Gospel Story Finder

Melanie learned this important point. “As I grew up I was always looking at my older sister who could play the piano beautifully, sing, dance, paint, write, and draw. I kept trying to think of something she didn’t do that I could excel in. But because she did so much, I never thought of anything. So I just didn’t try.

“I was married and had two children when I began analyzing my feelings and discouragement at my lack of talents. I had always wanted to play the piano, but I had never wanted to take lessons because my sister played so well. Finally one day it hit me. Why should it matter that Jean plays piano well? What difference should that make? If I want to play, then I should go ahead and play because I want to learn.

“So I did. At first it bothered me that I was working on simple tunes while Jean was learning heavy classical pieces. But soon my enjoyment of music overcame that. Maybe I don’t play as well as my sister, and maybe I never will, but it matters less every day as I find fulfillment in my music. I’m so glad I finally stopped letting somebody else’s accomplishments slow my own progress.”

My friend and I were kicking a rock back and forth as we walked to school. I kicked the rock and it hit the side of my neighbor’s truck and made a small dent. I was scared that I would get in trouble, so I decided not to tell anyone. When I got home from school, I felt worse and worse until I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I told my parents what had happened. My dad took me over to my neighbor’s house, and we told him about it. My dad asked if we could clean the truck as payment. We spent a long time cleaning the inside and outside of the truck, and when we took it back I felt much better. I was glad that the Holy Ghost had helped me to choose the right.

I would like to share a conversion story from my family history about another of my heroes. Her name is Agnes Hoggan, and she and her husband joined the Church in Scotland in 1861. Suffering great persecution in their homeland, they immigrated to America with their children. Several years later, Agnes became a widow with eight children to support and worked hard to keep them fed and clothed. Her 12-year-old daughter, Isabelle, was lucky enough to find employment as a servant to a wealthy, non-LDS family.

Isabelle lived in their large home and helped look after their younger children. In exchange for her services, a small wage was paid each week to her mother. Isabelle was soon accepted as a member of the family and began to enjoy many of the same privileges, such as taking dance lessons, wearing beautiful clothing, and attending the theater. This arrangement continued for four years, until the family for whom Isabelle worked was transferred to another state. They had grown so fond of Isabelle that they approached her mother, Agnes, and asked for permission to legally adopt her. They promised they would provide her with a good education, see that she married well, and make her an heir to their estate with their own children. They would also continue to make payments to Agnes.

This struggling widow and mother had a hard decision to make, but she did not hesitate for a moment. Listen to the words of her granddaughter, written many years later: “If her love had not compelled [her] to say no, she had an even better reason—she had come all the way from Scotland and had gone through tribulations and trials for the Gospel, and she did not intend, if humanly possible, to let a child of hers lose what she had come so far to gain.” The wealthy family used every possible argument, and Isabelle herself cried and begged to be allowed to go, but Agnes remained firm. As you can imagine, 16-year-old Isabelle felt as if her life was ruined.

Isabelle Hoggan is my great-grandmother, and I am most grateful for the testimony and conviction that burned so brightly in her mother’s heart, which did not allow her to trade her daughter’s membership in the Church for worldly promises. Today, hundreds of her descendants who enjoy the blessings of membership in the Church are the beneficiaries of Agnes’s deep-seated faith and conversion to the gospel.

My great-great-grandmother had a strong conviction that the gospel was more important for her children than all that the world had to offer in the way of wealth and comfort because she had sacrificed, endured, and lived the gospel. Her conversion came through living the principles of the gospel and sacrificing for them.

When I was called as a General Authority by President Russell M. Nelson, I was flooded with emotions. It was overwhelming. My wife, Julie, and I anxiously awaited the Saturday afternoon session of general conference. It was humbling to be sustained. I carefully counted the steps to my designated seat so as not to fall in my first assignment.
At the conclusion of that session, something happened that had a profound effect on me. The quorum members formed a line and greeted the new General Authorities one by one. Each one shared their love and support. With a hearty abrazo they said, “Don’t worry—you belong.”
In our relationship with the Savior, He looks on the heart and is “no respecter of persons.” Consider how He chose His Apostles. He didn’t pay attention to status or wealth. He invites us to follow Him, and I believe He reassures us that we belong with Him.
This message especially applies to the youth of the Church. I see in you what President Nelson sees in you. He said that “there is something undeniably special about this generation of youth. Your Heavenly Father must have great confidence in you to send you to earth at this time. You were born for greatness!”
I am grateful for what I learn from the youth. I am grateful for what my children teach me, for what our missionaries teach me, and for what my nieces and nephews teach me.
Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.
As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”
He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”
Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

Isn’t it nice to have a plan for your life? To have everything figured out? I thought I did, until I was diagnosed with a chronic health condition called polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS).
When I was diagnosed, I grew angry and confused at times, and I focused all of my energy on getting rid of this condition.
I later realized that that wasn’t how God wanted me to view this trial. The Spirit helped me break free of these three unhealthy perspectives I struggled with and replace them with better ones:
At first, I thought I had done something wrong to deserve this disease and that if I changed my habits, I could be “fixed.”
I obsessively researched and tried many “solutions” that did little to help.
When I turned to Heavenly Father for answers, the Spirit helped me realize that we aren’t to blame for many struggles we face—some challenges just come with mortality. Elder Anthony D. Perkins of the Seventy said, “Suffering does not mean God is displeased with your life.”1 By letting go of blame and turning to faith, I was able to find hope and peace.
I believed that I could be healed completely if I just had enough faith, and I was constantly disappointed when I wasn’t. Eventually I learned that it’s also important to have faith not to be healed.
My “thorn in the flesh” has also helped me rely on God, thereby turning my weakness into a strength. I’ve learned that overcoming challenges can mean being able to manage them by relying on strength from the Savior, rather than getting rid of them altogether.

Some mothers, some fathers, some children, some families are called upon to bear a heavy burden here in mortality. Such a family was the Borgstrom family in northern Utah. The time was World War II. Fierce battles raged in various parts of the world.

Tragically, the Borgstroms lost four of their five sons who were serving in the armed forces. Within a six-month period, all four sons gave their lives—each in a different part of the world.

Following the war, the bodies of the four Borgstrom brothers were brought home to Tremonton, and an appropriate service was conducted, filling the Garland Utah Tabernacle. General Mark Clark attended the service. He later spoke with tenderness these words: “I flew to Garland the morning of June 26. Met with the family, including among others the mother, father, and two remaining sons, … one a lad in his teens. I had never met a more stoic family group.

“As the four flag-draped coffins were lined up in front of us in the church, and as I sat by these brave parents, I was deeply impressed by their understanding, by their faith, and their pride in these magnificent sons who had made the supreme sacrifice for principles which had been instilled in them by noble parents since childhood.

“During the luncheon period, Mrs. Borgstrom turned to me and said in a low voice, ‘Are you going to take my young one?’ I answered in a whisper that as long as I remained in command of the army on the West Coast, if her boy were called I would do my best to have him assigned to duty at home.

“In the middle of this whispered conversation with the mother, the father suddenly leaned forward and said to Mrs. Borgstrom: ‘Mother, I have overheard your conversation with the general about our youngest. We know that if and when his country needs him, he will go.’

“I could hardly contain my emotions. Here were parents with four sons lying dead from wounds received in battle and yet were ready to make the last sacrifice if their country required it.”

It is the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that touched home and heart that ever-to-be-remembered day.

Let me tell you another incident that indicates President Kimball looks upon himself as our minister and servant.
A few years ago I was in my office about 6:30 a.m. I am mentioning that so you will know I was there early—it takes some of us a little longer. My phone rang, and as I answered it, I recognized that special voice that said, “Marvin.”
I replied, “Yes, President Kimball.”
He said, “Could I come up and see you?”
His office is on the first floor, and mine is on the third. (That is the only time I am ever higher than he is.)
My reply was, “President Kimball, if you want to see me, I will be right down.”
He then responded with, “Would you do that?”
He did not exhibit any authority. There was no feeling of “Do you know who this is?” or “You’d better come.” He courteously asked, “Could I come up and see you?” When I told him I would be right down, his voice reflected gratitude as he said, “Will you do that?”
I went to his office in a hurry. After we shook hands, he handed me a letter and said, “How would you answer this?”
I read it quickly and said, “President Kimball, you might want to consider this approach,” and told him what I thought.
“I agree,” he said. “That is my thinking also.” He shook my hand, and I was on my way, reflecting about a prophet who asks for counsel and puts himself above no man.

Old Mr. Kelligrew stood in the middle of the street as Scott Anders and Larry Martin approached the curb.
“Come on, boys!” Mr. Kelligrew shouted in his raspy voice. His red, white, and blue crossing guard cap looked faded and ragged, but the red stop sign he held up still did the job; and cars waited just beyond the crosswalk.
“We better hurry!” Scott exclaimed.
“We can cross the street without a guard,” Larry replied. “We aren’t little kids anymore!”
“Hello, Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott said as they passed him.
“Hello, Scott, Larry,” the old man answered.
“Hi,” Larry mumbled.
Mr. Kelligrew hurried to catch up with the two boys who had reached the other side.
A few impatient drivers honked at him, but he just smiled and waved.
“Don’t move as fast as I used to,” Mr. Kelligrew told the boys. “But I do the best I can.”
Larry had stopped to tie his shoelace. “How old are you?” he asked, looking up.
Scott nudged him. “You aren’t supposed to ask questions like that,” he whispered.
Mr. Kelligrew laughed. “I don’t mind. I’ll be eighty next Tuesday!”
“Wow!” Larry exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were that old!”
“Is your family having a big birthday party for you?” Scott asked, smiling.
The crossing guard shook his head. “No, I don’t have a family. My wife died many years ago, and we didn’t have any children.”
Larry frowned. “But I’ve heard you talk about your children lots of times.”
The old man nodded. “You are my children. You and all the boys and girls who attend this school are my children,” Mr. Kelligrew explained.
“I wonder what it would be like to celebrate a birthday all by yourself,” Scott said to Larry, glancing back at Mr. Kelligrew and waving just before the boys turned the corner and headed for home.
“He didn’t say he’d be by himself,” Larry answered. “He just said he wouldn’t be with his family. Do you want to play basketball over at my house for a while?”
“OK,” Scott agreed. “I’ll have to change my clothes first, though. I wonder how long Mr. Kelligrew has been a crossing guard at our school.”
Larry shrugged. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”
“None, I guess,” Scott answered. “I just like him a lot, that’s all. I can’t ever remember a day when he hasn’t been out there stopping the cars even when it’s raining.”
“Come over as soon as you can,” Larry said when they reached his house. “I’ll get the basketball warmed up.”
“OK,” Scott agreed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He thought about Mr. Kelligrew while he was changing his clothes. Almost eighty and still working! My grandfather is a lot younger and hardly does anything since he retired.
“My, what a thoughtful face,” Scott’s mother teased as he was leaving the house. “Problems at school?”
“No, I was just thinking about Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott explained. “He’s the crossing guard at school.”
“Mr. Kelligrew?” she questioned. “I didn’t realize he was still there. Why, he was the crossing guard when your sister started kindergarten, and that was nearly twelve years ago! It can’t be the same Mr. Kelligrew.”
“It has to be,” Scott replied.
“But Scott, he wasn’t a young man then,” his mother went on. “By now he’d be—”
“He’ll be eighty next Tuesday,” Scott interrupted. “And he probably won’t have a cake or candles or anything.” Then he told her what Mr. Kelligrew had said about not having a family.
“What a shame,” Mother said. “He deserves something just for reaching eighty, not to mention working as a crossing guard all these years. Next Tuesday why don’t I put a cupcake in your lunch for Mr. Kelligrew!”
Scott liked the suggestion. “Thanks,” he told his mother. “That’ll be a good surprise. Maybe we could even put a candle on it!” But somehow he couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Kelligrew. One cupcake didn’t seem to be enough. Wouldn’t it be neat, he thought, if seventy-nine other people would give him a cupcake too!
The next morning Scott told his teacher about Mr. Kelligrew’s birthday and asked her if she could help him figure out how to arrange for seventy-nine cupcakes.
“Seventy-nine cupcakes!” the teacher echoed in disbelief. “I think you’d better talk to the principal about a project that big.”
Soon Scott found himself sitting in the principal’s office. He quickly explained about Mr. Kelligrew and why he would like to give him a surprise for his birthday.
“Mr. Kelligrew is a fine man,” the principal told Scott. “From my office window I often see him at the crosswalk. I’m sure he has prevented hundreds of accidents and injuries during the past fourteen years.”
“Then you’ll help me find seventy-nine other children who will bring cupcakes on Tuesday?” Scott asked eagerly.
“Whoa,” the principal answered good-naturedly. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t work out very well.”
Scott frowned. “It wouldn’t?”
“No,” the principal said. “Can you imagine eighty children standing in the crosswalk with eighty lighted candles on their cupcakes? There could be a traffic jam and someone might be hurt. Besides, what would Mr. Kelligrew do with eighty cupcakes?”
Scott swallowed. “I never thought of that. I’m sorry I suggested it.”
“Oh, I’m glad you did,” the principal encouraged. “It’s a great idea and I’m happy you thought of it.”
“You are?” Scott said. “But—”
“I didn’t know Mr. Kelligrew’s birthday was next Tuesday,” the principal explained. “If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have let it slip right by unnoticed. It would be great to do something special to show our appreciation for all the years Mr. Kelligrew has served us so faithfully. Will you be on the birthday committee, Scott?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Scott agreed quickly.
“But remember, not a word to Mr. Kelligrew,” the principal added.
“Not a word,” Scott promised.
On Tuesday morning Mr. Kelligrew was on duty, the same as always, escorting the children across the street.
“Have a nice day!” he called his usual farewell to them.
“You too,” some of them called back.
“Good morning, Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott said as he and Larry walked across the street.
“Good morning, boys,” Mr. Kelligrew replied.
“We’re in a hurry this morning, Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott added. “See you later.”
“Do you think he suspects anything?” Larry whispered when they were out of earshot.
“No,” Scott replied. “He probably thinks we forgot that he told us about his birthday.”
Mr. Kelligrew always arrived at least a half hour before school was dismissed in the afternoon, in case someone had to leave early. Scott was in the principal’s office, watching from the window when he saw him. Scott hurried out of the office and down the sidewalk to the street.
“Mr. Kelligrew, the principal wants to see you right now in the auditorium!” he exclaimed.
“Humf? Well, OK,” the crossing guard agreed, glancing at his big gold watch. “But I hope he won’t take much time. The first- and second-graders will be out before long.”
“Then you better hurry,” Scott urged and he turned and ran back to the school.
A few minutes later when Mr. Kelligrew climbed up the stairs and opened the auditorium door, the room seemed dark and empty. “Who’s there?” he called in his raspy voice. “What’s going on?”
At the sound of his voice the room was flooded with light and everyone began to sing, “Happy Birthday.” Scott, Larry and several other students hurried to escort Mr. Kelligrew to the front of the auditorium where a huge cake with eighty blazing candles waited for him.
“I—don’t know what to say,” the old man began haltingly when the song was finished.
“This is to say thank you for all the times you’ve taken us safely across the street,” Scott explained.
“We have something else for you too,” Larry added, handing Mr. Kelligrew a fancy package with a big bow on top.
“Open it!” the children shouted.
“I certainly will!” Mr. Kelligrew agreed with a smile. “My, this is the best birthday I’ve had in a long, long time!”
That afternoon Mr. Kelligrew wore a spanking new red, white, and blue cap and a bright new jacket. “Birthday presents!” he called to those who commented—and to many who didn’t. “From all my children!”

Such was the experience of William Norris, formerly the chairman of a large computer manufacturing firm and a friend of many years. Mr. Norris determined to build a plant in an area of extreme poverty. The neighborhood was predominantly composed of a minority race—unmarried women with children, uneducated, uncared-for, but needing help. These women became the work force in the production of high-tech computers.

I had the privilege to be hosted by Mr. Norris and to be given a tour of his new facility. I was impressed with the employment provided—but more impressed with the company nursery, which occupied a wing of the building. Here, while their mothers worked, children received schooling, including proficiency with computers. Since most of the children did not have fathers and grandfathers who cared, retired grandfathers in the community were invited to have lunch with them. The children were benefited, and the grandfathers had a special blessing brought into their lives.

As a result of Mr. Norris’s dream, the chain of poverty was broken. Children learned to earn. It was as though William Norris had personally blessed the life of each worker. Through the window provided by Mr. Norris—even love in action—I saw demonstrated the philosophical and practical truth: The bottom line of living is giving.

Susan and Harold Edmundson have never seen their two daughters, Treasure, 15, and Mindy, 13. Yet the couple knows their offspring are beautiful from the inside out, and they share one of the closest family relationships you could imagine.
If the situation sounds unusual, it is. Mindy and Treasure’s parents are blind. Always have been, always will be (in this life). The family lives together in a two-story frame house in Homer City, Pennsylvania, and gets by remarkably well. The parents say their daughters play a big role in that.
“We’ve never known what it’s like not to have blind parents,” say the girls. “Probably the biggest difference would be the things we do around the house.”
If you think you’ve got a lot of household chores, you should try trading places with Mindy and Treasure for a week. And since their mother was diagnosed with cerebral palsy, their workload has increased. “Of course we do all the housework,” they say casually. “We scrub the walls, clean the furniture, make the meals, scrub the kitchen, do the dishes, do the laundry, stuff like that.”
“It’s actually a good thing,” says their mother. “Most girls their age don’t know how to run a house. When they go to college or on missions, they’ll be way ahead of the game. Mindy can whip up a whole meal and make it seem effortless, when I know it’s not. And Treasure keeps the checkbook. I never need to worry about her cashing an extra check or writing one out for something she doesn’t need. They’re pretty special kids.”
Mindy and Treasure are happy to do it. They consider it their natural contribution to the family. And it doesn’t often keep them from doing the things they like. Treasure is a member of a championship cheerleading squad. Mindy loves to rollerskate and take care of her pets—she has several dogs and cats. Both girls attend Young Women midweek activities and Sunday meetings. Treasure also fits seminary into her schedule.
At an age when many kids are trying to establish their personal independence and want to avoid their parents as much as possible, it’s a little unusual to see that Treasure and Mindy’s parents are their best friends.
“They say we can tell them anything, and no matter what we do, they’ll still love us, even if they don’t love what we did,” says Treasure.
“And I believe that,” says Mindy. “They’ve proven it.” One time Mindy was out with a group of friends who were doing a little mischief in people’s yards. Mindy wasn’t actually involved, but a few hours later a state trooper pulled into their driveway and collected Mindy to go help them clean up.
“My parents told me I shouldn’t have been with those kids, and they were right,” says Mindy. “I got punished, but they hugged me first and told me they loved me. It’s always been like that.”
Of course, no one’s life or relationships are perfect. “The hardest thing about our parents being blind is having to ask our friends or their parents to take us places,” says Treasure, without making it sound like a complaint. “The people in the ward are great!” Their Young Women advisers and the other girls in the ward make sure the girls have rides to every meeting and activity.
When the girls’ mother was a teenager, her brother used to take her out on a boat in the river and read to her the names painted on all the other vessels. There was one racing yacht that she particularly liked. It was called the Treasure Lee. “That’s what I’m going to name my first daughter,” Susan told her brother.
The treasure she was to receive, in the form of two loving, giving daughters, was more than she could have hoped for.

Eddie’s heart thumped with fear as the small group of Scouts huddled in the cold rain listening to instructions. They were told to fan out and search ravines, thickets, and the narrow creek for an elderly man who had wandered away from a nursing home early the day before.
Why do they call it a search party, Eddie wondered as he listened. A party is fun, but there’s nothing fun about this!
“The man is feeble and may have lost his coat and shoes by now,” the leader continued. “He could be lying somewhere too weak to call out for help. We’re working against time in such wet weather. That’s why we asked your troop to help. Let’s get started!”
The boys quickly fanned out as they had been told to do. At first they were careful to keep each other in sight, but as Eddie moved from side to side searching clumps of shrubs and waist-high weeds, he suddenly found himself alone.
Hiking a rugged trail with a group is fun, he thought as he struggled along, but this is hard work.
Sometimes there was a ditch on his right and a thicket on his left, and Eddie had to search both. With all the zigging and zagging, several holes had been snagged in his poncho, and his clothing felt wet and cold as it clung to his body. His pant legs were caked with mud, and each boot seemed to weigh five pounds.
Finally Eddie sat on a damp log to rest and clean his boots. At first he was just plain tired of the whole thing. Then he began to think about the old man who had been out in the storm for more than twenty-four hours. Suddenly Eddie was ashamed of thinking only about himself and hurrying to get the search over so he could go home where he would be warm and dry.
“I really didn’t look very carefully along the creek back there because of the thorns and mud,” he admitted to himself. Eddie shuddered at the thought that in his hurry he might not have seen the old man lying out in the storm.
Eddie shifted his pack, picked up a heavy stick to use as a staff, and started to backtrack along the slippery rocks that lined both sides of the narrow stream. His legs ached with fatigue as stones slipped and rolled under his muddy boots, but he was grateful for the support they gave his ankles. He wondered if the old man had good shoes or had left the home wearing only light slippers.
Now all the boy could think about was that someone was lost out in the storm. As he rounded a curve, there was a flash of red and his heart began to pound.
Racing on down the creek, he saw a man huddled under a rock ledge on the other side! Eddie’s first thought was to shout for help. But then he realized that, if startled, the man under the ledge might fall and be hurt or try to run away.
Suddenly Eddie remembered the owl hoot signals his troop had learned. Three hoots wouldn’t mean anything to the others, but they would bring one of the Scouts.
Climbing the slippery bank to the trail, Eddie backtracked a few hundred feet and signaled. There was no answer to the first two calls, but when his straining ears caught a faint answering “whoo” after the third call, he walked back to where he could watch the man and give low signals to guide the others to the spot.
The old man rolled over once. Then he sat up and listened to the owl calls.
Soon another mud-streaked Scout appeared in the ravine. Signaling him to remain silent, Eddie hurried down the slope as quietly as he could and explained that he had found the lost man.
“Hurry and bring help,” Eddie said, “but don’t start shouting for help until you’re far enough away so he won’t hear you. We’ll have to be careful not to scare him or he might try to run away.”
When he was alone again, Eddie crossed the creek and started toward the elderly man. Whistling and splashing along in the shallow water, he pretended to be surprised when he saw someone huddled on the overhanging ledge. “Hi!” he called. “Would you like to share my lunch?”
When Eddie took sandwiches and a thermos bottle out of his pack, he saw that hunger and eagerness replaced the fright in the faded blue eyes. But the old man remained silent as he reached out a trembling hand to accept the food and milk. Eddie took a blanket from his pack and draped it around the frail figure.
There was plenty of food, but Eddie had such a lump in his throat that he could hardly choke down even half of a sandwich. All he could think about was how he had almost gone on and left the poor old man.
“I went for a walk and got lost,” the man explained after he had finished eating. Then he pulled the blanket around himself like a tired child and fell asleep.
Almost before he knew it, Eddie was surrounded by other searchers who were eager to help. Soon the men in charge carried the old man away on a stretcher, and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief.
It was still storming and he was wet and cold and tired, but somehow Eddie felt so warm and good that it seemed almost as if the sun were shining!

Ella watched as her grandfather threw another box onto the lawn. Her grandmother stood by the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said nothing, though. Ella knew her grandmother would never speak against her grandfather. Tradition did not allow it.
Grandfather had made it clear—if Ella and her mother joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they would no longer be welcome in his home.
Ella hurriedly gathered her belongings from the wet grass. The breeze, heavy with humidity, did little to cool the growing heat that blanketed the small island of Saipan, part of the Northern Mariana Islands in the central Pacific Ocean.
She picked up a picture frame, her heart breaking a bit as she looked at the broken glass that held a photograph of her parents on their wedding day.
Without her grandparents, she and Mama were all alone in the world. Ella’s father had died before she was born.
The missionaries had changed everything.
Grandfather hadn’t wanted to let the missionaries inside when they had first come to the small frame house. Only Mama’s quiet insistence had won out in the face of his opposition. Pointedly, he’d remained in the kitchen whenever the missionaries visited.
The two young men spoke the language with broken accents. Even so, Ella knew that she was hearing the truth. She felt it in her heart, even when her mind was not sure. Together, she and her mother read the Book of Mormon and felt the Spirit.
Until the missionaries had invited them to start attending the Church, Ella and her mother had gone to her grandparents’ church—the same one their parents had attended, and their parents before them.
Being baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints meant more than leaving their former church. It meant cutting themselves off from family and friends.
She wanted to blame the missionaries and tell them that because of their preaching, she and her mother no longer had a family or home. Even as the thought formed, she knew that the young elders weren’t to blame. They had only spoken the truth and challenged Ella and her mother to accept it.
Where will we live? Ella wondered. Her mother’s job as a store clerk barely paid enough to support them, even while they lived with her grandparents. Apartments were not easy to find in Saipan.
Then she remembered the stories the missionaries had told about the early Saints and the sacrifices they’d made for their beliefs. Some had lost homes and families as Ella and her mother had. Others had even given their lives for the gospel.
Despite everything, Ella knew that she and her mother were doing the right thing. Already the gospel had brought blessings into their lives. Mama had stopped smoking. For years Ella had begged her to stop. She knew how Mama had struggled to give up the habit she’d had since she was sixteen years old.
While Ella was still remembering these things, the missionaries arrived and calmly began gathering up the boxes and piling them into a borrowed truck.
“Don’t worry about a place to live,” one elder said as he lifted Mama’s shabby suitcase into the truck. “The Knudsens have an extra room and said that you can stay with them as long as you need to.”
Brother Knudsen taught Sunday School, and his wife was the Relief Society president. One of their daughters was in Ella’s Primary class.
Ella watched as her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “It is too much.”
“They’re already planning on it,” the other elder said gently. “Is this all?” He gestured to the boxes in the truck.
Mama nodded.
After the short trip to the Knudsens’ house, the elders carried the boxes and suitcase inside.
Brother and Sister Knudsen greeted them with big smiles. “We will enjoy the company,” Sister Knudsen said when Ella’s mother thanked them for their hospitality.
Ella had to share the room with Mama, but she didn’t mind.
“We’ll give you a chance to get settled,” Brother Knudsen said. “We hope you’ll join us for dinner tonight.”
“Why don’t Grandma and Grandpa love us anymore?” Ella asked her mother once they were alone in their new home.
Mother gave Ella a tired smile. “Your grandparents haven’t stopped loving us. But they don’t understand that we have found a new way of life.”
Ella knew that her mother was talking about the gospel. “Will we ever see them again?”
This time the smile reached Mama’s eyes. “Of course we will. Your grandma feels really bad about what happened. I think your grandpa does, too. He’s just too hurt to admit it. And too stubborn.
“Someday they’ll accept us and maybe the gospel. Until then, we have to keep loving them and let them know that being members of the Church hasn’t changed what we feel for them.”
Ella hoped so. She missed her grandparents already.
“What do you want to do first in our new home?” Mama asked.
Ella reached for her mother’s hand. “Let’s say a prayer. We have much to be thankful for.”
“New members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints cannot make it alone. … They need us and we need them.”Elder Richard H. WinkelOf the Seventy(Ensign, November 1999, page 81.)

Forty-five years ago I worked with a man named Sharman Hummel in the printing business. I once asked him how he came to receive his testimony of the gospel.
He responded, “We lived in the East. I was journeying by bus to San Francisco. In Salt Lake City a young girl entered the bus—a Primary girl—who sat next to me. She was going to Reno, Nevada, for a visit with her aunt. As we journeyed westward, I noticed a billboard: ‘Visit the Mormon Sunday School this week.’
“I said to the little girl, ‘I guess there are a lot of Mormons in Utah, aren’t there?’
“She replied, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Then I said to her, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Again her reply: ‘Yes, sir.’”
Sharman Hummel then asked, “What do Mormons believe?” And that little girl recited the first article of faith; then she talked about it. Continuing, she gave him the second article of faith and talked about it. Then she gave him the third and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and all of the Articles of Faith and talked about all of them.
Sharman Hummel said, “I was profoundly impressed. When I arrived in San Francisco, the very first thing I did was to look through the yellow pages for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I called the mission president, and he sent two missionaries to where I was staying. I became a member of the Church, my wife became a member, all of our children became members.”
The entire Hummel family remained active in the Church. Each of the daughters has been to the temple. Countless are those who have been brought to a knowledge of the gospel by the members of this family—all because a young child had been taught the Articles of Faith and had the ability and the courage to proclaim the truth.

Illustration by Joshua Dennis
I had always thought of myself as a healthy person. So I was shocked when I woke up one morning feeling like my chest was being squeezed so hard it was about to explode. I was rushed to the hospital, but after hours of testing, doctors couldn’t find the problem. They sent me home, even though I still suffered excruciating pain. Thus began a seven-month-long ordeal of doctor’s appointments, hospital stays, and the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life.
I started to become depressed. I had to drop my college classes and move back in with my parents. I couldn’t go out with friends. I hurt too much to do any of my hobbies. I felt that everything I cared about—my aspirations, my relationships, my talents—had been shattered, and now the pieces of my former self seemed impossible to put back together. And I started to wonder: How could Heavenly Father let this happen to me? Didn’t He love me?
After yet another disappointing and painful doctor’s appointment, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. But as I arrived home, I saw something strange on the porch: an old, tattered shoebox covered in tape and addressed to me.
A letter on the box revealed that the package came from one of my friends. She had heard that I was sick and wanted to cheer me up. When I opened the shoebox, I found that it was full of little pieces of Styrofoam. It was a homemade puzzle made especially for me.
As I put the puzzle together, I began to cry. The puzzle formed my name, surrounded by sweet messages of love and encouragement. I felt that the shattered pieces of myself were now being put back together as I assembled my friend’s gift.
A short time later, I started taking a medication that reduced my symptoms and helped the doctors make a diagnosis. I had a rare but treatable condition, and with the proper medicine, I could return to normal life.
Even as my body healed, I knew I would never forget what I had learned. Because of my friend’s sweet gift, I knew that I was loved and that Heavenly Father had not forgotten me. After months of feeling shattered, thanks to the kindness of a friend and the love of my Father in Heaven, I became whole again.

“I didn’t take Young Women very seriously for a while as a teenager. But one day I saw my mom (who was a Young Women leader) working on projects for the youth program. I remember feeling so inspired by her example to progress spiritually, so I tried to change my attitude.
“I started truly learning what the gospel of Jesus Christ meant for my life. Over the years, I felt a witness that the gospel of Jesus Christ is true. Even when life was hard as I was figuring out my life after my teenage years, as I kept holding onto those things I knew were true as a young woman, I had so many spiritual experiences that have made my testimony what it is today.”
Sundae I., Misamis Oriental, Philippines

I recently had a former ward member ask me for help in dealing with some personal issues. She had moved to a new ward and was not sure if she wanted to go to her new bishop for guidance. I shared with her what I have shared many times since being released, which was that while I was happy to assist, I no longer held the keys that a bishop holds and that those keys could be crucial to providing the support she needed. I suggested that she speak with her bishop. I visited with her two weeks later, and she said that she had met with her bishop and it was as if he already knew what her issues were and how to best help her. While the bishop is certainly fallible, the Lord inspires him, guides him, and blesses lives through his words.

My name is Alan Matthews.* I’m nine years old and have listened to many lessons in church and family home evening. None ever taught me so much about Heavenly Father’s love for me as the lesson I learned through our ducks.
I’m an animal lover. I have a huge collection of small plastic animals from all over the world, and I’ve read nearly every book on animals that our school library has to offer. The fact that I love animals so much is what makes what happened to me so amazing.
My parents, my brothers, and I live in the state of Washington. We have a huge yard with trees, a pond my dad made, and our own little hill. Last spring, my parents surprised us by coming home with two baby ducklings, Samson and Delilah. We raised them in the house until their adult feathers grew in and it warmed up a bit outside. They were cute and cuddly, and we loved to sit and hold them. But once they were old enough to set loose in the backyard, it was pretty hard to catch them when we wanted to hold one.
One day I found myself sitting by the edge of the pond, watching them dive for bugs and bathe themselves. The longer I watched, the more bored I became and the more I wanted to catch one of them to hold. I circled the pond several times, trying to get them to come out of the water. But they knew exactly what I intended and swam away from me. Finally, tired of going in circles, I sat down to try to come up with another idea.
That’s when I came up with what I thought was a foolproof plan. I began to toss small stones into the water beyond the ducks. The splash startled them and made them instinctively swim closer to me. With each stone, I became more confident that I’d soon have a duck to hold. Then the unexpected happened: I looked down to pick up a stone, and there were none left.
Fearful that the ducks would retreat to the other side of the pond, I quickly searched behind me for another rock. I spied one a little way off. Without taking my eyes off the ducks, I grabbed the rock. My fingertips barely had time to feel its smooth edges before I hurled it into the water.
In my hurry, my aim was a little off. Everything would have been fine except that Samson, spooked by my sudden movement, jerked around and headed right into the stone’s path. With a small thud, the rock hit him squarely in the head. For a moment, I sat frozen, shocked at what I’d done and afraid that he’d been badly hurt.
Delilah started beating the water with her wings and screeching at me. Samson jumped out of the water and ran straight across the yard to a little hut we’d built for them. I was relieved that he seemed to be OK, but my heart was beating so hard that I went to lie on my bed for a while.
Two days later the scene came back to haunt me. Mom was out feeding the birds and found Samson nearly drowned at the edge of the pond. Scooping him up and hollering for one of us to get Dad, she rushed Samson into the house. Delilah, who normally set up quite a wail when separated from her mate, followed and stood patiently on the back porch next to the door.
Samson was very cold and could not stand or control his wings very well. Dad wrapped him in towels and put him in a tub under a heat lamp. He showed no sign of improvement after an hour, so Dad brought in Delilah. She nestled right up to Samson.
The next few days, I spent a lot of time by the side of the tub, cleaning up after the ducks and feeding them. I found little comfort in helping them. Everyone tried to guess what had caused Samson’s illness. I felt terrible, knowing what was wrong and that it was my fault.
A week passed. We had seen little change in Samson. It was a warm spring day, and we were all outside enjoying the sunshine. I walked around aimlessly, hitting the ground with a stick that I’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t hear my mother walk up behind me. I jumped as she gently placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Alan, your father felt that I should ask you about Samson.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Sometimes we do something we’re not proud of, and it can make us very unhappy inside. It can make us so unhappy that it is like carrying a huge boulder around with us everywhere we go.”
I turned to face her. Tears began to well up in my eyes. I wanted to cry out, “Yes, that’s just how I feel!” but I remained silent.
“When that happens, we need to confide in our Heavenly Father and ask for His forgiveness and for the burden to be removed,” she said.
Finally I mustered up the courage to speak. I asked, “Is that all I have to do?”
“No,” Mother said. “We need to confess our sins, do whatever we can to make the wrong right, and promise that we will never do it again.”
I thought about what she had said. I knew that she was right, and I knew what I had to do. I looked up at her, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Mom, I hit Samson in the head with a rock. I didn’t mean to hurt him, and I don’t want him to die.”
She pulled me close to her and hugged me tightly. “That surely has been a heavy burden to carry around all this time.”
I nodded. Then, pulling out of her comforting arms, I said, “I need to go to my room for a few minutes.”
She nodded in understanding, and I ran inside.
As I knelt beside my bed, I told Heavenly Father that I’d done something very wrong and that I was very sorry. I explained that despite our efforts, Samson was not getting any better, and I asked Him if He would help make things right. I asked for His forgiveness and promised that I would try to never again do something so careless. Closing in the name of Jesus Christ, I arose, amazed at how much better I felt inside already.
For the first time all week, I joined in the dinner conversation and played with my brothers. I now understood what my mother was saying about the weight, because I felt as light as a feather.
When I awoke the next morning, I hurried to check on the ducks and to get their food and water. As I went around the corner, the first sight that met my eyes was Samson, standing up and preening his feathers! He looked his old self again, and he started quacking for his breakfast. He had been healed! Excitedly I ran to tell my parents the good news. I had been forgiven, and I knew that Heavenly Father had helped make Samson better.
That evening I sat on my bed, writing in my journal:
“I know that I am a child of God, that He hears and answers my prayers, and that even a nine-year-old is important enough for a miracle.”

“Okay, Melody, let’s try the stuffed animal trick again,” Lisa said. “The magic show is in half an hour.”
Lisa looked at her five-year-old sister. Melody’s costume was awesome. She had on a top hat and a sparkly cape from the costume box. The cape was big on Melody, but that made it easier to hide tricks inside.
Melody looked at the cardboard box with the two stuffed animals hidden inside. “That trick is hard,” she said. “I don’t know if I can do it!”
Lisa smiled. “But you’re getting better all the time. Remember, the owl has shorter fur than the dog. You have to feel the difference inside the box without looking. OK, try to pull out the dog.”
Melody reached in the box. She felt around for a bit and pulled out the stuffed dog. “Yes!” Melody said.
Lisa gave her a high five. “Great job! Now keep practicing. It’s almost time.”
The girls had put up posters all around the house inviting the family to “Magnificent Melody’s Magical Magic Show.” The whole family was excited. Lisa wondered if she should have put her own name on the poster too.
Usually she invented magic tricks and showed them to the family herself. Mom and Dad always liked them. So did her sisters. But earlier that day Melody had asked Lisa to teach her some tricks. When Melody learned them so quickly, Lisa thought it would be a good idea to let Melody have her own magic show.
She paused as she set up chairs in the playroom. Would this magic show still be as much fun? Lisa loved performing her own tricks for the family. It might be weird to only be an assistant.
Then she watched Melody practice the flower trick again. She was having so much fun getting ready.
Twenty minutes later Lisa called out, “Come one! Come all! It’s time for Magnificent Melody’s Magical Magic Show!”
Mom, Dad, Michelle, and Lily hurried to the basement. Lisa waited at the side of the playroom while Melody stood in the center of the pretend stage.
Melody was about as excited as Lisa had ever seen her. Lisa suddenly didn’t mind that she wasn’t the star tonight.
“For my first trick,” Melody said, “I’m going to turn this one flower into … a bunch of other flowers.”
That was Lisa’s cue, even if Melody had forgotten the word bouquet. Lisa had to wave the magic wand for this trick. Melody’s hands were busy in the folds of her magic cape.
Lisa hurried across the room and waved the wand before returning to the side. Seconds later, Melody pulled out a bouquet of flowers. Everybody clapped.
The ball out of the hat trick went perfectly too. So did the other tricks they had practiced.
Then came the grand finale. Melody held up the owl. “I am going to change this stuffed animal, by magic!”
Lisa noticed that Melody looked a little nervous for the first time during the show. Lisa gave her an encouraging smile.
Melody put the owl into the magic box. She waved her wand, said the magic words, and pulled out … the dog! She did it!
A huge grin spread across Melody’s face as she finished her toughest trick. The whole family clapped and cheered.
Lisa clapped hardest of all. This was much better than being the star of the show. She had helped her little sister feel magnificent. That was real magic.

My husband and I both fell sick to COVID-19 in June 2021, to the point where we could barely get up. Our two babies—a six-month-old and a two-year-old—were healthy, but they needed to eat, and I, their mother, couldn’t even get out of bed.
My mother asked us to go over to her place so she could care for me and my kids. My dilemma was having to choose between the wellbeing of my parents or my children. My father and brother were on heavy medication for conditions unrelated to COVID-19. I did not want to expose my extended family to the virus, but my kids needed someone who was able to take care of them.
It was my mother’s birthday that day we went over. She took care of me and my father, and my siblings took care of my kids. My husband, who is also the bishop in our ward, did not come because he needed to be in the same lockdown area as his ward members in case they ever put up boundaries within the Suva area; our country was on lockdown.
My mum nursed me back to health and then fell sick to COVID herself. By this time, Fiji’s health system was so stressed that it took days for authorities to respond to our emergency call. We were told to take her to the hospital ourselves. My mum was put in a tent for COVID patients. Conditions in the tent were so poor that my father felt we needed to do something.
One day he walked right into the tent filled with COVID patients because my mother needed help to get to the bathroom, and no one was there to help her. His heart was heavy for the other patients in there, as well. Mum was moved into ICU a few days later.
We started providing nutritional packs for COVID patients in tents, to boost their immune system. Our friends and family on Facebook—both members and nonmembers—helped us put together food packs and fruit to help patients get healthy.
A friend of mine asked me to make a bowl of soup for her friend, who was in the isolation centre for mothers, because they weren’t getting sufficient nourishment. This mother was in our lockdown area, but her family members could not cross the border to tend to her needs.
I felt we needed to make soup for everyone else who might be in a similar situation. I put up a post on Facebook to find others who would be willing to help make soup for pregnant mothers and mothers of newborns in isolation. This brought a lot of kindhearted individuals together, united in a cause to help those who were suffering.
My husband and brother-in-law cooked the first lot of soup and delivered it to the hall where the mothers were isolating. My father and siblings would make the deliveries but on days when my father felt too weak to drive, we would get my brother-in-law and my husband—who live in a different town—to help.
Mum spent nearly two months in the hospital and doctors kept saying she might not make it. Hospital workers even discarded her clothes, thinking she wouldn’t survive. We would have family prayer every night with my mum on video call and we would hear her breathing heavily, with the beeping sound of the monitoring machines in the background.
Most nights at 7 PM sharp, Mum called to listen in on our family prayer. On nights she didn’t call, we knew she was not feeling strong enough, so our prayers were even more earnest. Our service to the other patients and our wrestling with the Lord through personal and family prayers helped us through this frightening time.
Our service might have helped others, but we were the ones being blessed—Mum came home alive!

“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”