Gospel Story Finder

My new husband and I knew the importance of family home evening in helping families learn to love each other and grow together, but our children were grown and on their own. It was hard for us to hold a family night until we decided to invite my husband’s mother. At the time my mother-in-law was 74 years old and belonged to another church. She worked in a flower shop and scarcely ventured from her routine of going to work and then home.
At first she was a little hesitant to come because she knew nothing of our faith, but now she looks forward to Monday nights. We share dinners, laughter, and music and have become very close. We know that she does not want us to try to convert her, but she does allow us to share stories about our faith. One evening I read a talk from one of the Church leaders. We all felt the Spirit. We have had opportunities to show her the Ensign, and she looks at every page. We have taught her what temples are for, and she has watched Church videos. We do these things sparingly, as the Spirit guides us.
Before one of our family home evenings, I asked her to teach the lesson. She brought pictures of herself when she was young and of my husband when he was a baby. I heard stories of aunts, uncles, grandmas, and grandpas. The happiness in her eyes as she relived these experiences made my heart almost burst. I realized then that the commandment to have family home evening is divine instruction from our Father in Heaven.
Many doors have been opened for my mother-in-law to learn things pertaining to the gospel. I don’t know that she will become a member of the Church during her life on earth, but I do know that our family has been strengthened and our love increased.
Dani Jeanne Stevens, Logan Ward, Huntington West Virginia Stake

The deacons and teachers of the Sandton Ward, Sandton South Africa Stake, had a rare opportunity to explore a game preserve and learn to live, for three days, with nature as it exists in this rugged and beautiful part of the world.
The group, including the young men and their leaders, met a guide who accompanied them into the Doorndraai Dam Nature Reserve. The game park had a variety of wild animals ranging from leopards to mongeese, from giraffes to hyenas. The group had to truck in containers of water as well as food and equipment for their stay.
The first night, as darkness fell and as the campfire burned low, each member of the group was assigned an hour watch. A schedule of night watches is necessary in an area where large animals prowl. For some, the strange noises and the stories about prowling hyenas and leopards did not allow for a restful night.
The next morning the group set off on a hike. The guide pointed out plants, birds, and game. They often came across such animals as zebra, wildebeest, impala, water buck, eland, warthogs, and monkeys.
After the day’s exercise, no one had trouble sleeping the second night. The hour assigned to night watch was a welcome time to be alone, listen to the sounds of the preserve, and reflect on a loving Heavenly Father’s creations.
Heading for home, the young men packed up, then obliterated all signs of their camp. They were leaving the preserve as they had found it, except for the new appreciation of nature each one carried home.

An ominous darkness hangs over Metropolis. Thousands of men and women plod along its busy streets, little suspecting that something important is missing from their lives. Suddenly a young man in a vermillion cape springs from a telephone booth. It’s Captain M, the member-missionary marvel, to the rescue!
His muscles of steel rippling, he shouts the Golden Questions as he hurls ten men through the air to his secret fortress where the missionaries are waiting. At super speed he spins a family off to a visitors’ center. He wows a whole crowd at a bus stop with a catchy lead-in about family home evenings. He leaps aboard a subway and converts everybody except one small boy who is asleep.
His cape flying like a banner behind him, he then whirls away through the city, accosting total strangers and committing them to learn more. That evening all the residents of the city, now members of the Church, gather to pin a hero’s medal on his broad chest.

They’ll tell you about the many years when the Saints met in a dilapidated old building high on a hillside. It was held to the mountain by a metal cable running right through the chapel. The members called it their iron rod. Once the roof caved in during Mutual, narrowly missing several people. Snakes sometimes found their way into one of the classrooms, and were gently carried out, giving rise to neighborhood rumors about strange LDS forms of worship. In the wintertime the members sat huddled in blankets listening to blanket-wrapped speakers and teachers. Each gospel truth came out in a puff of white mist. When it came time to move to a nicer building, the youth of the ward did their part with several fund-raising hot dog sales.

Over 100 young people and their advisers from the Ft. Collins Colorado Stake teamed up with the U. S. Forest Service to rehabilitate a large meadow in the Roosevelt National Forest.
The young people worked with their leaders and forest service personnel to improve trails, repair bridges, and reseed bare areas. The stake received a special certificate of appreciation from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, and all along the trail are several small signs describing the Forest Service projects and mentioning the LDS youth who initiated the work.

Certainly one of the greatest examples of a man who followed this two-step formula was our late prophet Joseph Fielding Smith. He too was confronted with an abundance of worldly knowledge to pursue, but even as a young boy he put first things first. As one of his sons said of him: “My father has always been a student, even since his childhood days, always loving the Lord, always studying, preparing himself.”11 He continued: “Even from his infancy! He had read the Book of Mormon twice before he was ten years of age. His father gave him a copy that was defective, some pages missing, that he wore out with his reading and rereading of these scriptures. He loved doctrinal books.”12
In a letter to his son while he was serving a mission, President Smith described some of the material he studied:
“Among these things I remember that one thing that I did from the time I learned to read and write was to study the Gospel. I read and committed to memory the Children’s Catechism and primary books in the gospel. Later I read the History of the Church as recorded in the Millennial Star. I also read the Bible, the Book of Mormon, Pearl of Great Price, the Doctrine and Covenants and other literature which fell into my hands. I learned at a very early day that God lives. He gave me a testimony when I was a child and I have tried to be obedient, always with some measure of success.”13
Thus was fulfilled a promise given to Joseph Fielding Smith in his youth by a patriarch: “You have never known the time when you did not believe and feel within your bones that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God and that his mission was divine.”14

Some time later, there was a knock on my door. I assumed they were Jehovah Witnesses so I told them I wasn’t interested and they started to walk away. For some reason I called them back and asked them who they were. They mentioned they were members of “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” This captured my attention, and I invited them in. They left me a Book of Mormon which began a friendship with two ladies who were members of the local Relief Society.
A few months later, my husband was asked to work on Sundays so I had no way of getting to my local church. Around the same time, my children began to interact with other children in the neighbourhood, which led to me being invited to activities at their local church. On my first visit to my neighbour‘s church, they were showing a film of Joseph Smith‘s first vision. It was new to me, but when it came to the part he was bound, from my own experience years before, I knew this to be true.
As mentioned I wanted my children to know of Jesus as I knew of him, so I started to attend the Sunday services. I grew up in a Latin based church service where prayers and hymns were all in Latin, so this was the first time I had ever entered another church and heard hymns in English. I remember the first hymn I heard was “O my Father Thou That Dwellest.” It filled me with awe and is now my favourite hymn.
Thereafter, I was invited to the Relief Society and then my baptism came around. I think the whole stake came out to see this young Scottish girl being baptised in Utah. I have since held many positions in the church, such as Relief Society President, Primary President, Stake Primary President, and Sunday school teacher. Currently, I am in charge of Public Relations and Communications for the Greenock Branch.

It was the day before a missionary conference for the Castile-La Mancha Zone in the Spain Madrid Mission. The mission president, Richard H. Winkel, spent the entire day organizing the conference program with his wife and two assistants, Elder Borchert and Elder Allen. So that nothing would detract from the spirit of the conference, they carefully planned each detail, including the schedule, the speakers, the hymns, and the special musical numbers. They also saw to temporal matters, such as preparing food for the missionaries’ lunch, which they planned to serve after the conference. Twenty-six missionaries were expected to attend.
On the day of the conference, which happened to be a holiday in Spain, everything went as planned. The meetings were very inspiring, and the missionaries’ testimonies of the work increased.
However, when President and Sister Winkel began to prepare lunch, they found that in spite of all the care they had taken, they had forgotten to bring the bread for the sandwiches! President Winkel did not want the missionaries to leave the conference hungry, so he gave his assistants a 5,000 peseta note and sent them to buy 26 rolls for the sandwiches.
Once outside, Elder Borchert and Elder Allen happened to find 100 pesetas on the ground (something that had never happened before in their almost two years in Spain). The elders had no way to locate the owner or return the money, so they set out with 5,100 pesetas to buy the rolls.
The two missionaries soon realized that because it was a holiday, all the grocery stores were closed. So they decided to buy bread from one of the many pubs on the main street of the city. They entered the first pub they saw and asked for 26 rolls. The owner told them he could spare only one roll. The elders bought the roll for 60 pesetas—and with 5,040 pesetas left, they headed for the next pub.
In the second pub, as in the first, the owner could sell only one roll. His price was 50 pesetas. The elders put all their money—the 40 pesetas and the 5,000 peseta note—on the counter. The owner did not have change for a 5,000 peseta note, so he let them take the roll for 40 pesetas.
With 5,000 pesetas and two rolls, the missionaries headed for the third pub and asked for 24 rolls. They placed their 5,000 pesetas on the counter. The owner of the establishment could sell them only one roll for 50 pesetas. But because he did not have any change, he allowed the missionaries to take it for free.
The elders entered the fourth pub with three rolls and 5,000 pesetas and asked for 23 rolls, again putting their 5,000 pesetas on the counter. Again the owner could let them have only one roll for 50 pesetas. And once again, because he did not have change for 5,000 pesetas, he let the missionaries take the roll for free.
The elders entered the fifth pub with four rolls and 5,000 pesetas. They asked for 22 rolls and put their 5,000 pesetas on the counter. The owner could sell only one roll for 50 pesetas, but because he did not have change for 5,000 pesetas, he permitted the missionaries to take one roll for free.
And so it continued. Some time later the missionaries returned to the meetinghouse with 26 rolls and the 5,000 peseta note they had when they left.
The experience reminded the missionaries of the time the Savior refused to let the multitude, who had gone three days without food, leave without sustenance. Jesus told His Apostles, “I will not send them away fasting, lest they faint in the way.” On that occasion, through the Savior’s power, “they did all eat, and were filled.” (See Matt. 15:32–38.)
This modern parallel cannot be compared in magnitude or power to the miracle of the loaves and fishes. But for a group of missionaries in Spain it was enough to remind them that, today as in ancient times, the Lord is aware of His disciples’ needs and will bless them with what they lack.

While in Argentina in 1975 at the area conference, President Kimball spoke to a large gathering of youth. Shortly after he began, he set aside his prepared text and shared a personal experience with them. He asked them, “Who gave you your voice?” He then told them about his experience with surgery to save his voice. He explained that the Lord had spared his voice. He said it wasn’t the same voice he had once had. He couldn’t sing as he had previously enjoyed doing but he did have a voice. He said his voice wasn’t a pretty one, but I tell you it was beautiful in what it taught that night. As he spoke the youth responded even before the translator could interpret his words. He told those present, “Serving a mission is like paying tithing; you’re not compelled—you do it because it’s right. We want to go on missions because it’s the Lord’s way. The Savior didn’t say, ‘If it’s convenient, go,’ he said, ‘Go ye into all the world.’” (Mark 16:15.) President Kimball explained that it was the responsibility of young women to help young men remain worthy and to encourage them to go on missions.
As the President concluded his remarks he asked, “Didn’t the Lord give you your voice so you could teach the gospel?” He then testified that he had come to know that his voice and our voices are for the declaring of the gospel of Jesus Christ and for testifying of the truths revealed to the Prophet Joseph Smith. President Kimball teaches us the correct perspective of life.

Elva Jean Grauel of Burtonsville, Maryland, has spent a lot of time on the bench—the organ bench of her ward chapel, that is.
Following her early-morning seminary class every day, Elva had a 40-minute wait for her school bus. She put the time to good use by practicing the organ. Her efforts were rewarded when she won first place on both the local and regional levels in the classical keyboard category in a National Association of Christian Schools competition.
Elva serves as president of her Mia Maid class and as assistant organist in the Colesville Ward, Seneca Maryland Stake.

Oh, I see you two are in your thinking spot. What are you thinking about today?
The Holy Ghost.
People say He talks to them in a quiet voice. But I’ve never heard Him! Have you?
Not with my ears. But I hear Him with my heart.
What do you mean?
Well, the Holy Ghost usually speaks to us through our thoughts and feelings.
When I felt like I shouldn’t go to jiu jitsu on Sunday, was that the Holy Ghost?
I think so! The Holy Ghost helps us make good choices and feel peace.
I guess He does speak to me! I just have to listen.
Illustrations by Katie McDee

I would like to share a simple story that has strengthened my commitment to be honest in all things:
“A man … went one evening to steal corn from a neighbor’s field. He took his little boy with him to sit on the fence and keep a look-out, so as to give warning in case any one should come along. The man jumped over the fence with a large bag on his arm, and before commencing to take the corn he looked all around, first one way and then the other, and not seeing any person, he was just about to fill his bag. … [The boy then called out]:
“‘Father, there is one way you haven’t looked yet! … You forgot to look up.’”
When we are tempted to be dishonest, and this temptation comes to all of us, we may suppose that no one will ever know. This story reminds us that our Heavenly Father always knows, and we are ultimately accountable to Him. This knowledge helps me continually strive to live up to this commitment: “[I] believe in being honest.”

I recall just a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.

I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands. His white shirt was a little frayed and was probably never worn except on Sunday.

There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.

Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.

I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, “This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Wait and enjoy it.” So I stopped. I moved to the back of the crowd to watch. The passengers were starting to come off the plane.

I found myself wondering as to who would be first to breakaway from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.

As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary start to come down the stairs from the airplane. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother, and it had made him exactly the missionary he appeared to be. He had his hair trimmed for the trip home, his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about.

He came to the bottom of the steps and started out toward the airport building and then, sure enough, somebody couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children, or even the girlfriend standing nearby. It was father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man pushed his way past an airline attendant and ran out and swept his son into his arms.

The missionary was probably 6?2? or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.

And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his son go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn’t have to do it, paying his own expenses, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, “It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”

Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.

To exemplify the doctrine that “out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33), I tell you the story of Masako Kato. In 1951, when Masako was in her early twenties, she met the missionaries in her hometown of Yokohama, Japan, when she attended an English conversation class being taught by them. When the missionaries began to speak of spiritual things, she felt something and allowed them to begin teaching her about the Church and the restored gospel. During this time both Masako’s older sister and mother died—within 30 days of each another. She was emotionally devastated but still attended the little branch of our church in the area, even the week after her mother passed away. When the opening hymn was sung, the power of the Spirit brought her to tears, and she understood for the first time the eternal nature of life.

Masako wanted to be baptized, but her father would not give his permission. Although she was of legal age, her respect for her father caused her not to proceed. However, she continued to attend church and participate like a member.

The missionaries suggested it would be good for her to share the glorious message she had come to know. Seemingly unafraid, even though the Church had little presence in Japan in 1951, she invited co-workers and even bosses at her company to come to church with her. A few came to some social activities, but one, Shozo Suzuki, a very new employee of the company, came to Sunday meetings. He had a good feeling about what he heard and consented after a time to receive the missionary discussions. Masako also joined him for her second time through the lessons. After several months Shozo accepted the challenge to be baptized. Masako again went to her father to seek permission, which he then gave because of the devotion he had witnessed in her. On August 4, 1952, Shozo and Masako were baptized in the same service.

One day a few months later, a young missionary approached Shozo and Masako and suggested they consider marriage—to each other! This surprised them, especially Shozo, as he had a nonmember girlfriend. However, it prompted him to think about Masako, the person who had introduced him to the gospel, in a different way than ever before. On April 29, 1953, they were married in a civil hall in Tokyo by the mission president. In 1965 they went to the Hawaii Temple to be sealed, as there was no temple in Japan until 1980.

Brother and Sister Suzuki were blessed with nine children—six daughters and three sons. Seven of their children served full-time missions for the Church. Of the nine, eight married, all in the temple, and seven of their spouses served full-time missions. The Suzukis had 35 grandchildren, with all eight years of age or older having been baptized members of the Church. Brother Suzuki has served as a branch president, district president, mission president, Japan Missionary Training Center president, regional representative, and a patriarch in three stakes. With the singular beginning of diminutive Masako, there are now 54 righteous members of the Suzuki family. Indeed, “out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

Anthony peered out the window of his pretend time machine. It was actually a cardboard box that he had decorated with markers, foil, and other things. For several days he had had lots of fun playing in it. Now he was imagining a strange-looking object in front of him. It was like a car, but it had wings. It was big enough for him to take a ride in, and that was what he wanted to do. But as he began to climb out of the time machine to do that, a real-life voice spoke to him: “Time to get ready for bed, Anthony.”
“Ah, Mom,” he said, flopping down on the floor in disappointment. “I was just going to take a ride in a flying car.”
“Well, you’ll have to play that pretend game tomorrow,” Mom replied. “Right now you need to get ready for Book of Mormon time and bed.”
Anthony reluctantly dragged the box into the corner where they kept the toys, then went off to his room. In a few minutes everyone was sitting in the living room with a Book of Mormon in hand.
Dad said, “Tonight we’ve come to the part where Nephi tells us about the words of a prophet named Isaiah. He’s the same prophet Isaiah who’s in the Bible.” Father showed them where the book of Isaiah was in the Bible, then where Isaiah was quoted in the Book of Mormon. He began to read what Isaiah had said.
Anthony found the right page and tried to follow along, but after a few minutes his eyes started to close. The next thing he knew, his mother was waking him up, telling him that it was time for bed.
The following night Anthony had taken another imaginary ride to the future. When his mother called, he was pretending to talk to some creatures from Pluto who had come to earth to live. Slowly he climbed out of the box, went to his room, got ready for bed, then sat down for scripture time.
But he didn’t understand what Dad was reading, and he kept wriggling and squirming. That made his brother and sister wriggle and squirm too. When Anthony’s mother reminded them all to sit still and listen, Anthony tried to, but even the words he knew sounded strange, somehow. “Isaiah is too hard,” he said when Dad finished for that night.
“Yes, it’s difficult,” Dad agreed. “But if we read slowly and you listen carefully, you might be able to understand.”
“And,” Mom added, “we can ask Heavenly Father to help us understand.” As she offered the prayer that evening, she asked for help in understanding Isaiah.
The next night, Anthony was dragging his box to the corner again when Dad stopped him. “Wait, Anthony. Leave your box there for now. I want to do something different for our scripture reading tonight.”
When everyone was settled, Father began. “Tonight I thought that we should learn more about Isaiah and his teachings. That way we might be able to understand a little better when we read his words.
“Isaiah was a prophet who lived a long time ago, even a long time before Jesus was born. But he prophesied, or told about, things that would happen many years later. When we read his words, it’s like listening to someone who had traveled in a time machine.”
Anthony sat up tall. “Did he travel to the future?”
“No,” Dad answered. “But with Heavenly Father’s help, he saw visions of things that would happen in the future and he told about those things.”
Dad had the three children climb into Anthony’s time machine. “When we read Isaiah,” Dad said, “it’s like we are traveling in a time machine with him. We can listen to his words and imagine that we are there, seeing the things that he saw.”
Anthony and his brother and sister were excited. They wanted to ride in the time machine with Isaiah.
Father went on. “In the Bible, we learn about things that happened while he was actually alive. One of those stories is about a king named Hezekiah. One time King Hezekiah was very sick and was about to die. He prayed and asked the Lord to let him live longer. The Lord told Isaiah what Hezekiah should do to get better, and He told Isaiah to tell Hezekiah that he could live for fifteen more years. As a sign to Hezekiah, the Lord turned the sun back ten degrees. Another time Isaiah helped King Hezekiah win a battle and save Jerusalem.”
The next night they read about things that Isaiah saw would happen in the future. They climbed in the time machine and pretended that they were with Isaiah when he saw a vision showing Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. They listened to the prophet’s beautiful words: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given. …”
The children next listened to Isaiah’s words about the sad time when Jesus died: “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.”
Then they pretended to travel ahead many more years and listened to Isaiah telling about the coming of the Book of Mormon: “Thy voice shall be, as of one that hath a familiar spirit, out of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper out of the dust.”
Each night that week at Book of Mormon time, they climbed into the time machine and pretended to travel with Isaiah. One night Anthony asked, “Has everything that Isaiah saw already happened?”
“No,” Dad answered, “not everything. Isaiah saw things that would happen in our very own day, and he saw things that are still in the future, in a time called the Millennium, when Jesus will come and live on earth again.”
“Isaiah was so lucky,” Anthony’s little sister said. “He saw so many things.”
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed as he climbed back into the time machine. “But we’re lucky, too—we can go with him and see them, too, when we read the scriptures.”

Later I found out.
The twenty-year-old emergency paramedic driving the ambulance had his hands full. What was he to do with a three-year-old girl who was frightened and crying? Her parents were both injured, her mother critically. What could he say or do to calm this child?
Maybe a song would help, he thought. But he couldn’t recall any children’s songs—except one. It was a Sunday School song he had just learned in the church he had only recently joined. There was no reason this little girl would recognize it or take comfort in it. But the impression that he should sing grew stronger, so he began: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here …”
The little girl grew quiet and after a verse began to sing with him, “I am a child of God, and so my needs are great …”
At the end of the second verse he asked softly, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?”
She replied, “Yes.”
“Are your mommy and daddy?”
“Yes.”
He reached for the radio transmitter. “This is rescue calling base. Hi, Beth. Would you do me a favor? Look up the number of a Bishop Brower in the phone book and give him a call. We have a critically injured woman coming in who’s a member of his church and we need …”
So the bishop received the message, and priesthood holders were at the hospital within minutes.
A year later we attended the missionary farewell of the young paramedic who helped save Gaydra’s life.

Inspired by this, I asked my grandchild Raquel, who had recently learned how to read, “What would you say about setting a goal to read the Book of Mormon?”
Her answer was “But, Grandpa, it’s so hard. It’s a big book.”
Then I asked her to read me a page. I took out a stopwatch and timed her. I said, “You took only three minutes, and the Spanish version of the Book of Mormon has 642 pages, so you need 1,926 minutes.”
This could have scared her even more, so I divided that number by 60 minutes and told her she would need only 32 hours to read it—less than a day and a half!
Then she said to me, “That’s so easy, Grandpa.”
In the end, Raquel, her brother, Esteban, and our other grandchildren took more time than this because this is a book which needs to be read with a spirit of prayer and meditation.

September 9—Today wasn’t the best. I didn’t have anyone to sit by at lunch. I missed an easy question on the geography quiz. Also our team lost at kickball. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have any friends at this school.
I wish we hadn’t moved here. I don’t have anyone to talk to. That’s why I’m starting a journal. People in books always seem to have journals. I’ve heard stories from pioneers’ journals. I don’t know if I’ll ever do anything amazing, but it’s nice to talk to someone. Hope I can keep this up! Gotta go. Mom’s calling me for dinner.
P.S. I do feel a little better now.
I closed my journal and went to set the table.
The next day was just as bad. When I came home, I felt like I might explode. Instead I went to my room, opened my journal, and started writing. I dumped all those feelings out. I felt better this time too. After that, I wrote every few days. I wrote about everything. It was like I was writing my own book!
October 21—Guess what? I made a friend! Her name is Claire, and she’s new too. We both like board games, and we don’t like geography. I think I’m going to invite her over for family game night on Friday.
I love my journal. I like writing when I feel mad or worried because it makes me feel better. I also like writing about the good things that happen because then I can remember them.
Guess what else? I have a book report due next week. Wish me luck!
Little by little things started getting better. I still got picked last for kickball, but I had a few friends, and I joined the math team. I wrote about all of it. Soon I wasn’t writing just to complain, I was writing to a good friend—me!
And before I knew it, sixth grade was over. When I came home from the class party, I had quite a few signatures in my yearbook—all from new friends I had made. I pulled out my journal, plopped down on my bed, and wrote my last entry as a sixth grader.
June 15—Today was the last day of sixth grade. Next year I’ll be in seventh grade! I’m nervous about that, but I know I can write when I get scared or when I feel like everything is going wrong. I just went back and read my first entry again. It was so sad that I almost laughed! I’m glad I have it. It shows how much I’ve grown up this year! I’m glad I’m not so angry or sad anymore.
When we moved here, I felt like I would never be happy again. But now when I read my journal, I can see how much Heavenly Father has blessed me. He helped me make new friends and learn hard things. I wonder what’s going to happen next year!

When missionaries arrived in William Jarvis’s town in Lancashire, England, some men tried to prevent the missionaries from preaching. But they continued anyway, and William and his wife, Jane, joined the Church.
William’s family left England to travel to America in 1859. After 13 weeks in a sailing vessel and after many train rides, they joined other immigrants in the George Rowley handcart company. William pulled a handcart more than 1,000 miles (1,600 km).
Jane became sick and died. The company needed desperately to find food, so William stayed behind to bury his wife. Two Swedish converts stayed to help.
As the men started out again, they saw some Indians riding toward them. William was worried. Imagine his relief when the Indians were friendly. They laughed about the carts that the men were harnessed to. The Indians then harnessed themselves to the handcarts and pulled the carts until they caught up with the company! William’s grandson later wrote, “Surely never was a small kindly deed more appreciated.” (See Jeston Jarvis, A Short Sketch of the Life of William Jarvis.)

While we were growing up, our father was a ward clerk for fifteen years, and I remember that every Sunday evening he would come home after meeting and go into the dining room. He would pull down the blind and on the oak table he would put the money that he had gathered that day for the bishop—the tithes and offerings.
He would count it and account for it and put the ones and the fives and the tens in a pile; and then he would get the ironing board and an iron and a wet rag, and then our dad would take each of these paper bills and iron it smooth.
Now you would wonder what four little boys would recognize about this. The one thing they got from it was that whatever you do for the Lord, you do the very best that you know how. There is nothing that is too good for the Lord.