Gospel Story Finder

I was in Arizona a few years ago, and the president of the stake told me about one of his boys having been called to go on a mission. The boy went to the patriarch before he left, and the patriarch gave him a blessing. He told the boy that he should be satisfied with the assignment he would receive. And he said, “You shall see floods to the right of you and floods to the left of you, and your life will be protected and preserved.” He was assigned to the East Central States Mission, and while he was serving there, there was a major flood. The missionary was marooned in Louisville, Kentucky, in a house from which he had to be rescued in a boat, and he lived to see floods to the right of him and floods to the left of him. I ask you, how could the patriarch have known that when he gave that blessing, except by the inspiration of the Almighty?

The road to recognition in this country has been both difficult and frustrating. Since receiving our European assignments, Elder Ringger and I have traveled to Czechoslovakia at least once each year to meet with governmental officials in Prague. Two transoceanic journeys were rewarded only with failed appointments or hopes dashed with the empty statement that “your request for recognition is still being studied.” When we returned to Prague on 6 February 1990, however, we found that the official with whom we had been dealing had been removed from his chair. When his successor heard our complete story, he said, “Your request for recognition will be approved this very month. Your people may again worship in full dignity. Your missionaries may again return to this country.” Recognition was granted February 21, effective 1 March 1990.

When that important declaration was made, I sensed that the real hero in this story was our district president in Czechoslovakia, Jiri Snederfler. Some two and one-half years earlier, Elder Ringger and I had learned that recognition could be formally requested only by a Czechoslovakian member of the Church. So we went to the home of Brother and Sister Snederfler. We explained that we had just received that information from the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs. Knowing that other Czechoslovakian leaders and thinkers had been imprisoned or put to death for religious or dissident belief, we told Brother Snederfler that we, as his Church leaders, could not and would not make that request of him. After contemplating only a brief moment, Brother Snederfler humbly said, “I will go! I will do it!” As he spoke, his wife, Olga, shed a tear. They embraced and said, “We will do whatever is needed. This is for the Lord, and His work is more important than our freedom or life.”

Some months later, when the papers were properly prepared, Brother Snederfler submitted them personally. He and our members were then subjected to strict surveillance. The Saints continued in courage and faith. Ultimately, after periodic fasting and prayer and complete compliance with all requirements, that glorious announcement of recognition came. How I admire the Snederflers and all these stalwart members who endured so much interrogation and risk!

Brother Snederfler has been called to preside over the Freiberg Germany Temple effective 1 September 1991, succeeding President Burkhardt, who has given more than six years of devout and faithful service. Sister Olga Snederfler will serve as temple matron, succeeding Sister Inge Burkhardt.

On 1 July 1990, a mission in Czechoslovakia, forbidden for forty years, was again opened, with Richard W. Winder as president of the Czechoslovakian Mission. He had served in that country on his first mission as a young man. His wife, Barbara, was released as general president of the Relief Society to accompany her husband on this crucial assignment for which they alone were so uniquely qualified.

1. A few years ago a young friend of mine—a returned missionary—was on one of the college basketball teams in Utah. He was a great young man and a very good ballplayer, but he wasn’t playing as much as he had hoped he would. His particular talents and skills weren’t exactly what his team needed at that stage of its development or his. That happens in athletics. So, with the full support and best wishes of his coaches and teammates, my young friend transferred to another school, where he hoped he might contribute a little more.
Things clicked at the new school, and my friend soon became a starter. And wouldn’t you know it—the team’s schedule had this young man returning to play against his former team in Salt Lake City.
The vitriolic abuse that poured out of the stands that night on this young man—a newlywed who paid his tithing, served in the elders quorum, gave charitable service to the youth in his community, and waited excitedly for a new baby coming to him and his wife—should not have been experienced by any human being anywhere, anytime, whatever his sport or university or whatever his personal decisions had been about either of them.
The coach of this visiting team, something of a legend in the profession, turned to him after a spectacular game and said: “What is going on here? You are the hometown boy who has made good. These are your people. These are your friends.” But worst of all, he then said in total bewilderment, “Aren’t most of these people members of your church?”
First, let’s finish the basketball incident. The day after the game, when there was some public reckoning and a call to repentance over the incident, one young man said, in effect: “Listen. We are talking about basketball here, not Sunday School. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. We pay good money to see these games. We can act the way we want. We check our religion at the door.”
“We check our religion at the door”? Lesson number one for the establishment of Zion in the 21st century: You never check your religion at the door.
That kind of discipleship cannot be—it is not discipleship at all. As the prophet Alma taught, we are “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that [we] may be in” (Mosiah 18:9)—not just some of the time, in a few places, or when our team has a big lead.
Whatever the situation or provocation or problem, no true disciple of Christ can check his or her religion at the door.

Prior to his mission young Ezra fell in love with a vivacious young coed. He first noticed her when he and a cousin were standing on a street curb in Logan, Utah, and an attractive woman drove by in a Ford convertible. A few minutes later she drove by a second time. “Who is that?” Ezra asked. “Flora Amussen,” his cousin replied.

Though Ezra was a homespun farm boy from Whitney, Idaho, who had rarely been off the farm, he asked Flora for a date. She accepted. Wearing his blue serge suit, shiny from much wear, he pulled up in front of her large, three-story home, took a deep breath, and wondered what he’d gotten himself into, calling on the most popular—and apparently one of the wealthiest—young women on campus.

Many of his friends were amazed that Flora even gave him the time of day. She was very popular at Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University) and involved in everything from tennis to drama. But once they became acquainted, their courtship proceeded smoothly, and it wasn’t long before Ezra felt he’d found the woman for him. Marriage, however, wouldn’t come immediately. First there was a mission for “Elder” Ezra Taft Benson to serve in Great Britain, and before he knew it he was saying good-bye to Flora at the train station and heading for Europe.

Two-and-a-half years later when he returned, Ezra was delighted and a little relieved to find Flora still available. Their dating resumed, and it wasn’t long before he felt ready to settle down on his Idaho farm with Flora as his wife and begin to rear a family.

Flora seems to have liked the attention of this handsome young farm boy and had entertained thoughts of marriage herself. At 23, she was certainly of marriageable age. But something held her back. For some reason she felt the timing wasn’t quite right for their marriage. She saw in Ezra Benson more than a hard-working farm boy who would make a fine husband and father; she had the impression that Ezra had potential that might not surface if he returned to the farm immediately.

Flora didn’t discuss her feelings with Ezra, but “prayed and fasted for the Lord to help me know how I could help him be of greatest service to his fellowmen. It came to me that if the bishop thought I was worthy, [he would] call me on a mission. The Church came first with Ezra, so I knew he wouldn’t say anything against it.”

Without telling her beau about her plan, Flora talked with her bishop. And before Ezra had a chance to formally propose, she made her own announcement: she was going to Hawaii, where she’d been called to serve a mission. Ezra was shocked. Another separation from Flora? It seemed too much to ask of him. “I was ready to settle down on the farm,” he recalled. “And I didn’t have too much briefing as to why she was leaving. It was really tough. She was the light of my life.”

Flora knew she was taking a calculated risk. Though convinced her boyfriend needed to finish his education and that both of them would profit by maturing spiritually before tying themselves down, she also recognized the possibility he might not wait two years. Nevertheless, she felt she needed to serve this mission.

On August 26, 1924, Flora and Ezra boarded the westbound train in Salt Lake City, and he rode with her as far as Tooele, where he said good-bye. It tore at him for her to leave, but he knew, somehow, that things would work out. Later he wrote in his journal, “We were both happy because we felt the future held much for us and that this separation would be made up to us later. It is difficult, though, to see one’s hopes shattered. But though we sometimes had a cry about it, we received assurance from Him who told us it would all be for the best.”

Things did work out. When Flora returned from Hawaii, Ezra lost no time in proposing, and on September 10, 1926, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

It was through experiences such as these that the young Ezra Taft Benson gained confidence in the Lord, and confidence in what happened when he tried to do what was right—even when it wasn’t easy.

Tanner usually watched the weather forecast on TV to find out if it would be warm enough to wear shorts the next day. One night he was surprised when the weatherman mentioned something besides the weather.
“A meteor shower will light up the sky tomorrow night,” the weatherman said. “The forecast calls for clear skies, but the best view for stargazers will be away from the lights of the city.”
“Awesome!” Tanner exclaimed. He liked looking at the stars, but he had never seen a meteor shower before. “Dad, will we be able to see it from our house?”
“I think we might be able to spot a meteor or two, if you can stay awake that late,” Dad said with a smile.
“I can,” Tanner insisted.
All the next day Tanner looked forward to watching the meteor shower. He felt like it would never get dark enough. It was pretty late when he and Dad finally stepped outside into the warm night. Even though it was past his bedtime, Tanner was too excited to be tired. Dad found the perfect spot in the backyard. They lay down on their backs and stared up at the millions of flickering lights.
“Look at all the stars,” Tanner said. “Does the universe ever end?”
Dad shook his head. “We see just a tiny part. No one really knows how many stars and planets there are,” he said. “Did you know that some of the stars you see are suns for distant planets?”
“That’s cool!” Tanner said.
While they waited, they talked about space and stars. Dad pointed out a satellite as it moved across the sky.
After a while, Dad and Tanner started seeing meteors. Some were bright points of light with long tails. Others blazed by in exploding flashes that quickly disappeared. One followed another, a little like fireworks in the night sky.
“Did you see that?” Tanner asked, pointing to a fading streak of light.
“That was a good one,” Dad said.
“There’s another one,” Tanner said as a brilliant light burst into view.
They watched the sky for a long time and saw many meteors before Dad said it was time to go inside and get some sleep.
Tanner was having so much fun he wished he could stay up until morning. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he said as he stood and reluctantly walked to the back steps of their home.
“We will,” Dad said.
“Thanks,” Tanner said with a smile. Even though he didn’t want to go inside, things had turned out even better than he’d expected. He got to stay up late, gaze at the stars, and see so many meteors that he lost count. But the best part of the whole night wasn’t any of those things—it was the memories he had made with Dad.

It was just a few days before Christmas in Western Australia, and all the missionaries were excited about the scheduled mission Christmas party. But no one could have been as excited as I was. It had been two weeks since I had received any mail from home, so I was sure I would receive my Christmas package at the mission party.
In our mission, all mail went to the mission office and was forwarded from there. A short mail strike had just ended, so the office staff had decided to hold everyone’s mail and bring it to the party as early Christmas presents. Anyone who knows how much letters and packages mean to a missionary will appreciate the intent behind this plan.
There were 108 missionaries in our mission, but only 107 got mail that day. It was difficult watching everyone with their Christmas packages, cards, and letters, but I tried to appear as though I was having a good time. My parents had told me in an earlier letter that a package was on its way. So I kept telling myself that it must have been delayed by the mail strike.
The day after the party was the last mail delivery day before Christmas. Once again I was disappointed when no mail arrived from home. I began to focus on Christmas day and the dinner my companion and I had been invited to enjoy at the home of some Church members. I knew this family from my first area of service and always looked forward to the quality and quantity of the food they typically prepared for the missionaries.
On Christmas Eve, we received a call from the zone leaders, who informed us that the mission president had decided no one was to leave their area on Christmas Day. They instructed us to cancel all plans to do so.
I was devastated. It just did not seem fair that all of these things should make my Christmas so miserable. I kept thinking, Here I am dedicating my life to the work of the Lord and this is the “thanks” I get.
Since we had no telephone in our apartment, my companion and I had to impose on our landlady to phone our regrets to the family. Sensing our disappointment at having to cancel our plans, she invited us to join her for Christmas dinner. We gladly accepted the invitation.
Upon returning to our apartment, I lay staring at our borrowed 12-inch aluminum Christmas tree. It sure didn’t look like any of the trees we had back home. This isn’t what Christmas is all about, I kept thinking until I fell asleep.
I awoke Christmas morning to find a Christmas present under our little tree. It was addressed to me from my companion. Overwhelmed by shame, I pretended I didn’t see the gift. I suggested that we get dressed and go do some contacting at the city park. As we rode our bikes to the center of town, we did not see a single person. There were no children to race us on our bicycles and no cars to contend with at the intersections. The normally bustling park was completely deserted. With little reason to stay in town, we headed back to our apartment. Along the way, we stopped at the only shop open for business. My companion began visiting with the shopkeeper, so I tried to discreetly select a gift.
This was not easy since the store catered mainly to convenience shopping. I did manage to make my purchase, and we returned home.
I made up an excuse to keep my companion occupied while I placed the box of chocolate-covered hazelnuts under the tree. Unfortunately, he saw me and suggested that I open my gift from him.
I will never forget the embarrassment I felt as I unwrapped the present. Inside the homemade wrapping paper I found several little items, including a mechanical pencil and some erasers.
There was little monetary value to the gifts, but the value of the lesson I learned can hardly be measured. At that moment, I recognized that I had been right the previous evening. This isn’t what Christmas is all about. It’s not about packages, presents, and decorations. Christmas is about thinking of others and giving of oneself.
I had become so wrapped up in self-pity that I had completely forgotten the true meaning of this special day.
My companion, though, just as far away from home as I was, had remembered the purpose of Christmas. He went to the effort of buying, wrapping, and putting the gift under the tree without my even knowing. He quietly gave me the joy I seemed unable to find on my own. My sad attempt to make up for my thoughtlessness was just that, a sad attempt.
I have come to look upon that Christmas experience as one of my favorites. My missionary companion gave me one of the greatest gifts anyone could receive—an understanding of the true meaning of Christmas.
I still have the pencil given to me those many years ago. Each time I use it, I am reminded of the real gift he gave me that morning.

When the first missionaries went to England, the inspiration they received often led them to groups of people just waiting for the truth. How converts around the Bristol area heard the gospel is one of the most inspiring stories in the history of the Church in England.
In 1840 Wilford Woodruff was preaching in the Potteries of Straffordshire. He was finding success and was able to preach to large congregations. During the opening song of one meeting, he was suddenly impressed that this would be the last meeting he would preside over for a while in the area. It surprised him since he had many appointments set up. But having faith in the source of the inspiration, Elder Wilford Woodruff announced to the group that he would be leaving.
Elder Woodruff traveled south to Herefordshire, where he felt directed to a farm owned by John Benbow. The Benbows were independent, wealthy farmers, living in a rural mansion. They belonged to a religious society of 600 persons, including 45 preachers. Elder Woodruff was invited to preach and converted all but one member of the society. He even converted a constable sent to arrest him. The society turned over to the Church the chapel they owned and 45 houses used for worship. Thus the first chapel ever owned by the Church was in England.

A mission president once told me of a missionary he assigned to more than 12 or 13 companions. He said to me, “Every one of those companions was about to go home early or be sent home. But we didn’t lose one of them.”

When I mentioned that miraculous fact later to the companion who saved so many at the point of their being overwhelmed, I got a response which surprised and taught me. It was this: “I don’t think that story is true. I never had a companion who was failing.”

The American Young Men and Young Women living in Bonn, Germany, hosted a night of Halloween activities for their German, Spanish, French, English, and Filipino friends.
“We gave a workshop called ‘How to Carve a Jack-o’-lantern,’” says Terri Lutz, a Laurel who helped to plan the activity.
Since carving pumpkins is an American tradition, most of the youth had never even heard of it, much less done it.
“As they plunged their hands inside the pumpkin to scoop the ‘goop’ out, you could tell that some of them were questioning this strange American tradition,” says Terri.
After the pumpkins were carved and everyone had a chance to clean up, they ate—what else?—pumpkin cookies and pumpkin bread!
The activity helped bring the youth closer together, says Terri. “We were able to overcome the language barrier and enjoy one another’s company.”

I remember a conversation I had with a friend who is not a member of our faith. He was surprised to learn that any worthy man in our Church could receive the priesthood. He asked, “But how many priesthood holders do you have in your ward?”
I answered, “Between 30 and 40.”
Perplexed, he continued, “In my congregation, we have only one priest. Why do you need so many priests on Sunday morning?”
Intrigued by his question, I felt inspired to reply, “I agree with you. I don’t think we need that many priesthood holders at church on Sunday. But we do need a priesthood holder in every home. And when there is no priesthood holder in a home, other priesthood holders are called upon to watch over and minister to that family.”
Ours is not just a Sunday church. Our worship continues each day of the week, wherever we are and in whatever we do. Our homes in particular are “the primary sanctuaries of our faith.” It is most often in our homes that we pray, we bless, we study, we teach the word of God, and we serve with pure love. I can testify from personal experience that our homes are sacred places where the Spirit can abound—as much as, and sometimes even more than, in our formal places of worship.

Third, I was introduced to the missionaries and the Church when I was eight. I was invited to see the dedication of the first LDS Church building in Ethiopia on Sunday, November 30, 2003. At the dedication I felt the powerful influence of the Holy Spirit, and the missionaries in attendance radiated joy, happiness, and that same powerful spirit. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like them. But I had no idea how I could ever reach this goal.

The fourth miracle came soon after. A family in the United States adopted me. My new father picked me up from the orphanage and took me home. We started the process of becoming acquainted, and I began to settle into my new environment.

Numerous challenges surfaced immediately upon my arrival. Everywhere I went people laughed at my English. My limited education caused problems in school. I prayed for help, and then I worked harder and smarter to close the knowledge gap, especially with English. Once again Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Two years later I proudly skipped a grade.

Then my home life fell apart. Prayers to the Lord, high personal goals, and a deep desire to succeed carried me through that extremely tough time. Finally, with a social worker’s help, my father and I agreed to terminate the adoption. This was a time for prayer, patience, faith, and help from Heavenly Father.

Now 15 years old, I went to live with a foster family for about a year. That was when the fifth miracle came. While sleigh riding with two friends, I met an LDS family with two nice daughters. During the ride home, one of the daughters spoke up, saying, “I think the Lord wants us to adopt Ephrem Smith.” Remarkably, the other three members of the family had also received the same inspiration. The father worked with the Department of Social Services, and soon I moved to my new home. From the very beginning my amazing new father gave me agency. For example, he explained that their family goes to church on Sundays. He allowed me to choose to join them or stay home; he said that they still would love me if I chose not to attend church. I chose to attend church, and I have since made many other righteous decisions.

Miracle six came as I received a testimony of the gospel. One Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting singing “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). Huge tears began running down my cheeks as I received a personal testimony that Jesus is the Christ and that the Church is His Church.

Finally, nine years later, I knew how to become like those missionaries! The missionary age was now 18, but my adoption had not yet been finalized. I waited seven long months until my adoption was completed. Finally, my missionary papers could be submitted. Four days later I received my mission call. In just one week the Lord blessed me with final adoption papers and a mission call. I treasure both papers exceedingly! They are my seventh miracle. Yes, indeed, it took many miracles along the way from that mud hut in Ethiopia to my treasured mission.

Our youngest daughter, Abby, saw a unique opportunity to stand as a defender of the role of mother. One day she got a notice from her children’s school that they were having Career Day presentations at the school. Parents were invited to send in an application if they wanted to come to school to teach the children about their jobs, and Abby felt impressed to apply to come and speak about motherhood. She didn’t hear back from the school, and when Career Day was getting close, she finally called the school, thinking they may have lost her application. The organizers scrambled around and found two teachers who agreed to have Abby come talk to their classes at the end of Career Day.
In her very fun presentation to the children, Abby taught them, among other things, that as a mother she needed to be somewhat of an expert in medicine, psychology, religion, teaching, music, literature, art, finance, decorating, hair styling, chauffeuring, sports, culinary arts, and so much more. The children were impressed. She finished by having the children remember their mothers by writing thank-you notes expressing gratitude for the many loving acts of service they received daily. Abby felt that the children saw their mothers in a whole new light and that being a mother or father was something of great worth. She applied to share again this year at Career Day and was invited to present to six classes.
Abby has said of her experience: “I feel like it could be easy in this world for a child to get the sense that being a parent is a secondary job or even sometimes a necessary inconvenience. I want every child to feel like they are the most important priority to their parent, and maybe telling them how important being a parent is to me will help them realize all that their parents do for them and why.”

April awoke in the cold darkness to find her father’s hand shaking her. “Time to check the nannies again, honey,” he was saying.
“Why do mother goats have to have their babies so early in the year when it’s still so cold!” April moaned. Bracing herself for the shock, she jumped out of bed, grabbed her cold, rumpled clothes off the chair, and ran barefoot across the cold wooden floor to the fireplace in the living room. Her father already had the fire going, and April held her clothes in front of it to warm them before putting them on. It was a struggle to get her jeans on over her pajama bottoms, but they would help to keep her legs warm.
“Ready to go?” called her father from the back porch.
While she hurried into her coat and boots, April wondered if there would be any new kids this morning. The nannies had to be checked every three or four hours in case any were having trouble delivering their kids.
April’s father was just a black silhouette between her and the dim beam from the flashlight as they walked through the misty darkness. The north wind made them both hunch down in their coats.
The barn felt almost warm after the harsh wind. Turning on the light, they began to look over the nannies penned there. Her father always separated a newborn kid and its mother from the rest of the nannies for a few days. April called these small, private pens the maternity ward.
“Look, Dad, there’s one over in the corner.”
“OK, April, you get the kid. I’ll catch the nanny.”
April couldn’t resist rubbing her cheek against its small nose. It nuzzled her back, and she grinned up at her dad.
“Careful,” Dad warned her. “If you get too much of your smell on him, his mother might reject him.”
“I know, I know. But they’re so cute and so soft that I can’t resist just one little nuzzle.” She placed the kid by its mother and watched it begin to nurse.
By the time April and her father had finished checking the pens and feeding the goats, the cows were mooing to be milked and the dark of night was fading to the gray of dawn. April shivered, and her Brrrr came out in a small cloud. She was turning to go back into the warm barn when she saw a lone nanny outside the gate to the corral. April hurried to let her in. “Look, Dad,” she said. “That nanny has been out all night. She’s kidded too.”
“Yes,” said her father. “She probably came up to eat some hay. She’s hidden her kid somewhere in the pasture, and she won’t return to it until dark, when she can go without being seen.”
“But, Dad, a newborn kid can’t stay out in this cold all day. It will freeze to death.”
“Maybe. And maybe not. That pasture is a big one, and you’ll never find the kid, anyhow. Once a nanny tells her kid to hunker down, it won’t move, even if you stumble over it. It’s going to look just like a small rock out there. But you can start searching if you want, and I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
As April walked, she checked all the white spots that she thought might be a baby goat. Her glance swept the pasture on all sides of her continually. Once she saw her father on the other side of a ravine, looking carefully about. A fifty-acre pasture sure is big when you’re looking for something small, she thought.
After what seemed like hours, April met her father. “We’d better give up,” he said. “There are just too many places for the kid to be hidden. I can’t spend any more time looking for it. Maybe if she found a sheltered place to leave the kid, it will still be alive tonight. Or it may already be dead. I’ll turn the nanny out again as soon as I get back to the barn. Just maybe she’ll go right back to her kid.”
April thought, If I’m cold with my thick coat on, how cold is that newborn kid? Her eyes swept the pasture again. I’ll keep looking a little longer, Dad.”
“OK, but don’t get yourself chilled. You’re worth more than any goat kid to me.”
April’s father walked away, disappearing in the mist that coated everything. The tiny drops that looked like small diamonds would only wet the kid’s hair, chilling it that much faster.
Please, Heavenly Father, help me to find it, April prayed silently as she searched. Don’t let it die! Please help me to find it. She had walked the whole pasture at least once and now was checking out places that she might have missed the first time. She thought of the warmth waiting back in the kitchen. I could be sitting at the breakfast table in fifteen minutes, she thought. I’m so cold and tired—and I did try.
She was turning toward the house when she remembered how good she had gotten at mimicking the nannies talking to their kids. She knew all their calls. Now she wondered if she could fool the hidden kid. She took a deep breath, and, from a low place in the back of her throat, let out her best maaa uh uh imitation of a nanny calling her kid to come nurse. Again she went maaa uh uh with all the urgency of a nanny trying to find her own baby in the midst of dozens of other kids. Then she added the unh unh unh loving sound a nanny makes when she has found her own and is urging it to nurse.
April stopped and listened. Silence. She called again and listened. Then she heard it—a very faint naaah close by.
Calling as she walked, she heard the kid answering. Suddenly, almost at her feet, what looked like a rock lying by a log struggled up onto four legs.
“Oh, you poor, wet thing!” she cried. Gathering the kid in her arms, she tucked it inside her coat to warm it. She talked to it in goat language, and it nuzzled her under the chin. Walking toward the warmth of the house, she whispered, “Too soon! I almost quit too soon. Thank you, Heavenly Father.” Then, laughing happily, she told the kid, “That’s what I’ll name you—Too Soon.”

Illustrations by Katie McDee
Grandma, how old are you?
186!
What?! You can’t be that old.
I’m only joking! But I’m still old. And do you know how I’ve lived this long?
How?
Because I always eat my vegetables!
Does eating vegetables really make you live longer?
It helps! When we take care of our bodies, God blesses us with strength and energy.
I think the stew is done! It smells good.
Time for a taste test!
Did we pass?
Yes! It’s delicious! And healthy too.
Maybe one day I’ll live to be 186.
Then you better eat your vegetables!

Christy stood at the edge of the playground, looking at the slides and swing sets for someone to play with. A big group of kids shrieked as they chased each other around the field. Others swung from the monkey bars. A few girls giggled and whispered under a tree.
Christy wanted to run and swing and giggle too. But she felt too shy to walk up to a group of kids she didn’t know. So she kept standing there. Maybe someone would come ask her to play.
Christy’s family had just moved, and she didn’t really know anyone at her new school yet. As recess ticked by, no one came to play with her. It seemed like all the friends were taken.
How can I ever find a friend? she wondered.
The next day, Mrs. Godfrey asked a girl named Mia to sit with Christy at lunch. But Mia just talked to her friends who were sitting at the same table. Christy felt lonelier than ever. She wanted a real friend, someone who would play with her because they wanted to, not because they had to.
That night Christy prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to send her a real friend. Days went by. It seemed like her prayers weren’t working! She knew that Heavenly Father loved her, but it was hard not to worry.
Then one day at recess, Christy noticed a girl sitting on the ground alone. Her leg was bleeding, and it looked like she was crying.
Christy was nervous about talking to her, but she didn’t want her to cry alone. So she took a deep breath and walked over.
“Are you OK?”
“I hurt my knee,” the girl said, looking up and holding her leg.
“Do you want to go to the nurse?” Christy asked. “I’ll help you.”
Christy helped the girl get up and put an arm around her shoulder. Together they walked slowly to the nurse’s office.
Christy waited while they cleaned and bandaged the girl’s knee. Then they walked back to the playground.
“I’m Stacy,” the girl said. “What’s your name?”
“Christy.”
“Are you new?” Stacey asked.
Christy nodded.
“I’m new too,” Stacey said. “Want to jump rope with me?”
“Yeah!”
Soon the two girls were laughing and jumping rope together. Best of all, Christy had discovered the secret to finding a friend. It was just to be a friend. And Christy knew she could always do that!

“No. I had a similar experience at a summer job one year. For a while the rapport with my fellow workers was not great. But after a few days of excusing myself after dinner when the cards came out, one of my fellow workers asked me why I didn’t play. Maybe I avoided the issue, but I said that I enjoyed walking outside or reading a book or writing a letter more. She came with me the next day, and by the end of the summer all of us were eating our lunches outside in the sun, and we became close friends. They have said several times since that summer was more fun and that the days went faster when they used their lunch break to appreciate others and nature.”
Ann Bradley, Age 22Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

Delwyn and Jill Jensen, who served a military relations mission in Germany, tell how a simple interaction with a military member helped her to find again—and then move forward along—the covenant path.
When she joined the air force, this young woman stopped attending church. “But when we reached out to her with a text, she responded right away,” Sister Jensen says. She began attending church regularly, helping with service projects and sharing her testimony of Jesus Christ.
As the Jensens worked with her, they found she was reluctant to meet with the bishop. But with their love and gentle encouragement, she finally made and kept an appointment. “Afterward, she reported it was one of the most positive experiences of her life,” Elder Jensen said, “and the bishop gave us a similar report.”
The Jensens continued to support her in preparing to go to the temple and in receiving a patriarchal blessing.

I come from a big family, so it was lonely to be with just my companion at Christmas. But the homesickness passes. So many members opened their doors and “adopted” us as family members for the day, and that helped a lot.

Enjoy Christmas on the mission because it’s a unique time to strengthen your testimony of Jesus Christ. During my mission, I realized that Christmas isn’t about gifts or taking a break from school—it’s about the greatest gift of all, Jesus Christ. Now, the symbol of Christmas for me is a manger, not a tree.

Gabrielly R., from Sergipe, Brazil; served in the Brazil São Paulo North Mission

I have been a member of the Church all my life, but it took a girl who lived the standards to make me realize that I should do the same, and also that I should go on a mission. Naturally I enjoyed “By the Way She Is” in the September issue. I am deeply grateful to this young woman, for not only did she impress me with the importance of a mission and open up an entirely new world for me in the gospel, but she also helped me indirectly to find the joy of reading the New Era. You see, after two weeks out in the mission field I contracted an illness that left me with some time on my hands, and I happened onto a copy of the New Era. I read it and then frantically started searching for more copies. It may interest you to know that in a four-hour period, I read and reread seven copies.
Elder Leslie Dale MartineauCanada Halifax Mission

One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”