Gospel Story Finder

Recently, I was at home with my 4-year-old daughter, Romana, and we were both in my bedroom. I left the bedroom and went to the living room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. A few minutes later, I called out to her: “Romana, you are alone in the bedroom, come to the living room to be with me and your dolls.”

Without hesitating, she replied: “Mom, I am not alone, God is with me! We are never alone, remember?” I was so touched to hear my little girl saying those words. A few days earlier, during our family study, my husband and I had taught our children that our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us, despite our weaknesses and challenges. We are never alone!

In 1832, two years after the Church was organized, two young missionaries went out in the state of New York teaching as missionaries. And there was a man by the name of John Tanner who heard that they were coming in to his community and speaking in the schoolhouse that evening. Though he was a cripple, he decided that he would go and see that those Mormon missionaries didn’t teach any false doctrine.
He was a community-minded man and he was a religious man. Though he had been a cripple for several months with a diseased leg, and was in a wheelchair, he determined to go to that meeting. And he had his son wheel him right up to the front of the stand.
As he listened to the first missionary tell about the apostasy and the need for the restoration of the gospel, he listened and said nothing to him. And as the other missionary got up to speak, John Tanner didn’t interrupt him in any way.
Then after the meeting he asked his son to go up and bring the two missionaries down to introduce them to him. He asked those missionaries if they would like to go home and stay with him that evening. They accepted the invitation and went home and discussed religion on into the early hours of the morning.
After they had discussed it for some time, he said, “If I were well enough, I think I would like to be baptized.”
The missionaries asked him if he thought the Lord could heal him. He said, “The Lord could if he wanted to.”
The missionary explained that they were elders and that the Lord had said, if there were any sick among you to let them call in the elders to pray over them and asked him if he would like to be administered to. He said he would. They administered to him. That very day he left his wheelchair never to return to it. And he walked three-quarters of a mile to be baptized.
He knew he would be criticized and ostracized, but when he heard the truth, he had the courage to accept it. I am so glad that those two missionaries went out into the field to preach the gospel; and that when John Tanner heard it, he had the courage to accept it.
And he and his family remained true to the faith. And his son Nathan Tanner remained true to the faith, and then William Tanner and his son Nathan William, who is my father, accepted the gospel and remained true to the faith. And as a result, I am here today.

Becki: Yes, I think so because the more exposure you have to anything, the more acceptable it usually becomes. I know that when I was in Mutual, short dresses were the style. Since everybody else seemed to be wearing them, I didn’t really notice that mine were actually too short, too. But when I came to BYU and had to lengthen a lot of my skirts, I realized that I had unconsciously lowered my dress standards to fit those around me. Now when I go home it is a big cultural shock, especially to see even some Mormons wearing halter tops and sundresses.

I was wondering if The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I prayed about it on Saturday night and didn’t get an answer that night. On Sunday morning I prayed about it again, and right when I said the words “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” my heart got very warm. I felt the Holy Ghost say to me, “Yes, it is the true church.”Audrey Jensen, age 8, South Euclid, Ohio

The two things I remember from the conversation played a huge role in my conversion. When I joined a video call (late) Elder Beam was reading Moroni’s promise (see Moroni 10:3–5). His companion, Elder McIntosh, and he carried a sweet and sacred Spirit which impacted me. I didn’t recognise it at the time (two months would pass before I’d learn to recognise it) but it drew me to them. I wanted to know them; I wanted to know what they had to say.
From then on, I started meeting with them and learning of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, of the Book of Mormon, of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Everything was so foreign to me, but I felt the Spirit every time. I started reading it for myself when (newly transferred in) Elder Baldwin invited me to read the Book of Enos. From there, I couldn’t stop reading. Even though I still didn’t believe it, I couldn’t stop. I knew something was different about the Book of Mormon. I thought about it constantly. It strengthened my faith in a loving God.
Over the next few months, I did a deep dive into researching the Church of Jesus Christ, the positives and negatives. In doing so, in meeting the missionaries and following through on the commitments I made, in praying, in reading the Book of Mormon alongside the Bible, every single question I had was answered fully. The biggest questions such as the nature of God (I was never fully satisfied with descriptions of a triune God) were answered. The smallest questions I had were answered just the same. It was a miracle.
When I was finally blessed with the foundations of a testimony in this great latter-day work, it was not yet the end of my journey to baptism. Why? Because I was aware I would have to sacrifice many friendships and relationships I’d had with people my entire life. I knew there were people who meant a great deal to me who would never want anything to do with me again — and they didn’t. I had spiritual leaders in my life tell me I was turning my back on Jesus Christ and what He’d done for me. More than anything else, that hurt me deeply. I investigated and learned more of the Church because I love my Saviour so much. If I didn’t love and believe the Bible as much as I did, or have the foundations I had, I would never have believed the Book of Mormon.
A few weeks later, I realised something: Jesus Christ walked the walk to Calvary for me, the least I could do is walk the walk to the baptism font, and beyond, even if I had to do so alone, without the friends I’d had for decades. I did so. Every sacrifice I made to join the Church of my Lord Jesus Christ was far outweighed by the bounteous and sacred blessings He gave me.
It was a long journey which took very close to 10 months. But the walk through the valley took me to the truth, to the temple, to my beautiful wife, and closer to my Saviour, Jesus Christ.
I know this is His Church. I know He is the Saviour and Redeemer of mankind. I know God is our loving Heavenly Father. I know we can come closer to them by reading the scriptures. I know we can be blessed and come closer to them by living the covenants we make in the font and in the holy temple. This is the true Church of Jesus Christ.

In 1938 Hitler had his armies invade western Czechoslovakia, and he soon ruled it. All Americans were warned to leave the country. Before the mission president, Wallace Toronto, left, he set apart Josef Roubícek, a Czech and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, as the acting mission president. For the next five and a half years, Church headquarters received no word from the Saints in Czechoslovakia.

During that time President Roubícek held regular meetings. For a few months the government outlawed public meetings. When that happened, President Roubícek kept in touch with members by mail. In his letters, he encouraged them to study the Book of Mormon with their families.

When the war ended in 1945, an American soldier took a letter from President Roubícek and mailed it to President Toronto. “I wish to inform you,” President Roubícek wrote in the letter, “that after six years of war all members of the Church have remained well and alive. It has been a terrible time. … The [Saints’] … testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel have not wavered even in the worst moments of this great conflict.”*

A story illustrating the magic of writing is told in connection with two explorers who were working several hundred miles apart in the then-dark continent of Africa. One of the explorers wanted to send a message to the other; and having a native who knew the way and who agreed to carry whatever he wanted to send, the explorer made some marks on a piece of paper with his pen, folded the paper up, put it in an envelope, and gave it to the native. After some weeks in the jungle the native arrived at the camp of the other explorer and delivered the envelope. The explorer unfolded the message and looked at the marks on the paper; and without one single word having been spoken, the man to whom the message was delivered knew where his explorer friend was and what his problems and needs were. He knew about his health and several other personal things just by looking at the mysterious marks on the paper, which meant nothing at all to the native. This miracle so astounded the native that he fell down on his face and worshiped the writing.

Laurie Baldwin wiped at the tears that stung her eyes during the long trip to Denver. Great-grandma, her mom’s grandma, had died yesterday after being sick a long time. The whole family—Laurie, Mom, Dad, and Laurie’s two older sisters—was going to the funeral.
When they arrived at Great-grandma’s house, Laurie met the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had gathered there.
“How are we going to put together a funeral in only two days?” Aunt Christy asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Mom didn’t look worried. “I know where we can find help,” she said, reaching for the phone book.
Laurie listened as Mom called the bishop of a Denver ward and explained the situation.
“Why did you call a bishop?” Laurie asked after Mom replaced the phone. “Great-grandma wasn’t a member of the Church.” Mom was the only member of her family who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Even though Grandma wasn’t a member of our Church, we can still ask for help in preparing for her funeral. That’s part of belonging to the Church—being able to go anywhere and know that there are people who are willing to help us.”
Laurie would always remember that.
Soon the phone started ringing. Her mother spent the next hour taking calls and making others. She was smiling after the last one.
“Everything’s taken care of,” she announced to the family. “The bishop called some people. The Relief Society president is going to arrange a meal for the family after the funeral. She’ll also find someone to play the organ and lead the music.”
“Why are they helping us?” Aunt Christy wanted to know. “We don’t live here. We don’t even know them.”
“In our church we call each other ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ That’s because we’re all brothers and sisters in the gospel and help each other whenever we can.”
Laurie thought about that—brothers and sisters in the gospel. She liked the sound of it.
Mom spoke at the funeral and told some things about her grandmother’s life. A lady with a pretty voice sang “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), which had been Great-grandma’s favorite song. Mom was crying and smiling at the same time.
After the funeral, Mom thanked the bishop and everyone who had helped with the music and food. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
The bishop took her hand. “We were happy to help. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman.”
Laurie heard the quiet sincerity in his voice. The family spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking about Great-grandma.
“I want to find out more about your church,” Aunt Christy said.
Laurie listened as Mom began to explain. “We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …”
“Bishops, home teachers, visiting teachers, and members of priesthood quorums and of Relief Societies … all stand ready to help. …
“Of course, your brothers and sisters in the Church are not to solve your problems for you. … But your brothers and sisters will be at your side to strengthen you, encourage you, and help you.”Elder Joseph B. WirthlinFrom an April 2000 general conference address.

The first story took place during late spring in the Cascade Mountains. Rodney and Micki, my two sons, and I had decided to do some early mountain climbing. We had been climbing through spotty snow fields and clumps of evergreen trees when we heard the unmistakable roar of large boulders bounding down the mountainside. From the noise they were making as they struck trees and undergrowth and ricocheted off larger rocks, we could tell they were headed our way. Barely in time, we jumped behind a large, old snag as the first of several boulders roared by, barely missing our old protective tree. After the roar stopped as a result of the rocks piling into a snowfield, I poked my head out from behind the tree and looked in the direction from which the boulders had come. I soon detected the cause of our problem; looking like several small busy ants, a group of boys were rolling rocks down the mountainside. At first I yelled and waved my coat, and then we all yelled and waved our coats, but to no avail. Was our weekend hiking trip about to come to an early end, or would it be worth the risk to continue climbing while the youths above rolled rocks down the mountain?
How did these three misadventures turn out? In the first story, we yelled many times together without any luck. Then Micki said, “Daddy, I bet if I blew my whistle, they would hear it!” So he did and they did! We were then able to communicate, after which no more rocks were rolled down the mountain, and we were able to continue our climb.

As I progressed through high school, the first section was my norm. So I became a little lazy and didn’t practice any harder than I needed to in order to stay in a top spot.
Each year there was an All-State band event where every school selected the best player of each section to be a part of a large multi-school band. It was an honor to be selected, but I forgot that fact. I took it for granted when I was selected and showed up one year on performance day having only glanced at the music. I’d had the ability to master the music, but it would have actually taken some work—work that I hadn’t put in.
I knew I couldn’t play the music very well this year, but I’d been to All-State in previous years and knew how it worked: because I came from the first chair section in my school I would be placed in the first chair section in the All-State band. I wouldn’t be much good to the band this year, but I could fake my way through the day and have fun.
The air was abuzz with excitement as the band students gathered. Then the room grew quiet as the band director stepped onto the podium. What he said next concerned me.
“Instead of grouping everyone based on your position at school, you will try out for the seat in your section. You will play the music you have prepared for a judge, and he or she will place you in your appropriate seat. You do not have to try out, but if you do not, you will automatically be placed at the bottom of the last section.”
My lack of preparation landed on my chest like a pallet of bricks. The music was hard this year, and I had not practiced. I knew how awful I would sound in front of the other first chair section members if I chose to try out. But if I didn’t try out, I would be placed at the bottom of the last section. In all fairness, I can now admit that I deserved to be at the bottom of the last section. However, at that time I was prideful and could not bear to be in the last section. Even if I hadn’t practiced, I knew I was first section material and decided that I would be in that section no matter what.
At the last moment, as the first section clarinets were going to the tryout room, I hurried to join them. One by one, each clarinetist played. My heart sank when it became clear they’d all practiced. Then it was my turn.
In my pride, I put the clarinet to my mouth and proceeded to embarrass myself as I played. I did not have to imagine the amused looks of my fellow clarinetists and the rather horrified look of the judge when I finished. The judge kindly said nothing, but his thoughts were clear enough when he placed me in the last chair in my section.
My stubbornness had kept me in the section I thought I deserved, but it was no victory. I couldn’t hold my head up or participate freely in the other students’ excited conversations during the breaks. I was a fake among the genuine. There was no way I could convince them that I actually belonged with them. They had heard me play.
“I’m really quite good,” I wanted to say. “It’s just that I didn’t practice.” But I never said it because I knew what their response would have been: “You should have practiced like we did.”
I knew that when it came right down to the performance, my potential didn’t matter—only the current skill that I’d developed did.
The saving grace of the day was that I learned clearly and deeply the meaning of hard work and preparation. I saw a connection to the parable of the ten virgins. I had arrived at All-State without oil, so to speak. I could not borrow from the skills of the other clarinetists. I now know that each minute of every day is the time to prepare—especially in the aspects of life that really matter.

Each year the young men try to make the upstairs spook alley even better than the year before. This year each of the quorums was in charge of a room. “It was pretty spooky,” one little clown was heard to say, “but you don’t have to go through it alone.” The young men make sure that one of their number or a young woman who isn’t busy at the moment accompanies each child through so that no scares are taken too seriously. And many children brave the alley not only because of their “big” friends who help them through, but also because if they don’t go through the spook alley, they don’t get to go down the cardboard slide. The Moffat brothers, Kayle and David, have always volunteered to build the slide. Kayle built it with David’s help for a couple of years, but now he is serving as a full-time missionary and David is handling it alone. David says that by the time he gets his call in a year or two, Kayle will be back and able to take over again.

I have repeated that pattern many times in my life. For example, when I had the opportunity to play professional football in the National Football League, I turned again to prayer for guidance. I asked Heavenly Father for help because I was the only member of the Church on the team, and I knew I needed to be able to work with my teammates and to get along with them. I received the answer that I should tell them what I believe in and that everything would be OK.
When I let my teammates know about my beliefs, they began to understand and have respect for my standards. In many cases they wanted to know more, and I found the answers to their questions by studying the scriptures. These friends were always there to support and encourage me.

The translation of the Book of Mormon is a miracle in itself and gives further proof of the book’s divine origin. When Oliver Cowdery arrived in Harmony, Pennsylvania, on April 5, 1829, to serve as the Prophet’s scribe, only a few pages of the final text had been translated. That evening Joseph and Oliver sat down together and discussed the Prophet’s experiences long into the night. Two days later, on April 7, they commenced the translation of the work. Over the next three months, Joseph translated at an amazing rate—approximately 500 printed pages in about 60 working days.
Oliver wrote of this remarkable experience: “These were days never to be forgotten—to sit under the sound of a voice dictated by the inspiration of heaven, awakened the utmost gratitude of this bosom! Day after day I continued, uninterrupted, to write from his mouth, as he translated, with the Urim and Thummim … the history, or record, called ‘The book of Mormon’” (Messenger and Advocate, Oct. 1834, 14; see also Joseph Smith—History 1:71, note).

Crisanta Juan really wasn’t interested in leaving her family or her Philippine hometown of Mayantoc. But several of her friends were applying for jobs as nannies in Saudi Arabia. If they got the jobs, they told her, they could make lots of money to send home. Thinking nothing would ever come of it, twenty-five-year-old Crisanta signed up. A month later, she received word that she had been hired by a Saudi Arabian prince!
When the prince’s secretary came for her, Crisanta still wasn’t convinced that she wanted to go. The man couldn’t comprehend her hesitation.
“It’s a privilege to serve in a royal family!” he said.
“But I don’t want to go,” she replied. “I’m happy here in the Philippines.”
“Why? What is your work here?”
“I’m a factory worker, and I’m happy with that,” she said.
“Don’t you want a higher salary?”
“No,” she answered. “I don’t need more money. I’m happy.”
The secretary insisted that the prince had chosen her and that no one else would do. And he already had her passport ready. Feeling great pressure, Crisanta finally agreed to go. Soon she was in an airplane on her way to Saudi Arabia.
But the farther she went from home, the more frightened she became. Terrified, she wondered if it was all a cruel joke. “I couldn’t believe they would get some unknown girl from the Philippines to work for a prince!”
Then came the shock of being led into the prince’s palatial home. Crisanta had never dreamed of such wealth. There she met the beautiful nineteen-year-old princess (one of the wives of the prince) and her two-year-old daughter, who was to be Crisanta’s charge.
The child spoke only Arabic. “How can I talk to your daughter?” Crisanta asked the princess in English. “I cannot speak Arabic.”
“You must learn,” the princess answered. Crisanta, who had graduated from college, began to study Arabic with a tutor. Within three months, she spoke it so well that the prince asked her to teach Arabic and English to his daughter. He raised her pay because she was now to serve as tutor—as well as nanny.
It didn’t take long for Crisanta to become accustomed to her new lifestyle. “I felt like a princess,” she says. “I didn’t have to wash or iron my clothes, or cook, or do anything except teach and care for the child.” She was chauffeured in a luxurious car. She ate rich food—often at a long table with the prince, his wives and children, and the other nannies. She spoke almost daily with the prince about his daughter, her grades, and her development.
Crisanta was paid well. She sent money to her family, and they upgraded their humble Philippine home. She also learned to spend money on herself. Soon she had many new dresses, expensive jewelry, and other luxuries. “I wanted everything, so I bought it,” she says. “And I didn’t buy cheap things!”
After three years, Crisanta returned home to the Philippines for a month’s vacation. There she found that her parents and two sisters had joined the Church, and she agreed to listen to the missionaries. But after four discussions, she told the missionaries that she wasn’t feeling anything and didn’t want to continue. “Because of my luxurious life, I didn’t think I needed a spiritual life,” she says. But for some reason, she decided to take the Book of Mormon and Church pamphlets back to Saudi Arabia with her.
As Crisanta was reentering Saudi Arabia, the airport officials found the Book of Mormon in her luggage and told her it was illegal to take the book into the country. “I showed them the letter attached to my passport,” she says. “It said I could bring back whatever I wanted.” The officials telephoned the prince. He asked to talk with Crisanta.
“Is that book really important to you?” he asked. She replied that it was. He gave his permission.
That night, Crisanta started reading. She noticed that the missionaries had marked certain passages in the Book of Mormon, particularly Moro. 10:4–5. “I started getting interested,” she says. “And I realized that in order to understand all these things, I must ask God. So I prayed about it. Every morning, I felt challenged to read that book, and every day I made time to read it. I realized that it was really helping me spiritually. I felt that I was nearer to God and that my life was different now.”
Crisanta wrote home excitedly, telling her family of her growing testimony. They sent her a tape recording of their family home evening, complete with hymns and testimonies. Crisanta was especially moved by the testimonies of her mother and father. “They uplifted my spirit, and I cried and cried,” she says.
Before a year had passed, she wanted to go home again to learn more about the gospel. But the princess refused to give her any time off, reminding Crisanta that she had recently had a vacation—and the she had promised to stay for three more years.
“So I asked the prince for permission,” she says, “and I really cried.” The prince gave in, but he told her she must return after one week. As a guarantee that she would return, Crisanta could take only four dresses with her. The rest of her new clothes and all of the other possessions that she had earned during her years in Saudi Arabia had to stay behind.
Back home in the Philippines, Crisanta met with missionaries again. “I told them that although I hadn’t been interested before, I felt different when I read the Book of Mormon.”
During their second visit, the missionaries asked her to pray. “I felt a warm feeling in my heart—and then I started to cry and couldn’t continue my prayer for a while. I felt all my sins, and I realized the happiness that I had known since reading the Book of Mormon. I felt that I really am a daughter of Heavenly Father, that I really am important to him. After my prayer, I told the missionaries that I wanted to be baptized immediately.”
They replied, “No, Sister, we have to continue the discussions.” She was baptized a few days later, on 9 April 1988.
From that moment, Crisanta lost interest in her life of luxury in Saudi Arabia. “I felt that I had something to do here in the Philippines,” she says. “The longer I stayed here, the happier I felt. I was happy because I had learned the importance of life—not only here, but also hereafter. I had learned that the family is important. And I had found that I must put God before anything else—that I had to serve him.
“I had also learned that money cannot make me happy. In Saudi, I cherished all the luxuries. But when I joined the Church, I realized that those things are void—they are nothing to me. Everything I do in the Church gives me more joy than those other things I had. So I had to sacrifice those things.”
After a few days, the prince telephoned her from Saudi Arabia, saying that she must return because the baby was waiting for her.
“I want to extend my vacation,” she told him.
“But we want you back,” said the prince. “The baby wants you back.”
“And I really miss the baby,” Crisanta said. “I want my job. But I feel I have a job here to do.”
“What is it?” the prince asked.
Crisanta then told him that she wanted to serve a mission for the Church—and that she wouldn’t be able to return to Saudi Arabia for two years. Convinced that she was serious, the prince released her from her commitment. “You can come back to Saudi Arabia after two years if you want,” he said. “But the princess cannot wait for you.”
A month later, Crisanta received word that the prince had hired another nanny. The new nanny and Crisanta corresponded several times, sharing news and insights about the baby. “The little princess was always asking when I was going to come back,” she says.
At home, Crisanta served as a Primary teacher, as Primary president, and as a stake missionary. She worked in a bank to earn money for her mission. “If only I could bring back all that money that I spent before!” she says. “Oh, I had a lot! I was crazy before—really crazy!”
Exactly a year after her baptism, Crisanta received her endowment in the Manila Temple. Two months later, in June 1990, she received her mission call. She is currently serving—in her native Philippines.
People ask her why she would give up so much for her mission. “I tell them I’m happier now than before.”
“Is it that good?” they ask.
“Yes, it’s that good,” she tells them.
What are her plans after her mission?
“I want to go where Heavenly Father wants me to go,” she says. “If he takes me again to Saudi Arabia, that’s what he wants for me.”
But she isn’t sure. “I have already had a luxurious life and all the things that go with it. When I had a lot of money, I didn’t know God, I didn’t know Jesus Christ, and all I wanted was to buy everything I liked. But I came to realize that those things are not important to me. Other things are more treasured, more valuable.
“Now I want a simple life,” she says. “I want to serve Heavenly Father. I want to be loved by him. I want to love him.”

After calming his shoeless family, Brother Godfrey used his wife’s cell phone to call their home teacher, Jason Meyers, who lived 30 minutes away in Cedar Falls. Without hesitation, Brother Meyers said he and two other members were on their way. When they arrived, Brother Meyers jumped out of the vehicle to hug Brother Godfrey and his family.
“It was good, because we didn’t have any family out there. But our ward family was there for us,” Brother Godfrey said while choking back some tears.
They whisked the Godfreys out of the disaster area to stay at the Relief Society president’s house, where members brought food and clothing.

Marian Wright Edelman told the story of Jean Thompson, who was a teacher:

On the first day of school, Jean Thompson told her students, “Boys and girls, I love you all the same.” Teachers lie. Little Teddy Stollard was a boy Jean Thompson did not like. He slouched in his chair, didn’t pay attention, his mouth hung open in a stupor, his eyes were always unfocused, his clothes were mussed, his hair unkempt, and he smelled. He was an unattractive boy and Jean Thompson didn’t like him.

Teachers have records. And Jean Thompson had Teddy’s. First grade: “Teddy’s a good boy. He shows promise in his work and attitude. But he has a poor home situation.” Second grade: “Teddy is a good boy. He does what he is told. But he is too serious. His mother is terminally ill.” Third grade: “Teddy is falling behind in his work; he needs help. His mother died this year. His father shows no interest.” Fourth grade: “Teddy is in deep waters; he is in need of psychiatric help. He is totally withdrawn.”

Christmas came, and the boys and girls brought their presents and piled them on her desk. They were all in brightly colored paper except for Teddy’s. His was wrapped in brown paper and held together with scotch tape. And on it, scribbled in crayon, were the words, “For Miss Thompson from Teddy.” She tore open the brown paper and out fell a rhinestone bracelet with most of the stones missing and a bottle of cheap perfume that was almost empty. When the other boys and girls began to giggle she had enough sense to put some of the perfume on her wrist, put on the bracelet, hold her wrist up to the children and say, “Doesn’t it smell lovely? Isn’t the bracelet pretty?” And taking their cue from the teacher, they all agreed.

At the end of the day, when all the children had left, Teddy lingered, came over to her desk and said, “Miss Thompson, all day long, you smelled just like my mother. And her bracelet, that’s her bracelet, it looks real nice on you, too. I’m really glad you like my presents.” And when he left, she got down on her knees and buried her head in her chair and she begged God to forgive her.

The next day when the children came, she was a different teacher. She was a teacher with a heart. And she cared for all the children, but especially those who needed help. Especially Teddy. She tutored him and put herself out for him.

By the end of the year, Teddy had caught up with a lot of the children and was even ahead of some. Several years later, Jean Thompson got this note:

Dear Miss Thompson:
I’m graduating and I’m second in my high school class. I wanted you to be the first to know. Love, Teddy.

Four years later she got another note:

Dear Miss Thompson:
I wanted you to be the first to know. The university has not been easy, but I like it. Love, Teddy Stollard.

Four years later, there was another note:

Dear Miss Thompson:
As of today, I am Theodore J. Stollard, M.D. How about that? I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m going to be married in July. I want you to come and sit where my mother would have sat, because you’re the only family I have. Dad died last year.

And she went and she sat where his mother should have sat because she deserved to be there.

I learned about pure love from my mother. She was not a member of the Church.

One day many years ago, I visited my mother, who was struggling with cancer. I knew that she was going to die, but I was concerned that she was suffering. I didn’t say anything, but knowing me well, she said, “I see that you are concerned.”

Then to my surprise, she asked me with a feeble voice, “Can you teach me how to pray? I want to pray for you. I know you start by saying, ‘Dear Heavenly Father,’ but then what should I say?”

As I knelt next to her bed and she prayed for me, I felt a love never felt before. It was simple, true, pure love. Although she didn’t know about the plan of salvation, she had in her heart her personal plan of love, the plan of love of a mother for her son. She was in pain, struggling to even find the strength to pray. I could barely hear her voice, but I surely felt her love.

I remember thinking, “How can someone who is in such great pain pray for someone else? She is the one in need.”

Then the answer came clearly to my mind: pure love. She loved me so much that she forgot about herself. In her most critical hour, she loved me more than herself.

“What does ‘Families Are Forever’ mean?” Mia asked. She moved her game piece across the board. She and her best friend, Zoey, were playing a game in Zoey’s living room. On the wall was a picture that said, “Families Are Forever.” Mia liked the sound of that.
“It means that even after you die, you’re still a family,” Zoey explained. She put down a card and moved her game piece.
Mia looked around the room. It looked normal. There were couches, tables, pillows, and a TV. But Zoey’s house felt different from her own. “Do you have a forever family?” Mia asked.
Zoey looked up from the game with a smile. “Yes! My mom and dad were married in the temple. So we can be together forever.”
“Is that why your house feels different?” Mia asked.
Zoey looked confused. “Different?”
Mia didn’t know how to explain the feeling in Zoey’s house. It was happy and warm. But that sounded silly to say. “Never mind,” she said. “Let’s keep playing.”
That night Mia couldn’t stop thinking about Zoey’s forever family. She loved the feeling in Zoey’s house. Mia’s family was going to move to Ontario, Canada, in a few days. She wondered how their new house would feel.
“Mom, Zoey’s house feels so happy,” Mia said as Mom tucked her into bed. “I want our new house to feel like that.” Mia thought about how much she loved Mom, Dad, and her little brothers. “I want our family to be forever too.”
Mom listened quietly. Then she said, “I do too.”
The next day, Mom called Zoey’s mom. She found out that Zoey’s family went to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I want to go to that church,” Mia told her parents while they packed. Their house was almost empty now.
“Zoey’s mom said she could help us find a church building,” Dad said as he taped up a box.
Mia smiled and felt a flutter in her stomach. Maybe their new house could feel as warm and happy as Zoey’s!
Once they were settled in their new house, Mia’s family started going to church. The people there were very nice. Everyone called each other “Brother” and “Sister.” Mia went to Primary with her little brothers. She loved singing songs and reading the scriptures.
Soon two young women came to Mia’s house. Their names were Sister Justin and Sister Ramos, and they were missionaries. They told Mia’s family about Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Book of Mormon. Mia loved hearing about the gospel. Even her brothers sat quietly and listened!
Mia told Sister Ramos and Sister Justin about Zoey’s house. “I want a forever family like Zoey’s.”
“Heavenly Father wants all of us to have forever families,” Sister Ramos said with a big smile. “He wants us to be happy.”
Soon Mia’s family decided to be baptized.
Zoey and her family drove all the way to Ontario for the baptisms. A year later, they came back again. This time it was because Mia and her family were being sealed in the temple!
The day of the sealing, Mia stood outside the temple with her family, dressed in white. They were all smiling from ear to ear. Mia felt warm and peaceful inside. “We’re a forever family now!” she said happily.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “We’re a forever family.”

A year ago I went with President Kimball back to his home in Arizona. And we visited the home where he grew up as a little boy. We climbed the winding stairs up to a bare room. And there the little boy, before he was a deacon, read the Bible by lamplight. We looked out the window from that upstairs room, and we saw the barns out in back where the cows had been. He used to milk nine cows every morning and night, the old-fashioned way. And as he milked the cows he learned the Articles of Faith, he learned the hymns, and he learned the Ten Commandments. He wrote them down on a little card and put them on the ground where he could look as he milked the cows.
And as he did these things, he made decisions about things he would and would not do. He was growing up, and he knew there were a lot of things that were good and a lot that were bad. He decided that when someone offered him a cigarette, he would say no. If someone offered him tea or coffee he would say no. If they suggested that he be immoral, he would say no; to lie or to cheat, he would say no. He made those decisions when he was a little boy, before he was a deacon. He would do as his mother had taught him. He would keep the commandments.
And so as he grew older and the boys all came around and said, “Spencer, will you have a cigarette? Will you have a drink of whiskey? Will you have some coffee?” he didn’t worry about hurting their feelings. He had decided just once to say no, and after that it was easy always to say no to the bad things. And that is how he has lived his life all these years.

Now I must tell a little of what happened there. You remember that was as far as I had promised to go with them. From the station there we were taken to the headquarters of the Mormon mission in Norway, at Osterhausgaten No. 27. While we were there, they held a meeting in that hall, and my parents wanted me to go into the meeting. But I wouldn’t go in. You remember I said before that I was bitter. There was a lady there who saw that I did not go in. She said, “If it was my boy, I would whip him till the blood ran down into the heels of his shoes.” I heard her say it, but I thought she would have to be a good runner to catch me for I was light on foot.

Now this is how they got me to go farther. They knew what I had said before I left home in Ringsaker, and my sister Agnete had said that if I didn’t go, she wouldn’t go any farther either. Father went out to a hat store and bought my brother Mathias and myself each a nice brown hat and gave them to us. He said nothing but looked sorrowful. When I saw my parents looked sorrowful, I remembered what I had read in the Bible: “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God gavest thee.” I consented to go with them. Then they cheered up, and I have never regretted it.