an announcement about church services for patients. Janalee checked with her patients, but found that most of them were too ill or too tired to attend.
However, one woman—a Latter-day Saint—said that she would like to attend the Latter-day Saint service. Janalee quickly helped the patient get ready and combed her hair. Although the patient was in constant pain, she didn’t complain.
Some time later, the woman took Janalee’s hand and said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill. When I partook of the sacrament …” she paused, then continued, “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” Both women were moved to tears. (See Tambuli, December 1983, “The Forgotten Sabbath,” by Janalee Gale.)