Gospel Story Finder

After only 23 weeks gestation, our third son, Iñaki, was born via emergency cesarean section. He weighed only 1 pound, 4 ounces (560 g) and measured 12.2 inches (31 cm).
Because our son was so premature, there was not much chance he would survive. Our doctor asked us if we really wanted physicians to help him, thus prolonging the inevitable. I answered that as long as he was alive, we had to give him a chance. Then I asked God for a miracle.
Iñaki received a blessing of health that first night. During the next four long months, he suffered a perforation in his intestines, a brain hemorrhage, and a collapsed lung. Because of his circumstances, we received permission to give him a name and a blessing in the hospital.
Throughout this process, we met other parents who suffered just as we did, and we offered each other support and comfort. We also shared our testimonies of the gospel with everyone we could.
One day we received a call to go to the hospital to say good-bye to our son, who was not expected to survive through the afternoon. When we arrived, we held him and spoke to him. Seeing him in his weak condition was indescribably painful. For the first time, my husband and I realized that we were just temporary guardians for this child of God. All we could do to help him was pray and ask Heavenly Father for His will to be done. Iñaki clung to life that afternoon, and we are grateful that he continued to do so in the days that followed.
During the four months Iñaki spent in the neonatal intensive-care unit, we repeatedly saw the power of the priesthood in action as Heavenly Father blessed our son through the hands of physicians and priesthood holders—eventually healing him, to the amazement of the doctors.
In October 2008, Iñaki came home.
We have learned many things as a family through this experience. We know that our Heavenly Father loves us and that He works miracles and preserves His Saints despite the trials we must endure. And we understand better the purpose of eternal families, the important role they play in the plan of happiness, and how generous our Heavenly Father is with His children.
Today we are a different family, more united and more aware of the suffering and needs of those around us—all because of our son and the miracle he has wrought in our lives.

Nearly a century ago, a family from Oregon was vacationing in Indiana—over 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away—when they lost their beloved dog, Bobbie. The frantic family searched for the dog everywhere but to no avail. Bobbie could not be found.
Heartbroken, they made the trip home, each mile taking them farther away from their cherished pet.
Six months later, the family was stunned to find Bobbie on their doorstep in Oregon. “Mangy, scrawny, feet worn to the bone—[he] appeared to have walked the entire distance … by himself.”1 Bobbie’s story captured the imagination of people across the United States, and he became known as Bobbie the Wonder Dog.

When Bobby Collins (name has been changed) sent his mission papers off, he was surprised that he did not get back a large white envelope containing his mission call. Instead, he received a letter from the Church’s Missionary Department asking about his tattoo.
When Bobby graduated from high school, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go on a mission. He moved away from home to work, and he liked the independence of not having his parents around all the time. At about the same time, his best friend and his cousin both got tattoos. “That kind of lowered my guard,” he says.
Bobby had always been good at art, so he designed his own tattoo. He knew tattoos were discouraged by the Church and that his mother wouldn’t like it, and before he went to get it, he asked his brother what he thought about it. His brother had some good advice. He said, “Life already gives us so many scars. Why would you want another one?”
But Bobby had already made up his mind. Six weeks and 700 hard-earned dollars later, he had a huge tattoo all the way up one leg. “It was really painful. It was bloody,” he remembers. And “getting one made it easier to think about getting more.” He didn’t get any more, but after strengthening his testimony of the gospel, he did decide he wanted to serve a mission.
As painful as getting his tattoo was, the pain of regret that Bobby felt was much worse. He was very worried about whether or not he would be able to serve a mission. He wanted to get the tattoo removed but couldn’t afford to. He worried what his future spouse and children might think of it.
“That letter from the Missionary Department scared me a lot,” Bobby says. “My biggest fear was that this one thing was going to hold me back from serving a mission.”
Bobby had to do what the Missionary Department asks all missionary applicants who have tattoos to do. On his original application he told them a little about his tattoo. The letter he received later requested a few more details, including an explanation of when and why he got it and where it is located on the body as well as a description or photograph of it. He was also asked to describe how he felt about it.
When a missionary candidate with a tattoo applies, General Authorities review each case and decide whether that candidate will be allowed to serve a mission. Some cannot.
Bobby did receive his mission call. He is grateful to be a missionary and sorry that, now a representative of the Lord’s Church, he once decided to get a tattoo.
“I just hope people will follow President Hinckley’s counsel,” Bobby says. “I know that he is a prophet of God. If he says it’s important, then it’s important.”
Bobby has some counsel of his own too, the same counsel his brother gave him: “Even though we can be forgiven through the Atonement, why do something else that’s going to leave us scarred?”

Clare Magee has lots of friends. One of her best friends is her mother, Sue. They enjoy working in the kitchen together, where they often make one of Clare’s favourite treats, banana sandwiches.
She is also best friends with her sisters, Sara and Emma, who help her get ready for dance concerts. Clare (11) has been dancing since she was four years old; she is also good friends with her dance instructor, Sharon Moore. Sharon’s dance school has been featured on the BBC, a British television network.
Another of Clare’s best friends is her father, William. He’s a firefighter, and she loves to go with him to the station, just down the street from their home, to see the big fire engines. “The firefighters let my dad and me climb up in the engine, and they don’t even say anything!”
She and her father often take their dog, Wags, out for a walk. He’s one of her best friends too. “We rescued him from the pound. He was an abandoned pup, only twelve weeks old. His tail hasn’t stopped wagging since we first met. That’s why he’s named Wags.”
As a family, the Magees like to go bowling, go to the cinema (movies), spend summers at the seaside, and go camping. “It’s a wonderful thing to spend time with your family, because they are your eternal friends,” Clare says.
Her father is the bishop of the Portadown Ward, Belfast Northern Ireland Stake. Her parents have taught her a lot about other friends, like the Prophet Joseph Smith and the living prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson. She has learned of great heroes and heroines in the scriptures; and, most of all, she has been taught about the Saviour, Jesus Christ, and about Heavenly Father. “I know I can trust Heavenly Father and Jesus. When I say my prayers, I know they are heard.”
Clare also likes Primary, where she has been excited to learn about temples. “The Church is building a new temple near Preston, England, and I know I’ll be going there someday.”
The Magees live on a busy street in a house next door to a chemist shop (drugstore). Her family could have moved to the countryside, buy they decided that they like their neighbours and that it was important to have good friends where they live, so they stayed put. “Our neighbours and friends accept us as a Mormon family,” her father says. “They are kind to us, and we try to be kind to them.”
Clare makes friends wherever she goes. She has friends she met in Brownies and in Girl Guides. She has friends she’s made while swimming or playing field hockey. And she has friends she knows from doing a pantomime show at the local town hall, where her mother helped make costumes for everyone in the cast.
When her mother learned that some of the cast members had questions about the Church, she invited them to visit the Portadown Ward meetinghouse. While they were there, many of them and their mothers noticed pictures of the Saviour and learned how deeply Latter-day Saints love the Lord. “Some of them didn’t know that Mormons are Christians,” Clare’s mother explains. “Now they understand that we are.”
Does Clare have some secret that helps her in making all these friends?
“I just remember that we’re all children of the same God, ” she says, “so that means we’re all brothers and sisters.”
And that’s not really a secret.

Another time, they took “warm fuzzy cupcakes” (fuzzy socks rolled into the shape of cupcakes) to the residents of another assisted-living home.
“While there we celebrated a woman’s 101st birthday!” says Ryan. “We had a great time talking with the residents, laughing with their jokes, and learning from their life lessons. One woman was 103 and still loved doing crossword puzzles on her iPad with her friend who was 102!”

At Christmas time Cynthia, Richard, Gerald, Mom, and Dad went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The children helped set up the stable like the one where Baby Jesus was born, sang Christmas carols, and opened presents.
A few days after Christmas Dad said, “It’s time to go home.”
Grandpa and Grandma looked sad.
“Mommy,” Cynthia said, “why are Grandma and Grandpa so sad?”
“Because they will miss us when we go home.”
Cynthia went to find Grandma, who was helping Gerald pack his clothes.
“Grandma,” Cynthia said, “will you be happy if I leave some of my toys? You can play with them till we come back.”
“Thank you, honey,” said Grandma, “I will miss you, not your toys.” She gave Cynthia a big hug.
Cynthia wondered how she could help Grandma and Grandpa be happy. Suddenly she remembered how happy Dad was when Mom put notes in his lunch sack. She ran and whispered to Gerald and Richard and gave them each some pieces of paper. Richard sat on the floor and wrote and wrote and wrote. Gerald drew pictures because he was too little to write.
“Mommy,” said Cynthia, “how do you spell love?”
“L-o-v-e,” Mom told her.
When Cynthia finished writing, she tiptoed into the living room. She hid one of her notes on Grandpa’s chair. She put another note in the piano bench. She even put two in Grandma’s slippers under the couch. Then she tiptoed quietly out.
Richard waited in the hall until Grandpa left the kitchen. Then he scurried in and put one note in the cracker box, one on top of the forks, and one in an apron pocket. He also put notes in the refrigerator and the pantry.
Meanwhile, Gerald was in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. He put all his picture-notes under their pillows for them to find when they went to bed.
Soon Dad and Mom were bundling them into their coats. “Kiss Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and get in the car!” said Dad.
Grandpa kept saying, “I’m going to miss all of you. I’m really going to miss you!” He looked like he was already missing them, and they hadn’t even gone yet!
Grandma kissed all the kids and Mom and Dad too. “Remember to write me,” she told them.
Cynthia, Richard, and Gerald started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Grandma.
“You’ll see,” Cynthia told her, grinning from ear to ear. “We left love notes for you all over the house.”

James got the job he wanted working at a grocery store in Deer Park, Washington. He first talked to the manager, and then he followed up by submitting an application. The manager noted that James would not work on Sunday and so he did not hire him. Yet James kept in touch with the store, and after a few days he was asked to work for two days on a trial basis. The owner of the store interviewed James and asked him why he would not work on Sunday. James told him it was part of the teachings of his church and he had made a personal commitment to try to keep the Sabbath holy. The owner was impressed, and James was hired—to work every day but Sunday.

The branch in Plzen had only seven members. Later that year, Jirí was ordained a deacon and then a priest. The following year, when the Communists prohibited Church activity and closed the mission, 18-year-old Jirí and others tried to keep the branch alive. At age 20, Jirí became a counselor in the branch presidency. “We always tried to meet in the largest numbers possible in members’ apartments, but pressure from the secret police became so strong—it was very hard.”

This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.

What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.

Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.

In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”

Ministering on the Sabbath is something Sister Zola Adjei came to love while growing up in the Kpong Branch in Ghana. While home from boarding school during the summers, she and other youth would go in groups to visit members of their branch they hadn’t seen in a while. “It was a sacrifice because most of us felt very hungry after church, and we were so far from our homes that we didn’t have time to eat and gather again,” Sister Adjei said. But the sacrifice was worth it, as they were able to pray and sing hymns with their fellow branch members and invite them to church and activities. One of the youth would offer to walk with them to church the next Sunday.

“This practice formed a bond amongst us,” Sister Adjei said. “Some of us have stayed strong friends from the decisions we made to go out and bring back our lost friends by giving up a few hours of our Sabbath day.”

We must have been a pathetic sight—me in my Hawaiian loose-fitting dress with wilted flower necklaces still around my neck, and three blurry-eyed, very tired children, the oldest one barely five. It was 2:30 A.M., and the huge San Francisco airport was nearly empty. I felt totally lost and so alone.
I approached a man at one of the service counters and asked how far it was to town. He told me that the last bus was just about to leave, and if I hurried, I might still be able to catch it. He helped me with our luggage, and stopped the bus just as it prepared to leave. I didn’t even have time to thank him before we were whisked away.
The station at the end of the line was dark and closed, and as the other passengers on the bus quickly scattered into the night, the empty bus pulled out to wherever it was going, and left me with three small children, four suitcases, and two small trunks, standing on a sidewalk somewhere in San Francisco.
I was beginning to show signs of panic when a custodian came out of the bus station, locking the door behind him. I asked him if there was some place I could use a telephone to call a cab, or if he knew of a hotel nearby. Blessedly, he knew of a clean little hotel about six blocks away, and he offered to obtain a furniture dolly from the building to take my luggage to the hotel. By 4 A.M. with the children in bed, I sank into an exhausted sleep.

As a young missionary in Germany, just a month or two in the field, I had two similar experiences that affected my testimony of the Book of Mormon in a profound way.
One morning as we were tracting, my companion and I knocked on the door of a minister of a prominent church. He invited us in, asked us to be seated at his table, and then immediately began to attack the Book of Mormon in a highly agitated and animated way. I understood most of what he was saying, and the contentious spirit in which he was saying it was unmistakable, but my lack of proficiency with the German language made it difficult for me to respond. My senior companion, a strong and outstanding missionary, simply bore a powerful testimony of the book, and we excused ourselves and left. My heart was pounding. I believe I was shaking a bit. I felt troubled.
A week or two later we met a man while street contacting who agreed to an appointment. We set a time, and he gave us his address in Bückeburg, a picturesque little town several miles from our assigned city of Minden but still in our area.
It was winter, and on the Sunday morning of our appointment, we mounted our bicycles and pedaled the entire distance, bucking a strong, cold headwind. Cold and panting, we pressed the doorbell on the man’s apartment building, and he buzzed the door open. We climbed the stairs to his apartment, and he let us in. Immediately we recognized a contentious spirit in the room—the same spirit we had felt a few weeks earlier in the home of the minister.
Our host did not invite us to sit down. Instead, he left the room for a moment. He returned carrying several editions of the Bible, dropped them on the table, and said in a very loud and defiant voice, “So you want to talk [religion], do you?” Then, pointing to the window, he bellowed, “Good, but first throw your Book of Mormon in the Weser [River]!”
A couple of weeks had passed since our experience with the minister, and I was now able to say a sentence or two in German. I attempted to do so. Once again, my senior companion simply bore a strong, quiet testimony of the Book of Mormon and politely thanked the man for his time. Then we excused ourselves and rode back to Minden, this time with the wind at our backs.
I had a testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or so I thought at the time. But it became painfully clear after those two experiences, so close together in time, that my testimony was neither deep nor strong. I was unsure of myself and of my ability to truthfully bear witness of the Book of Mormon in a powerful and convincing way.
I made up my mind that if I were to have a successful mission, I had better make sure my testimony of the Book of Mormon was true and strong. I went to work on it. I read and prayed and thought and contemplated. Ultimately, the Lord blessed my efforts. A testimony came to me and has never left; rather, it has grown stronger through the years.
I have thought often of those two experiences. I am grateful to a wise and steady companion, and in a way I am thankful for an unwitting minister and a rather fanatical man, who figuratively took hold of my shoulders and shook me. To this day, well beyond 40 years later, I remember their names and the details of our meetings. When I think of them, the great passage from 3 Nephi comes to mind:
“And according as I have commanded you thus shall ye baptize. And there shall be no disputations among you, as there have hitherto been; neither shall there be disputations among you concerning the points of my doctrine, as there have hitherto been.
“For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another.
“Behold, this is not my doctrine, to stir up the hearts of men with anger, one against another; but this is my doctrine, that such things should be done away” (3 Nephi 11:28–30).
I think too of the great words of Paul to the Galatians: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance” (Galatians 5:22–23).
These are the fruits I experience when I read the Book of Mormon. Reading its pages, contemplating the transcendent doctrines of Christ it contains, attempting to apply these in my life—all this settles in my mind and in my soul as a “mighty change” (Mosiah 5:2; Alma 5:14) in my heart, one that gives me resolve to do better; to be a little kinder, less critical, more generous; and to share with others the great blessings the Lord has given me.
These are the fruits of the Spirit of God. These are the fruits of the Book of Mormon.

In third or fourth grade a friend and I were riding our bicycles home from school. Some older children saw us riding by and started chasing us. I was terrified! We rode as fast as we could, with the bullies on their bikes just behind. When we made it safely to my friend’s house, I promised myself that I would never be a bully. Of course, I wasn’t always perfect. But I did try to look out for classmates whom others did not treat kindly. When I stood up for these friends, I felt the Savior’s love for them and for me.

Such a long absence seemed impossible now that I was home. Behind me was a year spent in Brazil as an exchange student. And here was Marcia, as pretty, smart, and fun to be with as ever. A year away at college had agreed with her, and I was glad we would have a few weeks together before she returned to BYU.
“What do you have in this suitcase?” Marcia grunted as we swung the enormous case onto my bed.
“Brazilian candy and a soda called Guarana. You’ll love it. Also, I brought some goiabada. I want to cook some Brazilian foods.”
“Are you telling me this thing is full of food?”
“Hardly. I’ve got tons of pictures, and some music, and …” I snapped the locks up, “presents for my friends!” I flipped the case open and began rummaging for Marcia’s gift.
“Jessica.” Something in Marcia’s voice startled me. Looking up I saw she was holding a Book of Mormon. “Where did you get this?”
I took the book gently from her hand and rubbed my thumb over the gold-embossed title. At the airport Marcia had remarked on the changes she saw in me. I was deeply tanned—a true first for my fair and freckled skin. My hairstyle and clothes had taken on a distinctly Brazilian quality, and I was having trouble completing sentences entirely in English. But the changes she hadn’t yet detected were lasting changes. I’d kept this information close to my heart, waiting for the right moment to share it with her. This was my biggest surprise.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I was baptized three weeks ago on July 10th.”
I was unprepared for her scream. She fell back on the bed and screamed a second time. She jumped up and, with tears streaming down her face, grabbed me. Hugging, laughing, and crying we spun together in circles.

One day a friend and I noticed a young mother standing by her stalled truck looking very frustrated and unhappy. She had several children with her. We were prompted to stop and offer help. She explained that the truck had run out of gasoline. We said we’d go get some for her so that she could stay with the children. She seemed grateful for the help but reluctant to be the one receiving it. When we returned with a container of gasoline, the woman was thankful but still a little uncomfortable about accepting our help.

Then I had an idea. I said to her, “You would offer the same help to us if we needed it!” She thought about that for a moment or two, then smiled. “You’re right.” she said. “I would!”

I no longer remember where my friend and I were going that day, but I do remember the sweet experience of helping. I’m convinced that most of us would like to stop and help, but we’re unsure of what to do, or we’re too busy or even frightened. Often, we are not properly prepared to help. And there is no handbook of instructions you can refer to in those critical moments when an individual needs you.

In early Utah pioneer times, my great-grandfather Thomas Rasband and his family were some of the first settlers to enter the Heber Valley in the beautiful Wasatch Mountains of Utah.
In 1859, Thomas helped construct the Heber fort, built for their protection. It was a simple structure of cottonwood logs positioned one next to the other, forming the perimeter of the fort. Log cabins were built inside the fortress using that common wall. The structure provided both security and safety for those pioneer families as they put down roots and worshipped the Lord.
Fort Heber (like Fort Clatsop pictured here) was a place of refuge for early pioneers.
Your testimony of Jesus Christ is your personal fortress, the security for your soul. When my great-grandfather and his fellow pioneers built the Heber fort, they put up one log at a time until the fort was “fitly framed together” and they were protected. So it is with testimony. One by one we gain a witness from the Holy Spirit as He speaks to our own spirit, teaching “truth in the inward parts.” When we live the gospel of Jesus Christ, when we draw upon the Savior’s Atonement and press forward with faith, not fear, we are fortified against the wiles of the adversary. Our testimonies connect us to the heavens, and we are blessed with “the truth of all things.” And, like pioneers protected by a fortress, we are safely encircled in the arms of the Savior’s love.

One night during this time, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a voice which came into my mind. As I listened to what was being said, I realized that my great-great-grandfather was speaking to me. I lay there for a moment, listening and thinking. My great-great-grandfather was telling me to have his family sealed to him. He had lived in the United States in the mid-1800s. Due to the American Civil War and the economic conditions prior to the war, my great-great-grandfather George Wilkie had been away from his beloved wife and four sons a great deal. Eventually he died while serving his country in the Civil War.
I had read copies of letters George Wilkie had written home to his family and letters his family had sent to him during his many absences. I had also read his journals. These letters and journals reflected the love family members had for one another, as well as their desires to be reunited.
My ancestors were not Latter-day Saints and did not have the blessings of the gospel. Now, in the middle of the night, here was my great-great-grandfather Wilkie saying to me, “Terry Lynn, please have my family sealed to me. I want to be with them through eternity. Please have our temple work done! You are now away from your husband—imagine that for eternity. It is awful! I want to be sealed to my wife.” Then, as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. At first, I thought I must be imagining things, and I lay there and thought about my great-great-grandparents. I decided I should do their genealogy and would start the work when I had the time. Then I began to fall asleep again. I was startled when the voice returned and said much the same thing, only this time urging me to have the work done soon. I decided to do something about it the next day. Apparently, however, my grandfather knew I would probably be distracted the next day, because he spoke to me yet a third time, and told me to do something NOW!
I could not quite believe what was happening, but in the middle of the night I got up and began working on genealogy. I sorted through miscellaneous papers and records and found the information I needed to begin. I then wrote letters requesting birth, marriage, and death certificates. When I had done all that I could do at that time, I finally went back to bed.
I worked on genealogy a lot during the six months my husband was gone. Eventually, I was able to go to the temple with my cousin and have my great-great grandparents sealed. I can testify that I felt their presence there in the temple and knew that, at last, they could be truly happy and together eternally.
Throughout the next four years my husband was required to be away from home much of the time. I was often comforted and strengthened reading the journals of my great-great-grandparents. Knowing that they had experienced similar situations somehow helped me to put my life in the proper perspective. I felt very close to them, and even though I had never met them, I felt I knew them. The example my great-great-grandparents unknowingly set for me has been, and continues to be, an inspiration.

Gracie smiled as she closed her science book and slid it into her backpack. Having her homework done meant she could read the next chapter of her Nellie Clue mystery! She grabbed her book and plopped onto her bed. She couldn’t wait to read what happened next.
Wait, Gracie thought. I need to read a few pages of the Book of Mormon first.
For her baptism, her grandparents had given Gracie her own set of scriptures. Her goal was to read the whole Book of Mormon before her next birthday, and that was only a few months away. Nellie Clue would have to wait.
Gracie said a prayer and opened her scriptures. She liked reading, but the chapters in the Book of Mormon took her a bit longer than the chapters in her Nellie Clue books. Gracie frowned as she flipped through all the pages she hadn’t read yet. Would she ever be able to finish?
It was hard to read the scriptures by herself. Mom and Dad helped her sometimes. But Dad worked long hours at the hospital, and Mom was usually busy with the younger kids.
Gracie had only read a few verses when Mom called from the other room. “Gracie! The phone’s for you!”
“Coming!” Gracie said as she ran down the hall. Mom was helping her little brother into his pajamas as she passed Gracie the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Gracie girl,” said a familiar voice.
“Grandma!” Gracie loved it when Grandma called. Even though Grandma lived far away, talking to her always made her feel close.
Gracie told Grandma about her last soccer game and the songs she was learning on the piano. Then she told her how frustrated she felt about her Book of Mormon goal. “I’m trying so hard,” Gracie said. “But I don’t think I can do it.”
Grandma was quiet. Then she said, “I have an idea. What if we read together on the phone?”
“I would love that!” Gracie said.
“Me too,” Grandma said. “I’d love to read with you.”
Grandma helped Gracie plan out the number of pages they would read each day. Then every night after dinner, Gracie called Grandma and read out loud to her. New words and chapters that were hard for Gracie to understand made more sense when she talked with Grandma. As the weeks passed, their calls got longer as they shared what they were learning and feeling. Sometimes, Grandma and Gracie even ended up reading more pages from the Book of Mormon than they planned to.
A week before Gracie’s birthday, they finished the very last chapter. A warm, grateful feeling filled Gracie’s heart. “Thanks for reading with me, Grandma,” she said.
“Thanks for letting me read along. I’ve learned so much from you.”
On Gracie’s birthday, Mom made a special cake. It was covered in candles and had a Book of Mormon made out of frosting! But the best part of the day was opening presents. Gracie reached for the package Grandma sent in the mail, pulled open the box, and ripped off the tissue paper. It was a picture of the temple to hang on her wall. Gracie smiled as she read what Grandma had written on the card: “This is to help remind you of the other important goals in your life. I love you, Gracie girl.”
Gracie hugged her picture of the temple close. She knew that setting goals and trying hard was helping her become more like Jesus. And with people like Grandma to help her, there was so much she could do.

During that same trip to Brazil I visited many young women in their homes, desiring to “remember and nourish” them. Some were completely valiant in their testimonies, while others were no longer active in the Church. In each case I asked them if they could recite the Young Women theme. Each one could! Then I asked each one which Young Women value meant the most to her and why. As each girl answered me I felt the Spirit and found at least a spark of faith still alive in those who were no longer attending church. I knew that if someone would remember each of them and love them and nourish that little spark of faith, their light could burn bright again.

On Saturdays and holidays, Junior loves traveling with them to nature reserves and other South African wonderlands, swimming with them in the backyard pool, singing with them, and working with them. He loves sharing family home evenings, family prayer, and family scripture study with them. He loves welcoming the home teachers to teach them. He especially loves sitting with them in sacrament meeting—and that’s where a problem arises. As a member of the stake presidency, Brother Mkhabele often visits other wards. In his own ward, he’s invited to sit on the stand. From Junior’s point of view, this leaves a big, dad-shaped hole right in the middle of the family, and it makes him sad. Junior understands that his dad is doing the Lord’s work, but it still hurts. For Junior, it’s a real sacrifice, and he makes it with real faith.
Faith comes naturally to Junior. Reading doesn’t. And yet, he reads the scriptures faithfully. The two most memorable people he has met there are Nephi and Jonah. “If God tells Nephi to do something, he does it. He’s not afraid of what people will do or think. And when Jonah got on a ship to run away from God, a big fish swallowed him. From that I learned not to be selfish or run away.” Following her big brother’s example, Thembisile loves the scriptures, too. Though she can’t read yet, she insists on having her own copy for scripture study.
Junior has been blessed with a bright mind, but it isn’t like a lamp that shines steadily in one place. It’s more like lightning that flashes brilliantly here and there all across the sky. With such a lively brain, Junior sometimes finds it hard to focus on one thing for long. One thing he does focus on, though, is the gospel.
Junior was recently baptized. “Father baptized me and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I felt fresh and clean.”
Brother Mkhabele was also deeply moved by the event. “It was the most edifying [inspiring] experience of my life. When I confirmed him, the Spirit was so great that I did not lack for words to bless him. I felt that the blessing he received was really inspired. And since then I’ve seen a change in him. He is beginning to concentrate better. He thinks more carefully before doing things. He feels a greater need to help people.”
Not long after his baptism, Junior was visiting another ward’s fast and testimony meeting with his father. He felt impressed to bear his testimony for the first time in public. “I wanted to see if I could bear my testimony in front of everyone. I couldn’t. Then Dad stood up and helped me, and I could.” Junior’s testimony is simple and strong. “I know that God lives. I know that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.”
Junior also has great faith in prayer. “When I pray, Heavenly Father gives me what I ask for unless it would not be right for me. If He doesn’t give me the things I want, it means they wouldn’t be right for me.” Honest as usual, he adds, “I usually pray at night, but sometimes I forget and just go to sleep. In the morning when I remember that I didn’t pray, I feel sad.”
Junior and Thembisile both love going to Primary. When they come home, Junior eagerly tells everyone what he learned. Thembisile loves singing Primary songs. They both love family home evening. Every Monday night Thembisile reminds her parents about family home evening. Ever hopeful, she sometimes reminds them on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, as well.
Thembisile and Junior have fun together. They play with blocks, swing on the swing set, and splash in the backyard pool. Sometimes they fight, but they always make up, often by building something together with Thembisile’s beloved blocks.
When Brother and Sister Mkhabele visited Junior’s school for a progress report, his teacher said, “Junior is so ambitious! He tells me that he wants to go on a mission.” Brother Mkhabele laughs. “She didn’t know that Junior belongs to a church in which most young men his age are planning on missions.”
Junior is already preparing for his. He has asked his mother to teach him how to cook and do his laundry and talked with his father about finances. Junior sees only one problem with missionary service. “I want my own room.” Why go on a mission and risk having a roommate? “Because I don’t want to be selfish to people who don’t know about the gospel. It will make them happy, and I want all the world to be happy.”
After school each day, Junior polishes his shoes and does his homework. After the evening meal, he takes all the dishes to the kitchen and sometimes helps to wash them. He does these chores by assignment, but he does many others by choice. His mother reports that he sometimes says, “Mom, you’re tired. You relax, and I’ll do everything for you.” He especially loves working on projects with his dad. He can do many things for himself—cooking breakfast, for example. He sometimes has an assistant, because whenever Thembisile sees anyone working (or playing), she joins in and helps.
When he grows up, Junior wants to be a policeman, a lawyer, and a college instructor, like his father; and a school teacher and dietitian, like his mother; and a good parent and a true Latter-day Saint. He’s on the right path.