Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Natalie Hoopes
Every day on the bus ride home from school, I would see Lenny. He always wore the same baggy T-shirt and worn-out tennis shoes, and he often had a big smile. He also had a disability. Often, the Spirit prompted me to say hello to him, but my pride stopped me.
One winter afternoon when I got on the bus, the Spirit’s promptings were especially strong, and I had a little extra courage. So when I saw Lenny in his usual spot, I decided to sit next to him. When I was almost to my stop, I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and then turned toward Lenny.
“Hi, I’m Ashley,” I said in an insecure but friendly voice.
He smiled at me, and all of my fear and pride melted away.
“I’m Lenny,” he shyly replied.
With those few words, a friendship began to form.
The next day, I sat next to Lenny again. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a handmade Valentine’s Day card addressed to “the pretty girl I see on the bus every day.” Valentine’s Day was long over, but Lenny had made this special card for me and had been patiently waiting for me to talk to him before giving it to me. I couldn’t help the tears from trickling down my cheeks.
Now I talk to Lenny daily. We exchange simple gifts on holidays, and we even went bowling with a group of friends. Each time I’m with Lenny, I’m reminded of the scripture in 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.” Lenny helps me remember the blessings that come from forgetting pride and having courage to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

My journey into family history began with a sense of curiosity and amazement. I first encountered FamilySearch during a class in the Tema Ghana Stake Gathering Place led by the inspiring Sister Betsy Thornton. In that class, I took a leap of faith and began to explore my family tree. The moment I added my family name, Mentee, into the FamilySearch.org/Africa platform and searched for it in my home country, Liberia, I was amazed by what I discovered. It felt like a door to the past had opened, giving me a glimpse into the incredible journey of my ancestors.
The following week, Sister Thornton approached me and asked if I would be willing to share a little about my family history with the class. I was deeply honored and excited to have been chosen for this task. It gave me a sense of pride and responsibility to represent my family’s story.
When the time came, I shared some of my history and what I had learned: I was born in Monrovia, Liberia, in 1996, during the civil war. My father was a soldier, steadfast and determined, navigating a world torn by the Monrovian conflict. He was deeply cherished as the only son of his mother. Tragically, both of my parents passed away two weeks after my birth; they were victims of the brutal conflict that engulfed our country. With their loss, I was taken back to my mother’s roots in Guinea, where I spent my childhood alternating between Guinea and Ivory Coast. I grew up hearing stories about our family’s origins and the incredible legacy left by our ancestors. I learned that our great-grandparents began their journey in Sudan over 200 years ago.
One of the most remarkable stories is about my great-grandfather, who was Liberia’s first doctor. His mission was to bring healing and hope to those in need. He was later transferred to the deep forests of what is now the Nimba region, where he was granted vast lands to establish his medical mission.
This land became the foundation for a legacy of service and family. My great-grandfather had 24 wives and many children, and from generation to generation, his family grew. My grandfather, Samuel J. Mentee, was among them, and he continued the family legacy. By the time of his passing, he left behind an incredible record of 170 grandchildren, of which I am one.
Beyond my family story, I want to share my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A pivotal moment in my spiritual journey came when I received the Book of Mormon in French from a friend while working as a hotel security supervisor. Reading its pages filled me with hope and a sense of belonging I had never known. Its introduction, which humbly acknowledges human imperfections, inspired a profound exploration of its truths. Life’s trials have tested my faith and resilience. Loneliness, loss, and the struggle to find a place to call home have been persistent challenges. Yet these very hardships have refined me, teaching me to lean on the Lord and trust His timing. Quiet moments of reflection have brought clarity and strength, allowing me to feel the guiding influence of the Holy Ghost. Each trial reminds me that God’s hand is always at work, shaping me for a greater purpose.
Following those promptings, I eventually found my way to Tema, Ghana. It was here that I began committed lessons with the missionaries. I owe a heartfelt thank you to them, especially Elder Young, whose dedication and spirit inspired me to grow closer to the Savior.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, December 22, 2024, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the moment I joined, I have felt the love and care among the members. The Church has brought light and joy into my life, and I am forever grateful for the blessings it has provided.
I want to express my deepest gratitude to my best friend, Sister Betsy Thornton, who has been a pillar of support and encouragement in my journey. Her kindness, wisdom, and love have left a lasting impact on my heart.
Each step of this journey has deepened my appreciation for family history and the Church. Family history has shown me the power of connection, the importance of understanding where we come from, and the joy of sharing these stories with others.
Wherever you are, if you are reading this, consider this as your personal invitation. Embrace FamilySearch and begin preserving your legacy for generations to come. How will your descendants learn about you 100 years from now?
I, Alias, am calling. And the Lord is also calling for the betterment of our shared tomorrow. Do not let history fade away with us—let it be recorded in FamilySearch. Wherever you are from, but especially to my beloved brothers and sisters from Africa, hear this call.
I am grateful for the opportunity to tell this story and to inspire others to embark on their own family history journeys. The past is not just history: it is the foundation upon which we build our present and future.

A reporter from a leading Brazilian magazine studied the Church in preparation for a major news article. He examined our doctrine and visited the missionary training and humanitarian centers. He spoke with friends of the Church and with others who were not so friendly. In the interview with me, the reporter seemed honestly puzzled as he asked, “How could someone not consider you Christian?” I knew he was referring to the Church, but my mind somehow framed the question personally, and I found myself silently asking, “Does my life reflect the love and devotion I feel for the Savior?”
Jesus asked the Pharisees, “What think ye of Christ?” In the final assessment, our personal discipleship will not be judged by friends or foes. Rather, as Paul said, “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.” At that day the important question for each of us will be, “What thinks Christ of me?”
Even with His love for all mankind, Jesus reprovingly referred to some around Him as hypocrites, fools, and workers of iniquity. He approvingly called others children of the kingdom and the light of the world. He disapprovingly referred to some as blinded and unfruitful. He commended others as pure in heart and hungering after righteousness. He lamented that some were faithless and of the world, but others He esteemed as chosen, disciples, friends. And so we each ask, “What thinks Christ of me?”
President Thomas S. Monson has described our day as moving away “from that which is spiritual … [with] the winds of change [swirling] around us and the moral fiber of society [continuing] to disintegrate before our very eyes.” It is a time of growing disbelief in and disregard for Christ and His teachings.
In this turbulent environment, we rejoice in being disciples of Jesus Christ. We see the Lord’s hand all around us. Our destination is beautifully set before us. “This is life eternal,” Jesus prayed, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” Being a disciple in these days of destiny will be a badge of honor throughout the eternities.
The messages we have heard during this conference are guideposts from the Lord on our journey of discipleship. As we have listened during the past two days, praying for spiritual guidance, and as we study and pray about these messages in the days ahead, the Lord blesses us with customized direction through the gift of the Holy Ghost. These feelings turn us even more toward God, repenting, obeying, believing, and trusting. The Savior responds to our acts of faith. “If a man [or woman] love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”
Jesus’s call “Come, follow me” is not only for those prepared to compete in a spiritual Olympics. In fact, discipleship is not a competition at all but an invitation to all. Our journey of discipleship is not a dash around the track, nor is it fully comparable to a lengthy marathon. In truth, it is a lifelong migration toward a more celestial world.
His invitation is a call to daily duty. Jesus said: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” We may not be at our very best every day, but if we are trying, Jesus’s bidding is full of encouragement and hope: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Wherever you now find yourself on the road of discipleship, you are on the right road, the road toward eternal life. Together we can lift and strengthen one another in the great and important days ahead. Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”
Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”
Jesus told the leader of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.” Discipleship is believing Him in seasons of peace and believing Him in seasons of difficulty, when our pain and fear are calmed only by the conviction that He loves us and keeps His promises.
I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be Thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.
Miracles are not always so immediate. At times we thoughtfully wonder why the miracle we have so earnestly prayed for does not happen here and now. But as we trust in the Savior, promised miracles will occur. Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right. The Savior declares: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him, and follow Him, you will feel His love and approval. As you ask, “What thinks Christ of me?” you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
We eagerly await the concluding remarks of our beloved prophet. President Thomas S. Monson was ordained an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ when I was 12 years old. For more than 48 years we have been blessed to hear him bear witness of Jesus Christ. I testify that he now stands as the Savior’s senior Apostle upon the earth.
With great love and admiration for the many disciples of Jesus Christ who are not members of this Church, we humbly declare that angels have returned to the earth in our day. The Church of Jesus Christ as He established it anciently has been restored, with the power, ordinances, and blessings of heaven. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ.
I witness that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He suffered and died for our sins and rose the third day. He is resurrected. In a future day, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is the Christ. On that day, our concern will not be, “Do others consider me Christian?” At that time, our eyes will be fixed on Him, and our souls will be riveted on the question, “What thinks Christ of me?” He lives. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was a boy, we had a horse named Junie. She was one of the most intelligent animals I ever saw. She seemed almost human in her ability. I couldn’t keep her locked in the barn because she would continually undo the strap on the door of her stall. I used to put the strap connected to the half-door of the stall over the top of the post, but she would simply lift it off with her nose and teeth. Then she would go out in the yard.
There was a water tap in the yard used for filling the water trough for our animals. Junie would turn this on with her teeth and then leave the water running. My father would get after me because I couldn’t keep that horse in the barn. She never ran away; she just turned on the water and then walked around the yard or over the lawn or through the garden. In the middle of the night, I would hear the water running and then I would have to get up and shut if off and lock Junie up again.
My father suggested that the horse seemed smarter than I was. One day he decided that he would lock her in so that she couldn’t get out. He took the strap that usually looped over the top of the post and buckled it around the post and under a crossbar, and then he said, “Young lady, let’s see you get out of there now!” My father and I left the barn and started to walk back to the house; and before we reached it, Junie was at our side. She then went over and turned the water on again.
I suggested that now, perhaps, she was about as smart as either one of us. We just couldn’t keep Junie from getting out of her stall. But that doesn’t mean she was bad, because she wasn’t. Father wasn’t about to sell or trade her, because she had so many other good qualities that made up for this one little fault.
The horse was as reliable and dependable at pulling our buggy as she was adept at getting out of the stall. And this was important, because Mother was a licensed midwife. When she would get called to a confinement somewhere in the valley, usually in the middle of the night, I would have to get up, take a lantern out to the barn, and hitch Junie up to the buggy.
I was only about ten or eleven years old at the time; and that horse had to be gentle and yet strong enough to take me and Mother all over the valley, in all kinds of weather. One thing I never could understand, however, was why most of the babies had to be born at night and so many of them in winter.
Often I would wait in the buggy for Mother, and then it was nice to have the company of gentle old Junie. This experience with this horse was very good for me, because early in life I had to learn to love and appreciate her for herself. She was a wonderful horse with only a couple of bad habits. People are a lot the same way. None of us is perfect; yet each of us is trying to become perfect, even as our Father in heaven. We need to appreciate and love people for themselves.
Maybe you need to remember this when you evaluate your parents or teachers or ward and stake leaders or friends—or brothers and sisters. This lesson has always stayed with me—to see the good in people even though we are trying to help them overcome one or two bad habits.

The funny little woman in this 1973 Caldecott Award book likes to laugh, “Tee-he-he-he,” and make rice dumplings. One day when she runs after a rolling dumpling, she laughs at the wrong moment and is captured by the wicked oni. For a time she enjoys cooking for them with their magic paddle, but soon she becomes lonely and runs away. The wicked oni try to stop her—until they too laugh at the wrong moment!

As a child, I woke up early during the week, and Sunday was the only day my mother would let me sleep in—that is, until the Christian congregation next door woke me up with their loud singing, preaching, and even crying at times. It’s silly, but because of my annoyance at being woken up every week, I thought Christians were a bit obnoxious.
I later learned that many members of Christian congregations donated their time and even money to their church. I just couldn’t understand why.
Because of these two observations about the Christian churches in my town in India—combined with the fact that my family and I were not Christian—I had little interest in learning more about Christianity.
During my final year of university, my friend invited me to attend his church with him. I was hesitant but eventually agreed.
As I sat in the meeting, singing hymns and listening to messages about Jesus Christ, I felt something different—I felt peace. I attended for a few more weeks and felt the same way each time. But of course, I was just visiting; I wasn’t interested in actually joining.
Some time after I stopped attending church with my friend, I began feeling like I was lacking something in my life. I missed the peace that I’d felt at church with my friend. I had a strong feeling that I should learn more about Jesus Christ, so I decided to meet with the missionaries from my friend’s church. I didn’t even consider what my family might think.
When I met with the missionaries, my life began to change. I learned about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon, and the missionaries helped answer my many questions.
One day I encountered a scripture that said, “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask in faith, … ye shall receive it” (Enos 1:15), and I knew that I wasn’t alone. I felt like God understood my situation and wanted to comfort me. As I came to recognize God’s love for me, I wanted to become a better person. I wanted to become like the Savior and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
But as my testimony grew, I also encountered obstacles. When my mother found out I was considering baptism, she told me that I would need to leave the house and cut off contact with her. And when I shared truths about the Savior on social media, many friends and members of my extended family blocked my messages and stopped talking to me.
I felt like I was being asked to choose between my family and the gospel—a decision that felt impossible. I was sacrificing so much of what I loved to join the Church. But I knew that if anyone understood sacrifice, it was Jesus Christ (see Alma 34:8–16).
And so I kept trying to draw closer to the Savior. I would even leave home in the middle of the night to pray and read the Book of Mormon so I could avoid my family’s disapproval. Through prayer and faith, I eventually decided that no matter what happened, I would choose the gospel. The joy and purpose I found in the gospel was worth everything to me.
Joining the Church has been a huge sacrifice for me. Serving in my callings, paying tithing, and trying to maintain relationships have been challenging at times. But like those Christian congregations in my town who freely gave to their faith, I know that my sacrifices are about so much more than what I give up.
Bishop L. Todd Budge, Second Counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, explained: “When our sacrifices on behalf of others are viewed from the perspective of ‘giving up,’ we may see them as a burden and become discouraged when our sacrifices are not recognized or rewarded. However, when viewed from the perspective of ‘giving to’ the Lord, our sacrifices on behalf of others become gifts, and the joy of generously giving becomes its own reward.”1
Heavenly Father recognizes and blesses us for the sacrifices we make for Him. I have seen this in my life as I’ve gained the love and support of my ward members, felt peace and comfort from the Spirit, and experienced miracles in my life. One miracle is how my parents’ hearts have softened toward me and we have been able to maintain a good relationship.
I now know who Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are and how much They love each of us. I can feel myself becoming more like the Savior, who is our ultimate example, as I make sacrifices to keep my covenants. As we strive to serve Them in whatever capacity we can, I know we will be guided and experience the many beautiful blessings They have in store for us.

Photograph of author and her family by Cody Bell
After the birth of my first child, I suffered from postpartum depression. It was a wonderful time in my life because I had a son, but I could not fully experience the joy of having a baby because I was so depressed.
During this trying time, I prayed a lot to Heavenly Father. I asked Him to help me get through this difficult trial. With general conference approaching that fall, I also prayed that I might find comfort from the talks by leaders of the Church.
As I listened to the talks during the first session of general conference, I began to feel comforted. Then, during the second session, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke about depression. He said depression can make us feel “like a broken vessel”1 (Psalm 31:12). I never expected to hear an entire talk about exactly what I was experiencing.
This was a special moment for me. The talk helped me understand that Heavenly Father loves me and that He is aware of me. He understood what I was going through. He wanted to help me and give me hope. He did that through the words of Elder Holland.

In Chile, in order to go to college, you have to take a university placement test. I wanted to study engineering at a university that was far from where I lived. It would be very expensive, so my goal was to get the highest score possible on the placement test so I could earn a scholarship for outstanding exam scores.
I knew where and what I wanted to study, and I knew what I would have to do to make it happen. I started preparing for the test. I studied, read, and reviewed the material, but on the practice tests, I still wasn’t getting the score I needed. I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer and asked Him for greater intelligence and to enlighten my understanding so I could reach my goal. I prayed for this daily for an entire year. I went to special preparation classes at my school, and I enrolled in classes at an institution that was geared toward preparing for the exam.
I kept up my daily scripture study, and I never missed a day of seminary. I fulfilled all my Aaronic Priesthood assignments and never studied on Sundays, no matter how desperate the situation was. I knew Sunday is the Lord’s day, and I wanted to respect it in the way my parents had taught me. I knew I couldn’t afford to deprive myself of the blessings Heavenly Father had for me, especially when I most needed them. Despite all this, I wasn’t getting the score I needed on my practice tests.
My family and I prayed and fasted, and my dad gave me a blessing. With this spiritual preparation and my other preparation, I took the test. Not only did I end up with the score I needed, but I exceeded my goal, scoring one of the highest percentages possible in the math section. I received the scholarships and benefits I needed, and I was able to study at the university I chose.
From the time I was young, I learned that if I did everything I could and took care of my spiritual responsibilities first, then Heavenly Father would bless me. Things might not always work out the way we expect them to, but God will take care of us. I know it’s only with His help that all things are possible.
The author lives in Cautín Province, Chile.

A few months ago I fell and cut myself. My mom and dad decided I needed to go to the doctor and get stitches. I was really scared and did not want to go because I knew the doctor was going to give me a shot.
Before we went to the doctor’s office, my dad gave me a blessing. The Holy Ghost comforted us and whispered to us that we should bring the Friend to read while we were waiting.
When we got to the doctor’s office, I was scared. I didn’t want to get stitches. I was crying a little bit. While the nurse was getting the doctor, I started to read from the Friend. It made me feel a lot better. I got six stitches, and it hurt a little, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I’m grateful that we listened to the Holy Ghost and took the Friend with us. I know that the Friend is my friend.Tanner Allred, age 7, with help from his familyLas Vegas, Nevada

Subject: Lisa
Age: 17 years
Event: Another dateless Friday night
“Lisa, can I come in?” her mother asked just outside her door. Lisa opened the bedroom door for her mother.
“Are you all right? You spend so much time in here all alone. We worry about you.”
Lisa sat silently on the edge of her bed, and then suddenly blurted out, “Mom, am I so horrible? Other girls have dates. Why won’t anybody ask me out? What’s so terrible about me?”
“I think you’re terrific.”
“Oh, Mom, you’re supposed to think that. You’re my mother.”
Her mother sat down with her on the bed. “Lisa, did you know that boys develop slower in their interests in the opposite sex? In a while, some of the boys at church will get their heads out of a car engine, look around, and see what a beautiful woman you’re becoming.”
“Sure,” Lisa complained, “and then they’ll go on their missions, and I’ll wait for another two years.”
“Okay, you’ve got some time on your hands. Why not use it wisely? What talents and skills would you like to gain by the time you’re grown?”
Lisa thought for a minute and then said, “I want to learn to play the guitar.”
“Fine, you’ll have time.”
“I want to learn mathematics.”
“Good. That will please your father.”
“And I want to learn how to sew the way you do.”
“Okay.”
“I want to run on the girl’s track team.”
“That’d be exciting,” her mother said, reaching out for Lisa’s hand. “You can do all those things and more while you wait for the boys to mature.”__________

Michelle and I have been best friends since last December, when she moved here. Her family went to a different church until our ward members asked them to come to our church the next Sunday. Michelle really liked Primary. Her sisters, Rachael and Molly, went to Young Women, and they loved it.
The following Sunday, only Rachael and Molly came. On Monday, I asked Michelle why she had not come. She told me that she hadn’t had time to get ready. I told her that she could be late if she needed to be, as long as she came.
I invited her to Achievement Day that week. She asked what that was. I told her that there were different groups, depending on age. She said that she was ten, so I told her that she would be in my group. She was excited and asked her parents if she could come. They said yes. She didn’t know anybody there. I introduced her to everybody. Now we are all very good friends. The next week, missionaries started to teach her family, and they are now baptized!

My sister Melanie was supposed to be baby-sitting Cami and me while Mom and Dad were attending a funeral. Before they left, Melanie said that she would help us make a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Then, as soon as Mom and Dad had gone, she turned on the stereo and the TV, snatched a bag of chips, dropped onto the sofa, grabbed the phone, and called her friend Kendra.
Cami and I sat around the kitchen table, waiting for Melanie to come help us with the cookies. But every time Cami or I asked her when she was going to help us, she waved us away and hissed, “Just a minute! Quit bugging me! I have to tell Kendra one more thing.”
“Let’s forget the cookies,” I finally sighed, “and go down by the creek and find something to do.”
“What’s there to do down there?” Cami mumbled disappointedly. “The creek’s not deep enough to swim in.”
“We can wade in it, or maybe we can fish,” I suggested.
“There aren’t any fish in the creek, just a few old frogs.”
“Oh, well,” I sighed. “Let’s just sit here and wait for Melanie.”
Cami glanced in at Melanie and wrinkled her nose. Finally she muttered, “Catching frogs has to be better than listening to Melanie gab.”
“Then let’s go!”
Cami and I jumped up, ran out the door, cut down the dirt lane under the elm trees, and waded through Dad’s alfalfa field to the creek. I was just ready to kick off my shoes, when Cami screamed, jumped back, and scrambled up the bank.
“What’s the matter?”
Cami was on the bank with her mouth and eyes wide open. She was pointing down toward the creek. “A snake!” she blurted out.
I looked around, and sure enough, right by the edge of the creek, lying on a big flat rock, was the biggest, yellow-striped snake I’d ever seen. “Wow!” I gasped, kneeling down beside the snake. “Isn’t he neat?” I reached down and grabbed the snake behind the head and picked it up.
“Krista!” Cami screamed. “Put that awful thing down.”
I held the snake up, and it wrapped its thick body around my arm. Its black, forked tongue flashed out of its mouth. I giggled and charged up the bank toward Cami. She backed up and screamed, “Krista, don’t you dare come near me with that awful thing!”
“It’s just an old water snake. He won’t hurt you. Dad said that there aren’t any dangerous snakes around here. I think that snakes are kind of fun. They wrap around your arm and stick their tongue out at you.” I held my arm up so that Cami could see the snake better.
Cami frowned. “Girls don’t play with snakes.”
“I’m a girl, and I play with snakes.” I grinned. “I’d rather play with snakes than listen to Melanie gab on the phone or hear her old screaming music.” I laughed. “He won’t hurt you,” I repeated. “Touch him.” I held the snake toward her.
Slowly Cami reached a shaky finger out and touched the snake’s cool body. She jumped back, but a grin pulled at her mouth. “It’s creepy,” she whispered, touching the snake again. Soon she was stroking it softly with her finger.
“Do you want to hold him?”
Cami didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either.
“Just grab him behind the head,” I coached.
Soon Cami had the snake wrapped around her arm, while she stroked it with her free hand. She giggled. “He feels weird,” she said. “We ought to name him something.”
“How about Joe?”
“Snakes aren’t Joes.”
“Jack?”
Cami shook her head.
“Jake?” I suggested next.
Cami smiled. “Yeah. We’ll call him Jake. Jake the Snake.”
“What’re we going to do with him?” I asked.
Cami said, “He’s too big for a bottle, and he couldn’t look out through a can. Since he’s a water snake, let’s put him in the bathtub.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know if Mom will like Jake bathing in our tub.”
But Cami wasn’t listening to me. She had already started for the house with Jake. I shrugged and followed her.
When we went into the house with Jake, Melanie was lying on the floor with her feet propped up on the sofa and her hand in the chips. She didn’t even know we’d been gone. We went right to the bathroom and put Jake into the tub.
“How much water shall we put in the tub?” Cami asked.
“Let’s fill it clear up,” I said, turning on the tap. “Jake’s pretty big, and he’s going to have all the water that he wants.”
“This’s better than that old creek any day. This is clean water, and it’s nice and cool in here.”
“You know what,” I said. “Jake looks lonely.”
“Yeah, he needs a friend,” Cami agreed.
“There are lots more snakes where Jake came from, I’ll bet,” I said.
Leaving Jake in the tub, Cami and I headed back to the creek. This time we had one of Mom’s plastic mop buckets so that we could bring a friend or two for Jake.
We soon discovered lots of snakes sunning themselves on the rocks. There were yellow-striped ones and red-striped ones. At first Cami made me do the grabbing. Then she saw a tiny one. I already had one in each hand, so Cami, not wanting the little one to get away, set the bucket down and grabbed it herself.
“How many do we have?” Cami asked later, looking at the tangled mass of squirming bodies in the bottom of the bucket. “It looks like a million of them.”
“We can count them as we put them into the tub with Jake,” I suggested.
Once more we headed for the house. The music was still going, and Melanie was still laughing and talking. We hurried to the bathroom and set the bucket down.
“Jake’s gone!” Cami gasped, looking into the tub.
“I guess we put too much water in. He must have crawled right out.” I peeked out at Melanie. “We’ve got to find him fast!”
We looked behind the clothes hamper and under the sink, but we couldn’t see Jake anywhere. We went out into the hall and started looking under the chairs and behind the furniture.
“What are you guys doing?” Melanie scolded, covering the phone with her hand and glaring at us. “You’re not into anything, are you?” When we shook our heads, she grumbled, “Well, don’t. I’m almost through here, and then I’ll be out to help you with the cookies.”
“We lost Jake,” Cami announced.
“Jake?” Melanie asked, still scowling. “Who’s Jake?”
I swallowed hard. “He’s our friend.”
“Krista, you know you aren’t supposed to have friends over while Mom and Dad are gone. You tell him to leave right now.”
“We can’t,” Cami explained. “We can’t find him. Have you seen him?”
Melanie shook her head. “Maybe he already went home. You two just run into the kitchen. I’ll be there in a second.”
“But what about Jake?” I protested.
“Forget about Jake. He found his way here. He can find his way home.”
Cami and I shrugged and went to the kitchen and sat down. We didn’t sit there long, though. Not two minutes later we heard a shriek. We jumped up and rushed into the living room.
Melanie was standing on the sofa, screaming and shaking. On the floor near where Melanie had been lying was Jake the Snake. He was curled up into a little stack and was being as peaceful as could be.
“Jake!” Cami squealed happily. “Thanks, Melanie. You found him for us.”
“Jake?” Melanie screeched. “That’s Jake?”
“Sure,” Cami said, scooping Jake up and holding him out to Melanie. “He’s cute, isn’t he? Do you want to hold him?”
“Get that awful, horrible thing away from me,” Melanie cried. She backed into the arm of the sofa, lost her balance, and fell. As soon as she hit the floor, she scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could to the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her, and we heard the lock snap into place.
“Are you OK, Melanie?” I asked.
“Krista,” Melanie howled from behind the door, “you get that awful thing out of this house!”
“But Jake’s our friend,” Cami protested before I could even open my mouth.
“Krista, I’m warning—”
Before Melanie could finish what she was saying, we heard her bump into Mom’s plastic mop bucket. Then there was another scream, more horrible than the others. We heard Melanie jerk on the door, forgetting that it was locked. Finally the door flew open, and Melanie came charging out of the bathroom, still screaming.
Cami was right by the door with Jake, and Melanie ran into her. Both Melanie and Cami fell down, and Jake got knocked right into Melanie’s lap. Melanie just sat there shaking and watching Jake crawl on her and stick his black tongue in and out.
Suddenly Cami sang out, “Look! Jake’s friends are getting away!”
Melanie had knocked the bucket over, and all our snakes were slithering out of the bathroom. Well, I had picked Jake up by then, but when I saw all the other snakes getting away, I handed Jake to Melanie, and Cami and I went after the other snakes. Pretty soon our hands were full of snakes, and we were putting them into the bucket as fast as we could. Melanie wasn’t much help, though. She didn’t even keep Jake for us. She dropped him on the floor.
“Well, that looks like all of them,” I said when I finally found Jake behind the magazine rack.
“You mean you’re not sure?” Melanie gasped. Her face was white, and she was standing on a chair, still shaking. “Do you mean that there might be more creeping around?”
I shrugged. “There could be. We didn’t have time to count them before.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do than go around catching awful creatures like that?”
“You didn’t help us make cookies,” Cami said, “and we had to do something.”
“I’ll help you make cookies right now!” Melanie cried. “Just get those things out of here. And don’t ever bring them back.”
Cami picked up the bucket, and we started for the door. “We want chocolate chip cookies,” I called over my shoulder.
“Anything! Now, get out of here with those snakes.”
Just then the phone rang. I answered it because Melanie wouldn’t get off the chair until we took Jake and his friends outside.
“It’s Kendra,” I said, holding the phone out to Melanie. She looked at the phone, then at the bucket of snakes, then at Cami and me. She jumped down from the chair, went into the kitchen, and said, “Tell her I’m busy making chocolate chip cookies.”
I grinned at Cami, Cami grinned at me, and we both grinned at Jake and his friends as we headed for the creek.

Sometimes the larger eternal reality the Lord lets us feel includes family across the veil. A sister found joy in conversion to Jesus Christ’s restored gospel. Yet two traumas had deeply impacted her life—seeing a boating accident and tragically losing her mother, who had taken her own life.
Yet this sister overcame her fear of water enough to be baptized by immersion. And on what became a very happy day, she witnessed someone, acting as proxy for her deceased mother, be baptized in the temple. “Temple baptism healed my mother, and it freed me,” the sister said. “It was the first time I felt peace since my mother died.”

Dan is trying very hard to follow the example that Jesus Christ has set for us. Last year he was baptized because he knew that that was what Jesus wanted him to do. And he was baptized in the Jordan River, where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist (see Mark 1:4–11).
DeAnna, Dan’s mom, said that he worked very hard to prepare himself for baptism by learning more about the gospel and by studying the scriptures every night. “He is a wonderful example to his younger brothers,” she said. “They want to be baptized, too, when they reach the age of accountability, eight years of age.”

Throughout my life, I have received “golden nuggets” of counsel and inspiration from the people around me. Some of those nuggets came from Primary teachers. I was a rambunctious (lively and somewhat mischievous) child who spent many hours sitting outside the classroom door in the time-out spot. More than a few times, my teachers went to my mother, the stake Primary president, and said, “That Ronnie Rasband is a tough little kid.” But they never gave up on me. They showed me great love and always invited me back into class.
When I was called to the Quorum of the Seventy, Sister Afton Pedigrew, one of my faithful Primary teachers, was at a meeting at which I spoke. She told me, “If someone had told me thirty years ago that Ronnie Rasband would someday be a General Authority, I wouldn’t have believed it.” But tears were flowing from her eyes, and I could hear a quiver in her voice as she complimented me in her sweet way and said as my Primary teacher that she was proud of me. There were tears in my eyes, too.
Those teachers helped me to recognize some of the talents Heavenly Father has blessed me with. For example, they told me that I had a good reading voice. They often chose me to read a scripture or to be a narrator in Primary presentations in sacrament meeting. It was through Primary that I developed my love for the scriptures.
The scripture I best remember reading in a Primary program was 1 Kings 19:10–13, especially verses eleven and twelve: “And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.”
That was where I learned how we should expect to be prompted by Heavenly Father. We may not see a vision as Joseph Smith did. We may not see angels. We may not hear a rushing of great winds or feel an earthquake or see fire. We will hear the still, small voice of the Spirit. From then on, I knew that I would have to listen carefully for the voice of the Spirit and that it would be small and precious. What a wonderful nugget that was.
I grew up in a strong Latter-day Saint home. In my patriarchal blessing, I was counseled to pay particular heed to the advice of my parents and was promised that if I did, I would never be led astray. That promise—another golden nugget—has been fulfilled.
My father drove a bread delivery truck. All during my growing-up years, he got up at three or four o’clock in the morning and came home late at night and collapsed because he was so tired. By example, he taught me the principle of work.
My mother taught me the same principle by insisting that I work hard. She got me out the door, mowing grass, trimming the hedge, and doing other chores around the house. I would gladly have played basketball or football or played army or ridden bikes all day long, but my mother believed that work came first. I didn’t appreciate that at the time. I thought that I was being driven pretty hard. It wasn’t until I reached the mission field that I was grateful to know how to work. I had been given a priceless nugget.
My call to the Eastern States Mission was another golden nugget. My family had little money, and I was never quite part of the “in-crowd” at school. But in the mission field, I realized that it didn’t matter what side of town I came from or what my father’s income was. We were all servants of the Lord and equal. I learned that through the principles of hard work, prayer, and seeking to follow the Spirit of the Lord, everyone could succeed.
I have a golden nugget for you children: Follow the living prophet. Our current prophet loves children. He loves his own grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and he loves you. He cares about the direction of your journey through life. He cares about your family. The Proclamation on the Family was given to your parents to help them be better parents to you. At general conference time, listen to what our dear prophet is saying. And when that small whispering of the Holy Ghost tells you that he is speaking the truth, pay special attention. Follow the promptings that come through listening to the prophet of God. You are not too young to hear the promptings of the Holy Ghost or to follow the living prophet.

One of those members was Jorge Leaño, who had been invited by a fellow employee to listen to the message of two North American missionaries. Jorge was so impressed with the account of Joseph Smith’s First Vision that he wanted his wife, Zorka, to hear it. Zorka’s sister had listened to the missionaries a year earlier in the central Bolivian city of Cochabamba, so Jorge and Zorka welcomed them into their home.

When the missionaries finished the discussions and challenged the family to be baptized, the Leaños told them that they could not be ready so soon. The missionaries again challenged the family to read the Book of Mormon and pray about the things they had heard. Until then, Jorge and Zorka had prayed only at the end of each discussion with the missionaries.

That night, for the first time in their marriage, Jorge and Zorka knelt together and prayed to Heavenly Father. They did so with sincere hearts, intending to do their Heavenly Father’s will as he revealed it to them. Both felt an overpowering witness that the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ was true and that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. The following day they told the missionaries they were ready to be baptized, and on 19 September 1965 they became members of the Church.

As he grew in the gospel, Jorge became convinced that God had indeed spoken to man again. “All my questions were answered as to where we came from, why we are here on earth, and what our eternal future will be,” he said.

One night a young idealist had a dream. He dreamed there was a new store in a nearby shopping mall. He went in and saw an angel behind a counter. Nervously, he asked what the shop sold.

“Everything your heart desires,” replied the angel.

“Then I want peace on earth,” exclaimed the idealist. “I want an end to famine, sorrow, and disease.”

“Just a moment,” replied the angel. “You haven’t understood. We don’t sell fruit here—only seeds.”

As I served in a leadership position some time ago, I learned this principle through personal experience. As I drove home from work on a Monday evening, I drove past the home of a member of my ward. I remember thinking that I hadn't seen them in months and wondered if they were okay. But since it was Monday and if I stopped I would be late for family home evening, I continued my way home. I felt no spiritual promptings, just an ordinary thought of concern for ward members that I hadn't seen for a while. Tuesday, the same experience happened, only I didn't stop because It was Young Men-Young Women’s night. Wednesday, I thought we would stop and see them that night as I made ward visits with my counselors. Unfortunately, other emergencies came up and that family wasn't visited. Thursday came, and as I drove by them, I just felt guilty for not having stopped already, but needed to get to my children's school for an activity. Friday night I drove by feeling the same guilt but needed to hurry home for a date with my wife. As I neared home, I realized that it was ridiculous to continue feeling guilt about something that was just a compassionate thought. I turned my car around and went back to the home of that family. I knocked on the door and was let in by their 10-year-old daughter who went in search of her parents. After several minutes waiting, the mother of the family came into the living room, where I awaited. Upon seeing me, the tears rolled down her checks and she emotionally replied, "We have been praying for someone from the Church to come help us since Sunday." Can you imagine the weight I felt driving home that night after ministering to this good family? I had mistaken a spiritual prompting for my own intelligence and compassion. Had I recognized the quiet prompting of the Spirit I could have helped this family much sooner.

Young Women General President Bonnie Cordon was invited by artist Joseph Brickey to a warehouse in Orem, Utah that had been converted into his art studio. There, she observed his work on his latest commission—an “enormous” mural for the temple visitors’ center in Rome, Italy. The 27-foot-tall by 50-foot-wide painting would serve as the backdrop for the statues of the Christus and Twelve Apostles. He handed President Cordon a paintbrush and palette of paint and invited her to paint a flower on the masterpiece. “I knew I was not qualified,” President Cordon recalled. “I said to him, ‘I’m not a painter.’ To which he kindly replied, ‘That’s okay, I am.’” With tentative, tiny brush strokes, she added purple paint to his masterpiece. “My simple offering, when touched by the master’s hand, created something I never thought was possible,” she said.[16] “Christ never asked us to give more than we have to give. Rather, He asks, pleads, and invites us to learn of Him, come to Him, trust Him, and let Him make us more than we are. . . . When we put Christ in His proper place, when we come to Him and get to know Him, there is nothing that He can’t equal us to. With Christ, we can be kinder. With Christ, we will feel loved. With Christ, we will always have a friend. With Christ, we will be happy. For with Christ we are enough. We are powerful. We are more.”[17]

My family is your typical busy family, running around with a million things to do every day.
Last year, new schedules revealed that many of our activities would fall on Monday evenings. My younger sister had a dance class on Monday night; my younger brothers had soccer practice that night; and I had marching band. I loved being in marching band, and I had just received a solo part. That part was a particular joy because I love creating music.
When my mom and dad realized family home evening was in jeopardy, they decided that our other Monday night activities had to go—including marching band practice. I was very upset. I knew that not going to those practices meant my grade in band would suffer and that I might lose my solo part. I tried to explain my dilemma to my parents, but their answer was, “The prophet says we need to have family home evening,” and that was that, end of discussion.
I knew they were right, but I was still angry and upset over the loss of my practices. And it wasn’t just me. My brothers could no longer go to soccer practices; my sister had to change dance classes. It was inconvenient for all of us.
The first couple of Mondays, we complained about the things we were missing, but then we realized Mom and Dad weren’t going to give in on this one. Eventually, I started looking forward to free Monday nights and family time. I didn’t have to go back to school for more practice. I could just stay home and be with my family.
Then my fear happened: I lost the solo in the marching band show. How my heart ached. It was hard to give up something I loved so much. But a short while later, band practices were moved to Wednesdays. It’s nice that band doesn’t conflict with family home evening anymore.
Some people might say it was a coincidence that practices were moved, but to me it says that blessings come from keeping the commandments.